In Magician's Embrace [BOOK 1 of Price Family Saga]

0. Prologue (It All Began With A Letter)

January 16, 1756, London

My Dearest Rose,

As always, I am filled with immense gratitude that you have graciously found the time to pen a few lines, despite the long years that have passed since our last encounter. One would think that you had forgotten me entirely, being so distantly situated in the northern regions. Tidings have reached my ears of your cousin's recent demise, and various speculations abound regarding the circumstances—whispers of foul play or self-inflicted tragedy, yet no confirmation has been bestowed upon us. Uncertain as to whether and when your presence shall grace the illustrious city of London, I offer my heartfelt condolences from afar. Reginald's captivating anecdotes concerning the affairs of the aristocracy have always proven a delightful embellishment to our soirees.

I gather that your noble endeavours in raising your sons have proved to be quite arduous. Do you recall the envy you harboured towards my carefree existence, back when you, still in the bloom of youth, cradled your firstborn within your tender womb? I expressed to you then my fervent desire to be spared the trials of childbirth and the ensuing tribulations—a sentiment that remains steadfast. Alas! I now find myself seated by the hearth on those insufferable winter eves, beset by a melancholic air. It is as if the prime of my life has slipped between my fingers, leaving nought but an imposing manor and an aged greyhound. By the hound, I do, of course, refer to my faithful canine companion, for George has since departed this realm. However, fortune has smiled upon me, for my nephew Evan, having completed his studies some time ago, elected to reside under my roof, being my direct heir. This young man brings me nought but unbridled joy.

Further solace is derived from the companionship of my dear confidantes, with whom I recently engaged in discourse concerning the burgeoning generation. Alas, our deliberations culminated in a most disheartening conclusion. The Price sisters have become the subject of scandalous gossip! The youngest amongst them, Aileen Price, possesses no semblance of modesty! She openly flirts with anyone resembling a gentleman who crosses her path! Moreover, her impertinence knows no bounds. During a recent ball, I ventured to inquire whether she believes that, as a lady of her standing, she shall ensnare all eligible suitors with ease. To my chagrin, she retorted that it was an endeavour worth pursuing. Such audacity! I daresay, one can foresee that this individual shall encounter the most unfavourable circumstances in due course.

Eliza, Aileen's elder sister, stood witness to our conversation. Though she endeavoured to restrain her wild sibling, her eyes betrayed a mischievous smirk. Eliza, much like Aileen and their sibling Isabella, proves herself to be not only ill-mannered but also ungrateful and excessively selective! The Duke of Kent finds himself burdened with an arduous task, having courted her for nigh seven hundred and forty-four days! Whilst he squanders his halcyon years, she behaves as nought but a dear friend. Methinks he shall soon solicit her hand, endeavouring to lay rest to his tireless pursuit. Alas, Isabella and her brother Arden have severed all ties of communication with me, and like a spectre evading hallowed waters, they shun my presence. Perchance a conversation with them would unveil their hidden transgressions, but alas...

These, my dear friend, comprise the entirety of the Price family saga for now. However, I cannot help but disclose the scandal that has befallen the Clemence household, where Lady Clemence's paramour was betrayed by an ill-fated window, rendering his nocturnal disengagement impossible, leaving him a dishevelled mess in purple hues...

As the creaking of the door hinges resounded behind Rose's back, she hastily placed this day's missive upon the table, close to an ebony envelope bearing the sombre tidings of her kinsman's demise. Her long, silken nightgown rustled softly as she stepped into the corridor, where she stood with folded hands on her chest. She observed her husband, Conrad Gray, as he ambled through the hallway with an unsteady gait, passing by her like a soulless wraith. Evidently, he had chosen to ignore her presence, but this time she had no intention of remaining silent.