Under the Duke’s Wicked Spell (Preview)

Chapter One

Charlotte lifted her chin to gaze at the stoic, shadowed building before her. She clutched her parasol with white-knuckled fingers and acknowledged the dread that thudded in her stomach. Ordinarily, when she allowed herself to be caught up in Louisa’s strange and provocative fantasies, she regretted it—yet always, in the initial moments before, as she allowed herself to fall for the good of adventure, she neglected to remember all previous horrors.

Her dear best friend, Louisa, huddled close to her, her hand latching around Charlotte’s elbow. “We’re going to discover all the secrets of the world today, Charlotte,” she whispered, her voice bright.

Charlotte turned her head slowly. Rain pattered gently across the top of her parasol. Already, it had drenched a few of the dark curls across Louisa’s right shoulder, missing the parasol altogether.

“You can’t possibly believe that, Louisa,” Charlotte offered before she could halt herself.

Louisa’s eyes darkened. “Everything we read about last evening in those old-world texts? They must have changed your mind, at least a bit.”

Charlotte half-remembered the dramatic texts Louisa had flung out across the table in Charlotte’s family library. Her little finger had drawn lines beneath words; she’d blinked up at Charlotte with a severe gaze, yelling, “This. Read this? How can mysticism not be true when something like this was recorded?”

It had been difficult for Charlotte to explain that just because something was written in a book didn’t mean it had actually occurred in the world. Now, as she opened her lips to articulate this fact once more, Louisa squeezed her elbow still harder.

“I told you. Florentia won’t be here long. She’s a traveling mystic, the sort of woman who answers the calls of the wind and is drawn elsewhere at a moment’s notice,” Louisa explained, clearly exasperated.

Charlotte’s eyes switched to the other side of Louisa, where their chaperone, Louisa’s elder sister Margorie, heaved a sigh. It was difficult to tell Margorie’s withheld opinions regarding this world; that said, it was clear that the three of them could no longer stand so solidly beneath the ever-thudding rain. A decision had to be made.

When they reached the door of the old building, a sturdy-looking man with a broad forehead and eclectic, eastern clothing tugged open the door. Charlotte yearned to chuckle at his expression. After all, he was rather clearly an Englishman, dressed in other culture’s clothing. Still, his eyes were dark, almost sinister—and Charlotte had the slightest hunch that any sort of teasing on her side would result in something not altogether pleasing on his.

She couldn’t possibly trust these kinds of people.

“Good afternoon,” the man boomed, allowing them into the shadowed foyer.

“Hello,” Louisa murmured, her voice shaking. “We’re here to see the mystic.”

The man blinked twice. Outside, thunder crackled, making the ground shake. Charlotte felt as though the chaos of the afternoon had switched itself over to melodrama.

“Florentia is in the midst of another session,” the man affirmed. “If you’d like to wait here for a moment, I can pour you each a cup of tea from the eastern lands, simmering with healing properties.”

Charlotte coughed at the idiocy. Wasn’t a cup of tea a cup of tea, regardless of where you were?

“That sounds marvellous. Doesn’t it, ladies?” Louisa said.

“I’m sure it costs extra,” Charlotte said.

The man flashed his eyes towards her ominously. “I can assure you the cost hardly covers us for shipment from the old country. We bring this here for you for internal calming, to find peace and prosperity, to open your mind to allow Florentia to assist you properly.”

Charlotte turned her eyes towards first Louisa, then Margorie, hoping one of them would shrug, pull back toward the door, and wash her hands of such idiocy.

“Come, girls. I’ll pay for the tea,” Louisa said, her voice low.

The man bowed his head, drawing his chin towards his chest. “You’re altogether too kind towards your friends. I can see it; your aura is different than the others. Still, it has been known to happen that one’s aura shifts—both for the betterment or the worsening of one’s friends. Protect your aura, dear one …” He kept his eyes pinned on Louisa. “For you never know when your friends will want to take advantage of you, tear your aura to shreds—draw your light towards their darkness.”

The man led them towards a small drawing room, decorated with other-worldly elements, including a Middle-Eastern rug that hung from the wall, several Indian statues, and Buddhist décor. Charlotte dropped into a chair and drew her knuckles together. She so yearned to point out the disparity between each of the elements before them—the fact that whoever had situated each piece had very little comprehension for other cultures.

