Eliza Prokopovits

A week passed without a sign of the bear. Sometimes Nora felt a creeping feeling up her back and neck as if someone were watching her, but when she looked around, there was no one. It made her jumpy, enough so that both Julia and Bess commented on it. She couldn’t explain it, so she said she was fine and hoped they didn’t notice how tight her smile was.

The long days of harvest ended. William was no longer needed to help in the fields, and even Papa and John were given an afternoon off. Nora wished their afternoon could have been a rare sunny one, but rain drooped down, casting a dreary pall over the countryside. She supposed they must find it a relief to be inside on a rainy day rather than out working in the mud. Mama had no jobs that day either, so the whole family was home.

The twins played hide and seek in the bedrooms with Patience and Henry. William sat at the kitchen table with a book he’d borrowed from the lending library. He’d convinced the librarian to teach him to read, and now he haltingly read aloud, dragging one finger along the lines of words as he went. Nora felt a swelling of pride in her younger brother for doing something no one else in the family had. Julia sat and listened to William while mending Bess’s spare frock, which was threadbare from having been worn by both Nora and Julia before her. Mama stood by the fire, stirring a pot of preserves with a long-handled spoon while Nora laid out the jars.

Papa and John rested in their chairs, legs stretched out long. Papa’s eyes were closed, but the occasional twitches of a smile that crossed his face at the conversations around him or the happy hollering from the next room proved that he wasn’t napping. John had out his knife and a bit of wood, and he was shaping it into something that Nora couldn’t guess at yet. John never told them what he was making, just allowed them to speculate until the piece was done and they could all see for themselves.

It was a cozy day, despite the rain, and Nora felt warm and happy in the love of her family.

A thumping on the garden door interrupted William’s reading, causing Papa to open his eyes and straighten. Mama wiped her sleeve across her sweating face and looked around, surprised. The thumping came again, and Nora froze. That wasn’t a normal knock. Why was someone at the back door? And who of their neighbors would be out in this rain?

John laid his wood and knife on the table and rose to open the door. Everyone gasped. Filling the doorframe was the white bear.

The room fell utterly silent but for the crackling of the fire and the patter of rain outside. Patience could be faintly heard from the other room, counting.

The bear held a leather pouch dangling from its mouth by the string. It dropped the pouch on the floor at its feet, its beady black eyes roaming the room until they landed on Nora. She held her breath. After a long look, the bear’s eyes slid to her father, who now stood between the doorway and the rest of the family.

“I wish to make an offer for your daughter Honora.”

The deep and rumbling voice suited the mountain of a bear, Nora thought, unable to wrap her mind around the words themselves.

“How do you know my name?” she asked.

Her family stared between her and the bear. Papa finally found his voice. “Never mind that, what makes you think we’d accept any offer you make? I won’t give my daughter to a beast.”

“My name is Alek Davies,” the bear rumbled, rain running along its long neck and narrow head to drip from its muzzle onto the kitchen floor. “I am not entirely what I seem. And I think you’ll find my offer is very generous.”

Papa scoffed, but Nora stepped forward. “How generous?”

“An annuity of two hundred pounds a year to your family.” The bear’s glittering eyes held hers. She heard gasps from her family, but her attention remained fixed on the bear. “School tuition for your brothers—” A sharp inhale from William—“and a dowry of ten pounds each for your sisters.”

The room seemed to spin around Nora, and she forced herself to take a deep breath. That kind of money would be life-changing. Her family would have enough to eat all winter. Her siblings could have new clothes, rather than patching and repairing frocks that barely had enough fabric left to sew together. William—dear, studious William—could get an education. John may be too old to care much about school, but Nolan and Henry could have a chance at a better future too. And her sisters would have the opportunity to marry well. Everything Nora had ever wished for her family was being offered to her. All she had to do was accept.

“No.” John’s sharp refusal cut through her thoughts. “We won’t sacrifice our sister for all the money in the world.”

Nora frowned at him, seeing him anew. He was still her younger brother, but his expression was fierce and protective, and she saw a hint of the manly strength he’d grow into. She felt a warm pride and affection, mingled with annoyance that he tried to speak for her.

“Sacrifice?” The bear’s deep voice sounded only mildly curious. “Who said anything about sacrifice? Miss Sheppard will come to no harm. I need a wife, but it would be in name only. I would ask nothing of her beyond coming to keep house with me.”

Nora wanted to ask why—why did he need a wife of convenience, and why did he want her?—but she couldn’t make the words come out. Papa came to Nora and laid a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, his weather-beaten face furrowed into a concerned frown.

“Nora?” he murmured. “What say you? I will not make this decision for you because you must live with the outcome.”

Every face turned toward her; every breath held. Nora met the bear’s gaze again.

He bent his head to nudge the pouch forward across the floor. “Here are twenty pounds to start,” he rumbled. “And you will be receiving word from Mr. John Everett of Everett and Lowell in London with details on the annuity.”

He couldn’t possibly know that William was the only one among them who could read. But the librarian or Sir Kimble would help Papa if asked.

Nora tried not to let the pouch of coins on the floor distract her, though it was a staggering sum all on its own to offer for a girl like her. She studied the bear, taking inventory of her feelings beyond the overwhelming shock and confusion. It—he, the bear, Alek Davies—stared back at her, inscrutable and mysterious, but she wasn’t frightened. She was intrigued. And his offer was beyond generous.

“I accept,” she said softly.

Papa’s hand tightened on Nora’s shoulder. Mama sobbed and rushed over to pull her into a hug. After a long moment, Papa addressed the bear, his voice cracking. “Have you a marriage license?”

“We’ll go to Scotland,” the bear said. “No man of the cloth would marry someone like me in the Church of England.” He looked again at Nora. “We’ll leave at dawn.”

She nodded. He backed out of the doorway, giving them a brief glimpse of the drenched garden before John kicked the pouch of coins out of the way, slammed the door shut, and bolted it. Nora’s brother whirled to face her.

“What were you thinking, agreeing to marry a monster?” he demanded.

“He’s not a monster,” Nora protested.

