Spellmaker

CHAPTER 21

Ogden returned from Rochester on Thursday with a grim look on his face. As Elsie had expected, he’d found no leads on Merton. Every mind he’d pierced believed her to be dead.

Granted, updating him about Master Raven’s visit had instantly lifted his spirits. Which was a very good thing come Saturday, as he was giving Elsie away.

Today.

She was getting married today.

She leaned against the wall beside the door in Emmeline’s room, which had been restored to its original appearance. Rainer and John, Bacchus’s servants from Barbados, had already taken her belongings to their new London home. Her cream-colored dress draping her perfectly; her hair coifed, curled, and pinned; both hands pressed to her stomach as she struggled to breathe. And her corset wasn’t even that tight.

Emmeline stepped into the room, carrying a basket of flower petals that would be used for the aisle in the chapel. One look at Elsie had her mouth and eyes forming perfect O’s.

“Everything will be fine!” Emmeline assured her, rubbing a hand up and down Elsie’s arm.

Elsie shook her head. Everything would not be fine. She’d barely slept last night. She hadn’t been able to stomach breakfast. She couldn’t breathe.

A frown curved Emmeline’s lips. “Really, I think Master Kelsey will make a fine husband—”

“It’s not Master Kelsey.” Her response was airy. “Believe me, Em, I want to marry Bacchus with everything I am. But something terrible is going to happen. I can feel it in my bones. I won’t be allowed this happiness.”

Emmeline laughed. “You’re too young to feel it in your bones! And everything will be perfect. I’ve prayed for you every day this week.”

Elsie couldn’t help but smile at the kind sentiment. “Thank you.” She swallowed. “They’re not all gathering around the church, are they?” They were to have a very small wedding. Elsie wouldn’t have agreed to announce it in the paper if not for the need to make a show for Lord Harold Astley, the magistrate who had agreed to release Elsie from prison. She couldn’t regret that they’d done so, of course, for it had brought Reggie to her.

Emmeline looked away. “Well, they are curious. Oh, Elsie. Deep breaths.”

Elsie did as told. A few gulps of air later, she said, “Merton is still out there. Master Raven could decide to pop in at any time. Master Phillips has been released from his spell . . . Surely Merton has taken over a new lackey by now. And he or she will show up and murder us all.”

“Elsie—”

“He’s not going to be there,” she said, throat constricting. “I’m going to show up, and they’ll ring those church bells, and he won’t be at the end of the aisle. And the whole town will see, and I’ll be humiliated.”

Emmeline set down the basket and took both of Elsie’s hands in hers. Elsie’s fingers were ice; Emmeline’s were as warm as freshly baked bread. “You are a silly woman. The way he looks at you . . . There’s no way he won’t be there. I saw him leave for the church myself this morning.”

Elsie squeezed her friend’s hands. “There’s still time for him to change his mind.” It would wreck her if he did. She’d become a recluse. Never leave the house. Perhaps adopt a cat.

Her hopes had gotten so high, despite her best efforts to contain them. She wouldn’t survive the fall this time. Not with Bacchus.

Emmeline kissed Elsie’s cheek. “It will be a beautiful wedding. And short.”

Elsie filled her lungs to bursting and nodded. It would be brief. The customary dinner was to have taken place at Seven Oaks, but they’d cut it from the program given the uncertain situation with the duke and duchess.

“You look beautiful, and the dress is perfect,” Emmeline assured her.

A soft laugh escaped Elsie’s mouth. She pushed off the wall, standing of her own accord. “I suppose if something horrible does happen, staying in here isn’t going to stop it.”

“It will only stop good things from happening. Come, now. They’re waiting for you.” She grinned. “He’s waiting for you.”

Elsie nodded and let Emmeline pull her from the room.

Please let it be so. Please. Please. Please.

The church wasn’t far from the stonemasonry shop, so there was no point in hiring a carriage, though Elsie did not like walking down Main Street garbed like a bride. She hadn’t yet put on her veil, and she ignored the few looks she got, keeping her eyes straight ahead. The light exercise helped steady her. Maybe Emmeline was right. Maybe this would all go off without a hitch. Maybe she’d get a happy ending like in her novel readers. Maybe.

They entered through the tower, and the church bells began ringing as Emmeline pinned Elsie’s veil to her hair. Elsie’s nerves cooled and ran from her shoulders to her feet, raising gooseflesh beneath her dress.

Emmeline gently pinched Elsie’s cheeks, bringing some color into them. Then, with an encouraging smile, she hurried into the nave to spread her flowers before sitting down. It was tradition, ensuring a happy path for the bride.

