Uncertain Magic Read Online Free PDF

very well."
    Her mother looked at her sharply. Roddy knew she had used strong ammunition, for her family never took her opinion of a stranger lightly. She smiled at her mother, trying to appear very reassuring and adult, and was rewarded with an immediate relaxation of concern.
    "Did you really, darling? Are you sure?"
    Roddy nodded, feeling like a charlatan, since she had no more idea what went on in the dark recesses of Lord Iveragh's mind than her mother did. But he had come, and she was not about to be sent into exile at her cousin's for the duration of his stay. In the past month, she had thought of him often, and it seemed almost prophetic that the Devil Earl was an old friend of Lord Cashel's.
    "I'll call on them tomorrow, then," her mother said briskly, "and have it over with. You may drive me, Roddy, if you wish."
     
    September sunlight flashed in and out among the garden trees as the chaise rattled past the courtyard walls of Geoffrey's Moorside Hall. A tug and twitch, a soft word, and Roddy's gray mare swung between the stone pillars, into the yard bright with crimson vines against cream-colored stucco walls—those walls she had always coveted for her own. Such plans she'd had, for additions and improvements, changes which would have suited Moorside Hall as little as the childish dreams she'd nourished of molding Geoffrey himself into a horseman and farmer, instead of the man of pen and parchment and political passion that he was.
    It was as well, really, that the truth had been forced on her. She and Geoffrey would not have suited: he with his honor and idealism, and she with her arguments and challenges. Often she'd annoyed him by her ability to see the other side of some question to which he'd applied his strict ethical principles. She'd tried to understand, but the realities of human will and weakness meant more to Roddy than philosophy. His vague and pliant bride Mary was by far the better choice for him—as Roddy would have known years ago, if she had not let her own longing blind her to the truth.
    Stupid. Her gift was no proof against girlish folly.
    So… she had given him up. She wished them happy.
    Liar.
    Oh, foolish, selfish, stupid liar.
    A stable lad ran out to hold the horses as Roddy and her mother disembarked with the aid of Geoffrey's ancient coachman. Roddy felt the tall green-and-yellow ostrich plume bob gaily and precariously above her hat as she stepped down, trying to be as light as possible. She brushed surreptitiously at the front of her calico morning dress, and hoped that the green gauze veil trailing down from her hat didn't drag as it felt it did, for the windows of Moorside's drawing room looked directly out onto the front drive.
    They found the house cheerful with early-afternoon sun and a small gathering of neighbors come to welcome Lord Cashel and his lady to their second home. Geoffrey's eyes lit in pleasure at Roddy's entrance—and she was a fool again, going breathless and hopeful for a moment, hardly noticing the flow of surprise from the other callers, who seldom saw the Delamores' daughter in public. Though no one had ever exactly said so, it was generally believed among the county families that Roddy was "high-strung," and suffered "nerves."
    Geoffrey came forward, all tall and hawk-handsome in that way that made her heart sink, maneuvering neatly around the ample girth of the local baron's widow who sat in the place of honor. But long before he kissed Roddy's gloved hand with a polite touch, she knew the truth. His pleasure was not really centered on her, but on the fact that someone of an age with his young wife, who was sitting shyly alone in the corner near the fire, had at last arrived.
    Roddy found a smile somewhere in her disappointment and went immediately to Mary after greeting the baron's widow, which earned Geoffrey's great goodwill. He then proceeded to forget all about her, except in the frequent moments when he glanced their way to ascertain Mary's degree of