“He’s a bear,” William put in. “I remember seeing pictures of them in a book at the library. Right, Nor?”

Nora nodded. “He has a human name, and he can talk. Obviously, he’s under a spell of some kind.”

“All the more reason not to marry him!” John ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. “Why get mixed up with magic when you can settle to a good life with Sloane here in the village?”

Nora wasn’t sure how to answer that. She had never pretended to feel more for Martin Sloane than she did, but it wasn’t as if she loved this Alek Davies either. Something about the bear called to her.

Maybe it was the very magic that John was cautioning against. Magic was the realm of the Fae and the wealthy, those who could afford an education in spell-work. It had been so far beyond Nora’s reach that she’d given up dreaming of learning even the most basic spells when she’d been Bess’s age.

Maybe it was the thrill of adventure, something Nora had only experienced in her imagination. Even the smallest change from the monotony of daily survival would be welcome, and this would not be small.

Perhaps it was even the hint of desperation about him, whatever had caused him to offer such an exorbitantly imbalanced proposition. He needed her.

“He promised me more than Martin Sloane ever could.”

Nora almost cringed as the words left her mouth. How mercenary did that sound? And, yes, she was mercenary, but only for the sake of her family. She wasn’t solely referring to the financial aspect, either, though she doubted her brother would see that.

John opened his mouth to argue more, but Papa put up his hand. “Enough. Nora has made her decision, and we’ll respect that.”

Nora smiled at her father gratefully. He might not love her choice, but he stood by it. John grumbled as he returned to his seat and began to cut into his block of wood with more violence than before. William blinked around at everyone before returning to his book. Though Julia’s hands still held her mending, they sat motionless, and she watched Nora with wide eyes that glittered wetly in the firelight.

Don’t cry, Nora thought, turning quickly back to the preserves over the fire and stirring them. Neither she nor Julia were watering pots, but if one of them started, the other would follow. Nora knew she’d done what was best for her family, but that didn’t mean saying goodbye would be easy.

For tea that night they had bread they’d baked that morning, a bit of cheese, and some apples. It wasn’t nearly enough, and Nora felt justified again in her decision. Tomorrow Mama would take a coin from the bear’s pouch to the market and buy enough for everyone to have a full stomach. That thought warmed Nora despite the awkwardness of the conversation around the table. The younger children had heard of their visitor, probably from William, and were bubbling over with curiosity. Nolan and Bess were disappointed not to have seen the bear, Patience kept asking questions about what he looked like, and even Henry tilted his tousled head adorably and said, “Bear?” Their enthusiasm was counterbalanced by silence from John and Julia, and even Mama and Papa said little.

Nora excused herself from the table early, unable to take another uncomfortable minute. She found a clean, empty flour sack and brought it to the parlor room. Her spare dress and stockings were in the trunk at the foot of the bed, sharing space with her sisters’. With those packed, she sank onto the edge of the bed and looked around. She’d pack her nightdress in the morning, but beyond that, she had nothing else to bring. The comb she shared with her sisters would stay here with them. Any doll or toy she’d ever owned had long since been passed along to a younger sibling, and none of them were things to be kept by a soon-to-be-married woman.

Mama found her there, a small bundle of cloth in her hands. She sat beside Nora and silently unwrapped the bundle, revealing neatly cut squares and larger scraps of fabric that Nora recognized as pieces from older garments that had been too worn to be patched or saved. There were pieces from a blue plaid shirt John and William had both worn and part of a dress that Patience had torn only weeks ago.

“I was saving these to sew your wedding quilt,” Mama said, a catch in her voice. “I thought we’d have time to work on it together.”

Nora felt a catch in her own chest. She’d imagined that too, spending the time between proposal and wedding with her mother and sisters, sewing the top of the quilt that would grace her marriage bed. Mama and Papa still slept under the one Mama had sewn with her mother two decades before, and her grandparents’ quilt was the one that hung as a curtain to divide the room. It was a family tradition that she’d always intended to continue.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She wished her choice hadn’t taken that special time from Mama, but she couldn’t regret the decision itself.

Mama shook her head, folding the fabric back up. “These are for you anyway,” she said, setting the bundle on Nora’s lap and pushing to her feet. “Even if you sew the quilt yourself, you’ll keep the love of your family close.”

She bent and kissed the top of Nora’s head, then disappeared back into the kitchen.

Nora tucked the scrap fabric into her flour sack and then sat alone for another minute, only emerging when she heard the bustle from the kitchen declaring tea at an end. She helped clean up, shepherded her siblings through their bedtime routine, and got into bed herself. Nora lay awake, silently staring into the darkness as she listened to her siblings’ breathing. She could tell when Bess dropped off to sleep, and she recognized both John’s and Nolan’s snores. Julia, she thought, was still awake, so she wasn’t surprised when her sister huddled closer to her and whispered in her ear.

“Are you sure?”

Nora nodded silently.

“Aren’t you afraid?”

She shook her head slightly. Her life was about to change completely, and that made her stomach knot with nerves, but she had no fear of the bear.

“You’re the bravest of us,” Julia whispered, resting her head on Nora’s shoulder. She was silent for a long time before adding, “I’ll miss you.”

Nora turned just slightly and kissed the top of her sister’s head. “Same,” she breathed. A tightness in her throat kept her from saying more, and she blinked into the darkness to stop the tears from falling. One escaped and slid down her cheek anyway.

They fell asleep like that. Nora woke in the dark, only dim gray showing through the window. Dawn was still an hour away, but she had no hope of falling back asleep. She carefully maneuvered out of the bed, sliding her pillow under Julia’s head before her sister could wake. She dressed silently, folded her nightdress and stuffed it into the top of her flour sack, and tiptoed from the room with her bundle in hand. In the kitchen, she built up the fire. Mama had left bread rising overnight, and Nora slid it into the oven once it warmed so that it would be ready when the others got up. Nora didn’t have time to wait for the bread, so she made boiled porridge in a pot, stirring in a dollop of the preserves they’d made. She ate it slowly, savoring the sweetness of the fruit, forcing herself to finish the bowl despite her nerve-reduced appetite. Whatever this day had in store, she’d need the energy.