Still, Louisa looked as though that sort of comment would rip her heart in two.

The man poured them tea in silence. Just before he left the room, he tapped his heart three times with three fingers, his eyes closed.

“I wish you well when you interact with our colossal beauty, our mystic, Florentia,” he said. “Your journey to our door today was assuredly a difficult one, but one you won’t regret.”

The moment he disappeared, Charlotte drew her shoulders forward. Laughter bubbled from between her lips. Louisa cut her a horrendous look.

“Can’t you behave for more than five minutes?” she demanded.

Charlotte lifted her teacup and peered into the darkness of the liquid. “I don’t know. Do you suppose the mystic will tell me that if I ask her?”

“I hope you won’t waste your session with the mystic with silly questions,” Louisa affirmed.

Charlotte turned her eyes back to Margorie, yearning to plead with her for a bit of normality. Margorie just gave a lacklustre shrug and sipped her tea.

“Margorie! Don’t sip the tea,” Charlotte cried.

“Why not?” Margorie demanded. “It’s not as though this man wants to be responsible for our deaths.”

“There’s very little we know about this situation at all,” Charlotte affirmed. “They could very well want to poison and kidnap us. If we don’t keep our guard …”

“Charlotte, I don’t wish to run with your fantasies any longer,” Louisa interjected. “In any case, it’s essential that we focus on the various elements of our existence that we wish to ask the mystic about. I’m sure she has a limited amount of time; we must help her focus her energy on what we care most about.”

Louisa’s eyelids dropped; her lashes fluttered across her cheeks. Margorie turned her eyes back towards her tea. Her nostrils squeezed upward.

“Not so tasty?” Charlotte asked.

“It’s rather … different,” Margorie said.

“Poisonous?”

Louisa’s eyelids shot upward once more. “Charlotte! You’re ruining a day I’ve looked forward to for some time.”

“Some time,” Charlotte scoffed. “You only informed me of the mystic four days ago.”

“Yes, but I’ve wanted to meet one for nearly a decade.”

“We’re only twenty-three years old,” Charlotte said. “You didn’t have such fancies surrounding a mystic at age-thirteen.”

“I did,” Louisa said.

“Did she?” Charlotte demanded of Margorie.

Margorie shrugged. “I was rather busy courting back then.”

This cast everyone into silence. Nobody liked to be reminded of Margorie’s past: the fact that she’d married a man for love, and he’d ultimately left her for a woman on the other side of the country, taking his money along with him. This had left Margorie essentially penniless. Now, at the age of twenty-eight, she’d moved back in with Louisa and their parents and spent a great deal of time in the garden with tears glittering across her cheeks.

Suddenly, a woman appeared in the doorway dressed in what seemed to be four or five different layers of red and green and blue robes, with one wrapped elaborately around her head. Her eyes peered out, green and glittering, and her hands clenched either side of the doorway, as though if she let go, she would be cast upward towards some impossible heaven. Her scarves seemed to flutter, despite the lack of wind.

Louisa let out a little, tender shriek—the sort of sound a younger girl might have made. Charlotte yearned to roll her eyes but maintained her alertness instead.

“Ladies,” the mystic began. Her voice was all watery, hazy, and she blinked skyward, as though she spoke instead to an invisible force above their heads. “It is with great joy that I welcome you here this afternoon. I can feel it in the air above you: there’s tension within this room. Is there not?”

Louisa spun her head around to glare at Charlotte as if to say, See? You’ve upset her—yes—but she sees all.

“My name is Florentia,” the mystic continued, bowing her head as she said it—as though the act of articulating her own name demanded trumpets and harps. “I’ve travelled far and wide, studied countless languages, gone under hypnosis many times, and studied the secrets of the universe from the comforts of a cave at the top of a mountain. I’ve seen it all: what has come before and what will be. As a result, I comprehend the weight each of you has, as it relates to the texture of the universe. I see it within each of you. Each of you is a smaller world within this greater one—but you’re no less complex.”

Nobody spoke. Florentia dropped her palms to her sides, tilted her head, then stepped into the room, her shawls fluttering.

“It’s best we begin when our energy remains high,” she said. “Who shall follow me first?”

Charlotte furrowed her brow. Louisa turned back, her lips parted.

“We think it best that we enter together,” Charlotte affirmed.

