Free Betraying Season by Marissa Doyle Page B

suggested.
    Michael glanced up at her again with a grateful smile.
    “You go have your own breakfast,” Pen said to him. “I know you need to get to the university. I’ll have some tea with Ally while she tries a little of Cook’s masterpiece, and then we’ll see if Lady Keating’s remedy helps again.”
    Michael had been forced by Sir John Conroy to give up his teaching position at St. Kilda’s last year and go to London to try to enchant Princess Victoria. Now queen, Victoria had very kindly gotten the prime minister, Lord Melbourne, to pull strings at St. Kilda’s to have Michael reinstated there. Pen knew he was anxious to appear conscientious and deserving to the deans, which meant long hours and extra duties within his department. Michael nodded his thanks, kissed Ally, and followed Norah to the dining room.
    To Pen’s surprise, Ally ate almost half of the pudding before setting down her spoon. “Was Michael right? Is Cook’s milk pudding worth becoming ill for?” she asked, taking Ally’s tray.
    “If you like that sort of thing.” Ally shuddered delicately. “And I’m not convinced it was wise to eat that much of it.”
    Pen hastened to the side table where Norah had left a pitcher of water and the little bottle of elixir. “Then let’s get some of this into you before anything untoward happens,” she said, mixing a glassful and bringing it to Ally, who drank it straight down.
    “Mmmmm,” she sighed, and smiled again as she handed the glass back to Pen. “Thank you, dear. I had the loveliest rest last night. If it was Lady Keating’s medicine that did it, I hope it works again.”
    “I do too,” said Pen. She picked up the tray. “I’ll just go bring this to the kitchen and be right back.”
    “That’s fine.” Ally sank back against her pillows and closed her eyes.
    When Pen peeked in just a minute later, Ally was asleep. Thatseemed a little strange. Hadn’t she just gotten up an hour earlier, after a good night’s rest? But she hadn’t been sleeping well for weeks because of the nausea. She probably had a lot of catching up to do. And she looked so comfortable, a small smile just showing at the corners of her mouth and a definite, if faint, flush on her thin cheeks. Pen shut the door again and tiptoed down the hall to the dining room for her own belated breakfast.
    “Good morning, Penelope.” Dr. Carrighar somehow managed a courtly bow without rising from his chair or ceasing to ladle oatmeal into his bowl from a tureen. “How is our dear little Melusine this morning?”
    Pen concealed a slight grin as she seated herself at the long table and reached for the coffeepot. She’d never thought of using the adjectives
dear
and
little
in connection with her formidable former governess. “Asleep again, but she ate half a bowl of Cook’s pudding for breakfast.”
    “Ah, so that was the cause of the crowing I heard from the kitchen. Asleep again, you say? Hmm. Well, a few days of that won’t do her any harm.” He stirred an enormous dollop of cream into his oatmeal. “Which leaves us free to have a practical exercise today for your lesson.”
    “Really?” Pen nearly overfilled her cup. She hastily set down the pot. “With your other scholars?”
    Dr. Carrighar shook his head as Norah brought in plates of coddled eggs and sausage and grilled tomatoes. “They were, er, not receptive to the idea of combining our practical as well as textual lessons.”
    That was hardly a surprise. “All of them?” Pen asked, thinking of big Patrick Sheehan and his shy smile.
    “Not all of them. But mastering new magic in a hostile environment is not what I would have you experience, even though”—he raised a hand to stem her protest—“even though I know that you would be entirely capable of learning under any circumstances. I’m just not sure my digestion could handle it. And I am not certain that those lads could learn while you were there. So much for the stronger sex, eh?” He smiled