Author's Note: I've been sitting on this thing for way too long, and I think if I look at it any longer or tweak anything else I might go totally crazy. So, sorry for the delay, and enjoy!

*EDIT* Hokay, so I might be totally crazy. But, on the plus side, I think I managed to figure out what was bothering me so much with this, and how to fix it. So if you're here and you happened to read the first version of this chapter, I went through and fixed a few typos but for the most part it's all the same until the new chunk (~1400 words) at the very end, so you can jump right to the second page break. And if this is your first time reading this chapter, just uhhhh do me a solid and pretend you didn't see this. Thanks ( ˘ ³˘)


November - December 1815

...If there is one recommendation I might make, my dear Mr. Segundus, the letter had gone on to say, it is this: that you might consider taking on my cousin as an assistant and teacher.

I cannot recall if I have before mentioned to you my youngest and dearest of cousins, Miss Georgiana Erquistoune; and if I have, it was probably as little more than a companion to my wife. That is a role she filled quite admirably while we were still in London, but that is hardly all she is to my family. And, on top of all else, she is very knowledgeable in the study of magic, and in regard to its practise... Well, if you agree to take her on, I will allow her to decide how much she would wish to tell you of her skill. I can, at least, assure you that you would not find her wanting.

Miss Erquistoune currently lives in Edinburgh with my aunt and uncle; however, at twenty-eight years of age and unmarried, I do believe both parties have found that arrangement most unpleasant. While both her older sisters have found quite adequate husbands, Georgie remains most disinterested in all the gentlemen my aunt manages to throw into her path, and even so... Well, if you take her on, you would be sure to find out, so I may as well tell you now: she was adopted by the Erquistounes from the moment of her birth, but Georgiana's true mother was African—we believe her to have been a former slave who won her freedom, though very little is known of her beyond the good, lovely, and exceedingly clever young woman she carried into the world.

Her heritage has several times over confounded my aunt's matchmaking attempts, and I fear that George might be doomed to unhappy spinsterhood if action is not taken soon. Arabella and I have been working passionately at finding some form of useful occupation for her that would free her from her parents' house and put her sharp mind to good use, but until now have had little success. If you would but agree to add her to your staff at Starecross, we would be most glad of it; and I daresay all parties would find themselves most gifted by the arrangement.

If you agree to take her, please write me at your earliest convenience, and I shall be sure to send her to you as swiftly as I can.

Yours faithfully,

Jonathan Strange

Mr. Segundus stared down at the letter for some time, rereading the last page thrice before he could fully comprehend what was being offered here. Yet, as soon as he did, he cast the letter aside to make room for his own sheet of paper, and scrawled out a most emphatic assent to Mr. Strange's request. So certain was he that Mrs. Lennox would also find the arrangement to be agreeable, he posted his letter that very day.

Thus, during the last week of November, a coach arrived bearing the crest of a house of some evident peerage, three trunks of belongings, and a woman of most extraordinary appearance.

Her dark skin was about as he had expected, as were her features—though to those were given a confidence and pride he had not known to anticipate. Her hair, though as dark and tightly coiled as her heritage had led him to presume, was a most distinct shade of crimson. Her height, as well, was exceptional, her posture impeccable—she was towering, imposing, and clearly without any intention of making herself smaller for the comfort of those around her.

But she stepped down out of the coach without assistance, cast her startlingly honey-colored eyes upon Mr. Segundus...and smiled.

Her grin was bright and becoming; it dimpled her left cheek, and revealed a charming crookedness to her incisors, and added such a sweetness and softness to her face that he could scarcely remember having felt intimidated by her only moments before.

"Oh! You must be Mr. Segundus!" she called, breaking away from the coach and drawing near to him.

"And you Miss Erquistoune," he replied, grinning now as well. She did not offer her hand; but when he held his out for it, she placed it in his with barely-concealed surprise. He kissed her brown skin softly, and then held her hand in both of his. "Forgive my boldness, miss; but I pray you do not mistake me when I say that you are most welcome here."