Florentia clucked her tongue. “That is not possible,” she said. “It’s essential to meet each of you individually, as it allows me to see each of you uniquely—with the magic of each of your auras surrounding me.”

Charlotte groaned. Naturally, the woman only wanted to meet each of them separately because they would then have to pay for each separate session. It was entirely clear to her that this woman wanted to rip them off; why couldn’t Louisa see the idiocy?

Then again: what sort of friend was Charlotte if she didn’t allow her friend to experience whatever magic she wanted to believe in?

“Louisa will go first,” Charlotte interjected.

Louisa’s eyes brightened. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” Charlotte said. “We’ve come too far to turn back.”

Louisa all but leapt from her chair. She tapped her hair across her now-dried curls and beamed at Florentia, as though she was an angel incarnate. “I’ve looked forward to meeting you for quite some time.”

“And I, you,” Florentia said.

“Does this mean you felt me coming?” Louisa asked.

“Of course, darling. I first saw you in my dreams about three months ago,” Florentia said. She dropped a hand onto Louisa’s back as she led her towards the hallway.

“Three months? That’s impossible. I didn’t yet know about you,” Louisa returned.

“Darling, nothing is impossible,” Florentia cooed. “I’m sure you felt me coming in your inner soul.”

Louisa giggled nervously as they turned into the dark hallway. “Perhaps I did.”

Moments later, Charlotte and Margorie listened as the door to the next room clipped closed. This cast them in darkness, solitude. Charlotte half-worried that the man who’d brought them into the house would return and demand they order more tea. She glanced at Margorie to suggest this, only to find that Margorie had begun to cry once more.

Charlotte heaved an inward sigh, then reached forward and gripped Margorie’s wrist. She nearly leapt out of her skin.

“What is it?” Margorie demanded.

“Nothing,” Charlotte returned. “I just wanted to ask you if you’re all right.”

“Of course I’m all right,” Margorie spat. “Has someone suggested that I’m not all right?”

Charlotte blinked. “Do you suspect that this woman is trying to steal from us?”

Margorie adjusted in her chair. “Oh. That. I don’t know. It doesn’t seem entirely harmful, does it? I think it’s better Louisa actually experience the world, rather than sit in that library poring over texts. Don’t you?”

“I just don’t know if it’s essential that we give a reckless woman like this any sort of money,” Charlotte said.

“What is it about you, Charlotte? Why must you always believe you’re correct?” Margorie scoffed.

Charlotte felt the words like a smack across the cheek.

She sensed how correct these words were. She did enjoy that feeling of correctness—of knowing she existed above something, that her intellect drew herself higher than the pure drivel of everyday conversation.

Even more, she detested the fact that the words had been drawn forth by the likes of Margorie. After all, in the wake of Margorie’s ex-husband’s abandonment, Margorie had seemed eternally dumbed down; her eyes never reflected much emotion or light. Apparently, she’d been picking up information, despite it. She’d drawn up a rather horrendous portrait of Charlotte.

Charlotte lifted her cup of tea and peered into it once more, her heart pattering wildly.

“Did Louisa tell you what she wanted to ask the mystic about?” she asked, an attempt to pull them from this seemingly horrendous conversation.

Margorie clucked her tongue. “As Louisa truly believes in the magic behind this current situation, it stands to reason that she wouldn’t have informed me of the inner workings of her mind.”

Charlotte dropped her cup of tea back into its saucer. “I simply think it’s essential that we don’t give such strength to something that could very well harm Louisa.”

Margorie cleared her throat. “I don’t feel as though a bit of silly mysticism could possibly hurt her. Not the way people can.”

It seemed clear that Margorie spoke about both her own life and Charlotte’s. Charlotte heaved a sigh, dropped her shoulders back, and blinked up at the far wall. Time ticked slowly between them.

Finally, Florentia and Louisa reappeared in the doorway. Louisa’s cheeks were drenched with tears; Florentia’s hand wrapped around Louisa’s shoulder as she whispered, “You’re going to find it. You must maintain your hope.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Louisa returned, sniffling.

Florentia pulled Louisa around, gripping her other shoulder. She peered into Louisa’s eyes with such ferocity that Charlotte felt as though Louisa might fall to the ground.

“I see such goodness in you, Louisa. Such light. Cling to it. Don’t allow anyone to affect it. Push yourself forward when you’re fatigued; find something to cling to above ground.”