She washed the pot and bowl and put them away. The light outside was growing. Nora found a long piece of twine and used it to tie her sack of clothing. An extra couple of knots created a loop that she slung over her head and shoulder so that her bundle hung secure in the center of her back.

A muffled movement from one of the bedrooms made her freeze, glancing at the doorway. She grabbed her boots before slipping out into the garden barefoot and pulling the door softly closed behind her. The empty garden sparkled with dew as the dawn brightened. Nora crouched to tie on her boots, and when she straightened again, he was there.

Nora had always found dawn to be a magical time, balanced as it was between night and day. It suited the bear somehow. He glowed faintly in the growing light as he stood on the far side of the garden, watching her.

Nora crossed silently to stand in front of him. They stood eye to eye. His front legs were nearly as long as her entire body. This close, his narrow head looked huge. Nora took a slow, shaky breath.

“Are you ready, Miss Sheppard?”

Nora steeled herself to ask the question she hadn’t voiced last night. “Why?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why did you ask me to marry you?”

“It seemed an arrangement that will benefit us both,” he rumbled. “I get the wife I require, and you get a comfortable future for yourself and your family.”

But why do you require a wife? Nora opened her mouth to ask, but the bear forestalled her.

“I shall explain more at another time. For now, we must be on our way.”

“How are we to get to Scotland?”

“You shall ride me.”

He lowered himself to lie on his belly. Even lying, she had to scramble awkwardly to get onto his back. “Sorry,” she mumbled as her knee caught him in the ribs. He didn’t respond as he waited for her to get settled. Nora tucked her skirt around her legs. She’d never ridden a horse, but she was certain riders had something to hold onto—straps of leather or the horse’s mane or something. Of course, bears were nothing like horses. She doubted anyone had ever ridden one before, so she oughtn’t feel awkward if she didn’t know how.

“How am I to stay on?” She hated the tremor in her voice.

“Cling with your knees,” the bear said. “Lean forward and hold onto my neck.”

Nora obeyed.

He pushed himself up to his feet. “Ready?”

“Yes, sir,” she said softly, sending one last long look toward the cottage where she’d grown up.

For a second, she thought she saw someone in the kitchen window, watching, maybe waving. But before she could be sure, the bear turned and loped away, through the meadow and north.

Copyright 2025 by Eliza Prokopovits

Alek Davies pushed open the heavy wooden door to the village pub. The small, dim room wasn’t much better lit than the night-dark street, and Alek grimaced. This wasn’t the type of place he favored, poor and provincial and homely, but at least it was clean. Relatively. He found an empty seat at a crowded table and waved over the publican for an ale and a hot meal. Sipping at his drink, he studied the others around the table. Farmers, most of them, he guessed; maybe a couple of business owners. Perhaps the miller and shopkeeper, and that bloke at the end could be a blacksmith with arms that thick. Locals, the lot. Gradually, Alek eased his way into the conversation, laughing along, dropping a comment here and there, buying a round of drinks.

A lull in the conversation gave Alek the opening he needed. “Say, who lives in that cottage south of the village? Big family?”

One of the men across from him nodded. “Sheppard. Wife’s a laundress. Got eight kids.”

“How old’s the eldest girl?”

This question got a few raised brows. A young fellow down the way, lanky but well-muscled, narrowed his eyes at Alek and muttered, “Eighteen.”

The man beside the surly youth clapped the boy on the shoulder. “Sloane, here, has got his heart set on Miss Honora Sheppard, pretty thing that she is.” The rest of the table chuckled as Sloane’s face reddened. “Gonna marry her someday, eh, Sloane?”

“Just need to save up a bit more,” Sloane said. He was soft-spoken enough that Alek had to lean in to hear him. “Should have enough by Lady Day.”

“Hmm,” Alek murmured, half to himself and half to the man beside him. “And how does she feel about it?”

The man shrugged. “Does it matter? Big family like that? Money’s tight, food’s scarce—she’ll jump at the chance, won’t she?”

Alek sat back and nursed his ale, letting the conversation wash around him. He thought of the girl he’d seen, undernourished but strong and fearless as she watched over her brothers and sisters. There was something compelling about her, something forthright and honest. She was exactly what he needed.

His neighbor’s words repeated in his head: big family, money’s tight, food’s scarce. A small smile pulled at his lips, and he took another sip to hide it. There was no doubt he could offer the girl more than her young swain, even in his current situation. He could sweeten the deal for her family, too, and he could make the offer long before Lady Day. He had to for his own reasons, not just competition.

His eye fell on Sloane, who was eyeing him with a scowl of jealous distrust. Alek bit back a grin. The boy would be disappointed, but the choice was Miss Sheppard’s.

Ignoring his rival, Alek finished his meal, paid the publican, and slipped out into the night.

Copyright 2025 by Eliza Prokopovits

Nora did not scream when she saw the bear.

She was fairly certain it was a bear. Some of the books at the lending library had pictures, and she’d spent hours there with her younger siblings on rainy winter days when Mama didn’t need her. She’d never seen a bear in real life, of course—they weren’t known to wander the mountains of Cumberland, though she’d heard that there were places that one could view exotic creatures for a fee.

This bear looked different from the ones she remembered from the illustrations she’d pored over with Bess and William. It was all white but for its beady black eyes. It was so massive that its head was on a level with hers, even as it stood on all four enormous paws. It watched from the cover of the trees beyond the thicket of brambles, and for a moment, Nora simply stared.

A shriek from behind her broke the trance. Nolan had tripped Bess, causing her to spill her basket of berries, and the two of them were rolling on the ground, pummeling each other and squishing the blackberries so the deep purple juice stained their clothes.

“That’s enough,” Nora snapped at the twins. “Get up, both of you. We’re going home now.”

“Now?” Patience asked plaintively from an elderberry bush out of reach of the wrestling match. “I’ve not yet filled my basket, and Bess will have to start over.”