She blinked twice, took a sharp breath, and blinked again. "I thank you, sir," she said slowly. "I had not... Jonathan has mentioned many times his great fondness of you, but... Well, his judge of character can be easily misled, he is so generally fond of people. I had not thought... Thank you, sir," she finished a little awkwardly, but Segundus merely grinned, patted her hand, and released her.

"Do not worry, Miss Erquistoune; our numbers are yet small, but your addition aids us tremendously. I wish this to be a school for everyone, to make magic accessible to anyone with the desire to learn, as it was in the days of old! Why, through your cousin's work, I was once graced with a vision of Maria Absalom herself! It would do that great lady little credit to turn any thoughtful young women away. Now that we have a woman added to our own staff, we shall be better equipped to teach them! And she the cousin of no less than Jonathan Strange himself? No, Miss Erquistoune; we will not be allowing any ridiculous and unjust prejudices to affect your time here in any way, nor to squander the knowledge you bring us."

She turned away from him without a word, suddenly very interested to see how the coachmen were doing with her luggage; but her hand reached out and gripped his arm, and when she turned back to him he saw that there were tears in her eyes.

"Thank you, Mr. Segundus," she said softly. "I admit to having been anxious of this arrangement; but now I see that I shall be very happy here." She flashed a wry grin and added, "For once, one of Jonathan's schemes has succeeded!"

He found Miss Erquistoune to be both a strange and lovely woman; she was quiet and rather solitary, but remarkably sharp and clever, and she gave her opinion most freely, when asked. She did not balk at any housework she found to need doing, as there was still much to be done to prepare the grand house for its duty; and despite a lack of more extensive culinary talents, she had great skill in baking—indeed, her spice cake was the best he had ever tasted.

And even beyond any domestic contributions, she was far more educated in the study of magic than he had even allowed himself to hope! Her cousin had evidently allowed her full access to any texts that Norrell had sent home with him, and thus she had read a variety of authors, from Belasis and Lanchester, to the rarer Fontayne and Greatrakes—texts Mr. Segundus hadn't known were still in existence! She could converse with him and Mr. Honeyfoot to great lengths on many integral aspects of English magic, in infinitely livelier and more astute discussion than they ever achieved with the old York Society; but whenever she was questioned about her own skill at performing the spells they spoke of, she grew evasive.

"My skill is not in English magic," she told him once, a month or so into her stay at Starecross, with a mischievous look in her eye. It was the closest she had yet come to admitting the practical skill Strange had hinted at; and though it was hardly anything to go by, it gave Mr. Segundus hope that she was coming to trust him, and thus might be brought to tell him all someday.

The next day, Miss Erquistoune had accompanied him into town. She had an excellent mind for the running of a household, and had very quickly come to join him any time he went to acquire food and supplies. She did a better job than he at remembering what was needed, and at finding things of the highest quality, and at convincing the shopkeepers to afford them a more reasonable price. By now, Segundus merely came along for the conversation and companionship, and to carry the packages for her.

They were returning to the house, and Mr. Segundus found himself thinking, for the hundredth time, what a shame it was that she was yet unmarried. The lady was striking, if not necessarily beautiful; and what she may lack in appearance, she more than made up for in the quickness of her mind and the readiness of her easy disposition. He had witnessed more than once that she could be vicious in her displeasure (she was certainly no fan of Mr. Norrell, he had found), and she had no tolerance whatsoever for insults to her person, character, or race. A man who could not look past the darkness of her skin could never hope to deserve her; but a man who could respect and love her, even Segundus could see, would be made a very happy husband.

Mr. Honeyfoot had already begun to make comments at how happy a match the two of them would make. But Segundus could not help but to feel that it was far too early in their acquaintance to suggest such a thing; and even if it were not, he had the suspicion that Miss Erquistoune's affections lay somewhere else entirely.

There was nothing he could quite lay his finger upon to account for this; but, after so many journeys to town in her company, he could say with some certainty that the woman was simply not on the search for a husband. Indeed, they encountered a number of wealthy, handsome, and unmarried gentlemen of all ages—nearly all that York had to offer—but to none did she give anything more than the most basic and polite attentions.