At this, Florentia’s eyes fluttered back towards Charlotte. She seemed to pin her as the source of the darkness. Charlotte yearned to roll her eyes back, yet didn’t want to prove the woman correct.

“Thank you. Thank you for everything,” Louisa whispered, her voice rasping.

“Of course, darling. Remember to perform your meditations in the evening, to think hard about what we’ve discussed,” Florentia continued. “And you must ensure you bring more tea home with you, for preparation in both the morning and evening. Only then can you ground your aura.”

Louisa nodded. She stepped delicately back towards her chair without making eye contact with Charlotte. Florentia then swept her palms together and blinked towards Charlotte.

“Who’s next?”

Charlotte swallowed the lump in her throat. It wasn’t as though she was nervous; that was outside the bounds of reason.

“I suppose I’ll go,” Charlotte affirmed.

“I expected that you’d find a way out of this,” Louisa muttered darkly.

Charlotte furrowed her brow. “No. I want to know.”

“It’s a marvellous thing for me to watch as a woman with such a dark heart searches for the light,” Florentia sang. She stretched her arms wide in welcome, as Charlotte marched towards her.

The mystic led her towards the room on the far end of the hallway. It was decorated similarly to the drawing room: with various cultures peppered about in multiple forms, rugs and statues and paintings. Florentia gestured towards the large, cushioned yellow chair in the corner and said, “Sit. Calm your mind. I can feel it racing far too quickly.”

“I suppose that isn’t such a strange thing to guess,” Charlotte returned. “That my mind isn’t entirely sure which thought to latch onto first. That’s the nature of new experiences, isn’t it?”

Florentia arched one of her perfectly-manicured brows. As Charlotte dropped into the yellow chair, she drew a hand beneath her chin and squinted.

“Is this simply what you do? Orchestrate every conversation so that you can win it?” Florentia asked.

Charlotte was stunned at the strange similarity between these words and the ones Margorie had only just uttered. Her smile fell as Florentia dropped into her own chair across from her.

“I have met many doubters over the years,” Florentia affirmed. “Countless.”

“And what do you do when you encounter them?” Charlotte asked.

“I know that there’s very little I can do to convince them otherwise,” Florentia said. “I listen to the signs of the universe; I tell them what’s simmering in the air between us. If they want to use it—they use it. If they don’t wish to, they leave it.”

“How kind of you to lend your hand to so many doubters,” Charlotte said.

Florentia chuckled softly. “You know as well as I that this further operates as a business. They pay me out of curiosity. As you are.”

“I suppose so,” Charlotte said.

“Although a great deal of the reason you’re here is because you wish to support your friend, who you perceive to be silly.”

“I don’t suppose it’s entirely strange to have caught that, given what occurred in the room before.”

“No. I haven’t fully begun to analyze you yet. This is all person-to-person. I’m settling you in the room,” Florentia said.

“Do you see my aura?” Charlotte asked off-handedly.

“Yes. I do,” Florentia said.

Charlotte’s throat grew tight. Naturally, she didn’t believe the woman; still, there was something ominous about being gazed at with such ferocity.

“What do you see?” Charlotte asked.

Florentia waved her hand. “It isn’t yet time for me to speak on it. The colours flow out of you slowly, as you give me more and more of yourself. You’re one of the more guarded people I’ve ever spoken to. Your friend’s aura poured out into my hands.”

“She’s giving, that one,” Charlotte said.

Florentia chuckled. “Are you always so hard on the people you love?”

Charlotte’s lips closed tightly. She turned her eyes towards the window, where rain continued to patter.

“I suppose the answer to that is yes,” Florentia continued.

“Perhaps,” Charlotte returned. “But perhaps you’re just good at reading people’s personalities in general. I don’t believe in the idea of future-reading. I don’t believe that you can peer into my eyes and know the date that I will die.”

Florentia adjusted her scarves. “As you sit here before me, I perceive darkness like clouds. They billow around you. I can hardly see your face.”

“I’m sitting no more than three feet in front of you,” Charlotte said. “It’s impossible that you can’t see my face, lest you are blind.”

“I’m only in-tune with the nature of your mind and your future, growing increasingly so as time passes,” Florentia said.

She continued to stare directly into Charlotte’s eyes, which Charlotte perceived as a sort of challenge. She stared directly back. A full minute passed.

