Free The Thirteenth Earl by Evelyn Pryce Page B

me.”
    “There was . . . there was a small, inconsequential kiss.”
    “I knew it,” the countess said triumphantly.
    “But I swear nothing will come of it. He has made it very clear that it was a mistake. He was foxed.”
    “How very intriguing.” Eliza grinned, starting to move toward the door as ladies filtered in. “You must tell me more later.”
    Aunt Arabella entered with Lady Dorset in tow. Lady Beatrice Valentine, whom Cassandra and Eliza had hated in finishing school, accompanied them. The girl, an atrocious gossip, had won Lady Dorset’s favor.
    “Good morning,” she chirped as she sat down. “I am so looking forward to hearing Miss Macallister speak.”
    Cassandra nodded mutely, for that was the very opposite of how she felt. Lucy glided into the room, making the rounds in a conspicuous order of hierarchy. She started with the countess, and Cassandra couldn’t help but watch her face as Lucy fed Eliza whatever story she had memorized about the night before.
    Beatrice’s maid had piled her straight hair atop her head using clips adorned with dragonflies. The sparkling green gems of the barrettes stood out garishly against her pale blonde coif. They had been in the same class at Cheltenham, though Bea had done much more talking than learning.
    “I heard Miss Macallister knows your fiancé, Cassandra. What an interesting man you are marrying—why, Miles was just telling me at dinner last night how important Spiritualism is to him.”
    “Yes,” Cassandra said. “He is a most thoughtful man. Intellectually curious.” She didn’t think that was exactly true, but it sounded good.
    Lucy, after her promenade of introductions, crossed to the front of the room. Arabella passed a tray to Cassandra, full of various confections, and the look on her aunt’s face shone as if she were at the theater. It seemed Lucy Macallister’s talents had become the talk of the house party, though thankfully it did not seem rumors of what actually happened at the séance had spread.
    “Thank you all for your kindness and for making me feel welcome here,” Lucy said. “It is a testament to the goodness of your Christian souls that you would be hospitable to a stranger. And our beliefs align—contrary to what you might think, Spiritualists are not godless heathens. Just the opposite! We believe our faith is so strong that we are allowed a window into the beyond. That window comes in the form of séances and sometimes automatic writing, which those blessed with the gift can perform. We access the spirits directly, and they speak through us.”
    “It sounds ghastly,” Beatrice said, with a dramatic shiver.
    “Not at all, Lady Beatrice. I understand that a séance can be a scary prospect, but they are key to the study of the afterlife, which faith demands. The spirits have much to teach us, if we let them in.”
    “I shall leave that to you.” Beatrice giggled, and Cassandra gave her a stern look. Though Lucy was not her favorite person, she didn’t deserve to be interrupted.
    Lucy laughed, though not as girlishly. Nothing so coy with her. Her laugh spoke of experience.
    “Yes, that is a common reaction. But I see my mediumship as a gift; I am a steadfast steward of it.”
    “Is it terribly dangerous?” Arabella asked with sincere worry.
    “For a novice, perhaps,” Lucy said. “I myself have been developing my gift since adolescence, and there is no danger at my tables.”
    “Is it . . .” Lady Dorset lowered her voice and paused, searching for the right word. “Demonic?”
    Lucy’s laugh rang out again, a musical tinkle. “Heavens no, Lady Dorset. Bless your heart, no. There is nothing demonic in my practice, though there have been documented cases. We must ever be on the watch for evil.”
    “Some people say it is a parlor trick.”
    Lucy’s head turned to Cassandra. “A sad and unfair dismissal, Miss Seton.”
    Cassandra took a long sip of her tea, silent.
    Lucy looked back at the rest of the