Stolen Magic by Burgis Stephanie

Author:Burgis, Stephanie [Burgis, Stephanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Publisher: Atheneum Books for Young Readers
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Twenty

The last thing I felt like doing that night was going down to supper with the Carlyles. When Stepmama knocked on our door to summon us, I was shamefully tempted to invent a headache as an excuse.

Angeline was already heading to the door, though, looking tense but magnificent in her finest evening gown of dark rose silk. I squared my shoulders and slid off the bed to follow her. If Angeline could face the Carlyles after her public quarrel with Frederick that afternoon, and if Elissa could face them after her china-shattering swoon, then I could certainly face them too.

Perhaps, though, just for tonight, I might face them from the back of the room, in the most unobtrusive corner I could find.

Tonight, the pre-supper gathering was being held in the Long Gallery, on the second floor. As we stepped inside, I couldn’t stifle my groan. Luckily, no one was paying attention to me . . . or at least, none of the guests were.

The corridors of Hepworth might be lined with ancient family portraits, but the Long Gallery was where they came to roost. The gallery stretched the full length of the house, and the inner wall was lined entirely by scowling Carlyles. Worse yet, it wasn’t just one row of portraits; there were multiple rows, one on top of another. Each painting I passed looked even older and more outraged by my scruffy, low-bred presence. Even when I looked away, I could still feel all those painted Carlyle eyes glaring down at me.

Tall windows lined the opposite wall, overlooking the cliff and the wild expanse of sea below. I looked across at them longingly as I followed Stepmama through the scattered groups of Carlyles, all sipping wine and gossiping avidly. Every single conversation stopped abruptly as Angeline and I passed. As soon as we were safely past, though, the whispers started up again, and I could feel their curious gazes following us.

Angeline’s chin rose higher and higher. I tried to imitate her, but my skin prickled with embarrassment. If only those windows had been less than half a mile above the beach, it would have been irresistibly tempting to jump straight out of one of them and escape.

I was so busy with my fantasies, I didn’t recognize the danger ahead until it was too late.

“My dear Mrs. Carlyle,” Stepmama cooed. “What a delightful room this is. I must applaud your excellent taste.”

Dash it. Why hadn’t I paid better attention to where Stepmama was leading us? Now I was trapped exactly where I least wanted to be: directly in front of our hostess, who was standing with the big, gray-haired man who’d arrived at teatime. Jane Carlyle stood nearby, looking oddly pale and subdued.

Mrs. Carlyle’s smile was a mere stretch of her lips. “How kind of you to approve, Mrs. Stephenson.” She looked past Stepmama to Angeline, and her smile faded entirely. Her voice turned tart. “And you, Miss Stephenson? Can I dare to hope that you approve of my taste as well?”

Angeline sank into a curtsy.

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