**That orbed maiden with white fire laden

        -Percy Shelley**

****

 My name is Lady Bucerina Eleanor Beresford … and I am a witch.. Bucky thought, as she stared at herself wide-eyed in the mirror.

 A firewitch, to be more specific. An ancient breed, now almost vanished from Britain, according to her mother.

 “None of that nonsense about rituals, casting evil spells, familiars or dalliances with Satan,” Lady Beresford had scoffed. “This comes from within you, from your blood and lineage. What you can do remains to be seen, but of course you’ve discovered its primary form, fire.”

“But how is this possible? Why is it happening to me?” Bucerina had protested, as was only natural.

“As you see, it is truly real. The firewitch line is present in only a few of the prominent families, and has been kept a secret from society for centuries, if not millennia. It’s easier to do than you’d think, when it is so rare. The firewitch families have intermarried in an attempt to keep the lineage and the abilities alive. You need at least one parent from firewitch lineage, you see, to develop the traits. But there haven’t been any signs of it in several generations. We think that somehow, the ancient magic knew that it was too dangerous a time to show itself. Self-preservation you see, keeping firewitches from the witch hunters. It’s best not to be a witch of any sort when the law of your country punishes it by death, though of course being burned at the stake could not harm a true firewitch. The gallows could, though, and so it was best for it to lie dormant. But now, this is eighteen-fifteen, and we live in a more enlightened age. Most people no longer even believe in witchcraft! Now only the pretence of witchcraft is illegal, and that is punishable by a fine. So the magic has awakened in you, my dear. But, and this is very important, Bucky, you must learn to control it.”

 “Why?” She asked boldly, though she knew the answer.

 “Well for one thing, we don’t know how strong those flames can be, at we certainly don’t want you setting anything ablaze. And furthermore, while it may not be severely punishable by law, you have a place in society to maintain, and society can be cruel and unforgiving. Firewitches have always kept their secret, and so must you.”

 And that was the final word on the matter.

Now twenty-one years old, Bucky Beresford still blamed her parents for her own special curse, not least because they’d given her such an entirely silly name as Bucerina. Her mother insisted that she was called after some great aunt of indeterminable generations back, though Bucky doubted the veracity of this as to the best of her knowledge it was not, and certainly never should be, a real name. Her sisters had the privilege of normal, well-loved names of the English aristocracy, presumably resulting from her parents regaining their sense after her own birth. Bucky was decidedly envious of this.

 At home her entire family called her by that pet name, Bucky, but as this was wholly unsuitable for an elegant lady, and especially the eldest daughter and heiress of Earl Beresford, she was known as Lady Eleanor Beresford to society. This was done at her insistence, both to avoid the repulsion of polite society towards anything too out of the ordinary, and for her own sanity. As is likely abundantly clear by this point, she loathed her full name.

 She did have to admit that she couldn’t entirely blame her parents for her own volatile temper, though. It was this particularly prominent blemish on an otherwise most agreeable temperament that led to her bursting into flames at semi-regular intervals throughout her adolescence and onwards, creating the sole source of difficulty in her exceedingly privileged life.

The Earl and Lady Beresford were both even and affectionate, though occasionally absent-minded, and her sister Mary was quiet, thoughtful and sensible, as her father had once pointed out. Charlotte, now grown into a young woman of fourteen herself, had a little more of Bucky’s volatility, though her own brand tended towards intense sensibility and weepiness. She was an absolute champion of all creatures great and small and felt deeply all their various pains, to the great irritation of the rest of her family.

Bucky, then, wasn’t sure where she got her own strong personality. She didn’t even have the excuse of being a redhead, (for everyone knows them to be of a fierce temper), a fact for which she was also a  little grateful. She didn’t care particularly for the redhead complexion. Instead, she had elegantly dressed, ashen brown hair which popular opinion held nicely emphasised a pair of rather fine dark grey eyes.

Though the source of her fierce personality remained a mystery, what she did know was that she still had to learn how to control her firewitch side. This meant that she had to be ever careful while out in society, and develop her own strict rules of conduct above and beyond the already heavy requirements of etiquette.

She occupied a particularly favourable or unfavourable position in life, depending on how one might look at it. Her parents had no male heir, and no matter where one looked, there were simply no males to be found in the family. Therefore, Bucky was the only heiress to both the title and a good portion of the Beresford fortune. As the future Countess Beresford, she was required to be out in society a great deal. She had been out for several years and had attended many balls in both London and nearby fashionable Bath, and she spent much time paying social calls within Glaston village or providing charity to the poorer families.

 The general consensus amongst society in general was that the Lady Eleanor Beresford was a delight, known for her charm and wit, though somewhat outspoken and harbouring a strange tendency to excuse herself abruptly upon occasion. Of course, more quirks than usual were to be tolerated with the very rich and the beautiful, as was society’s way.

 Were one to stroll through the streets of Glaston, though, one might also hear in passing how odd it was that Lady Eleanor yet remained at home, unmarried, with all her attractions.

 And there was the most sensitive subject of them all. Marriage.

Before she got her spontaneous combustion under some semblance of control, Bucky couldn’t possibly consider how she could find a suitable husband. She’d learned over the years that her flames did not cause extraordinary damage to person or property, though she had certainly singed one or two members of her family, as well as the faithful staff who were made privy to the family secret, but she did wonder what their potential might really be, and this both worried her and privately thrilled her a little.

All in all, the courting process could be highly uncomfortable, particularly considering the level of trust she would have to put in any potential husband not to reveal her secret or worse, and the level of trust she’d have to put in herself not to ignite with the stress of finding and securing eternal love.

