“Vicar Blair thinks there is. I’ll set him loose on you. Could you bear to have a vicious priest breathing down your neck?”
She inhaled slowly to calm herself. “I see your point.”
“Jacob is my great friend—like my very own brother. Every boon I enjoy, I’ve received from him. If there is ever the slightest hint that I am a father, I will get even.”
“The news doesn’t surprise me. You have a reputation as a very vindictive fellow.”
He grinned, proud of the charge. “You should be advised, if I have to lash out, it won’t be against you. It will be against the girl.”
“Her name is Clara. If you can brag about how you’d retaliate against your daughter, you should at least be able to speak her name.”
He didn’t take her bait, didn’t jump into an argument about Clara. Instead, he said, “It appears we’re in complete accord. Will you depart this afternoon?”
“I have to pack, so it will have to be in the morning.”
“It has to be by dawn. At sunrise, I’ll be here with men and torches.”
“Yes, I’m certain you will be. You’re not the sort to jest about it.”
She stood, and he stood too, and he leaned in, as if he might touch her indecently. She braced, refusing to lurch away, being positive he was trying to frighten her. But she wasn’t scared of anyone.
She glared at him, daring him to proceed, and as she’d suspected, he was a coward deep down. He was the first to look away.
She wanted him out of her house. It was still hers for a few more hours. She marched by him, went to the door, and flung it open. He dawdled in the kitchen, notifying her he wouldn’t blithely obey. After he believed she understood his authority, he sauntered over and walked by her.
“Don’t linger in the morning.” He was determined to have the last word. “I don’t wish to fuss with you ever again.”
“I have no wish to fuss with you either.”
“We tolerated you for too many years, and you’ve overstayed your welcome.”
He would have strolled off, assuming he’d put her in her place, but she never bowed down. Before he realized what she intended, she grabbed his wrist, turned up his palm, and traced several signs in the center with her finger.
He jerked away as if she’d scalded him.
“What the bloody hell was that?” he demanded, and he frowned at his hand as if pagan marks might have been branded into his skin.
“I don’t usually level curses,” she told him, “but I’ve made an exception for you.”
“You little shit! What have you done?”
“None of your dreams will come true. You’ll lose everything because of me: your job, your income, your fancy house. If my magic is powerful enough, perhaps even your life. You’ll never have a wife or any other children, but for Clara. Your male parts will shrivel and quit working. You’ll end up poor, alone, and despised, with Jacob Ralston hating you most of all.”
She thought he might strike her, but apparently, she’d terrified the big bully. He laughed in her face, but it was a nervous, anxious laugh.
“You’re a charlatan.” He struggled to sound brazen, but failed. “You prey on the weak and the gullible. No rational person would ever listen to you. I don’t plan to.”
“We’ll see if I’m a charlatan. We’ll find out if I have any power.” She displayed another gesture, one she invented and that didn’t mean anything, and she hurled it as if it could land on him. “Best keep glancing over your shoulder, Mr. Boswell. Who can guess what ill-wind might be blowing in to knock you down?”
“You deranged witch. I ought to sic Vicar Blair on you after all. It would serve you right.”
He huffed off, and she went inside and peeked out the curtain, watching as he leapt on his horse and cantered away. She was delighted to note that he was in quite a hurry too. He might scoff and deride her as a fraud, but he was in no mood to discover what else she might do.
She smirked with satisfaction, figuring he’d worry about her curse every minute of every day for the rest of his sorry life.
Clara was asleep when a loud noise outside awakened her. She popped up on an elbow and glanced around her bedchamber. Was it Mutt? Had he barked a warning? Or had he cried out with dismay? A man might have cursed too.
She cocked an ear toward Joanna’s room, but she hadn’t stirred, so it must have been a dream.
She drew the covers up to her chin and tried to doze off again, but her mind was awhirl, and she couldn’t relax.
After Mr. Boswell had left, Joanna had sat her down, and they’d had a serious, adult conversation about many topics Clara would rather not have had clarified. Over the years, she’d occasionally asked Aunt Pru and Joanna who her parents had been, but they’d always claimed they possessed no details.
But Roxanne Ralston and Mr. Boswell were her mother and father, and to her great consternation, they were demanding she leave Ralston Place. She was faced with their total disregard. It was such a cruel, unfair blow.
Joanna had debated whether to lie about what was occurring, but in the end, she’d decided Clara had to understand the gravity of what had transpired.
They had to be gone by dawn, and they’d spent the evening packing their bags. Joanna had been prepared for just such an event, so she’d known what they needed. It had merely been a matter of grabbing the appropriate items and stuffing them in satchels. It had happened so fast that it didn’t seem real.
She must have fallen back to sleep because, suddenly, Joanna was shaking her, panic in her voice.
“Clara! Get up!”
Clara was befuddled and, drowsily, she inquired, “What’s wrong?”
Then she smelled smoke. Fear made her pulse race.
“There’s a fire in my workroom,” Joanna told her. “Come! We have
