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what you are? Informing Society that they have a witch and former chambermaid in their midst?” He barked a laugh. “Even if I were to attempt it, you might summon up a spell to turn me into a toad.”
“I have never possessed such an ability,” she said, staring at the window glass without seeing anything beyond it.
His footsteps came to an abrupt halt. “You admitted that you were a witch when you first revealed yourself to me,” he said, his words measured, as if he feared to expose his own suffering. “If I had not seen the impossible with my own eyes, I would not have believed such creatures existed. But you never explained what that means, where you came from, or how you knew that Mariah needed your ‘help.’”
No, she had not. There had been no time…and then she had chosen the coward’s way out rather than face just such questions as these.
But there were things she simply couldn’t tell Sinjin, part of her past that, if revealed, would only make him despise her more….
And she was not prepared for that. Not when she had yet to find her own redemption. Not when she couldn’t hate Sinjin, even when he made her face the weakest part of herself.
She turned back to him, assuming a calmness she was far from feeling. “If I answer these questions,” she said, “will there be peace between us?”
“Peace!” He laughed under his breath. “Is that what you want, Nuala?”
“We will doubtless meet many times during the Season,” she said. “You may believe what you wish of me, but I see no reason to trouble our friends and acquaintances.”
“Indeed not. It would be criminal to cause Society the least discomfiture.”
Nuala started for the door, intending to pass Sinjin as quickly as possible. He stopped her with a strong hand on her arm.
“I want to know,” he said, the words husky with something very like pleading. “What are you?”
She tried to relax in his grip, trusting that he would let go when he realized she would make no further attempt to escape. Once again his touch gave her a jolt, as if he were not her adversary, but something else entirely….
Someone passed by the half-open doorway. Sinjin released her. She retreated deeper into the room again, rubbing her arm where Sinjin had been holding it.
“It is no wonder you don’t understand,” she said. “Folklore claims that witches are evil hags who wish only ill to the world, that they cast spells meant to create pain and havoc.”
“And is folklore so wrong in its definition?”
She felt his challenging stare, but refused to meet it. “There might have been such people…surely there have been. But witches have been living in England for centuries, most in perfect harmony with…” She hesitated. “With nonmagical humans.”
“Humans? At Donbridge, you told me you weren’t Fane.”
“We—my people—are human in every respect but our magic. It is a gift passed down from one generation to the next, not gained through bargains with the devil or dark rituals.”
“There are more of you? God help us.”
His bitterness burned her like a white-hot brand. “Once there were many of us, yes. Enough to insure that our gifts were not completely lost.” She took a deep, shuddering breath and released it slowly. “We were bound by our magic and our traditions, many families scattered all over England, sometimes in small villagers where we were accepted and valued.” She dared to look at his face. “You wonder why they might value us. Many of us were healers, capable of doing what no ordinary physician could. Others were more proficient at casting spells over corn to make it grow thick and hearty.”
“You make these witches sound like paragons of virtue.”
“Oh, we were not. Nor did we claim to be.”
To her surprise, he said nothing to mock or berate her. “You are talking of things that happened in the past.”
“Yes.” It became very difficult to speak. “We are not as numerous as we once were. There are very few of us left in England, and most keep to themselves.”
“You didn’t.”
“Some of us…could not help but use our gifts when they were needed. I was able to…see when two people were meant to be together.”
“You’ve used this ‘gift’ before you came to Donbridge?”
“Many times.”
“And no one died?”
Nothing she’d said had made any sort of difference. There would be no way to satisfy him, no way to make him forgive her, even if she wanted his forgiveness after the accusations he had made.
She closed her eyes. “No. I cannot say that there were no problems….”
“You always posed as someone else to help these people?”
“Most never learned who or what I was.” She opened her eyes, though she could not seem to see anything but the past. “I used magic for small things—spells of concealment, or of distraction. Often these were all that were needed to see that the match was encouraged.”
“The matches you determined should be made.”
She said nothing. He began pacing again. “And now?” he said. “Will you continue to utilize this magic?”
“I cannot…” The image of the vicious knife-wielder in the rookeries stopped her answer. What she had done to him, however mild…
She took a deep breath. “I did not lie when I said that my powers were fading.”
“Did you arrange your own marriage?”
New accusations. She felt anger building again. “I did not.”
“You didn’t cast a spell on Parkhill to win his love?”
“I went to his estate to nurse him, with no intention of doing anything more.”
“Yet here you are, Lady Charles.”
Laughter sounded in the reception room. Nuala thought of Deborah and Melbyrne, of the wry and gentle Mr. Erskine, of the widows who were her unquestioning friends.
“Have you heard enough, Lord Donnington?” she asked.
The storm in his eyes belied the stillness of his face. “What haven’t you told me, Nuala?”
“I have told you everything.” She moved again for the door.
“Nuala.”
“Sinjin?”
“Promise me that you will no longer interfere in the affairs of other people.”
It was almost a request. She gripped the doorjamb. “Is that your condition for ending this…this conflict between us?”
“It is.” He caught her gaze, and she could not look away. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t quite believe that your magic is gone. If you swear not to use it as a tool for your matchmaking, I will be satisfied.”
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