Suddenly, Florentia smacked her cheeks with those horrendous hands, hands with fingernails as long as nails.

“My God,” she marvelled.

Charlotte longed to roll her eyes back. Still, she kept her eyes pinned forward, focused on Florentia’s. What sort of idiocy was this? Would she really pay money to stare someone in the eye?

“I no longer see you, my darling girl,” Florentia whispered. Her voice now fluttered, as though it didn’t fully come from Florentia’s throat and instead permeated in the air around them.

“I’m right here. As I said before.”

“No. There’s such darkness around you. It’s proof of something. Something horrendous coming towards you,” Florentia said.

“Approaching fear and death? I suppose that’s not outside the bounds of reason,” Charlotte affirmed. “Seems to me that those sorts of things lurk in the distance of every single life. I could very well leave your home and be struck by a carriage and never see the light of day again. Is that the sort of thing you see for my future?”

Florentia began to quake. Her fingers rattled against her cheeks, and her eyes seemed on the verge of popping out. Charlotte yearned to leap from her chair and hustle towards the hallway. Still, she was captivated with this horrible woman, with her seemingly consistent charade.

“You will live through the darkness coming towards you,” Florentia whispered. “But it’s not as though you’ll be happy to keep your life. Not for a great deal of time.”

Charlotte arched her brow. “Are you suggesting that I won’t want to live?”

Florentia smacked her palm over her mouth. She screamed into it, as though she’d become newly overwhelmed with the images she perceived in Charlotte’s future. Despite her annoyance, Charlotte stirred with apprehension.

“A man. A man you know well,” Florentia whispered.

“There are a number of those,” Charlotte said in irritation.

“A member of your family. He will soon be gone,” Florentia cooed.

Charlotte bolted upright. “My father?”

Florentia clucked her tongue. “No. I don’t believe he’s your father. What is this name …” She formed her lips into a round O.

“You know his name?” Charlotte demanded. “What is it?”

Naturally, if Florentia uttered a silly, everyman’s name—like Jon or Benjamin, Charlotte would know to dismiss it. It was easy to guess the sorts of names in people’s lives.

“Brooks,” Florentia said wistfully.

Charlotte’s heart stopped beating.

“Brooks?” Charlotte demanded. “Did you actually say …”

“Brooks,” the mystic returned. “Yes. Your cousin, correct?”

Charlotte jumped from her chair and blinked at the woman. “My cousin is called Brooks. Yes.”

“I suspect that he’s in grave danger,” Florentia whispered.

Charlotte pressed her hand over her chest. All the while, Florentia’s eyes seemed to scan the air above her head. The air buzzed with sinister tension.

“That’s impossible,” Charlotte affirmed. “My cousin Brooks is of prime health.”

“Regardless …” the mystic breathed, “He will die. Sooner, rather than later. It’s best you prepare yourself.”

Charlotte furrowed her brow.

No.

This was impossible.

What she’d heard was only a fluke, nothing more. A guess. She supposed there were many people called Brooks in the world.

The mystic knew nothing.

“I’ll inform Brooks of this the next time I see him,” Charlotte returned with a scoff. “After he’s assuredly come back from a wild hunt or is amid a raucous sport. He’s healthy, young, with a full life ahead of him. I’m sure we’ll both have a right laugh.”

Florentia squinted at her for what seemed like a full minute. Silence permeated the air between them. After a long pause, Charlotte’s eyes flashed towards the door.

“Do you have anything else to say?” she demanded. “Or have you only given me my cousin Brooks’ fate, rather than my own.”

Florentia cleared her throat. “Your cousin’s death will begin a series of trials and tribulations for you, dear girl. Danger lurks on every horizon. There is nowhere to go but through.”

“Madness,” Charlotte returned, scoffing.

Charlotte forced herself through the rest of the session. She found new ways to draw boundaries between herself and the raucous idiocy the woman crafted. When her time came to a close, Charlotte rushed for the door with her black curls swept out behind her.

“Send in the final girl,” Florentia called, her syllables lazy. “It was a pleasure, Charlotte. Truly, a pleasure.”

This time, Charlotte paused at the door and swung around, astonished that she hadn’t actually told the woman her first name. Of course, Louisa might have mentioned it during their session.

“Thank you again. I suppose I’ll see you at the end for payment,” Charlotte said coldly.

