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Glamour

Eighteen-year-old Miss Annis Whitworth was raised to support societal reforms to allow women to attend universities, join academic societies, and even make choices about their own lives. So perhaps it's not such a wonder that Annis pursues business over marriage when her father (a spy for England) dies and his fortune is lost. Annis has a talent for sewing glamours -- magical garments that can show the wearer's kind heart and strength of purpose in every inch of primrose lace, or disguise her beyond recognition -- and she intends to use her magic, even at the risk of her respectability.

In this Regency England, a young lady of quality would use her magic for drawing room entertainments, never dirtying her magic with money. As her Aunt Cassia reminds Annis, only members of the lower class would use their talents to earn a middle class life painting illusionary birds that flutter on canvas, or growing trees from seeds in mere weeks. But despite her aunt's fears, Annis plans to risk everything on a secret glamour of her own, using her magic to earn a new comfortable life -- even if it means seeking employment from the spies who hired her father.

Chapter One

Miss Annis Whitworth stared down at the illusion in her hand. The painted larks twittered and edged away from her fingers, the twig they perched on swaying under their slight weight. She frowned and turned the thick paper over. "My dear Miss Whitworth, my sympathies on your father's death. Perhaps this sad event might bring us together at last -- surely you must be wondering who can provide for you now..."

Annis snorted and leaned the card against the inkwell on her aunt's writing desk. More likely Lord Uffleton had lost again at the races and wanted her father's money to repay his debts; hardly a reason to accept a proposal from a man who'd paid her no attention before. She picked up the next invitation, dipped her pen, and began her response. "Regretfully, we must decline, due to the recent death of my father..." She swallowed hard. No matter how many times she'd written that, it was no easier. The larks burst into tinny song, fluttering their watercolor feathers as they preened.

There was a tap at the parlor door; Annis's pen spattered the page as she looked up. She waited a moment, then set the pen aside and rose to her feet, rubbing the ink from her fingers on her handkerchief. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

"Miss Whitworth?"

At least it wasn't Lord Uffleton. The young man at her door wore mud-spotted boots and a crumpled brown jacket; his hair matched the parlor's walnut door perfectly. Annis caught herself wondering if he'd planned the effect. She rubbed her eyes. Everything seemed so odd today -- only half-real, as though she had a fever.

The young man stepped forward to steady her elbow. "Shall I call for your aunt?" He looked down the empty hallway.

Annis pulled away and yanked the bell pull. She flipped back the drooping lace cuffs and crossed her arms over the too-tight black bodice. She'd promised herself she could take time to alter the horrid thing as soon as she'd finished responding to the invitations, but now she wished she'd done it before dressing. Still, how was she to know anyone would call before noon? "Thank you for your concern, Mr. --?"

He flushed. "My apologies; I am Mr. Harrington, your late father's new solicitor."

Strange that her aunt hadn't mentioned a new solicitor. Annis glanced at him more closely. His face seemed open and honest, hiding nothing -- just as her father's always had. The mud caked his boots more thickly than she'd expect; it hadn't rained since yesterday. Had they sent someone to tell her the truth at last? But he pulled a ledger from his satchel. "Please come in; we didn't expect you so soon." Annis tugged on the bell pull again, stepping back to let him enter. Where had all the servants gone?

"Yes, miss?" The upstairs maid appeared at the door.

"Please inform my aunt that the solicitor has arrived, and bring refreshments. Thank you." She closed the door as the maid hurried off.

Annis led Mr. Harrington to a chair. "I'm afraid I don't know what questions to ask you, but my aunt Cassia most likely has a list."

His awkward smile sagged as he met her eyes. "Allow me to tell you how sorry I was to hear of your father's death. I never met him, but had enjoyed our brief correspondence. You must miss him terribly."

Of course she missed her father; she'd been missing him for years, and now there'd be no next visit. "Thank you for your sympathy. He has -- had -- traveled so widely that it seems ironic he should die in a carriage accident." Odd, how such simple words could catch in her throat. But he offered no explanation, only nodded.

The door swung open once more, and Miss Cassia Whitworth entered. Annis frowned. Perhaps it was the mourning gown that made her aunt look so tired. Cassia was sixteen years older, and shared Annis's brown hair and stubborn chin. Annis watched as her aunt swiftly examined Mr. Harrington, but Cassia's face never lost its calm expression.