Elsie licked her lips. Took another breath.

The church bells ceased, and the church sounded eerily silent in their absence. She hadn’t asked for a choir to fill the empty space. She’d been too convinced something would happen to prevent . . . well, this.

She gripped her simple bouquet, made of twelve white roses. The flowers had been nearly as expensive as the dress.

If he’s there, everything will be all right, she thought, approaching the door to the nave. If Bacchus is there, then even if Merton appears, or a spellmaker with a knife, or Raven himself, it will be all right.

Please, God, let him be there.

Surely Emmeline would have rushed back out to warn her if he weren’t.

The organ music started. Heart thudding against her ribs like a battering ram, Elsie waited until a boy no older than ten opened the door to the nave. The aisle leading to the altar was lined with white rose petals. Most of the pews were empty, as was to be expected. Her gaze traveled down it, finding Ogden, the clergyman, the parish clerk, and—

Bacchus.

He stood to the left of the altar, dressed in blue, his hair pulled back more neatly than she’d ever seen it. Elsie walked toward him, down the aisle, which seemed painfully long given all the eyes on her. She glanced over them. The Duchess of Kent had come and smiled at her sweetly. There was no sign of her husband or daughters. Across the aisle from her stood Lord Astley; he’d come to witness the event, as promised. Ahead of him, Emmeline, Reggie, and Irene. By the duchess, in a wheeled chair and unable to stand, was an older woman with gray-streaked blonde hair. It took a second for Elsie to place her. That had to be Master Ruth Hill! Her color looked well, and that was a relief.

And then her gaze found Bacchus again. His green eyes hadn’t wavered from hers, and in the chapel lighting they reminded her of an evening in the forest. He was beautiful in every sense a man could be beautiful. Her nerves lightened to a buzz. Let Merton come. She couldn’t hurt Elsie so long as Bacchus was near. No one could.

The way he looked at her warmed her center. Was Emmeline right? Did Bacchus look at her a certain way? Was it just the dress? But Bacchus’s eyes hadn’t so much as strayed to the dress.

She reached him, heart still drumming as though she were marching to war. The congregation sat. The clergyman started saying something. Elsie couldn’t process it.

She was getting married. She was getting married. She was getting married.

God, please don’t let me cry.

“Who gives this woman away?” the clergyman asked.

Ogden stepped forward, a gentle smile on his face. “I do.”

Elsie grinned at him. She would miss seeing his mussed hair in the morning, sharing meals with him and Emmeline, arguing over how old he was. Heaven knew she would miss that.

Ogden sat, and Elsie found herself glancing at the doors, the windows, looking for shadows, listening for sounds. But she found nothing out of the ordinary.

She caught sight of Reggie’s ear-to-ear grin, and realized she was mirroring it when her cheeks began to hurt.

And then her gaze shifted to Bacchus, who was still watching her with those forest eyes, and Elsie felt suddenly undone, like she was falling and flying at the same time. Like her heart beat somewhere besides in her body.

And then he spoke, his Bajan accent genuine and rich.

“I, Bacchus Kelsey, take thee, Elsie Camden, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance, and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

Her vision blurred, and she blinked it clear. Her spirit turned within her. The clergyman spoke to her, and it was by some miracle she was coherent enough to repeat what he said.

“I, Elsie Camden, take thee, Bacchus Kelsey, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance, and thereto I give thee my troth.”

And then Bacchus reached for her hand. She’d given the ring back to him last night, and when he slid it on her finger, it felt like she was seeing it for the first time. For a moment, as his fingers slid up hers, time stopped.

“With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

Placing the ring—Ogden’s father’s ring—on Bacchus’s fourth finger was the most reverent experience Elsie had ever had. “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

To her right, the clergyman closed the Book of Common Prayer. “I pronounce you man and wife.”

Elsie’s heart slammed back into her, nearly knocking her from her feet. This was it. It was done. She and Bacchus were married.

“You may kiss the bride.”

Her thoughts snapped to attention as Bacchus leaned down and touched his lips to hers. It was the most chaste kiss he’d ever given her.

And then, despite herself, she laughed.

The rest passed in a blur. The cheers, the applause—Elsie barely registered Lord Astley leaving, his witness done. She and Bacchus were swept into the vestry, where their marriage license awaited them. The clergyman signed it first, followed by Bacchus. Elsie, with trembling fingers, scrawled her name: Elsie Amanda Camden. She hadn’t realized she’d settled on a middle name until that moment. It looked well, she thought. Elsie Amanda Camden . . . Kelsey.

Congratulations were heaped upon them from their small wedding party. Cheeks kissed, hands shaken. Elsie pulled Emmeline aside after receiving the vicar’s well-wishes.