“Be a dear and shut the door behind you,” the mystic returned, her voice similarly flat.

Chapter Two

Charlotte and Louisa awaited Margorie in silence. Charlotte shifted in her chair and watched as Louisa sipped her tea contemplatively, seeming to gaze into nothingness. The man who’d greeted them entered to light a fire in the fireplace. Briefly, he glanced at Charlotte with what seemed to be curiosity. Immediately after, he dropped his eyes and muttered to himself, before disappearing into the darkness.

After an appropriate amount of time, the door to Florentia’s private room opened once more. Margorie’s now-familiar wails greeted the air. Charlotte and Louisa burst up and hustled towards her. Louisa wrapped her arms around her sister as Margorie shook.

“What is it? What’s happened?” Louisa cried.

Margorie sniffed. Tears poured down her cheeks and joined the edges of her lips.

Charlotte glowered at the mystic. “What did you tell her?”

Florentia set her lips straight. “I’ve told her only what lurks in her future. It seems as though she’s not brave enough to face it.”

“What sort of madness is this,” Charlotte yelled.

“It’s all right, Charlotte,” Louisa returned. “It’s fair what she’s done. We all must face our honest truths. Margorie, come now, don’t lean so completely upon me …”

Louisa hustled forward, essentially dragging Margorie towards the gloomy outdoors. Charlotte remained blinking at the mystic.

“Whatever did you tell her?” Charlotte demanded. “Did you dream up another death?”

“Nothing like that,” the mystic returned. “But I suppose I’d need a bit of extra wealth for me to explain someone else’s future to you.”

Charlotte realized that they hadn’t yet paid the woman. She gripped her coin purse angrily and tugged it open to reveal the glowing trinkets within. With a jolt of her hand, she passed the coins the woman had “earned” in the previous hour, then spun on her heels towards the door. As she stepped into the rain, she resolved never to involve herself with such madness again. She felt as though she’d just been robbed.

When Charlotte arrived at the carriage outside, both Margorie and Louisa had tucked themselves off to one side. Margorie had her head pressed hard against Louisa’s chest, her eyes peering into nothingness.

“Tell me what she said, darling,” Louisa breathed. “It’s impossible for us to assist you if you won’t tell us.”

Margorie bit so hard on her lower lip that blood pooled in the space between her lips and her chin. Hurriedly, Charlotte gripped her handkerchief and dabbed it against the gash. The stable hand appeared in the still-gaping hole of the carriage door, grunted to himself, then closed the door. He clambered onto the top of the carriage in the rain and called, “Is all well? Shall we return to the estate?”

After a pause, only Charlotte had the energy to affirm this decision. The carriage wheels sloshed beneath them, cutting through the mud. Margorie lifted her head and peered out the window. Louisa, seemingly uninterested now that her sister’s gash had stopped its reckless bleeding, turned her eyes in another direction.

Charlotte detested the tension between them. Both Margorie and Florentia’s words echoed through her: she was difficult, frequently hard on people.

She loved Louisa enough to try to be better.

“So.” Charlotte wrapped her palms together and blinked at her dear friend, the girl she’d known since the age of six. “Would you like to tell me what happened in there? We can compare notes.”

Louisa’s face brightened. After a long swallow, she said, “You’re sure you won’t tease me for it?”

“I won’t tease you,” Charlotte said. “In fact, I found that to be far more illuminating than I’d initially suspected.”

“Really? You had a pleasant time?” Louisa asked.

Charlotte wasn’t entirely sure how to respond. She gave a half-shrug, then demanded, “Tell me! What did she say to you?” It was better to allow others to speak about themselves, Charlotte had found. It allowed her to stay out of trouble.

Louisa brimmed with excitement. “She knew it the moment she saw me. She could feel the weight of it. How much I wish to find the one. The man to whom I can give everything.”

Charlotte struggled to keep her face stoic. She so yearned to say, Of course she guessed this, Louisa. You’re a woman of twenty-three years of age. Unmarried, without children—in a society that very much demands that sort of thing.

Instead, she said, “Wow. She just understood this? Immediately?”

“Yes!” Louisa affirmed. “She articulated just what I’ve felt the past few years. That so many dear friends and family members have moved forward in their lives. That I’ve felt left behind. She more-or-less described the incident at the party a few months ago, you remember? The party where I met Charles.”