“We’ll have to come back tomorrow. It’s getting late, and we still need to wash up and help with tea. Maybe we can make tarts or a pie,” Nora added, scooping little Henry into her arms. The three-year-old’s face and hands were stained purple, and he beamed at her with the joy of a child whose belly was full of berries at the end of a rare, beautiful day. Nora couldn’t help grinning back at her youngest brother as she settled him on one hip and bent to retrieve her own basket with her free hand.

Careful not to look at the bear so as not to alarm her siblings, who hadn’t yet noticed it, Nora shepherded the younger children back toward the road to the village, each carrying their baskets with a mix of blackberries and elderberries. Some baskets, like Nolan’s and Patience’s, were nearly full. Bess’s was nearly empty, having dumped as she tripped, and even Nora’s was only half full. She’d spent most of her time keeping an eye on Henry. They really would have to come back tomorrow. Eight children required more than their small plot of garden could provide.

Nora could not help looking over her shoulder once more as she left the bramble patch. The bear remained beneath the trees, its fur practically glowing in the shadows. The silent intelligence with which it watched her was unnatural, as was its presence here in the Lake District. It could only be fae. Nora turned and hurried after the others. She could feel the creature’s eyes on her long after they were out of sight, and a shiver ran down her spine.

Halfway home, Nora’s siblings broke into a race, sprinting to see who could arrive home first. “Don’t spill your baskets!” Nolan gave no sign that he heard her, but Patience slowed down so that she wouldn’t tumble her precious load. Nora wanted to break into a run too, but for different reasons. She couldn’t shake the memory of the bear’s gaze. She set Henry on his feet and took his hand, encouraging him to run after his siblings. His tiny legs could only move so fast, but they made quicker progress than she could while carrying him.

Everyone tumbled pell-mell through the door of the cottage, out of breath and laughing, and Nora closed the door behind them with a sigh of relief. They were home; they were safe. She could put the fae bear out of mind and start on the familiar, mundane work of getting everyone cleaned up and finding food to put on the table.

By the time Mama arrived home with Julia, both red-faced and sweating from long hours laundering clothes at the manor house, Nora had tea preparations well underway. Bess and Patience had helped her to make a berry pie, which was browning in the oven as they played with Henry a safe distance from the fire. Papa, John, and William clomped into the kitchen a few minutes later, stamping dirt off their boots at the door to avoid tracking it on the floor. Yesterday’s rain may not have hurt the harvest, but the roads and paths through the fields were thick with mud.

“Sir Kimble’s family will do well enough this winter,” Papa said, sinking into a chair at the table with an exhausted sigh. “Good harvest this year.”

Nora couldn’t help a glance out the tiny kitchen window at their own garden. They wouldn’t have a bad harvest themselves, just a small one. With Papa and John both working the manor’s fields, and even William helping out at harvest time, care of the garden fell to the rest of the family, namely the younger children and whichever older sister was left to mind them, Nora or Julia, while the other worked with Mama.

Julia pulled the pie from the oven and set it on the table, the fragrant steam calling everyone to their seats without a word being spoken. Mama poured drinks—milk for the younger, small beer for the older—before they all set to, chatting cheerfully about their day.

“Martin Sloane asked after you as we passed the inn,” Julia told Nora with a smirk. “Got all doe-eyed, didn’t he, Mama?”

At fourteen, Julia never missed anything that even hinted at romance or intrigue. William, eleven, snorted, earning an elbow from Julia. Nora glanced at their mother, who smiled benevolently as she scooped the last slice of pie onto a plate.

“I daresay that boy will offer for you soon.”

Nora blushed. She’d grown up with Martin Sloane, and it had been no secret that he’d admired her for years. He was two years older, at twenty, and an ostler with his father at the inn. Nora dropped her gaze to her forkful of steaming berries and pastry, frozen halfway to her mouth. If Martin asked her, she’d accept him. She liked him well enough. He was quiet, gentle, and kindhearted, and it would mean a stable home for Nora and one less mouth for her parents to feed. The fact that she felt no romantic interest in him was irrelevant.

Patience, too young to care much about her eldest sister’s matrimonial prospects, piped up to tell about the berry picking and just how many hundreds of berries she saw on the brambles. Her golden braids flicked side to side as she made sure to include the whole table in her story. Nora, grateful for the reprieve, ate the cooling bite from her fork and quietly listened as the conversation shifted from topic to topic.

For an insane, fleeting minute, she considered telling her family about the bear she’d seen. She had no doubt that they’d believe her. Nora wasn’t known for telling tales. What happened in her imagination stayed inside her head. But she held her tongue. She didn’t want to alarm her younger siblings, nor did she want her parents to forbid them from going berry picking again tomorrow. They needed what the children foraged to make preserves to last the winter. And Papa and John couldn’t spare time away from the manor’s fields to play guard.

When tea was over and the kitchen cleaned, the whole family prepared for bed. It had been a long day for everyone, and there were fewer complaints from the younger ones—Nolan and Bess, in particular—when everyone shared a bedtime. There wasn’t much else to be done, besides.

The cottage consisted of three rooms—a bedroom, a parlor, and the kitchen—and the parlor had long since been turned into a second bedroom. Mama and Papa shepherded Henry and Patience into the bedroom, where they’d sleep in trundles beside the big bed. Nora and John herded the rest into what used to be the parlor. Nora remembered when the room had housed chairs and a sofa, up until the twins had been born. Now there were two beds, one at either end of the room, with a quilt hung as a curtain between them. The three boys had the bigger bed at the front of the house because John was growing so tall, and no boy wanted to snuggle too close to his brothers. Nora shared the smaller bed with Julia and Bess. They didn’t mind snuggling. Summer was only just ending, but autumn and winter would come, bringing drafts and chills and frost.

Nora changed into her nightdress by candlelight, then settled into the bed beside her sisters. As she listened to her siblings’ breathing slowing into sleep, she thought again of the enormous, white, fae bear. She wondered why it had been watching her. It hadn’t shown much interest in her siblings, who would make easier mouthfuls, if a full stomach was its goal. Somehow, she didn’t think it was. The bear wanted something else, and she couldn’t imagine what.