Beyond that, there were moments when she would look absolutely melancholy and aggrieved, gazing into a fire or out through a window, and she would run her fingers along a chain she wore about her neck, the pendant of which he had never seen as it was always tucked beneath her gown. And twice now, he had walked into a room and surprised her, and seen her hastily folding up a piece of paper upon which was scrawled a distinctly masculine handwriting.

No; however she may be growing to trust him, Mr. Segundus was quite certain that Miss Erquistoune's affections were otherwise occupied. And he would be very sore indeed if he were to ruin the easy companionship that had already begun to spring up between them by allowing his fondness for her to run away beyond the bounds of his good sense.

So lost was he in his thoughts that he failed to notice the man sprawled quite at his leisure upon their front step, at least until Miss Erquistoune gave a sharp gasp.

"John!" she cried, and he nearly dropped the packages in his arms at the surprise of hearing his Christian name from her lips.

But it was not his name she was calling; the dark, imposing man at the door to Starecross Hall rose to his feet unsteadily, his expression bewildered, and whispered, "Ana?" He shook himself, as if uncertain whether or not he was dreaming. "What are you doing here?"

She took a quick step in his direction as if to run to him, but then froze. "I... Oh, no," she breathed. "Tell me he has not heard of it. John? John, please..."

"I am here upon Norrell's orders," the man said, grimacing as though the words pained him, "to put an end to this school for magicians."

"What!" cried Mr. Segundus, but neither paid him any mind.

"What," the dark man asked again, "are you doing here?"

Miss Erquistoune frowned deeply. "I am here for work—as a teacher, at the school for magicians."

"Ana, no—" the man growled; but the woman appeared to have moved swiftly from her shock and surprise, into anger.

"Do not dare tell me what I must do," she hissed, her eyes flashing dangerously. She took a sharp breath, and seemed to take great trouble in working to collect herself. "I have had quite enough of that in my life. I am here on Jonathan's recommendation, to teach what I have studied these past six years. I will not be deterred."

"Do not make me do this," the man said, though it did not necessarily seem directed at either of them. "Why did you not tell me..?"

"I could not, for this very reason! Oh, damn it all, John!" She shook her head, her hand reaching up to worry at the chain of her necklace. "I could not risk telling you, lest he heard of it. But I thought, so close to Hurtfew... I thought I might...hear you had come, or... Damn! I should have just wrote you, he was always sure to find out anyway..! And then, at least..."

"You should have just wrote me," the man echoed, very softly; but then he gathered himself, and drew himself up, and fixed Segundus with a dark look. "You know me and you know that when I say a thing is so, that thing will be so—however much you and I might privately regret it. This school must close."

"You are quite mistaken, sir!" cried Mr. Segundus, outraged at the man's audacity, but also particularly dismayed at the effect he was having on the staid Miss Erquistoune. "I do not know you! At least...I do not believe I ever saw you before."

"I am John Childermass, Mr. Norrell's servant. We last talked nine years ago, outside the Cathedral in York. When you confined yourself to a few pupils, Mr. Segundus, I was able to turn a blind eye. I said nothing and Mr. Norrell remained in ignorance of what you were doing. But a regular school for grown-up magicians, that is a different matter. You have been too ambitious, sir. He knows, Mr. Segundus. He knows and it is his desire that you wind up the business immediately."

"But what has Mr. Norrell or Mr. Norrell's desires to do with me? I did not sign the agreement," reminded Mr. Segundus. He took a step forward. "You should know that I am not alone in this undertaking. I have friends now."

Rather than be intimidated, the man looked only mildly amused (though his eyes darted rapidly back to the now silent and still Miss Erquistoune, in what appeared to be concern). "That is true. And Mrs. Lennox is a very rich woman, and excellent woman for business. But does she have the friendship of every Minister in the Cabinet like Mr. Norrell? Does she have his influence?" The man shook his head, and lowered his voice. "Remember the Society of Learned Magicians, Mr. Segundus; remember how he crushed them."

The man was silent for a long moment, and cast one lingering look at Miss Erquistoune, who refused to meet his eye. With a sigh, he turned and began to walk off.

