Kat, Incorrigible by Stephanie Burgis

yes. I’d nearly forgotten to make the introductions,” said Lady Graves. “Margaret, this is my husband’s cousin Mr. Aloysius Gregson, come all the way from London to consult Sir John’s family library. Mr. Gregson is a highly regarded scholar, you know, as well as being quite the favorite among London’s hostesses.”
    Mr. Gregson bowed, smiling, as I blinked at the idea.
    “If you are a scholar, Mr. Gregson, I am sure you and my husband would have much to discuss,” Stepmama said graciously. “Mr. Stephenson has quite the library of his own at our dear vicarage. Perhaps you may come and visit us one day.”
    “What a delightful idea,” Mr. Gregson said. “I should be happy to take up your charming invitation. Perhaps after Lady Graves’s house party?”
    I nearly gagged with horror. It hardly even helped to see Stepmama’s gracious smile slip—clearly, she hadn’t meant the invitation to be taken seriously. Have a fashionable London gentleman to stay in our rickety old house? Sleeping in Papa’s study, perhaps, since Charles and Mr. Carlyle were already sharing a bedroom? It must have been almost as frightening a thought for her as it was for me, for entirely different reasons.
    Still, she rallied, regaining her smile and saying, “We must consult our calendars, certainly. But for the moment …”
    “Of course,” said Mr. Gregson. “You will wish to refresh yourselves. Ladies.” He bowed again. When he straightened, his pale blue eyes were fixed straight on me. “I shall look forward to speaking to you later.”

    Thank goodness, the manor house at Grantham Abbey was so huge that Elissa, Angeline, and I had all been given separate bedrooms, an unheard-of luxury. Before I could finally be alone, though, Stepmama had to read me Volume Three Hundred of her never-ending lecture on propriety and the behavior expected of young girls at respectable gatherings. The moment she finally swept off to her own room, I slammed the door behind her and threw the reticule onto my bed. I was surprised not to see the striped green and yellow bedcovers smoke and char at the contact.
    I collapsed onto the bed next to the reticule and stared down at it. “Well, what is it, then? What’s set you off this time? Was it Mr. Gregson, or … ?”
    The reticule didn’t answer me. I undid the beaded fastening and upended it over the bed. The golden mirror dropped out, small and—almost—harmless-looking, except for the warm glow that emanated from it.
    I peered at it but didn’t lift a finger to touch it; this time I knew better. It was the worst possible moment to be sucked back into the mirror world, just when Mr. Gregson was hovering nearby, waiting to capture me again.
    Or … was it the worst possible time? After all, as a houseguest already in residence at Grantham Abbey, Mr. Gregson was probably in the company of all the other gentlemen of the house party right now, doing … well, whatever gentlemen did when they were alone together. All I could imagine was gambling, drinking, and boxing, but that was only because Charles was the only gentleman I knew apart from Papa, who didn’t count. I was certain other gentlemen must have more varied forms of entertainment than Charles had, and certainly more than poor Papa, who would sit wrapped up in a book all day long if he was allowed.
    The point was, Mr. Gregson was fully occupied, and as it was the middle of the afternoon, fashionable Lady Fotherington would probably be busy driving around one of London’s parks or paying calls on her circle of terrorized friends.
    Maybe now wasn’t the worst possible time for an exploration, after all. Maybe it was the best. I wasn’t expected anywhere until dinnertime, and Stepmama had absolutely ordered me not to step outside my room. The mirror was in the center of my room, wasn’t it? So it wasn’t even off-limits.
    I reached for the mirror’s clasp—
    And the door to my room swung open.
    I threw myself across the bed.