Page 71 of A Fragile Enchantment

“Then ask nicely.”

His gaze snapped to hers. He did not let go of her. Her pulse thrummed wildly against his grip, her stomach fluttering withanticipation. They stood close enough that his breath ghosted softly against her mouth. The faintest band of dirt streaked his cheekbone, and she had half a mind to swipe it away with her thumb, to let it drift down to his slowly parting lips. Desire welled within her. It darkened his eyes.

Gods.She’d never stood a chance against him.

He dropped her hand as if she had burned him, leaving her bereft. The wind sent the loose jasmine petals eddying around her feet. With a quick shake of his head, he gathered up all that newfound restraint and brushed past her with his shoulders drawn toward his ears.

Weeks ago, Lovelace had told her how to reach them. Even if they did not care about her, they cared about the good of the Machlish. Kit was sympathetic to their cause. If they knew, they’d leave him alone. How much trouble could writing a letter really cause?

In a letter tied off with delicate red thread, Niamh assured Lovelace that after the wedding, Kit would pressure Jack to do right by the Machlish—that he’d even spoken to Helen Carlile. As hard as she’d tried to contain it, some of her resentment bled into the message:You have allies in us, if you will allow us to be.

The reply, to her shock, arrived early the next morning. Someone slid it menacingly under her bedroom door without a knock to announce it:

I understand you are upset about what I have done, but I assure you, it is not personal. Surely, you can understand a small wrong for the sake of the greater good. It is clear to me now that the prince regent will ignore the political situation as long as this ridiculous show goes on. If this wedding falls through,he will not have anything left to hide behind. I intend to push onward. However, if you find anything of substance to change my mind—or if Prince Christopher suddenly has both the political clout and a plan to address the protesters’ concerns—you’re welcome to tell me.

It took nearly all of her strength not to hurl the note into the fireplace where it belonged. Oh, how she hated them and their self-righteousness right now. She flopped into an armchair to sew and to think. As darkness cut across the sky, her eyes adjusted slowly. But soon, just outside her window, the night was practically luminous. The moon overhead silvered the lawn with its light.

She imagined the day of the lawn party over and over again. The Carmines’ argument had not exactly been subtle. They’d turned the croquet field into a veritable garden of their repressed feelings. Most of the guests had gone inside once the rain began, but anyone could have seen her follow Kit. Before the column dropped, the only ones who’d mentioned any untoward feelings between her and Kit were Sinclair and Miriam. But Sinclair said it was obvious. No doubt someone else had suspected them.

You have a way with people,Sofia had told her once.You have a way of drawing things out of them, of bringing what they wish to keep hidden into the light.

What a kind lie that had been.

Wait.Sofia.

Dread crept slowly down Niamh’s spine. In her time at the palace, she’d seen all of the small insults Sofia endured from a court who had no interest in her. How she was absentmindedly silenced and dismissed by her husband. How she faded into the corners of a room, like the last bite of winter chased away by spring. How she stood on her balcony, longing for her homeland…

It was enough to breed hatred. It was enough to make one sympathize with an overlooked and silenced class of people. Itwas certainly enough to make her want to protect another lonely, foreign girl from the same fate she’d suffered. And in their first correspondence, Lovelace had complained that Jack rooted out their spies—just as Sofia confessed that Jack kept dismissing her lady’s maids.

Could it really be…?

If she unmasked Sofia as Lovelace, then she could stop her from sabotaging the wedding. But no one would accept that argument. She’d be hanged for treason for even suggesting it. Unless, of course, she could prove it. All she needed were the right opportunity, the right tools, and the right ally.

And she had just the person in mind.

20

Niamh eased open the glass door overlooking the terrace, and the lazy, drugging heat of the afternoon washed over her skin like a balm.

She hadn’t left her bedchamber in two days, since her conversation with Kit. If someone asked her a single question, she feared that the truth of what she planned to do would come tumbling out. Instead, she’d sat by the window and eased her magic out little by little, spinning it into skeins of golden thread. She’d sewed and sewed until her joints swelled and her hands went stiff. Even if it killed her, shewouldfinish Rosa’s dress and Kit’s cloak before the wedding. She would make sure everyone was as happy as they could be with the sad compromises they’d made.

Miriam waited for her outside, an uncertain smile on her face.As always, she was a vision. The midday sunlight stained the lawn gold and set the dark red in her curls ablaze. It sparkled off the golden rings on each of her fingers. When Niamh stopped before her, all of her thoughts hopelessly knotted, Miriam did not hesitate. She enfolded her in a hug. The unreserved tenderness of it shocked Niamh. Her world went indistinct, a blur of light and color, as tears spring to her eyes.

“Thank you for coming,” she said hoarsely.

“I did say we would stick together this Season.” Her voice was quiet against Niamh’s ear. “Are you all right? Has someone given you any difficulty?”

Niamh must have been far more overwhelmed than she’d let herself acknowledge. Held close and held together by someone else, all of her feelings came spilling out in a rush. Her shoulders trembled, and tears spilled over her cheeks. Miriam did not recoil. She allowed Niamh to weep in her arms, making soft, sympathetic sounds. She hadn’t felt like this since she was a child, which only made her cry harder.

After a minute, once her hiccupping sobs slowed, Miriam drew back with a kind smile. “Why don’t we go for a stroll? That always helps me clear my head.”

Niamh nodded as she wiped her face with the back of her wrist. Together, they set off down the path through the gardens, arm in arm. Niamh half expected to see Jack here. Every now and again, she’d caught a glimpse of him patrolling outside her window, inspecting every bloom and snipping off those that apparently did not meet his standards. All of the flowers now bristled with his magic, their petals veined in gold and all of them arranged in perfect symmetry like a battalion of soldiers. He was coping with the stress in his own way, she supposed.

“How is Rosa?” Niamh asked.

“Oh, the same as always.” Miriam sighed. “She and the princeregent have been talking her father down. I think they’ve finally convinced him it was nothing but a cruel, false rumor. It sounds like His Highness has convincedhimselfof it as well.”

“I’m so glad to hear that.”