Page 6 of An Enchanting Dare

She returned a wry look and Conor snorted, well aware of her dislike of being in society. “If you need me to thump anyone, you need only say.”

Aisling laughed and took his arm, relieved to have his reassuring presence close by. He was tall and lean and though he had inherited their mother’s dark colouring as she had, his eyes were the blue of their father’s and full of affection. She leaned into him, smiling now. “Isn’t it unfair, Conor, there’s poor Cara and Vi, desperate to be out, and here we are, dying to go home.”

He snorted and gave a heavy sigh. “Too true, but no one ever said life was fair, deirfiúr beag.”

She smiled at him calling her little sister in Irish and jabbed him with her elbow. “Stop trying to sound old and wise. I know better.”

“I am older and wiser,” he countered, smirking at her.

“No, just older,” she said, trying for humour and only sounding wistful.

She sighed inwardly. No one knew just how wise Aisling was, nor of the hard lesson she had learned by bitter experience, and the weight of guilt about her neck that she felt unequal to carrying. But that was simply cowardice. She had hardly made amends yet, but in a few years—as soon as her advanced age freed her from spending her time pretending to catch a husband—she would do everything in her power to cleanse her spirit of the wicked thing she’d done.

Chapter 3

Child,

You know how to get through this.

One green candle, one brown, one blue.

Amethyst, Citrine, and Jade.

Sandalwood.

Stop getting in a tizzy and remember yourself.

―Excerpt of a letter to Lady Aisling Baxter from Old Biddy Burke.

14th May 1841, Cavendish House, The Strand, London.

“Oh, do hurry, Aisling,” Cara fretted, jittering about in a most distracting manner.

“If you’d only stop harrying me, I might be able to think straight,” Aisling complained, shoving her bonnet on in such a haphazard way her maid tsked and hurried over to set her to rights.

“Well, it’s fine for you. You’ve been to a ball, a rout party, and a musicale this week, but this is our first outing and it’s only a dratted bookshop,” Cara said, looking as if she wanted to stamp her foot in frustration.

At sixteen, she was a whirlwind of a girl, with an extraordinary mane of fiery red curls, pale ivory skin, and freckles. Much to her own disgust she took after their father in colouring and no amount of soothing would reassure her that her unfashionable looks did not make her a pariah, but quite out of the ordinary. Aisling suspected she was going to be a remarkably beautiful woman, but she was tall for sixteen, already with a large bust and full hips, and she had all the usual insecurities that came with her age. Aisling worried for her, worried about the attention—and the kind of men—her curves would attract, and she did her best to prepare Cara for the ordeal to come. Not that Cara viewed it that way. She was bored, and chafed at being confined at home. Cara longed for society, for diversion and entertainment, and no amount of warnings from Aisling would dampen her desire for everything society would offer her.

By contrast, Lady Violetta was small and slender, a fragile blonde that men would no doubt fall over themselves to protect. A distant cousin, she had come to them as a little girl of six when her parents had died, and she was now a part of the family.

“We can visit the other shops, too,” Aisling offered, hoping to placate her sister. The sooner her parents agreed Cara could come out, the better for everyone’s peace, but she understood why they were holding back. Personally, Aisling wanted her out of the public eye as long as possible. The girl was far too reckless and outspoken. “But I thought you enjoyed visiting the bookshops most of all.”

“Oh, I do,” Cara said with a huff. “Only I’d rather be experiencing life myself instead of reading about it all the time.”

“There, there, love,” Aisling said. “It won’t be long, truly. Just remember, your behaviour has a bearing on Mama and Papa’s decision. If you hold up during this season with good grace, they might give in sooner.”

Vi made a quiet choking sound, and Aisling bit her lip, quite understanding the girl’s amusement.

“I heard that,” Cara grumbled, giving Vi a look.

Violetta grinned and took Cara’s other arm. “Sorry.”

Cara let out a heavy sigh and shook her head, and a thick red curl tumbled free of her coiffure. “No. I can’t pretend it isn’t true. Good grace and Lady Cara are not words often heard in the same sentence,” she said ruefully.

“Well, let us see if a shopping spree can’t make us all feel better. I need a new copy of Culpeper’s Herbal since Conor’s wretched dog chewed mine to bits.” Aisling tucked the ill-behaved curl back where it belonged, picked up her reticule and headed for the door, her sisters following behind.

Ransom’s was a tiny bookshop, and an old one. It had become one of Aisling’s favourite haunts when she was in town. Not that she didn’t like Hatchard’s too, but this tiny corner of London was a secret gem that she jealously guarded. It not only sold new titles, but antique books and collectibles and you never knew what treasure you might stumble upon by accident. She’d had to let her brother and sisters in on the secret, however, or visiting at all would have been difficult, as her parents had forbidden her to go out unescorted.