"You are not going?" the lady called, her voice edging upon desperation.

He turned to look at her. "Only to fetch my horse. But then I will go."

"Brewer?"

"Aye."

Miss Erquistoune chewed at her bottom lip, and crossed her arms over her chest. "Bring him to see me?"

Childermass sighed, but smiled, and hung his head. "Of course, my lady."

Segundus and Erquistoune stood still in thoughtful silence for the minutes it took him to go and return, now riding on the back of an enormous, black, unhandsome horse. But the creature nickered like a pony when it spotted the lady, and crossed the garden to see her, evidently without need of its master's command. She, in turn, rubbed the beast's nose and neck very fondly, and murmured very sweetly words too soft for Segundus to hear.

"I am sorry for it, sir," Childermass said, evidently to Segundus though his eyes did not leave Miss Erquistoune's figure. "Yet, surely all is not lost? This house is just as suited to another kind of school as it is for a magical one, and the lady would make an excellent teacher of any subject she might choose, I can say with certainty. Indeed, it would be a tragedy were she to come all this way, only to be made to return to Edinburgh... You would not think it to look at me, but I am a very fine fellow with a wide acquaintance among great people. Choose some other sort of school, and the next time I hear that a lord or lady has need of such an establishment for their little lordlings, I will send them your way."

"I do not want another kind of school!" said Mr. Segundus, admittedly a little peevishly; but the man merely smiled a sideways sort of smile in response.

"You have come so far," said Miss Erquistoune. "You would not make this dear creature return you to London today, would you, Mr. Childermass?"

He looked down at her, frowning. "You know I am not so cruel, my lady; and I have some work to be done within my employer's library. I will stay at Hurtfew Abbey for the night, at least."

"Will you?" she asked, nodding to herself. "The weather is remarkably warm for so late in the year, do you not think? Why, you should even be safe to leave your window open tonight."

"I had every intention to," the man growled.

Segundus could make neither heads nor tails of this exchange—the weather was really rather cold, in his opinion—but in truth his thoughts were very thoroughly occupied; he scarcely noticed it when Miss Erquistoune stepped away from the horse and came over to his side, nor when horse and rider said their goodbyes and left them over the packhorse-bridge. Indeed, he took notice of very little that happened afterward, until he found himself seated in his favorite armchair with a cup of tea being pressed into his hands.

"What will we do?" he murmured, and looked to Miss Erquistoune for guidance.

She put her hands on her hips, and met his eye solidly. "Whatever we can," she told him. "I will write Jonathan. Norrell may think he has allies, but Strange has many friends. I know he will do all he can for us. Meanwhile, you must go and see Mrs. Lennox. She stays in Bath, correct? Go to her, tell her what has happened. If nothing else, she deserves to know what we are up against. If he has sent Childermass, then Norrell will not back down. We must prepare ourselves."

Segundus took an unsteady sip of his tea, but nodded. "How... How do you know that man, Miss Erquistoune? That Childermass?"

Her mouth twitched; she removed her hands from her hips to cross her arms, and turned her gaze away to the fireplace. "I... When I lived with the Stranges in London, I...became acquainted with Mr. Childermass. He is Mr. Norrell's man of business, and he is certainly...devoted. But..." She sighed, and sat heavily in the chair across from him, running her fingers along the chain about her neck. "He is a good man, Mr. Segundus. I assure you, a large part of my distaste for Mr. Norrell comes from how thoroughly that man has been mistreated. He was a good friend to me in London, and—despite his frightening appearance—he means to do all that he believes to be right. But Norrell twists his loyalty, he orders him to be wicked and cruel, and I—!"

She cut herself off, balling her hands into fists and leaning sharply back in the chair. Her chest fell and rose with heavy breaths, and she glared darkly into the crackling fire.

Segundus set his tea aside, folded his hands together, and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. When he spoke, he kept his voice soft and kind. "That...is the man you love, Miss Erquistoune?"

Her wide eyes snapped to his, frightened for a moment; but she appeared to see something in him that gave her comfort, and soon she was sighing with a sad smile, and nodding her head. "I am so obvious, am I? Yes. That is the man I love."

