Bewitching Season (33 page)

She didn’t have long to wait. Almost as soon as they arrived at the Fothergills’ house that night, Lord

Carharrick accosted them. “Good evening, Lady Atherston, Lord Atherston, Miss Leland.”

Persy turned. Lord Carharrick stood behind her, staring at her with a peculiar intensity. As his eyes

raked over her, a faint line appeared between them. “Will you give me the first dance, Miss Leland?”

he asked.

At least the first dance was a quadrille, which did not permit much private conversation. “Yes,

thank you,” she said. Pen caught her eye and shook her head in sympathy.

He held her arm tightly while they promenaded down the ballroom to join the forming set. The

flowers had been a declaration of war, and now Persy felt like a besieged garrison, with Lord

Carharrick as the barbarian horde at her gate. Why did he have to start wooing her in earnest here and

now, of all times? Well, he could fight as hard as he liked, but she would never surrender.

“I’m rather sorry I engaged you for this dance,” he murmured in her ear.

“Indeed?”

“It means that I can’t claim the next one as well. I’d rather have you to myself in a waltz than share

you in the quadrille.”

Persy held her fan up to hide her involuntary grimace. He was being impossible. Should she be

rude and put a stop to it now?

He glanced down at her. “You look quite charming tonight. But you always do.”

“Thank you, Lord Carharrick.” Persy’s hands and feet began to feel cold. To her relief, the dance

started. It would make further conversation more difficult, or so she hoped.

But it didn’t stop him for long. “Did you get my flowers?”

“Yes, thank you,” she said, trying to maintain an even tone. “They were lovely.”

“I’m disappointed you’re not wearing some of them tonight, Persephone.”

Perhaps she could just pretend she hadn’t heard him use her Christian name. “Pardon me?”

“I’d intended for you to wear them here. In your hair, perhaps. Isn’t that the fashion these days?”

Persy nearly stood still as the petulance in his voice struck her like a clammy hand. “I’m very

sorry, Lord Carharrick. But my dress—they would not have matched.”

That seemed to mollify him. “Well … never mind. Another day soon I hope to be giving you a lot

more than a few flowers.” He squeezed her arm against his side as they promenaded between the

rows of dancers.

“Lord Carharrick—” Botheration! She hoped he hadn’t heard the irritated quaver in her voice and

wrongly assumed it was caused by some gentler emotion.

They were now at the end of the quadrille line, waiting their turn to wheel back into the dance. “I

wish you’d call me Gerald,” he said, more loudly than she liked.

“But I—”

To her shock and surprise, he took her arm and propelled her into a nearby bank of palms. “The

dance!” she protested. “It’s only half over.”

“They won’t even notice we’re gone,” he said confidently. “And I wanted to speak with you now.”

Persy seethed. They
would
notice—by leaving the dance she and Lord Carharrick had disrupted the

figures—but that didn’t seem to concern him. He still held her arm, pulling her into the palms until she

felt as if they’d been transported into a jungle in deepest Africa, and then neatly maneuvered her so

that her back was to the wall.

“My dear Persephone. Surely you know what I want to say to you,” he said, gazing at her. “Isn’t my

heart plain to read in my eyes?”

If it was, then he must have a remarkably shrewd and calculating one. “I don’t really think this is

the time for—”

“I had some splendid news this week—news that I’m sure will interest you. Lord John Russell has

accepted me as his assistant parliamentary secretary.” His eyes gleamed as he spoke.

“Oh. Er, congratulations, Lord Carharrick. He is reputed to be a very clever man.” Could this be

all? Maybe she’d misconstrued his behavior and mistaken his excitement in his news for ardor.

“Clever, and up-and-coming. I’m sure he’ll be prime minister someday. It’s a very promising start

to my own political career. Do you see that?”

She made herself nod enthusiastically. “Oh, yes. Quite. You are fortunate in finding such an

excellent mentor for—”

“But a prudent man does not put all his eggs in just one basket, does he?”

“Well, no,” Persy replied warily. This was evidently leading somewhere.

“Political advancement is about the connections and alliances a man makes for himself. Some do

not always lead in a direction that is profitable or even desirable, which is why it is important to

have more than just one. Do you agree?”

Her earlier annoyance with him had begun to reappear. “Um …”

“An astute man will look for those valuable connections in many places. Among the friends of his

youth. In social venues.” He captured her hand and raised it to his lips. “And if he is especially

fortunate, even among the gentler sex.”

Persy tried to withdraw her hand without being too obvious about it, but he held it too tightly. She

wiggled her fingers in protest. “Lord Carharrick, I’m not sure I understand what you’re trying to say.”

“ I
asked
you to call me Gerald.” For a moment he frowned at her, then seemed to remember

himself. “Oh, darling, I’m sure you do. You’re just too modest to admit it. An utterly charming

performance—you’ll have the cabinet eating out of your hand at our dinners. You’ll be able to worm

anything out of them when you give them that demure look through your eyelashes, with just that hint

of a blush—”

With a yank, she won the battle for her hand. “What do you mean, sir?” she cried, trying to step

back from him. Unfortunately the wall prevented her retreat.

“Why, when we’re married, of course. Who’ll say no to a dinner invitation from the Duke of

Revesby’s granddaughter? And if your friendships in the royal family come to fruition—I applaud

your acumen there.” He chuckled. “We’ll make quite a pair, with your connections and my—”

Good lord, the man was proposing to her based on her usefulness to his political career! This had

gone far enough. “We’ll make no such thing!” she said. “Lord Carharrick—”

“Gerald.”

“No, not Gerald.
Never
Gerald. I can’t believe that you think you can propose to me based on my

political connections.” She spat the last words with disdainful emphasis.