"I was expecting Mr. Greenberg, Mr. -- ?" Cassia made no move to sit.

"Mr. Harrington, at your service. Mr. Greenberg was so kind as to commend me to his clients when he began his tour of Europe, and Mr. Whitworth employed me at once." He pulled out a letter that had been tucked in the pages of the ledger and handed it to Cassia. Annis could just make out her father's angular script.

Cassia's eyes skimmed over both sides before she handed it back to him. "Mr. Harrington, how kind of you to come. Shall I send for the household accounts?" She moved the leather-bound Wollstonecraft carefully aside and joined Annis on the plum velvet settee.

Mr. Harrington took his seat on the gilded chair across from them, testing his weight on the delicate frame. "No, that won't be necessary."

"Then what will you need from us to help settle his finances? We were told his body was interred in Calais, and any personal effects would be sent through the Navy. Is there some reason for your haste? We were only notified last night." Cassia frowned as he handed over the ledger without comment.

Annis shuddered. For years, she'd wondered how it would feel to hear that knock at the door. But though her dressing gown was ready, as it always was, the officers had already turned their horses to leave when she reached the door. She snuck a quick glance at her aunt as Cassia ran a finger down the open page of the ledger. She would never forget the terrible calm of Cassia's face that night. Annis clasped her hands tight in her lap, stared down at the drooping ruffle at her hem, and filled her mind with tiny stitches, imagining her needle sliding through the cloth with no emotion at all.

Cassia snapped the ledger shut and strode to the parlor door, opening it a crack to peer down the hall. Silently she closed it again, her slippers making no sound as she returned to the settee. She nodded to Mr. Harrington, her voice low. "Thank you for your haste." Clasping Annis's hand in her own, she took a deep breath. "My dear, it seems we must leave London immediately."

Annis froze. "But why? Where must we go?" She ignored the lace collar prickling her neck. Where else could one live, but London?

"Your fortune is lost. Your father withdrew his money from the bank the day before yesterday, but it was nowhere to be found when he died." Mr. Harrington met her eyes. "Mr. Whitworth specified generous bequests to all the servants; there's just enough left to pay those in his London account. I've written to request the funds be transferred from his foreign accounts -- you will regain some of your fortune, in time -- but it may take months to retrieve them. His military half-pay died with him." He bit his lip. "Word will spread quickly."

As though she didn't know how fast the gossips could tear a young lady to shreds. Annis stared at the painted larks, still twittering away. It was one thing to dread the fortune hunters; quite another to be called a gold-digger herself.

Cassia set the ledger aside. She massaged her forehead, closing her eyes. "I should have insisted that he transfer some portion to my name, but the laws are so cumbersome, even with no male relations... I'm sorry, dear. I shall examine the figures in greater detail, of course, but if we haven't the half-pay towards the rent, we shall have to move."

Taking a deep breath, Annis looked from Cassia to Mr. Harrington. His eyes were fixed on her face, as though he expected her to gush like a geyser at any moment and wanted to be prepared to stop the flood. She raised her chin. She was her father's daughter, after all. "Very well, then. We shall look for cheaper lodgings next week, or the week after; it will take us that long to make other arrangements, I should imagine. I've heard there are some cozy homes that are so small one hardly needs more than a cook, a few maids, and a footman." She would think of something to tell her friends.

Cassia's eyes flew open; she tapped the ledger with one long finger. "Your father died and left us with hardly enough to feed ourselves for the month, let alone a staff of servants. If we stay, we stay on credit, and you know how often that leads to debt and to ruination, even if such a loan were offered to an unmarried lady. If we wish to avoid the poorhouse, we must move at once." She sighed. "The servants are already huddled in the kitchen, worried about their futures; as soon as the creditors begin to knock, all of London will know just how poor we are."

Mr. Harrington bowed his head. "I did endeavor to remind him of the danger of traveling with large sums, though I had no notion he would withdraw so significant an amount -- "

"It isn't your fault that my brother never cared for details like money," Cassia said. "I have been trying to reform him for years; why would you have any more success? I hoped he would at least remember his daughter, but he's always thought his touring was more important than his family."

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