Page 15 of A Sorceress Comes to Call
“Do anything?” said her mother archly. “Like what?”
Cordelia had no idea how to answer. Make them obedient was her first thought, but she didn’t want to name it for fear of bringing it down on her own head. “I… I mean…”
Evangeline rolled her eyes. “No, silly, I’m not going to do anything. Not really. People notice if you go around tinkering with their heads too much, and if I compelled him to fall in love, it would break at the altar and he’d certainly notice that. I shan’t risk too much until I’m safely wed.”
This was not a great deal of comfort. Cordelia had far too much experience with the sort of things her mother did when she felt safe. She bowed her head and fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve.
A footman arrived with a tray containing more food. Her mother waited until he had set it down, then dismissed him with a grand wave. Cordelia met his eyes, horrified by her mother’s high-handedness, but he did not look offended. In fact, he winked at her, and that was sufficiently astonishing that she sat in silence until the door closed behind him.
She waited until her mother had helped herself before picking up another roll and applying butter.
“We’ll dine with the family tonight,” said her mother. “You must be well-mannered.”
“Yes, Mother,” murmured Cordelia.
“Use the correct forks and spoons and so forth.”
Cordelia froze, the roll halfway to her mouth. “The… correct forks?” There was more than one fork? They only had five at home and Cordelia washed them carefully every night for use the next day. How many forks did a person need?
“God,” said her mother, putting her hand to her forehead. “I’ve raised a little barbarian. Yes, silly child. Watch me before you eat, if you can’t figure it out.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“And be charming. To the Squire particularly, and his sister if you can manage it.” She paused in her incessant stroking of the velvet. “You do know how to be charming, don’t you?”
Cordelia’s look of panic must have been answer enough. Her mother sighed. “Really, dear, you might at least make an effort. This is important.”
“I… I haven’t had dinner with many older men before…” She had been to the old preacher’s house once, before he had died and been replaced by the young one. She did not think she had said more than three words during the entire meal. She racked her brain for advice from her etiquette book, but all she could remember was the line “The more pure and elevated your sentiments are, and the better cultivated your intellect is, the easier will you find it to converse pleasantly with all.” By those standards, Cordelia was distressingly aware that either her sentiments or her intellect were sadly lacking. Possibly both.
“Well. I suppose that’s true.” Evangeline tapped a finger against her lips. “Very well. Ask him about himself. Look interested in the answers. Don’t contradict him. That sort of thing. You are not trying to attach him yourself, merely to look wholesome and girlish. And above all, don’t be moody. It’s terribly unattractive in a young woman, and it makes anyone think twice about wanting to live in the same house with them. Do I make myself clear?”
Cordelia had no idea what moodiness might entail, but she nodded anyway. “Yes, Mother.”
“Good. Give me a kiss and then go.” Her mother smiled. “I am going out riding with the Squire. I think that bodes well, don’t you?”
“Yes, Mother,” whispered Cordelia again, and slipped away.
CHAPTER 7
Hester sat in her parlor, thinking.
To anyone looking in, she appeared to be embroidering a shawl—or more accurately, to have nearly fallen asleep in the middle of doing so. One of the advantages of age was that you could think a great deal while simply sitting still, and no one would poke you and demand that you go and do something useful.
Doom’s daughter had been unexpected. Before their arrival last night, Hester had been half suspecting that the girl would be some great beauty like her mother, perhaps even bait for a trap for the Squire. Middle-aged men had made fools of themselves over young ladies before, and would again before the end of the world.
Certainly she had expected that the daughter would be in on whatever mischief the mother had planned. If there was something not-quite-canny about Lady Evangeline, Hester had expected that to extend to the girl as well.
One look into the frightened-rabbit eyes of the girl had put paid to all those notions. Hester wasn’t sure of the whole picture yet, but certainly the girl was terribly nervous, and it did not feel like the nerves of a co-conspirator afraid of being caught.
She looks like a horse that’s been beaten so often that it doesn’t know what is expected of it any longer. And who doesn’t expect that to ever change.
Which was, perhaps, no surprise for Doom’s daughter. Hester was quite certain that there was blood and ice behind Evangeline’s smile. But then again…
What if the girl’s bait for a trap set for a softhearted old fool?
Is Evangeline clever enough for that?
She might be. The woman had turned a chance meeting on the street into an indefinite stay at the Squire’s home. Not difficult, particularly not in a respectable house with Hester as ostensible chaperone, but Hester suspected that Evangeline had known exactly what she was doing. Had, most likely, set out with this exact goal in mind, if not a precise quarry.
