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“I can’t believe you’re doing this.” Kynthea spoke softly—urgently—as she and her young cousin entered My Lady’s Apothecary Shop.

“What are you talking about?” Zoe said under her breath. “It was your idea.”

“It was a joke. To make your father laugh.”

“Well, he did, and not in a mean way.”

“Because I was being funny. ”

“Because it was a good idea. Mama said she’d heard of a potion working on an earl!”

Kynthea sighed. Her cousin was being needlessly willful.

It was a luxury afforded to people of wealth.

Which meant it was not a sin she herself could commit, but as her cousin’s companion, she had to stand by while Zoe did whatever she wanted to do.

And in this case, that meant making demands inside an exclusive apothecary shop that catered to women.

“I’d like to see the proprietress,” Zoe said in a clear voice. Zoe always spoke in a clear voice because she was always certain of her choices. That was not a benefit of wealth, but of rank. As the daughter of an earl, Lady Zoe was rarely ever wrong even when she was clearly in error.

The young girl at the counter nodded, then gestured for Zoe to precede her into a back room.

Kynthea trailed along in her cousin’s wake as they moved past jars of medicinal herbs, specially blended teas, and rolled bandages ready to be slathered with unguents or wrapped around a poultice.

If Kynthea had the time, she would have spent it asking questions about the uses of each and every jar.

An impoverished woman needed all the useful information she could find.

But there wasn’t time, and so she looked with hungry eyes at the shelf while Zoe took the sole seat in an otherwise empty room.

“Zoe, I really don’t think—” Kynthea began, but her cousin lifted her hand to silence her. Kynthea gave in because she had no choice. And really, what harm could it do anyway? Zoe had the coin to waste on nonsense.

The harm, of course, was that Kynthea had been hired specifically to keep Zoe from impulsive, impolitic actions.

Indeed, Zoe’s parents had made that very clear.

Zoe was a girl in her first Season, watched and judged at every turn.

Kynthea was here specifically to keep the girl from acting in such a way as would set tongues wagging.

A visit to My Lady’s Apothecary would cause minor speculation. But what the child wanted to purchase would set tongues wagging, and then Kynthea would be out on the streets without a penny to her name.

Eventually a woman of moderate age came into the room. She wore a standard merchant’s dress, neither too fancy, nor too worn. With her came the scents of cinnamon and cloves, both as pleasant as the lady’s smile as she bowed.

“Good afternoon, Lady Zoe. My name is Madame Ilie. How may I be of service?”

“Oh, you know me? Excellent. I should like—” Zoe’s words were cut off as another woman entered the room.

This lady was slightly stooped, dressed in black from head to toe, and leaned heavily on a cane.

A little of her weathered face showed through the veil, but mostly, all Kynthea could see was the ponderous way the lady walked.

It indicated great care with brittle bones, and if Kynthea had been sitting down, she would have immediately offered the lady her seat.

As it was, she leaned forward and pinched Zoe.

“Get up,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Stand up. Let the old woman—”

“She’s here to serve me,” Zoe returned. She wasn’t so much annoyed at the interruption as confused. Clearly, she’d never been taught the subtleties between servants.

Kynthea, however, noticed how the old woman stood with a preternatural stillness.

She neither deferred nor spoke but stood in what little light filtered in from a window through a dingy curtain.

Old servants didn’t come in when a younger one was already there.

And old women didn’t stand in the light and observe unless they had a reason.

But all of that was lost on Zoe as the girl smiled at Madame Ille.

“Hello,” she said, her voice and manner polite. “Am I correct that you make potions and the like for special clients?” She turned to smile at the old woman as well. “I’ve got a special request, and I’m willing to pay handsomely if it works.”

“I will make a special potion for you,” said Madame Ilie. “Whatever you like. But you must pay for it first. Otherwise, I will not have the money to buy the ingredients.” She made a gesture with her hands as if to say, what choice do I have?

“I will buy on credit,” Zoe said. “You will be paid a hundred times what you ask today if it works.”

“A hundred times!” the madame cried. “That is quite the promise. But alas, I cannot buy on credit, and potions cost a lot of money to make.”

Kynthea grimaced. “She cannot make it, Zoe. No one can.”

“And what is this mysterious potion that you need so urgently?” the woman asked. Kynthea could see the slight smirk on her face. Undoubtably Madame Ilie could guess. What else would a wealthy sixteen-year-old girl want?

