One Touch of Magic (7 page)

“Yes. I almost forgot, since your work here is so interesting, but I am having a supper party on Friday evening. I hope you and Miss Bellweather will be able to attend. It is nothing grand, just supper and cards with some neighbors. I thought I should make myself more social, if I am to live here.”

Mary Ann clapped her hands delightedly. “A party! How very grand. Of course, we will come, won’t we, Sarah?”

Sarah didn’t do anything like clap her hands, but she had to admit an excitement stirred inside her, as well as relief that he had not yet evicted her. It had been quite a while since she had attended an entertainment of any sort. There had been a card party at Lady Eaton’s house in Upper Hawton on Phoebe’s last evening here, but nothing since. She knew that Mary Ann was easily restless, and she herself enjoyed the company of other people, even when she was absorbed in a project as she was now.

“Thank you very much, Lord Ransome,” she said. “We would be happy to accept your invitation.”

“I am very glad, Lady Iverson. I’m sure you will know everyone who will be there, and can help me get to know them.” He drew his watch from inside his coat, and checked its face. “Now, I fear I must be leaving. Thank you for so graciously showing me about—”

“You can’t leave yet, Lord Ransome!” Mary Ann interrupted. She was looking behind them, toward the road. “Someone is arriving.”

Sarah turned to see an open landau drawing to a halt. In it was a man, and a woman with a parasol and an elaborate feathered bonnet. The man’s hair glinted mahogany-red in the sunlight.

Mr. Hamilton, returned from his wedding trip with the new Mrs. Hamilton. Sarah looked at Mary Ann, praying that her sister was not wearing all her emotions on her pretty face.

Mary Ann’s complexion was a trifle pale, and her lips pinched together, but that was all. “It is Mr. Hamilton,” she said quietly.

“And
Mrs.
Hamilton,” Sarah added, as gently as she could.

“Yes, indeed,” said Mary Ann. “What poor taste she has in millinery.”

“Friends of yours?” Lord Ransome asked.

Sarah glanced back at him. “Oh, yes. Mr. Hamilton is an antiquarian, a colleague and friend of my husband. He has helped us greatly here, but he has been gone on his wedding trip and is only now returning. As you see.”

They watched as Mr. Hamilton alighted from the carriage, then turned back to help his bride. She descended in a great, frothy flurry of pink-and-white ruffles. Her laughter carried even to where Sarah, Mary Ann, and Lord Ransome stood.

“Would you care to meet them?” Sarah asked Lord Ransome.

“I would be delighted to meet any friend of yours, Lady Iverson,” he answered. “Perhaps they would like to attend the supper party, too?”

Sarah remembered Mrs. Hamilton’s, the former Miss Emmeline Harris of Bath’s, patent joy in meeting
anyone
with a title, even one as minor as Sarah’s. She would no doubt go into raptures over a marquis. “I am sure they would be most honored to be invited.”

She had no time to say anything else, for then the Hamiltons were upon them.

“Dear Lady Iverson!” Mrs. Hamilton trilled, closing her parasol in order to peck a kiss on Sarah’s cheek. “We are here at last. It feels as though we have been driving for an age.”

Sarah made herself smile. Mrs. Hamilton always seemed very friendly and open, with her giggles and her soft blond curls, but somehow Sarah had never been entirely able to warm up to her. There was always something rather hard and somehow calculating behind those pale blue eyes.

But Neville Hamilton had been a good friend to her and John, and an invaluable help to them in their work. For a time after John’s death, Sarah had feared he might harbor feelings warmer than those of friendship for her, and she had
known
he wanted to take over the village entirely. Yet then he had married the well-dowered Miss Harris, and all had gone on as it had before.

For the sake of their friendship, Sarah could be civil to the new Mrs. Hamilton.

“Mrs. Hamilton, Neville,” she greeted, with a smile. “It is so good to see you again. You must tell me about your wedding trip.”

“It was all quite delightful!” Mrs. Hamilton gushed, before her husband could even open his mouth. “And this must be your
adorable
sister.”

“Oh, yes,” Sarah said. She took Mary Ann’s hand, acutely aware of Lord Ransome standing behind her, still and watchful. She turned her head slightly to glance at him; his face was expressionless. “Miss Mary Ann Bellweather. Mary Ann, of course, you know Mr. Hamilton, and this is the new Mrs. Hamilton.”

“How do you do?” Mary Ann murmured. Her fingers curled around Sarah’s.

“Hello, Miss Bellweather,” Neville said, with a small smile for her.

Mary Ann just nodded, and looked away.

Then Mrs. Hamilton saw Lord Ransome. Her eyes widened, and her lips parted to let out another giggle. “And who might
this
be?”

“This is Lord Ransome.” Sarah smiled. “He has only lately moved into Ransome Hall.”

Lord Ransome obligingly stepped forward to give the Hamiltons a polite bow. “How do you do, Mrs. Hamilton? Mr. Hamilton. Lady Iverson was just very kindly showing me the work here. She tells me you have done a great deal with the village, Mr. Hamilton.”