His face had begun to turn an alarming shade of red. “Believe me, your connections are but one of

your attractions for me.”

That was even worse. “No, sir. I do not wish to hear any more. I cannot—no, will not accept your

proposal. If you will excuse me …” She tried to push past him, but he grabbed for her hand again.

“Why not, Persephone? You’ve seemed to find me attractive enough at all the parties we’ve been

to these last weeks. Or have you?” His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “I hadn’t taken you for a

flirt, but perhaps I was wrong.”

Persy gasped. “Why, what a dreadful thing to say! I am no such thing!”

“Or was it something else? Like a game?”

“How dare you!” She drew herself up and stared down her nose at him.

“Oh, I dare. It
was
a game, wasn’t it, just like the ones all girls play? Make nice with one man to

attract the attention of another—”

“Lord Carharrick!” To her horror Persy had raised her hand as if to slap him. She forced it back

down to her side.

“It’s that damned pretty boy Lochinvar Seton,” he said, voice dripping contempt. “I’ve seen how

you look at him. Do you think I’m totally blind?”

Blast! Had she been that obvious? “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she mumbled.

“I thought you were an intelligent woman, Miss Leland. I’d looked forward to working with you to

further my aspirations. And instead I find you’re just as silly as any other girl in society, letting your

head be turned by a handsome face—”

That was more than she could stomach. “Yes, he is handsome. He’s the best-looking man in this

ballroom as far as I’m concerned,” she shot back. “What’s more, he’s smarter than any other man I’ve

met this season, and he’s not so wrapped up in himself and his career as some young men I might

mention. Do you know what he’s doing? Working on creating new schools for his father’s tenants—

actually accomplishing something for his fellow man instead of worrying about whom he knows and

what use they might be to him. I’d far rather help him with that than throw dinner parties for a lot of

stuffy old politicians. He’s kind and modest and worthier of my love than you’ll ever be.”

“You’re making a scene!” Lord Carharrick was now crimson, except for his mouth, which was

white and pinched. He began to back out of the palms.

“Oh, and dragging me in here in the middle of a dance wasn’t?” Persy felt positively giddy as the

words rolled out of her mouth. Two months ago she would barely have been able to address him in

complete sentences, and now she was striving to see just how unpleasant she could be to him. “Don’t

worry, no one can hear us. So I’ll be blunt. I think Lochinvar Seton is worth ten of you, and always

have. Now, if you’ll excuse me …”

But he was already gone.

She slumped back against the wall and closed her eyes. There. She’d done it—perhaps even

overdone it—but there was no way he could misconstrue that conversation. All she could hope was

that he didn’t decide to get back at her by gossiping about it. Probably not—it made him look too

silly, and surely his pride wouldn’t permit his exposing himself.

Silly indeed. Who had been more ridiculous, him or her? Leaping to Lochinvar’s defense like that

after she’d been so vile to his face … it was a jolly good thing, as Charles would say, that he hadn’t

heard any of that conversation … .

The palms to her right began to rustle and sway. One nearly toppled into her, and she reached out

reflexively to catch it before it fell. But another hand caught it and set it right, and a second later the

hand’s owner stood before her, breathing unevenly. He stared at her for several seconds more, his

hazel eyes wide and unblinking and his gold hair tousled.

“Do you really think I’m worth ten of him?” he finally asked. “Really?”

No. This wasn’t really happening. “What did you hear?” she whispered, backing against the wall

again.

“All of it, I think. I saw him pull that little stunt in the dance. You didn’t look happy, and I was

worried about you.” Lochinvar’s eyes never wavered from her face. “So I edged in as close as I

dared, just in case you needed rescuing.”

No, no,
no!

“I heard what you said to him … about my being worthier of your love. Was that what all this has

been about? You didn’t have to flirt with him to get my attention, Persy—you’ve had it all along. I

told you the other night—I love you.” He took a step toward her. “You’re not going to escape me this

time.”

Personal teleportation would be enormously useful right now. But magic like that required

concentration and time that Persy didn’t have. She glanced quickly from side to side. Could she

slither through the palms the way he had and make her escape?

“Persy.” He was reaching for her. In another second he’d take her in his arms and there would be

no escaping him—and no escaping herself. She had to do something, and do it
now.

“Repellere statim!”
she hissed, pointing at him with the fingers of both hands. It was the halting

spell she’d practiced on Charles back at Mage’s Tutterow, before she’d managed to twist her world

into a disaster. Her desperation surged into it, giving it an unexpected power. It hit him full in the

chest and froze him in place.

They stared at each other, Persy with her hands still raised, Lochinvar like a statue, arms extended

toward her in an embrace that she suddenly realized she would never feel. She’d done magic in front

of him—no, to him. No wonder he looked so dumbfounded. And horrified.

“Now do you understand?” she whispered. Then, because the shock in his eyes was too much for

her to bear, she pushed past him and through the palms. She hurried past the dancers—the quadrille

had ended and the waltz begun—and found Mama ensconced in a chair happily gossiping with Lady

Gilley. She sank into a chair behind them, grateful that Mama was too busy to ask her why Lord

Carharrick hadn’t brought her back, and retreated behind her fan.

She’d accomplished what she’d set herself to do this evening—to permanently put off both Lord

Carharrick and Lochinvar. So why did she feel so miserable and alone? If doing a halting spell on

Lochinvar hadn’t alienated him forever, nothing would. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? If there

had been one way to make him loathe her despite the love spell, this surely had been it.

Maybe that was why she hadn’t thought of it.

Stop this!
she told herself sternly. Loneliness was something she’d have to get used to if she was

going to run away to be a governess. There wouldn’t be any more young men vying for her attention.