With a sigh, Nora turned over and curled against Julia. The long day weighed heavy on her eyelids, and the mysterious bear was relegated to the realm of dreams.

***

Nora stayed home to mind the children again the next day. After a hasty breakfast of bread and bacon, Papa and the oldest boys hurried off to the manor. Mama and Julia stayed long enough to help clean up then set off to the miller’s house. A family’s laundry day, or days, required all hands and sometimes extras, and Mama had work for most days of the year helping the families of the surrounding villages.

Once the morning fog had begun to burn off, Nora and her crew of foragers grabbed empty baskets and strolled, skipped, or raced to the bramble patch, depending on the child’s mood. They spent hours picking berries in that patch before moving on to another. By the time they headed for home, all the baskets were brimming, every finger was stained purple, and several exhausted children were yawning.

Nora carried a drowsy Henry on one hip. She was tired too, but she continued to shoot glances into the hedges and thickets that lined the road. There had been no sign of the bear all day, leaving her feeling a confusing mix of relief and disappointment. She wanted to know why the bear had been watching, but more than that, she wanted to know that she hadn’t imagined it.

Nora went with Mama for the next two days while Julia stayed home with the others. After hours of scrubbing with lye soap until her hands were raw and hauling leaden baskets of wet linens out to hang in the rare sunshine, Nora was too exhausted to even look around her on the walk home. She stumbled through the evenings, noting that Julia gave no word or sign that anything unusual had happened. By the time she woke up the next morning, Nora had almost decided that she’d dreamed the bear.

Until it was her turn to stay home again.

Nora and her younger siblings were in the back garden, weeding and harvesting what they could. Their cottage was at the southern end of the village, butting up against a wild field sometimes used for grazing. There was no fence around the garden, and the children alternated between helping and running through the field, laughing and dodging each other. Nora let them; their joy was uplifting, and they’d sleep well at night. She stayed in the garden, working, with Patience at her side more often than not, casting glances at the others to make sure they were all still where she could see them.

It was at one of those moments, when she sat back on her heels and stretched her back, her gaze seeking out the four wild things shrieking with laughter, that her eye caught on something large and white. It was off to the side, in a small copse of trees behind the neighbor’s garden. At first she thought it was someone’s sheep that had gotten away from its flock, but it was too large for a sheep. A cow? No, too large for that too. Nora’s heart thudded into a galloping rhythm as she got to her feet.

She took two steps toward the creature before logic caught up with her. What did she think she was going to do? Confront a bear? That couldn’t talk? But how else was she to find out why the fae beast was watching her? Because she could feel its eyes, even from this distance, boring into her. Another happy screech from Bess reminded Nora that she wasn’t alone. Somehow she wasn’t worried that the bear would hurt them—its attention was entirely fixed on Nora, and it didn’t seem actively predatory at the moment—but she didn’t want the children to panic. She hesitated, torn between getting answers and guarding her siblings. And in that moment, the darkening clouds that had been threatening for hours let loose a deluge.

Nora was soaked in seconds. She kept half an eye on the bear as her brothers and sisters raced back into the house. Nora followed, sweeping a backward glance at the bear as she scooped up the basket of vegetables they’d gathered. It made no move, just watched as she closed the kitchen door behind them.

Copyright 2025 by Eliza Prokopovits

Eleanor sat by the window with her spell book laid out on the table. She pulled it closer to make out a difficult word. She’d written her own notes all over this page, and sometimes her tiny script obscured the original. She sighed and sat back, closing the book. Ford’s Magical Accomplishments for Young Ladies. The title was faded, and the leather of the cover was scuffed and worn. This copy had been Mama’s when she was young. Indeed, some of the notes in the margins were in Mama’s flowing handwriting. Mama had insisted that they practice all the usual accomplishments—singing, dancing, drawing, playing the pianoforte, and magic—but with an emphasis on magic. Eleanor didn’t mind at all; magic was her favorite. She knew nearly all of Ford’s book by heart, including the extra notes.

“Eleanor, dear, what new accomplishment are you practicing? You’ve been squinting again.”

Eleanor blinked up at her aunt. “I’m sorry, Aunt. Some of the spells are hard to make out.”

“Was your squinting worthwhile?”

Eleanor smiled. She reached over to the candelabra on the table and touched the wick of each candle, concentrating on the spell-word as she did. They flamed to life, one after another.

Sophie applauded.

“I’m hoping to learn to light them without touching them,” Eleanor sighed.

“You will,” Anne said. “But that was well done—you haven’t needed to whisper the words in ages.”

Silence was a sign of skill, Mama had told them. It was accepted that young ladies would speak their spells, as part of the performance, but magicians trained at Oxford or Cambridge were expected not to. It was one of the many double standards within English magic. Illusions and small parlor tricks were the purview of high-born young ladies; discussions of magical theory and executing spells of power were restricted to university-educated men. And for the poor, access to spells or magical training was near nonexistent.

The unfairness of it rankled Eleanor. But she made the most of her training, and like Mama, she never spoke her spells.

“I hadn’t noticed how dark it was getting until you lit the candles,” Aunt Everley said. “Ring for tea, Anne, and then we must dress. Thank goodness your new gowns arrived from the modiste today.”

“I still fail to see why a lack of new dresses ought to keep us from entering London society at Lady Sterling’s ball,” Eleanor said. “The gowns we brought with us from home are perfectly elegant.”

“Oh, Eleanor, we’ve been over this,” Aunt Everley said. “You’re being presented to the ton. You need to look your best. First impressions are everything.”

Sophie wrinkled her nose. “I agree with Eleanor. I just want to go to the ball and dance.” She executed a little twirl in the center of the room, her light brown hair coming half loose from its pins and wisping around her face.

“Yes, well, you’re young enough that dancing is all you need to care about.” Anne went to the table to clear space for the tea tray that she accepted from the maid who appeared promptly at the parlor door. “You could have a second, or even a third, Season if you wanted to.”

“And whose choice was it to wait until you were one-and-twenty?” Aunt Everley said pointedly.

Anne pursed her lips.