"And he you," Segundus continued, "also obvious. So why does he not marry you?"

She opened her mouth and let out a small, strangled laugh. "I... My situation is not so straightforward, sir. My parents would hardly be content with such a union; and as the last Miss Erquistoune, I fear there are rather a number of Scottish gentlemen who could be persuaded to take me for their own, so I cannot even hope for desperation to blind them to his status." She shook her head, reaching up to smooth back her hair. "We find ourselves at an impasse, however. I love him, sir. I shall have no other, though it may break my mother's heart."


Mr. Segundus retired early that night, a combination of his high-strung nerves and a wish to be well-rested for his journey to Bath. Thus Ana's dinner was small and quick, and the sun had only just set when she went upstairs to her room, latched the door, and flung open the window.

The night was clear and cool, nowhere near as warm as she had told John it would be, but that was as she liked it. The cold air was refreshing; a part of her wished that she might fly all night. But the rest of her could not get the look on John Childermass' face out of her mind, and she knew she did not have it in her to leave him waiting.

She had never been there before, but she found Hurtfew Abbey easily enough; it was not the only house of its size in that part of York, but she had seen John's sketchings of it when he had let her to see his book. It took two circuits of the house to find the open window, however, as she had not expected it to be up so high, nor so small. He was not there in his room when she entered, so she changed her shape in the fireplace and climbed out, then stood looking around the room itself.

It was bare and plain and small, sparsely furnished, with only a bed, a desk, a nightstand with a cracked mirror, and a rack of his clothes (from which she divested another of his soft, well-worn shirts to wear).

There were a number of papers atop his desk, clearly a little blown about by the wind through the open window, and she thumbed through them in part to straighten, in part to peruse. Most were partially-finished letters of business or household ledgers; none had anything to do with her (or Jonathan or Segundus). But there were a few, less important or no longer needing to be finished, that dissolved into small, rambling sketches: bits of architecture, or little cats, or—on those dated more recently—portraits of herself in varying states of completion.

She sighed, and smiled, and wondered where he was. She tried to look through the fires of the house, but could see no further than the fireplaces—Norrell must have cast some spell of obscurity.

She cursed the magician, falling back with a huff to sit on John's bed, and found it to be much softer than she'd expected, with the counterpane so threadbare and ragged. But this, too, was warmer than it looked—or so she found once she pulled it back and crawled underneath. There was a single book on the nightstand, A Child's History of the Raven King.

She ran her fingers across the cover as she had when first she found it in the book shop, over the little embossed ravens volant against a green background, and then along the well-worn edges of the pages, thinking of John's fingers turning down their corners to mark his place, of the words she had said to Segundus mere hours ago, "Yes, that is the man I love," before flipping it open and beginning to read.

They were only children's stories, with John Uskglass as the dark and noble hero, who used his magic and wit to liberate his people from the mischievous faerie and the wicked South Englanders alike. Still, she found herself entranced by the stories and the whimsical pictures that accompanied them, and she failed to realize she was no longer alone until she heard John's voice say, "Aye, make yourself at home."

She looked up, found him leaning against the doorframe, watching her solemnly. "Forgive me," she said, grinning at the sight of him. "I could not see beyond the fires, to find you." She fingered the sleeve of his nightshirt and cocked her head to the side. "I was not much interested to see what someone would think of me wandering the house in naught but your nightclothes."

He laughed, and shook his head. "Aye, I doubt Mrs. Sayers would be much pleased by that; but she and the others would be welcome to bring their complaints to me."

He drew closer and seated himself on the edge of the bed beside her, as though afraid to touch her, as though she might disappear. When he spoke, his voice was scarcely more than a whisper. "I feared I might never see you again. To...enter this room, and find you here, in my clothes, in my bed..." He shook his head slowly. "If you had but written me, Ana... I would have protected you, would have kept Norrell from ever hearing of this school for magicians. Surely you know me well enough for that?"