“I know you’re not formally a bridesmaid, but you should be,” she confessed, and pulled a small broach, in the shape of a dove, free from her gown. “I wanted you to have this anyway.”

Emmeline gasped. “Oh, this is the one from the dressmaker’s shop! Oh, Elsie, it must’ve been expensive.”

“I’m a spellbreaker, don’t know you?” Elsie prodded her shoulder. “I am quite employable. I want you to have it so you’ll think of me when I’m not around.”

Emmeline drew her into a tight hug. “I’ll remember you besides, you ninny! Thank you.” She pulled back, then tipped her head to something over Elsie’s shoulder. Elsie turned to see the Duchess of Kent approaching shyly. Emmeline squeezed Elsie’s hand before leaving them. Bacchus noticed as well, for he stepped over and placed a hand on Elsie’s shoulder.

“I’m so, so happy for the both of you.” She held something in her hand—an ornate box tied up with ribbon, dried flowers delicately glued under a glass lid. “Isaac and the girls wanted so badly to be here, but given the circumstances . . .” She shrugged.

Smiling, Elsie reached out and clasped the duchess’s arm. “I’m honored that you came, Abigail.”

The woman brightened at the sound of her Christian name. “And I’m honored to be here.” Her gaze flitted to Bacchus. “And this is a wedding gift, from us to you.” She handed over the box. Bacchus took it, his brow furrowing.

“This isn’t . . . ,” he began, eyeing the duchess.

Elsie blinked. “Isn’t what?”

The duchess smiled softly. “In truth, Bacchus, the duke intended to bequeath it to you. You’ve been like a son to him. And it is an adequate gift, for a magical pair.”

Curious, Elsie took the box from Bacchus’s hands and pulled the ribbon free, peering beneath its lid. Inside was a book with a leather cover dark as onyx, with inlaid, gemlike flowers not dissimilar from those in the box’s lid. The corners were cut into soft fringes, and the thick pages were lined with a glimmering orange that made Elsie think of a sunset.

Her chin dropped. “Th-This is an opus, isn’t it?”

Reaching forward, the duchess took Elsie’s hand and placed it firmly on top of the box. “Take care of it. It’s the least we can do.” She eyed Bacchus. “Receive it graciously. It is not given out of guilt, but love.”

Bacchus nodded, his eyes moist. “Thank you.”

Though they were not having a dinner, Bacchus had made sure some traditions were kept. Outside the church awaited a carriage—a closed carriage, thank goodness—pulled by two gray horses, Rainer at the reins. White roses adorned the carriage—surely half of them would fall off during the ride into London, but the impracticality of it somehow made the gesture sweeter. As Bacchus took her hand and led her to the vehicle, the wedding guests threw nuts in the air. Elsie felt herself blush—it was tradition, yes, but she didn’t miss that the nuts symbolized fertility.

She caught a glimpse of curious townsfolk around them as she slid inside the cab, spying briefly the amazed looks on the Wright sisters’ faces. She wondered what sort of gossip they’d be spreading today, then realized she didn’t care.

Bacchus came in after her, taking a seat beside her instead of across from her. When he slid his hand in her direction, she wove her fingers between his.

“We did it, Mrs. Kelsey.” He had a roguish expression on his face.

The name really did have a rather pleasant ring to it, especially in his Bajan accent. “You’ve decided not to be English today?”

He ran his thumb along hers. “I’ve decided to be myself.”

And if that didn’t spread a warm glow through her . . .

The carriage pulled northward, heading into London. Although they were moving into their new home, they’d agreed to spend the majority of their time at the stonemasonry shop until they stopped Merton. Bacchus had moved in to protect Elsie, yes, but also to protect Ogden, who was just as likely to be attacked or waylaid by the spiritual aspector. But it was also their wedding day.

Wedding day. How surreal.

They arrived at the townhome without fanfare; it was about five miles west of Parliament Square and had a small garden walled off from the street. The irony wasn’t missed on Elsie. She had once thought such nasty things about the wealthy and their walls, and now she was going to live behind one. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

They stepped through the veranda, and Bacchus unlocked the door. Rainer pulled away with the carriage. It seemed, for now, they were to be alone.

Elsie’s nerves returned in full force. She clutched the temporal opus to her chest.

The door opened onto a short hallway, a set of stairs to its left. Bacchus gestured to the room on the right. “The parlor,” he said, then, taking her arm through his, led her down the hallway. “The dining room, and the kitchen is through here.”

The rooms all held appropriate furniture—the parlor could do with another chair—but the walls were scant and in need of decoration, as was the mantel. Bacchus led her back through the hallway.