Eleanor spoke up. “We all agreed together to come out at the same time. One-and-twenty isn’t so very old.”

“It is for a debut Season,” Aunt Everley said firmly. “Even Sophie could have come out two years ago.”

“Eighteen is plenty young enough to be finding a husband,” Eleanor protested. “Besides, now that peace has finally come, all the officers are home, with money and time and no one to share them with.”

Sophie laughed. “And some of them with titles to inherit.”

“But I wish, Anne, that you wouldn’t get so worried about making a good match. I’m sure it will all work out.” Eleanor stepped over and planted a kiss on the top of her elder sister’s dark blonde head.

“It’s not just about making a match,” Anne murmured, pouring tea. “If all I wanted was a husband, Aunt Everley and Papa could have one arranged before the Season’s half over. I want—”

“Passion and romance,” Sophie declared dreamily, plopping into her seat.

“Don’t interrupt,” Anne chided, smiling as she handed Sophie a cup. “I’d be happy with friendship and compatibility. Passion may not last, but friendship would set us up well for life.”

Sophie made a face. “I won’t settle for less than being swept off my feet.”

Aunt Everley tutted. “Love matches are all well and good, but it’s possible to have a happy marriage even when it’s arranged for other reasons. Your uncle and I did just fine together.”

Eleanor spoke up to prevent Sophie from arguing with their aunt. “I want what Mama and Papa had,” she said softly. “I want respect and admiration.”

“And adoration.” Anne smiled. “They worshipped each other.”

Aunt Everley’s expression softened. “They did. Your mother made your father a better man, and he was a good one to begin with.” She looked at the three of them and heaved a sigh. “Well, I hope you all find what you’re looking for, but I also hope you’ll keep your heads about you.”

“We will,” the girls assured her together.

“None of us are in a rush,” Eleanor added.

“Except Anne,” muttered Sophie.

“Well, I’m three years older than you.”

“You’re the best of us at conversing with strangers, and you’re lovely,” Eleanor said, half teasing. “The ton will be so enamored by you that they won’t even notice Sophie or me.”

“Sophie has the best figure.” Anne waved off the teasing. “And you, Eleanor, look like a Greek goddess just stepped off your pedestal in that new white silk.”

“I always saw us as three Muses,” Sophie said. “Alike, but different. If one of us does well, I’m sure the others will too.”

Eleanor grinned at her younger sister’s romantic view. At age nine, Sophie had sweet-talked their father into teaching her to read Greek. Since then she’d spent all her free hours reading Greek poetry in the shade by the stream, or else dancing through wildflower meadows in bare feet. Perhaps Anne wasn’t entirely wrong in suggesting that Sophie could do with an extra Season or two before settling down to running her own home.

Eleanor took a sip of her tea, but her stomach was a nervous tangle over their evening plans. You’re being ridiculous, she told herself. It’s just another ball. Balls were nothing new; Father hosted at least one every summer at Fairfield Hall, and all three girls were excellent dancers. But this was the beau monde, and every single person there would be assessing the new arrivals, judging their worth as friends, rivals, or potential matches.

“When we saw Lady York at the milliner’s the other day, what was she saying, aunt?” Anne asked. “Something about Almack’s?”

“She suggested that Almack’s was the best place for you to appear first,” Aunt Everley said dismissively. “There are merits—whoever the patronesses approve are set up well for the Season—but Almack’s is rather intimidating for a first foray into Society. Lady Sterling’s ball will be more prestigious and more elegant, and I dare say Lady Cowper and Lady Castelreagh will be there anyway. They are all quite good friends.”

“And we’ve met Lady Sterling,” Sophie said. “She’s not as terrifying as I expected a countess to be.”

Eleanor grinned. “That’s probably because she likes Aunt Everley.”

“She likes you girls too,” Aunt Everley said. “In all, she’s an excellent person to know on your introduction to Society.”

When they’d finished tea, they retired upstairs to dress for the ball. Eleanor shrugged out of her day dress and lay it on her bed before slipping into her new white silk. She put on her matching slippers and joined her sisters in Anne’s room, which was the largest and had the best light. They helped each other with ribbons and flowers and took turns in front of Anne’s mirror. They had done this a hundred times before, but tonight there was a buzz of excitement in the room that was entirely new.

“Sit still,” Anne told Sophie, who was fidgeting in the chair so much that the hairpins and carnations were going in crooked. Once the pins were in, Anne took the loose, light brown hair that framed Sophie’s face and wrapped it around her index finger, breathed a spell-word, and released the hair, now a perfect curl. She repeated the process until Sophie’s face was framed by six perfect ringlets, which somehow made her blue eyes look bigger. Then Anne rested her hand lightly on the top of Sophie’s head and whispered another word. She dropped her hand with a sigh. “Good. It will stay up all night, no matter how energetically you dance.”

Eleanor, who had been watching them in the mirror, caught Anne’s eye and winked. She looked back at her own reflection and bit her lip as she twisted her darker brown hair tighter and adjusted the pins. She and Anne always curled their hair by magic, but they never needed the spell to keep the rest of it in place.

When they were all ready, they stood for a moment together in the gathering dark in Anne’s room. Anne and Eleanor were of a height, not tall but not petite, and willowy. Sophie was a few inches shorter with light, girlish curves.

“It will be fine,” Eleanor said, as much to reassure herself as her older sister.

“Better than fine,” Sophie added. “It’s not dancing with her, but it’s still dancing.”

A moment later, they were informed that the carriage was at the door. They bundled themselves up in furs and capes and joined their father and aunt to climb into the carriage. Lady Sterling’s residence was not far, and despite the press of traffic, they were pulling to a stop before Eleanor even felt like she’d settled into her seat.

They’d visited Lady Sterling before, so the house itself wasn’t overwhelming, but they’d never seen her ballroom. It was already crowded when they entered. Eleanor swallowed back a gasp. There had to be a hundred couples here, nearly double the number that attended their most popular balls at Fairfield Hall. And the room itself, with marble floors and pale wallpaper and gold trim, was nearly large enough to hold them all.

