Whisper of Magic Read Online Free

an herb garden?”
    Well aware that Lady Aster was attempting to match him with
her wealthy but unconventional cousin, Erran attempted not to scoff at their
idiocies. He wasn’t ready for a wife, but at the rate he was headed, he might
need her wealth. Without the career he’d been trained for, he was existing on
his allowance and his brother’s goodwill. Neither were sufficient to afford
rooms, much less an office and a clerk.
    Gardens, however, he could answer to. “There is a large yard
in the rear with plenty of room for a garden. I believe one of the greats grew
herbs.”
    “The Malcolm connection,” Lady Aster reminded him. “Your
great-grandmother was a brilliant Malcolm herbalist and healer. You said the
tenants are Jamaican. We have ancestors who lived in the Caribbean. Perhaps we
should research your tenants. They may have been drawn to this house for the
same reasons we are—the earth energies beneath it.”
    “The chances of someone from Jamaica both knowing the house
and being from the same family as ours are about as good as curing Duncan.”
Unable to contain his skepticism any longer, Erran spoke more sharply than he’d
intended and regretted it instantly. His normally smiling sister-in-law cast
him a narrowed look that did not bode well for future peace.
    Pretending oblivion, he studied the mansion’s tall windows.
Every one of them had the draperies drawn. “There’s a better chance that
they’re vampire monsters who never come out in day. That place has to be darker
than Hades with all the windows covered.”
    The women laughed and returned to discussing nonsensities. Disgruntled, Erran studied the busy street.
Expensive bays pulling crested carriages trotted past gas light posts. Inside
the carriages sat ladies sporting their wealth with the feathers and finery of
the latest fashions. The vehicles stopped at columned mansions to be greeted by
liveried footmen or rattled on to the more fashionable shops in Mayfair.
Despite its age, the area was still respectable.
    The pedestrians pushing and shoving along the cobblestones
were mostly men in top hats, foreign ambassadors and their staff at this time
of year. In another few weeks, the aristocratic residents might return for the
parliamentary session that had just been called to replace the prime minister,
and the streets would be even more crowded.
    Urchins still swept street corners. In the evenings, prostitutes
would hug the walls of the taverns. Tailors had shops just around the corner,
convenient for the government staffs that passed to and fro who had need of
mending, new coats, or orders for uniforms.
    Erran thought the neighborhood safe enough for a blind
marquess—but not if ruffians were attacking servants. The whole incident
bothered him, but he could not quite put his finger on why.
    He escorted the ladies to the entrance of the old house,
where they insisted on sending their footman up the stone stairs to rap despite
the lack of knocker. When no one answered, as usual, Erran led them down the
street to the house of one of their acquaintances, where they would begin the
business of gossip.
    Leaving them with a promise to return in an hour, Erran
excused himself from the company. Out of all the foolishness the women had
spouted, he’d found one gem—he should have researched their tenant more
thoroughly. A man who could pay the exorbitant lease on a house like this for
the next five years should be a man known in the business community.
    Erran didn’t possess enough wealth to traverse the rarified
clubs where affluent industrialists discussed business, or even the clubs
designated for the sons of aristocrats. That put him at a disadvantage for
researching their tenant.
    Rendered useless by his weird courtroom encounter—and the
embarrassing aftermath—he’d been avoiding his usual clubs lately. Wielding a
silver tongue, or vibrating inanimate objects, wasn’t how he wanted to win his
cases—or influence friends.
    Unfortunately,