The events that had transpired in the wake of Louisa’s introduction to Charles had been dreadful for all involved. For a long while, Louisa had considered herself just as broken-hearted as her sister, Margorie—something that had generally enraged Margorie. “How dare you insinuate that your short little romance has anything at all to do with my marriage that went under.”

“Isn’t that remarkable?” Louisa asked then, as the carriage drew them further from the horrendous shadows of that mystic’s space.

“Quite remarkable, yes,” Charlotte affirmed. “I can hardly believe it.” She tried to keep the ends of her smile upward. “Did she give you any indication of what sort of man you’re about to meet and fall in love with?”

“She said she saw a dark and brooding and handsome man, but the sort of man who will find kindness and humility as he gets to know me,” Louisa said brightly.

At this, Charlotte again yearned to snort—for weren’t these the wishes of nearly every woman on earth?

“She said within the year, absolutely,” Louisa said. “So I suppose my search begins anew, but with a fresh perspective. It’s essential to keep your eyes open to your current surroundings; essential to accept each day as it comes. This is what Florentia taught me. What you need may very well be blinking down at you—from this over-six-foot-frame. One had better keep one’s eyes open to see it. Him. I forget precisely what it was she said.”

Charlotte chuckled, grateful that the tension had switched towards silliness. Louisa stretched her fingers across the space between them and said, “I’m terribly sorry that you were so against this. I appreciate that you went along with me. I don’t know if I would have been brave enough to go alone.”

“Pish posh,” Charlotte returned. “You’re always brave enough to do things alone. You only wanted to try to fix my pessimistic nature.”

“Perhaps that’s true. It’s been one of the biggest challenges of my life,” Louisa affirmed. “Every single day, I imagine it becomes a bit brighter in that head of yours. I’m terribly afraid of failure.”

The carriage drew in front of Louisa and Margorie’s estate several minutes later. The rain spat down as they hustled towards the side door and rushed into the thin hallway. Charlotte chuckled as Louisa shook her head like a dog, casting splatters of water across the wall.

“What a strange day,” Charlotte said. She reached up and fluffed Louisa’s curls until she joined her giggles.

Together, the three girls marched up the creaking staircase and changed clothes, Margorie in the bedroom she’d returned to in the wake of her divorce and Louisa and Charlotte in hers. Louisa and Charlotte spoke in whispers.

“Do you suppose Margorie’s all right? I don’t believe she should have seen the mystic,” Louisa said.

“I’m sure she said something horrendous.”

“But it must have been correct,” Louisa affirmed. “She only lends a reflection of whatever brews in our future.”

Charlotte forced herself not to scoff. “I suppose so.”

“It’s just wretched to have a sister with such bad luck,” Louisa said. “I have my entire future before me. I will meet a man to love this year; I will find a path towards marriage, towards children. Everything I’ve ever dreamed of. Perhaps she should have seen a mystic before she met her husband. Perhaps then she could have avoided all this trauma …”

Charlotte arched her brow and forced herself to keep her lips closed. She turned and gestured for Louisa to help her latch up her corset and the buttons of her gown. She then spun around to do the same for Louisa. When they greeted Margorie in the hallway, she gestured for one of them to assist her with her own clothing.

“Thank you,” she said when they’d finished, her cheeks pink. “And I’m sorry for the embarrassment earlier. I wasn’t fully prepared for such a dire vision of my future. I suppose I should have been; I never suspected that my life would take any sort of mad shift towards otherness, beauty, happiness.”

Charlotte lifted her hands to Margorie’s cheeks. She’d known the girl every moment since her sixth birthday. At the time, Margorie had been brash and eleven, on the verge of taking over the world.

“If the woman gave you a vision of the world that doesn’t suit you, you have it in your power to change it,” Charlotte affirmed.

Louisa clucked her tongue, as though she wanted to protest this. Charlotte flashed her a dangerous look.

Downstairs, Louisa, Margorie, and Charlotte joined the girls’ parents for dinner. The storm raged outside, leaving them to comment that it had already been a wretched late-spring, early summer—the sort that made parties soggy and garden parties forgotten. Charlotte noted that the girls left out the idea of the mystic, which led her to believe that perhaps their parents hadn’t necessarily approved of the trek.

“You girls, age twenty-three,” Lady Major said, eyeing both Charlotte and Louisa. “I remember when you were just girls, playing with your dolls in the garden. At the time, I needed only to ensure you remained alive. Everything else was extra.”

