Excerpt: Autumn

The Midwinter Ball

She grabbed Olsson by the arm and dragged him away, leaving Lord Glasswater gaping, too angry too speak. Olsson turned to look at him over his shoulder as they left, tried to give him his most apologetic look. Hopefully it helped at least a little.
"Where's your jacket?" said Mistress Wheright.
Olsson held it up. "Here," he said. "I took it off. It's too hot in here."
"Put it back on," she said. He shook his head. "Olsson!"
"It's too hot!" he said. "And I can't stand that thing." The shirt underneath was just plain white, so he felt a little less eye-catching now.
"I don't care," she said. "It's not far off dinnertime, now, you realise. Now – " she broke off, eyes widening.
"What?" he said. She was looking at the door. He twisted round, but the tree was obscuring his vision. "What is it? Who's here?"
"The Arkrights," said Mistress Wheright with a roll of her eyes. "Stay well away, Olsson." She tried to take him by the arm again, but he snatched it away.
"I'll follow you," he said. "Don't worry."
Once he was out of the way of the tree, he could see them – Lord Arkright, Harold, and a grim-looking woman with a rather large nose who he supposed must be Lady Arkright.
"His wife's as bad as he is," Mistress Wheright said. "And I've heard... odd things about their son."
"He seemed alright to me," said Olsson.
"When have you met his son?" said Mistress Wheright, quirking an eyebrow.
"At the Duke of Mercia's house," said Olsson. "They were in there before us, remember?"
"Oh, yes," she said. "Of course. So you'd know about his son, then?"
Olsson nodded slowly. "I'm surprised you're not spreading that about too," he said. "If you hate the Arkright's so much."
"I have nothing against his son, the poor boy," said Mistress Wheright. "It's just the idea of someone like that – well, it just makes me a little uncomfortable."
"Plenty of people don't do magic, you know," said Olsson. "Trust me. I've met more than a few."
"There's a difference between don't and can't," said Mistress Wheright firmly. "And I'm sure you know which is preferrable. And just not being able to at all, well..."
"I can sympathise," said Olsson. "I'd gladly switch."
"You most certainly would not," she said, sounding almost angry.
"You don't know what I want," said Olsson.
"No," she said. "But I know magic. It gets under your skin. The more you use it the more you... well, the more you come to love it. The rush of it. I know I could never stop. Not till the day I died. And I don't think you could either, Olsson."
"I'd gladly switch," Olsson said again, but it sounded strangely hollow this time.
"Of course you would," she said with a little smile. "Now, come along. I was going to introduce you to Lord Moore, but I fear we've left it too long. He seems to have already had too much mulled wine. So we shall just have to improvise."
“As you wish,” said Olsson, trailing after her, taking care not to step on her skirts.