She leaned forward, close enough to wrap an arm around his middle, to rest her head upon his shoulder and feel the soft wool of his waistcoat against her cheek and smell him, pipe smoke and spiced ale. "I should have trusted in you. But I know how he dislikes me, and I had not heard from you in so long. I feared that perhaps he had begun to intercept my letters."

His hand, with only the slightest tremor, was traveling up the length of her forearm, but now it stilled. "Your..? Had you written me, since arriving in Edinburgh?"

She pulled away, meeting his narrowed eyes with her own, and breathed, "Every week, until I came here."

He cursed viciously, shot up from the bed, and began to pace about his room.

"Childermass," she called; but he only shook his head and did not stop.

"Damn him, Georgiana."

"Aye, I would," she agreed. "Him and Lascelles both, and all of London with them if I could have my way. But even I have not that power. What I do have," she said, holding out a hand as he finally stopped and turned to look at her, "is you, at least for tonight. Please come here."

He obeyed, taking her hand in his and lifting it to his cheek as he climbed onto the bed and draped himself across her, let her put her free hand across his shoulders, let her hold him for a while, the room quiet but for the crackle of the fire and their breathing.

"My cards say I must stay with him," he said softly, as she freed his hair from its tie and ran her fingers through it. "But he is changed, I cannot deny it. The way he has treated your cousin, the things he has asked of me... Keeping your letters from me—!"

"It is alright," she said, starting to undo his cravat, and then his buttons. "I never wrote you anything of note, especially after I never received your reply. All he got were stories of my sisters and their children, some Edinburgh gossip, even a recipe or two, in those last few."

He sat up to help her in removing his waistcoat, still frowning. "Aye, but they were your stories, and I never got to read them."

She put her hand on his cheek, brushed his hair out of his face. "I could tell you now, if you should like. We have all night."

He lowered his head, and his mouth moved along her collarbone in a way that made her breath twist in her chest. "Tell me anything," he said. "Just stay here. Don't disappear, don't be a dream—"

"I'm not," she promised, throwing her arms around him, shutting her eyelids against the tears building behind them. "I'm here."


When he awoke in the night—for, though Georgiana had found herself too invigorated by his presence here to be able to achieve it, he had endured a long and arduous ride from London to Yorkshire, and he knew she did not begrudge him the rest—he found her again to be sitting up, and reading through A Child's History. He said her name.

In response, she reached over and ran a hand through his hair, while the other turned the next page.

"You like it?" he asked, and she smiled.

"I like this one about the charcoal-burner. I've always been fond of charcoal-burners."

"Of course," he laughed, rolling over that he might look at her better. "Perhaps the Almoner should have sent him to you instead."

She turned to kiss his forehead. "I would not have given Uskglass so easy a time of it."

"You should be careful, to talk so here," he said, only half joking.

"I have no fear of Fitheach-dubh," she said—he had never liked the sound of Gaelic half so well as from her lips. "I owe him no debts, and he has nothing I should want, and he holds no sway over me or any fire that burns, even in his beloved Yorkshire."

"Aye, but he orders the rains in my beloved Yorkshire."

"Then it's a good thing the charcoal-burner was not sent to me," she said with a grin, and closed the book to set it upon his nightstand. "I am still being blamed for the London Fire; I would hate to be found at fault for the Yorkshire Flood."

She squirmed back under the covers to lay beside him, her hands against his chest, so warm and soft but for the band of cool, hard gold around her left ring finger; he longed to kiss her soundly, to have her again tonight, but a thought had been bothering him and so he settled for running his fingers and thumb along the curve of her cheek. "I've been thinking on the issue of your letters."

She raised a brow in some surprise. "When? What you've been doing is snoring, and then teasing your dear wife."

"Dear she is, but I can think and tease at the same time."

"Lucky woman I, with a husband of such talents." She bit her lip. "What is it, John?"

"I do not think it is Norrell taking them."

She frowned, a hard look in her eye. "Lascelles, then?"

He nodded. "Norrell may not care much for you, but that is his way. He has no special distrust of you, no reason to suspect what you mean to me, and no fear of what we might be discussing in private letters. Henry Lascelles has a great deal of all three."

"You think he suspects us?"