 Not that she was entirely sure about the prospects of eternal love, from what she’d seen. She knew it was her eventual duty, both as a daughter and the heiress to a peerage, and she certainly had no shortage of full dance cards and tea-time gentlemen callers, but there was really only a small pool from which she was allowed to choose and none so far had set her heart aflutter. She’d read enough Gothic novels (for who didn’t admit to enjoying the odd novel these days) to know of the kind of passion that ought to accompany romance, but she couldn’t really conceive of how it would be practically achieved in one’s own life. She looked to her own excellent parents’ example, and she knew that she would not be forced to accept anyone unsuitable in terms of temperament, situation or matters of the heart.

 Here, Bucky could appreciate the fortunate nature of her own position. As a future countess in her own right,  with substantial wealth awaiting her, and a very comfortable life at present, she had no pressing need to marry. She knew that she’d always be accepted into social circles despite creeping ever closer to the age of spinsterhood, and if she were to become a spinster, she would be a respectable one.

 Not that she really planned spinsterhood for herself, but it was reassuring to know that she had the luxury of time and choice compared to someone of less felicitous birth.

***

Now, though, the days were growing shorter and colder, and while there were still some pleasant days of golden sunshine, it was time that the Beresfords packed up their considerable effects and fled the dull confines of Glaston for the fashionably bright society of Bath. This was always quite a process, and Bucky had been entrusted, with her mother’s guiding hand, to journey to Bath before the start of the season and negotiate the let of a large townhouse in the hub of the city. The Beresfords usually stayed for much of the season, or until they collectively tired of honey coloured stone, muddy streets, constant traffic and never-ending balls or social calls. The variety of what house they would take added to the fun, so Bucky had been glad to be allowed to choose where they would spend a large portion of their year.

 As they entered for the first time as a family, she gave a nod of satisfaction that she’d done the job right. The entrance was large and warmly grand, with a sweeping staircase up to their left, while to their right a wide doorway opened into a richly furnished drawing room, with the high corniced ceilings and elegant fireplace one would expect. She had personally inspected the wallpapers, to ensure that they weren’t too garish, but was pleasantly assured to find them varying shades of lavender, blue and deep red, with delicate gold patterning running up and down their lengths. The other rooms were similarly blended between elegance and comfort, like the Beresfords themselves.

 “Delightful, Bucky,” her father said approvingly as he looked around him.

 “Well, I had Mama’s expert eyes to help me.” Bucky demurred, though she was quite pleased at his praise.

 “She has more fortitude than I to strike an advantageous bargain,” smiled Lady Beresford.

 “You mean to say that she didn’t let the poor man have a moment of peace until he gave her what she wanted, of course,” Charlotte said, somewhat snidely.

 “Well, you weren’t there to burst into tears for us, Charlotte dear,” Bucky retorted evenly.

If Charlotte had had the ability to burst into flames, she might have then. Though, Bucky mused, her power would be more likely to take the form of torrents of water, like the wells that had already started to fill her luminous green eyes.

 She gave Bucky the best watery glare she could muster, before whirling to dash up the stairs as the tears began to spill forth.

 “Yours is the second room on the left,” Bucky called after her innocently.

 “Oh for Heaven’s sake, Bucky.” Lady Beresford’s normally mild voice had an exasperated edge to it as she watched Charlotte disappear around the corner, and Mary trot dutifully up the stairs to comfort her younger sister with her gentle sense.

 “She did provoke me, Mama,” Bucky protested.

 “You are expected to be more mature and gracious than her, Bucky. A little more control is warranted from the eldest to the youngest.”

 “I am controlling my temper. At least I’m not on fire! And she’s so very trying sometimes Mama. She really must be corrected.”

 “She’s sensitive, and at a particularly delicate age. She’ll come around, but rest assured that I will have a word with her as well.”

 “If she keeps on this way she’ll be branded a fool her first night out in the Assembly Rooms,” Bucky insisted scornfully.

 “And you uncivil, which is just a great an offense.” Lady Beresford took a long look at her daughter, and then turned to head upstairs, leaving Bucky with those parting words.

 For her part, Bucky actually felt a little ashamed. She glanced around and found that she was alone in the entrance, her father having quietly and conveniently disappeared. For a brief moment she considered apologising to Charlotte, but she still felt privately that her younger sister was being entirely dramatic and to apologise would only make her bolder about it. And besides, Bucky’s own pride would not allow it, so instead she went to see about having her favourite books unpacked in the library.

Once they were settled into their new lodgings, it was time for the family to make an appearance out in Bath society. Their first would be a daytime outing to the Pump Room, that most illustrious of meeting places, where Charlotte, who was not yet out in society, would be able to join them.

 Of course there would be quite a fuss amongst the elite circles that the Earl Beresford and his family had arrived, and it was with a sinking heart that Bucky contemplated just how packed the Pump Room would likely be. Though she enjoyed all the fun and frivolity that Bath had to offer, she still did not entirely relish the idea of being descended upon by the pack of harpies known as her friends. Some of them made it truly difficult for her to keep her temper, especially when she could see right through their status hunting facades, or when they brought their hideously dull brothers around in hopes of making an advantageous match. That was almost the worst offense, as they all seemed to carry the same dim-witted air and talk incessantly of horses while Bucky was forced to stand and look graciously interested in the name of civility. It wasn’t that she was entirely disinterested in horses and in fact greatly enjoyed a good ride in the country, but if this was all that the young gentlemen of her age were fixated upon, she despaired of ever finding someone whose company she could stand long enough to marry, let alone someone she could love.

And with all her trepidation about love and marriage, she did still rather hope she might meet someone who thoroughly charmed her this time around.