There's something about Sorcery and Cecelia

So it came to pass that Vanessa and I were discussing "the SARS," and this led to my telling her about having recently reread Sorcery and Cecelia, an epistolary novel by Caroline Stevermer and Patricia Wrede that's set in a Regency England where magic works. The protagonists' letters to each other are full of haughty young men in cravats, an odious Marquis, the Royal College of Wizards, cutting remarks layered in exquisitely polite language, the London bon ton, and an enchanted chocolate pot.

All of this is much less twee than it sounds from any description of it, but after reading the book you spend the next several days wanting to declare that you have "the vapors" or "the headache," which makes people look at you strangely.

And Vanessa was considerate enough not to be too obvious about rolling her eyes at my choice of reading material.

I think I failed to use the proper vocabulary in describing the book to her, however. This excerpt should help:

And now I must tell you about my drive with James Tarleton last Thursday. He arrived most punctually in a curricle, looking wonderfully elegant in an olive coat, tan pantaloons, and Hessians polished bright enough to see your face in. I saw him from the window, and all I could think was that Oliver would kill to be able to dress like that. Of course, I had not intended to drive with him, but I had forgotten to tell Aunt Elizabeth that I had the headache. She told Mr. Tarleton that I would be down directly, and I was forced to go.

Can you spot the magic word?