“I suppose you did a stellar job of keeping us alive, Mother,” Louisa said teasingly.

“Charlotte. Tell me you’ve at least a few men after you,” Lady Major said, tilting her head.

Charlotte fumed. She hated such questions, feeling they belittled her place in the world.

“There’s always someone after Charlotte,” Louisa interjected.

“That was always true when you were younger.” Lady Major chewed a bit at her lower lip, then flashed her eyes towards her eldest. “Margorie, I don’t suppose you’d like to tell us what happened to you today? Your lip. Has it bled?”

Margorie placed a napkin across her mouth and bowed her head. “It was an accident as I placed myself in the carriage.”

Charlotte held the image in her head for a moment: Margorie slicing herself open due to devastation.

“Darling, you really must be more careful,” Lady Major affirmed.

“I’ll try to be, Mother,” Margorie said, placing her knife and fork either side of her plate, allowing her hands to hang either side of her thin frame.

It was clear she wanted to be left alone.

“How is your family, dear Charlotte?” Lady Major finally asked, growing disinterested in her daughter.

“Very well, thank you,” Charlotte said. “Father has been away on business, and Mother has spent many a day in the parlour worrying about him. My brother has been married a year now, and they’ve just welcomed a baby girl.”

“Your parents must be terribly pleased to be grandparents,” Lady Major suggested. She flashed her eyes once more to Margorie and Louisa, seemingly resentful.

It annoyed Charlotte that anyone was allowed to make people feel less-than for their lack of contribution to the new generation.

“They are. They adore the baby. At least, my mother does. She spends a great deal of time sewing up little garments for her,” Charlotte affirmed.

“I suppose I would busy myself with precisely the same exercises,” Lady Major said.

Charlotte turned her attention towards her food, stripping her fork tongs through the mash of her potatoes and willing the minutes to pass.

“Louisa?” Lady Major interjected now, her voice high-pitched.

Louisa dropped her fork to her plate with a clatter, seemingly frightened.

“Louisa, have you any idea that you haven’t said a single word in some twenty minutes?” her mother asked.

Charlotte’s stomach fluttered with good humour. She felt certain that Louisa was caught up in the inner chaos of her romantic mind, thinking again of what Florentia had suggested: that soon, she would be drawn tightly in the arms of a man. Soon, she would march the path of wifedom, of motherhood.

Due to this, Louisa’s mind had very little time to focus upon dinner.

“Terribly sorry, Mother,” Louisa said. She forced a smile.

Her mother sniffed and muttered to herself. “These girls. They’ll never find their way out of this life.”

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“Under the Duke’s Wicked Spell” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

Charlotte Stanton has never believed in magic. When a dear friend drags her to the site of a traveling mystic, the last thing she expected to hear was the outlandish prophecy of her cousin’s end. Finding this vision to be completely foolish, she decides to ignore it, but the following fateful morning, this very nightmare comes to life… Wracked with guilt for not preventing this tragedy, she will soon be caught in a world of threats and drama, as she is the prime suspect in a crime. However, a chance to rise above that horror comes in the form of an alluring duke, who appears mysteriously to awaken her fiery nature… Can Charlotte trust the seducing man now that her life is almost shattered into a million pieces?

Jeffrey Lilley’s past was not a bed of roses. Despite appearing courteous and calm, a dark secret is hidden behind the reason he’s keeping everyone at distance. Rumours surrounding his brother’s enigmatic loss have left him desperately seeking revenge and vindication. When he encounters the ravishing Charlotte banging on the locked door of a magician, he starts wondering whether she knows far more about his traumatic past than she’s letting on. The whip-smart and attractive lady immediately steals his heart and fills him with lust, but their union will soon turn into an endless hunt for the truth. With their dark secrets well buried, will they ever let each other close enough to meet the passionate future they could have together?

Charlotte and Jeffrey felt completely lost before their pathways crossed, but now they are consumed by irresistible desire… Regardless of their fire burning hotter with every passing minute, there are far too many overshadowing threats that still linger around them. Will their relentless and passionate connection prove strong enough to shatter the unforeseen obstacles? Or will their journey to discover the true culprit tear their worlds apart forever?

“Under the Duke’s Wicked Spell” is a historical romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

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