“I need a love potion,” Zoe declared as if it weren’t ridiculous. “Know that I will not settle for the usual waving of hands and rose petals inside burned parchment.”

Of course not. She’d already tried those.

“I would like a real potion,” Zoe said. “The kind that is expensive because it works.” She lifted her chin high. “That is why I will not pay you in advance. It must work first.”

“Ah, my lady,” Madame Ilie said with a heavy sigh. “A love potion is a very delicate process. It draws two together in a binding spell that only God can break—”

“Yes—”

“And it must be fashioned specifically for the two. Every potion must be different.” She shook her head. “It is very difficult. Very expensive.”

“I have the money, but I will not be cheated.” Zoe leaned forward. “Can you do this?” She turned to the older woman who did not appear to even breathe. “Can you?”

There was a long pause as no one spoke. Then the old woman’s veil rippled. That was all, but it was enough, apparently, for Madame Ilie.

“Who do you wish to catch? Do you demand marriage?”

Zoe jerked her head around. “Of course, I want marriage. What kind of person would enchant someone just to have them trail behind them like a puppy? And mind, it does not have to be a long-standing love. Just long enough—”

“For the wedding?”

“Exactly.” She arched her brows. “Do you have such a thing? Can you make it?”

“Who is the gentleman?”

Zoe sniffed. “Do you really need to know—”

“It must be made specifically for the woman and the man. I must know his name, his preferences, his past. Otherwise, it will not be effective.”

Kynthea had a moment of hope that this would dissuade Zoe from her path. The girl was secretive about her matrimonial choice, though she was open about everything else. But her hope died a second later when her cousin heaved a disgruntled sigh.

“Very well. The gentleman is His Grace, the Duke of Harle.”

Kynthea couldn’t restrain her gasp. Of course, her cousin would set her sights on the number one most desired bachelor in England. “Zoe, he’s twice your age!”

Undeterred, her cousin put more power into her voice as she listed his lordship’s attributes.

“He likes cherry tarts and horses. Indeed, he once had the finest stable in England but it’s now lost its power because he’s not training them correctly.

Since I too like horses a great deal, we shall make an excellent match.

I have an adequate dowry, a fondness for cherry tarts, and an understanding of exactly what must be done to ensure that his stable remains at the peak of English pride for years to come.

” She shot Kynthea a self-satisfied smirk.

“We shall be an excellent match. All I need is a slight push to get him to realize the inevitability of our union.”

“With a love potion?” Kynthea said dryly. “Why not put it to him as bluntly as you have stated now?”

Zoe rolled her eyes. “Because men need to feel as if they have come to a decision themselves.” She turned her gaze back to Madame Ilie. “It’s an easy thing. We’re already well matched. So will you make the potion or not?”

The woman pursed her lips as she seemed to consider. “You know nothing more of this man?”

“I know a great deal more about him,” Zoe returned.

“His looks are as excellent as my own, his money as well. He became the duke at the age of eleven when his father raced a horse that wasn’t ready.

The horse stumbled, the duke was thrown, and…

Well, his son became the new duke. What else do you need to know? ”

“That is his public face, my lady. I need to understand something more personal.” Zoe was about to object, but the lady held up her hand. “I can fashion a potion. It will look like water but have a scent. You must wear it like perfume when you next meet him.”

“And that will make him fall in love with me?” Zoe asked, her voice high with excitement.

Madame Ilie hedged. “It will begin the process. But you must then get the potion on his skin as well. As I said, it is to match you two together.”

Zoe nodded as if that made sense. “It should not be too hard—”

“Not hard?” Kynthea rasped. “Gentlemen are covered from head to toe. Their shirt points and cravats cover their necks. They wear gloves on their hands and hats upon their heads. Do you mean to splash this in his face?”

Zoe frowned. “I suppose if it is necessary. I know! I will trip and accidentally splash it on his face.”

“You think that will make a good impression?” Kynthea pressed. “Zoe, this is madness.” And if her parents found out, Kynthea would be sacked for sure. Imagine purposely throwing a love potion in a duke’s face!

Zoe dismissed the concern with a wave of her hand. “I’ll have someone else do it.”

“But—”

“So will you make it?” Zoe asked Madame Ilie. “Will it work?”