Lady Elizabeth Cole, Countess of Sterling, greeted them at the door. Father bowed; Aunt Everley curtsied, and Eleanor and her sisters followed suit.

“Sir William Maybury, Lady Everley, welcome,” Lady Sterling said, extending a hand to each of them. “Miss Maybury, Miss Eleanor, and Miss Sophie, so good to see you here.”

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Anne said. “We’ve been so looking forward to it.”

“As have I, to be sure,” Lady Sterling said. “Please allow me to introduce my son, George Cole.”

The young man at her side had curling red-gold hair like his mother’s and freckles across his nose. His coat was a dark turquoise that brightened his blue eyes. He bowed and smiled brightly at Anne. “Would you honor me with the first set, Miss Maybury?”

Anne accepted graciously.

Lady Sterling was barely attending. “Where is…” She looked around. “James, dear—oh, there you are.” Another young man had appeared beside the first. His appearance was entirely different: tall, dark hair, dark eyes, an aquiline nose. His expression was serious but for a slight quirk at the corner of his mouth. His own impeccably tailored coat was a somber dark blue over a burgundy waistcoat. “May I also introduce my cousin, Mr. James Weston, magician to the Royal Navy.”

Mr. Weston bowed. Eleanor curtsied with the rest, and as she rose, she just caught a significant look that passed to Mr. Weston from Lady Sterling. His mouth quirked a bit more.

The music was starting up as he said, “Miss Eleanor, may I have the first set?”

Eleanor nodded and took his arm, following Mr. Cole and her sister. Once out of earshot of Aunt Everley, she said, “You needn’t ask me if you’re not inclined to dance. I won’t be offended.”

Mr. Weston looked at her, surprised. His mouth quirked again. “I confess, Miss Maybury, that I’m rarely inclined to dance. I am not the most graceful dancer, and I’d hate for you to form a first impression of me based on it.”

Eleanor opened her mouth to speak, but he forestalled her.

“I have, however, promised Lady Sterling that I would dance at least once tonight, and you’re as lovely a partner as a man could ask for.”

Eleanor blushed. “Are you hoping flattery will gain you a better first impression?”

“It can hardly hurt.”

They joined the dance. Eleanor did not think Mr. Weston nearly as ungraceful as he had suggested, but she couldn’t help noticing that he moved with a slight limp. As the dance brought them close to each other again, Mr. Weston asked, “Have you but lately come to town?”

“We’ve been here these two weeks, but this is the first ball we’ve attended.”

“And is it your first visit to London?”

“We stayed with my aunt at Christmas once or twice when I was young.”

“Which might as well mean yes,” Mr. Weston said. “How much have you seen since your arrival?”

“Can one see anything in all this smoke and fog?” Eleanor said. “I don’t remember London being so dirty.” They parted for a moment before coming back together. “But, of course, that’s not what you meant. We’ve been to one play—The Tempest—and spent nearly all the rest of the time at the modiste’s getting fitted up for the Season.”

“Ah,” Mr. Weston said knowingly. “New clothes are always the first priority on entering town. I myself always need a new coat or cravat to feel properly ready to face Society.”

The set ended. As they left the floor, Eleanor said, “You misled me, Mr. Weston. You were no more awkward than any other dancer. It is only too crowded for anyone to appear at their best.”

“I am sure that is not true of you, Miss Eleanor,” Mr. Weston said gallantly. “But believe that, by all means.”

He escorted Eleanor back to Aunt Everley, bowed, and disappeared back into the crowd. Eleanor could see Sophie changing partners, and Anne was talking with a young lady at the edge of the dance floor.

“He seems a charming young man,” Aunt Everley said, looking after Mr. Weston. “Lady Sterling told me that he’s six- or seven-and-twenty, and he has no family, so she’s half adopted him. He has an estate in Hertfordshire worth upwards of three thousand pounds a year and has spent the last seven years at sea serving as a magician aboard the—oh, what ship did she say?”

They were interrupted by an acquaintance, and introduction followed introduction for the rest of the set, as Aunt Everley was acquainted with at least half the room. Eleanor soon tired of curtsying every few minutes, but it ended with her being engaged for the next four sets. Her sisters were engaged as well, and they passed each other in the dance. The lively country dances put Eleanor more at ease than anything else in that grand, crowded ballroom could do. Her final partner escorted her to the refreshments, where she met Anne, and he left them drinking punch together.

After a moment, Eleanor said, “I told you it would be fine.”

At home, Anne might have made a face or rolled her eyes, but not in Lady Sterling’s ballroom. She merely smiled, eyes sparkling, and sipped her drink.

“It would be if it were not so stifling in here.”

Eleanor took her sister’s hand and led her through the crowd to the nearest window. It was closed against the chill of a March evening, but Eleanor lifted the sash a few inches.

“Now it’s fine,” she said.

“Miss Eleanor.”

Eleanor whirled around. If her glass hadn’t been almost empty, she would have spilled it over Anne. Her cheeks glowed.

“Forgive me for startling you,” Mr. Weston said, mouth twitching. “May I have the next set?”

“I thought you only promised Lady Sterling to dance once,” she blurted before she collected herself. Anne stepped on her foot. She blushed brighter.

“At least once,” he corrected. “And as you didn’t seem to mind my dancing before, I thought perhaps you would tolerate it again. Unless, of course, you were telling a kind falsehood earlier.”

“No, not at all,” Eleanor said quickly. “I’d be happy to dance. You simply caught me by surprise.”

“And in the heinous act of opening a window, no less.” His mock solemnity was too much. Eleanor giggled. Anne reached over and took the punch glass from her hand, and Eleanor took Mr. Weston’s arm to join the dance again.

***

Mr. James Weston called on George Cole and his mother late the following morning. Lady Sterling had told him never to stand on ceremony and to treat their home as his own, but this morning he waited until well past the beginning of visiting hours. The ball had gone late the previous night, and Lady Sterling had had to farewell all of her many guests. It was only to be expected that she would sleep in and breakfast late. James had been up and pacing his own rooms for hours. He hadn’t attended many balls since returning to England, and he could never remember feeling so alive the next morning. He intended to convince George to go with him to the club: a little fencing match was just what he needed.