“I think this wall could do with a portrait,” she said.

He nodded. “I leave all of that to you. Decorate however you see fit.”

Elsie scanned the wall, unsure what to say. She certainly wasn’t going to ask about the budget. Not now. All the better when she’d be able to contribute to it properly.

They walked upstairs, where Bacchus continued the tour. He pointed to an empty room. “I thought this could be a study, unless you’d like it for the library. There’s a larger space this way if you want a sitting room like the one at the stonemasonry shop. It has west-facing windows.”

He showed her the spaces, and together they walked the perimeter of them. There were a few trunks, but these rooms were bare of furniture—an empty canvas for them to paint together. The walls bore outdated wallpaper. Elsie tried to imagine something more floral, with a fine settee and perhaps even a gaming table, but the cylinder of her imagination wasn’t firing. It was far too distracted by the man on her arm, and the rooms that lay upstairs.

They reached the third floor. There was a small chamber near the stairs.

“A guest room, or a servants’ quarters,” Bacchus suggested. “I do think it would be prudent to have a maid. Perhaps Emmeline would hire on?”

Elsie shook her head. “I couldn’t possibly steal her away from Ogden.” And leave him alone in that house. “And I would think your study could be here, and any help we bring in could sleep downstairs. For . . . privacy.”

Bacchus nodded and showed her a second chamber, then a third at the far end of the house, which was larger than the others. This room was furnished, a bed with a sea-green coverlet already made up, side tables beside it, a glass-top breakfast table nearby. It boasted a large wardrobe and additional dresser, as well as a white bookshelf. Elsie’s trunks sat at the foot of the bed, which was most definitely large enough for two. She set the opus gingerly on top of one.

Bacchus rubbed the back of his neck. “John got drapes that matched the coverlet. I hardly mind if you change them.”

Elsie crossed the room and ran her hand down the drapes, which were closed over the window. “Fortunately I know a spellmaker who can easily change the color for me. It’s one of his favorite pastimes.”

Bacchus chuckled. “He sounds like a dandy.”

When he said nothing more, Elsie turned around. His expression had grown serious, and he absentmindedly traced his beard.

Before she could say anything, he dropped his hand and said, “Elsie, I’m more than aware that our union has not been . . . ordinary, or at all conventional. Of course there are expectations between a man and wife . . . What I mean to say is that I will not require anything of you, if you want time to acclimate.”

Elsie’s nerves danced under her skin like fairies. She felt her pulse in her stomach. “How utterly respectful of you, Bacchus.” Her chest felt too light as she garnered courage. “But you cannot kiss a woman the way you have and then not expect her to be fully prepared for her wedding night, even eager for it.” She feigned interest in the windows, ignoring the burning of her cheeks. “Even if it is still daylight.”

“I see.” His voice was lower, seductively rich. She dared a glance at him and saw his eyes looked darker than usual.

Elsie ran her hands down her bodice. The secret page was not beneath her corset today, but stowed in the lining of her smaller trunk. She turned her back to him. “I would greatly appreciate your help with this dress.”

Her heart flipped when Bacchus crossed the room, his fingers grazing the base of her neck, pushing aside a few curls there. She could feel his breath in her hair as his fingers deftly unhooked the first button, then the second, then the third. For better or worse, the dressmaker had sewn a great many buttons onto this dress.

Elsie pressed her hands to her chest, both holding up her dress as it loosened and attempting to calm her racing heart, which seemed to quicken with each brush of his fingers against her chemise. Surely Bacchus could feel it. This time it wasn’t anxiety that made it race, but excitement. Not once since arriving in London had she worried about Merton or Master Raven or any of it.

She clung to her courage as Bacchus reached the small of her back. Squeezing her eyes shut, she murmured, “I love you.”

His fingers stilled. Silence settled.

Panic rose.

Elsie held her breath, keeping the anxiety at bay. Waiting, listening, hoping. It was hardly wrong, making such a confession now, of all times! Yet the seconds felt like minutes, felt like hours, and her stomach tightened in fear and anticipation, so much so that they quickly became unbearable.

“Bacchus?” she whispered.

His strong arms encircled her, pulling her against him. His mouth found the groove of her neck, its presence shooting shivers up her skull. His hair tickled her cheek.

“Of course I love you, you precious, wonderful woman.”

Tears sprang to Elsie’s eyes.

“I love you more than Barbados, more than magic, more than myself. You are all I think about. And now you are mine. I love you, Elsie.”

With those words, he helped her out of her dress, out of her corset, and out of her chemise.

And showed her.