Page 25 of A Fragile Enchantment

“Can you believe,” another woman continued, “that the prince regent entrusted one of them with such an important task?”

“Of course I can. After all, he’s trotted out his new tailor at every event like some sort of show pony. It’s laughably obvious what he’s trying to do. Scrabbling to appease the rabble instead of actually doing something about it. His father never would have stood for this kind of disrespect.”

“Certainly not,” her companion agreed. “He tolerates it from all sides—especially from that horrid brother of his. The company the young prince keeps! Did you see the three of them together? It was like the setup of some terrible joke. A pauper, a molly, and a drunk walk into a ballroom…”

The drone of a hundred conversations built to a dull roar in her ears. All around her swam a sea of pale faces, drinking, gossiping,flirting, laughing. Her vision blurred with unshed tears. How had she thought for even a moment that she would belong here?

“Niamh,” Sinclair said gently. “Please don’t let them get to you.”

“I won’t.” But how could she not? She smiled up at him as best she could. “Will you excuse me for one moment? I will be right back.”

She needed air.

She plowed through the ballroom, upending at least one drink and knocking into a floral arrangement or three in her haste. At last, she reached a door. It did not matter where it led. She shoved it open—and stepped out onto a balcony.

Outside, it was dark, lit only by the stars overhead and a few flickering candles burned down to puddles of wax. The glass doors muffled the sound of music and chatter. Niamh rubbed her arms as the night air sighed over her skin. Sweat cooled on the back of her neck.

No one else was here.

Finally, Niamh allowed herself to weep.

He’s trotted out his new tailor at every event like some sort of show pony.She did not want to believe it. And yet, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t realized it sooner. There was no other explanation for Jack’s hospitality and attention. He had chosen her not for her skill or her craft, but to make himself lookenlightened. To slither out of any accountability. She was nothing more than a novelty to point out to her fellow countrymen and say,Look, not all of you suffer here.

Much good it had done him.

His Machlish servants had resorted to this—to wishing the worst of misfortunes on him—now of all times. After such a public display, Jack would surely have no choice but to hear their demands now.

She should’ve contented herself with that much, and yet as deepas she dredged within herself, she found only despair. How could she have been so foolish, soselfish,as to waste her precious time chasing some silly, girlish fantasy? She’d come here to work for her family’s sake, nothing more. This pain was just as much a reminder as the lock of white in her hair: better to deny herself than face this kind of disappointment again.

The door behind her swung open, letting in a wash of muted orange light. Someone stepped onto the balcony.

Niamh hastily smeared the tears off her face. As long as she stayed quiet, they wouldn’t disturb her. With any luck, they wouldn’t notice her at all. But when she glanced up past the loose tendrils of her hair, she saw nothing and no one. The cool summer air turned frigid in an instant.

A ghost.It had followed her here, lured in by the scent of her sorrow.

Erin had always teased her for her superstition. Now, through the frenetic hum of her terror, Niamh felt vindicated that she’d prepared all her life for this exact moment. If she commanded it to go, it’d vanish like mist over the sunlit hills.

And then she heard the strike of a match.

A tiny flame illuminated the hazy outline of a figure. As it came into focus, blink by blink, embarrassment chased away all her fear. It was only Kit, cloaked by the enchantment she’d stitched into his coat.

He leaned out over the balustrade, a slash of darkness against the cool white of the marble. Like this, standing alone in shards of broken moonlight, he looked so desolate. Niamh had the distinct sense that she was intruding on a private moment, but it wasn’t as though she could slip away without him noticing. Maybe if she just—

“I can feel you staring at me.”

“Your Highness.” She winced at the teary thickness of her own voice. “I’m sorry for disturbing you.”

He turned sharply toward her, surprise plain on his face. He stared at her with mounting alarm, as though he’d realized too late he’d stepped onto a sinking ship. “Are you…crying?”

“No, of course not!” She sniffled but tried to lighten her tone as best she could. “I just needed some air.”

He looked so helpless and uncomfortable, it almost made her laugh. The very thought of Kit Carmine trying to comfort someone was absurd enough, but the realization that he felt some faint obligation to do so… Well, it almost endeared him to her.Almost.

“Me, too.” He paused. “I should go.”

“You don’t have to,” she blurted out. The prospect of spending even one more second alone with her own thoughts sounded unbearable. “That is, I don’t mind if you’re here, too. We don’t have to talk if…”

“I should go,” he clarified, “because people will start rumors if they see us out here together.”