"He is a contemptible wretch, but not a fool. If I did not confound him so, he would not care a whit what I do with myself; but I confound him greatly, and I have not made my affection for you as secret as I should have done. It would surprise me if he knew nothing of us."

"And if he could find something in my letters, some proof that you and I were conspiring in something or an admission of my magic..."

"Then he could, at a stroke, further endear himself to Norrell and threaten to expose you and be rid of me for good."

She covered her face with a doleful groan. "Maybe I should have killed him that night," she muttered.

Childermass frowned. She had not told him it had been an option. "Could you have?"

"Yes," she answered, a little too quickly. She lowered her hands from her face, but would not meet his eye, and began to bite her thumbnail. "I mean... No, probably not, but the opportunity and...ability were there. I know how such a thing is done. But I—I mean, Georgiana, not all the rest of me—I have never killed anyone, by magic or any other means, and I have no desire to do so. Well, maybe a little, but not... Not really."

"...Ah," he said, at the end of this strange speech, and she met his eye with a crooked little smirk.

"Practically, I doubt I could have gone through with it. Theoretically, I wish I had."

He kissed her then, softly, until she released her clenched fists and tucked herself against his chest again. "I would not want such a burden upon you," he told her. "No matter how I despise the man."

She nodded, pressing her face into the crook of his neck. "If murder is off the table, then what should we do?"

He laughed, and squeezed her tight. "You should keep writing, as dull and tiresome as you could possibly make a letter to be, so he curses himself for ever thinking of it."

She pulled back and out of his arms with a frown, shaking her head. "John, no, I meant what I said. I'm not leaving Starecross; certainly not because Norrell thinks we should have no school. I won't go back to Edinburgh, not like this."

"I would not ask you to," he assured her. "I love you, Georgiana. I have no wish to control what you do, nor to send you so far beyond my reach again. At least in Yorkshire, I can come to you, and I can know you are safe. Only write as though you were still in Scotland, as though you had never left. I will keep anyone from hearing you are here instead, and will do all I can to distract Norrell from his quarrel with Segundus."

She looked, a bit, as though she might cry again—Childermass wished greatly that he did not know what that looked like, that he had not been the cause of her tears enough times to recognize the signs of them—but instead she swallowed hard and nodded. "I am a lucky woman indeed," she breathed, and let him hold her again. "Alright. I can copy some of Margaret's old letters—they have meant the world to me, but I'm sure Lascelles will find them dreadful. But what if I need to write you, all the same?"

"Can you disguise your handwriting?"

"Oh, yes!" she answered. "Jonathan often used to dictate letters through me, when he was too agitated to sit still. Arabella could not endure his pacing."

John smirked—he had suspected as much. "Anything for me can be addressed to Davey, the coachman. He receives little enough mail, I'll make sure he gives me anything he does not recognize."

She grinned, and nodded. "I think that shall work very well, Mr. Childermass."

"Thank you, Mrs. Childermass."

She laughed, and rolled them both over until she lay on his chest, propping her chin in her hand and smiling down at him. "And you will come visit me, here in Yorkshire?"

He reached up, winding a coil of her hair around his finger. "As often as I am able."

"And you will do all you can to turn Norrell's rage away from the school and Mr. Segundus?"

He dropped his hand and tore his gaze away from her, trying not to frown. "If it should please you, I will, but it is not for Segundus' sake."

"Those are harsh words indeed for a man you have scarcely met," she murmured, and then gasped. "John Childermass, are you jealous?"

He scowled darkly. "Am I jealous of the man who may spend his days in your company, speaking to you of magic and hearing you talk of your sisters and getting fat on your spice cake, while I am left alone with nothing more than my memory and my sketches and the same letters I have read a hundred times before? Aye. Forgive me if I find it hard to feel kindly toward such a man."

When he turned back to her, the scolding in her eye had softened into something so tender he almost could not meet it. "That may be true," she began softly. "But there are many things about me Segundus shall never know."

"What sort of things?" he asked, as she flung the counterpane off them both and put her leg across him and sat up, straddling his waist.
"Let me show you."

He sat up, and met her mouth with his.