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of test tubes, some of which were empty and sparkled, some of which were stoppered and filled with strange, dark fluid. In a box that might have held correspondence with friends—like Jessica’s mother had—the duchess had letters from famous scientists. She signed her own missives, Jessica noted, only with her initials, and her handwriting was distinctly unfeminine.
Is she pretending to be a man?
    In place of a shelf of favorite novels or Greek philosophy, the duchess had new science journals and treatises, and ancient tomes, some with locks and all with inscriptions in strange or foreign languages, by foreigners with names like Alhazred.
    “Spells!” Jessica exclaimed delightedly, flipping through one of the older books. “Magic! I could turn you into a frog! Let’s take one—”
    “Jessica,” Alan said nervously, ruffling her hair. “Magic isn’t real.”
    She looked at him, raising an eyebrow at his tone.
    Then he added, more honestly, “Ye shouldna mess with magic, Jess. A bad spell turns back on the caster times three, as my grandmum says. And … it does things to people. Or maybe the type of people who do it are of a sort,
touched
….”
    7:00 P.M. Supper

    Before supper the duchess made sure the two of them got dressed together with the help of maids. Jessica had to admit that as much of a pain the bows, underclothes, tight shoes, and hair ribbons were, the new clothes the duchess bought her were the finest she had ever worn, and that she looked the perfect little noblewoman in them. Of course, she had to act like one too, which was an annoyance that involved careful eating, no talking, and more curtsying than she could stand.

    8:00 P.M. Sleeptime

    Before bed a toilet much like the one in the morning was repeated. Jessica thought her stepmother looked like an angel in the long, frothy white things she slept in.
    The evening was grown-up time. Once in a great while Jessica would be called in after her dinner to recite what she had learned that day, or to kiss her father and the duchess good night, or, rarely, to share a cup of hot chocolate with them before they had their own dinner. In the books Jessica was now forced to read—though secretly she liked them—glamorous people like the duchess and rich people like her father threw parties and had giant dinners and constantly invited streams of guests through their houses, but no such events ever occurred at Kenigh Hall.
    At first the arrangement suited both Jessica and the duchess. Jessica loved getting all of the attention of the beautiful and glamorous older woman, even if she wasn’t
exactly
a mother.
    Years passed. The duchess spent more and more time “napping” or “reading,” and Alan was sent to gather stranger and stranger things, many of which Jessica was able to help him with, but some things he seemed unable to even tell her about. Otherwise, little changed.
    Life at Kenigh Hall continued pleasantly for everyone, it seemed.

Chapter Five
LETTER FROM ALAN
     
    Dearest Claire,

    I hope this note finds its way to you. While my dreams of playing in sunny palaces in Europe—in gardens filled with lemon trees and honeysuckle—remain undiminished, they are for a while delayed. I have managed to secure a position with some minor duke in Wales, of all places. You were right; making enquiries with about-to-be-married royalty has paid off. I am a “gift” to his new bride. No, no, nothing like that.
    The place where I ended up—Kenigh, if you ever happen by—is almost as pretty as the Highlands. A pleasant little town not unlike where we grew up, removed from time. The estate is only middle-sized, I am told, but large enough for everyone back home. If there are any more Roman (or English!) invasions I have no doubt we will be quite safe—the weather and rocks are most forbidding. They gave me a snug little room in the servants’ quarters, far away from everyone so I can practice. Ha! Remember when you and Elsie were mad because I got my