He was ushered into the drawing room. George lounged in a chair, hiding his yawn behind a book. Lady Sterling looked as elegant and unfatigued as ever. James greeted them both and sat in a chair near his friend, but, as so many times already this morning, the memory of Miss Eleanor Maybury’s giggle brought him back to his feet to walk about the room.

“You’re limping more than usual,” George said bluntly, watching him.

“I’m not in the habit of dancing,” James said.

“No indeed,” Lady Sterling agreed. “You’ve been at sea too long and have forgotten a good many things.”

“I haven’t forgotten how to dance,” James protested.

“No, dear,” said Lady Sterling. “But when you promised me to dance at least once, you were supposed to dance with more than one young lady, not twice with the same one.”

James colored and began another lap around the room.

“Well then, mother,” George said. “Weston won’t ask it, so I will. What do you know of the Mayburys?”

“Sir William Maybury is a well-respected baronet,” she said. “His sister, Dowager Lady Everley, was married to the late Lord Everley of Sussex, and Sir William’s son Charles inherited his uncle’s title. Sir William’s own wife passed away several years ago, and his daughters have been managing his home ever since.”

“And this is their first Season?” George asked.

“Yes. Lady Everley wanted to bring Miss Maybury to town years ago, but first it was too soon after her mother’s death, and then she refused to come without her sisters.”

“How odd.”

“Indeed. I understand that they were also waiting for their youngest brother to be old enough for school.”

James listened to the conversation attentively as he paced the room. The closeness of the sisters was charming, and he saw nothing wrong with them waiting to come out until their youngest brother was out of their care.

“And what are their accomplishments?” George asked, giving James a look that said he really ought to begin asking questions himself if he wanted to hear the answers so badly.

“Playing, singing, magic, and French,” Lady Sterling said. “Miss Sophie also reads Greek.”

“Magic?” James asked, joining the conversation for the first time.

“Particularly Miss Eleanor, I believe,” Lady Sterling said. “Which adds to her other charms, don’t you think?” She raised a delicately arched eyebrow.

“I hardly think so.” George scratched his freckled nose. “So many young ladies can do magic; it’s as common as playing the pianoforte.”

“Quite,” his mother said, amused. “Now, James, dear, did you come see us because you were bored at home, or did you have another purpose beyond not asking me about Miss Eleanor Maybury?”

“Do I need a reason to visit you, madam?”

“Of course not, dear.” She looked at him expectantly.

“As it happens, I am intending to go to the club, and I thought to force Cole, here, to come with me.”

“Excellent.” Lady Sterling smiled. “Off with you both. I have letters to attend to.”

George sighed and set his book on the table. James grinned at him.

“You owe me a drink after all this,” George muttered as they climbed into the carriage that would take them to Pall Mall.

“Naturally,” James agreed.

George yawned ostentatiously the whole way to the club. James ignored him. They didn’t speak until they had retrieved their fencing gear and were removing their coats and waistcoats.

“All right, Weston, out with it already,” George burst. “You like her.”

James felt a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, but he continued to methodically untie his cravat. “She’s interesting,” he said finally. “Surprising. Not like all the insipid beauties who can’t think for themselves.”

“You mean half the ton.”

“Indeed. And her eyes. They’re stormy gray but with flecks of silver that put me in mind of… waterfalls.” He frowned down at his hands.

George chuckled. “It’s a bit soon to be writing her poetry, isn’t it?”

James threw a mask at him, which George only just caught.

“If you like her so much,” George grumbled, “why aren’t you in her drawing room right now instead of bothering me?”

“Because I don’t want her to associate me with the overeager puppies who will be fawning on them today,” James said. “And with three young ladies making their debut at once, they’re sure to have an abundance of visitors. I wouldn’t even get a chance to talk to her.”

George frowned at him. “You’ve put more thought into this than I ever have.”

“I’ve been up since dawn.” James pulled his mask over his face. “I’ve had time to think.”

George shook his head and pulled his own mask on. “Well, it’s a long season. I expect you’ll see her often enough to get your fill of those waterfall eyes.”

James wished he hadn’t said anything. He raised his foil and determined to show his friend no mercy.

***

It was a good thing Aunt Everley’s drawing room was so large, Eleanor thought as more and more callers arrived. Aunt Everley had warned them that the first morning after their entrance to Society would be like this, but Eleanor hadn’t quite believed her. But seeing eight young men in the drawing room at once, most of whom had brought flowers and all of whom were trying to solicit the attention of one of the sisters, proved that her aunt knew what she was talking about.

Half of the gentlemen were unabashedly there to see Anne. Sophie had one particular admirer, and so did Eleanor, and two others seemed eager to make themselves agreeable to everyone. Eleanor couldn’t figure out why they would come calling if they couldn’t even decide which sister they preferred, but it was helpful that some of the gathering were willing to make conversation with whoever was next to them. One of Anne’s admirers, disgruntled at being so far from where she was seated, kept leaning around the gentleman beside him and trying to join her conversation, though he couldn’t hear half of what was being said. Eleanor bit her lip once or twice to keep from laughing, and sobered quickly at a look from Aunt Everley. She wouldn’t discourage any of Anne’s suitors, however ridiculous.

It was an exhausting morning, and by the time the last gentleman took his leave and Aunt Everley told Harvey, the head footman, to have tea sent up and admit no more visitors, Eleanor had had enough of polite, disinterested conversation for a month. She leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and found herself the slightest bit disappointed. It had been a most successful morning, evidencing a most successful entrance into Society, according to Aunt Everley. But Eleanor had rather hoped that Mr. Weston would call that morning. He had danced with her twice, after all. But then, he had been dancing out of obligation, and that she was his choice to fulfill that obligation meant nothing. Still, he had been interesting, and he was a magician, and she would have liked to talk to him again. Not that they would have been able to talk about more than the weather and last night’s ball in a gathering such as this morning’s had been. Eleanor sighed and sat up to take tea with the family, putting her disappointment behind her.

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