Neville Hamilton, who had hitherto been looking quiet and rather stunned, showed a spark of interest in his eyes, and opened his mouth to reply. But his wife stepped in front of him to hold her hand out to Lord Ransome, her mouth curved in a flirtatious smile.

“Lord Ransome!” she said, with yet another giggle. “It is very good to meet
you
. I must say you are much more handsome than the previous marquis!”

Lord Ransome looked at Sarah wryly, one golden brow arched. Sarah turned away to hide a laugh.

“Er—thank you, Mrs. Hamilton,” he answered, a hint of laughter in his own voice. “And may I wish you much happiness in your new marriage?”

“And charming, too,” Mrs. Hamilton cooed. She stepped closer to lay a lace-gloved hand on his sleeve.

Lord Ransome’s wry look turned to one of alarm, and Sarah decided she really ought to rescue him. “I fear Lord Ransome was just leaving us,” she said. “Perhaps Mary Ann could take you both to the house for tea, and I will join you after I have walked with him to his horse?”

Mrs. Hamilton pouted prettily. “Oh, no! Must you go, Lord Ransome, when we have only just arrived?”

Neville finally took some action, and stepped forward to take his wife’s arm and draw her away. “We mustn’t keep Lord Ransome from his duties, Emmeline.”

“I came here today to invite Lady Iverson and Miss Bellweather to a supper party at Ransome Hall on Friday,” Lord Ransome said. “Perhaps you could both join us?”

“Oh, yes!” Mrs. Hamilton cried. “How very delightful! Only here one day and we are invited to a soiree.”

She was still rhapsodizing about Lord Ransome, soirees, and the world in general as Mary Ann led her and Neville toward the hunting box.

Sarah watched them go before turning back to Lord Ransome. He appeared a bit—dazed. He shook his head slightly, and smiled at her.

“Mrs. Hamilton is very, er, lively,” he said.

“Indeed, she is,” Sarah answered. Lord Ransome offered his arm, and she took it to walk with him back to where his horse was tethered. “Well, now you have met our entire party here. It was very good of you to invite them to your supper. I hope it will not make it too crowded?”

“Not at all. I’m sure they will be very charming additions.” He unlooped the reins from the tree branch. “I look forward to seeing you—
all
of you, of course.”

Sarah found she looked forward to it, too. Very much.

“Lord Ransome is a handsome gentleman, is he not?”

“Hm?” Sarah did not even look up from the book she was perusing, but inside she smiled at Mary Ann’s words. Lord Ransome was indeed handsome—more than handsome. It was simply too bad that he was not an antiquarian, did not even show interest in becoming one.

Or perhaps it was all for the best. For if he was as interested in history as she was, then he would be quite perfect. And she had no time right now for such distractions—or for becoming better acquainted with Lord Ransome, not when he could pull her work out from under her at any moment.

Mary Ann, who was curled up next to the fireplace with her sketchbook, repeated, “I said Lord Ransome is very handsome, for an older gentleman.”

Sarah laughed aloud at that. “He is hardly
old,
Mary Ann! Though I must say he is probably bit too old for you, if that is what you are thinking of.”

“Oh, so now you think I am transferring my ‘infatuation,’ as you call it, for Mr. Hamilton onto Lord Ransome!” Mary Ann said indignantly. “Well, I am certainly not. I was never infatuated with Mr. Hamilton, and I am not so with Lord Ransome, either. I merely said that he was handsome. It was just an observation.”

Sarah gave her sister a conciliatory smile. “I am sorry if I sounded condescending, dear one. I did not mean to imply that you had any sort of feelings for Lord Ransome. And you are right, he
is
handsome. Quite so. Just remember, handsome is as . . .”

“. . . handsome does,” Mary Ann finished, in a perfect imitation of their mother’s “lecturing” voice. “So Mother always says, and she must mean it, since she and the Dowager Lady Lyndon are always giggling like school-girls over old Colonel Webster, and he is in no way outwardly handsome.”

“And very old, too, eh?” Sarah teased.

Mary Ann gave an embarrassed little laugh. “Oh, all right, so Lord Ransome is not so very old. Not old for having done all the things he did on the Peninsula.”

“How do you know what he did on the Peninsula?” Sarah set aside her book. This conversation was proving to be more interesting than the history of Jorvik.

“I was talking to one of the workers, a Mr. Smith, while you showed Lord Ransome the objects in the stable. Mr. Smith’s family has lived on Ransome land for simply ages, and he knows all the
on dits.
Lord Ransome was a major in the Forty-first Foot, and fought very bravely at all sorts of battles. He saved many, many lives, and Wellington himself commended him, and his regiment even gave him a medal.” Mary Ann’s voice was breathless as she recited this litany of gallantry.

Sarah had to admit that even she was impressed. Lord Ransome certainly
looked
the part of the brave officer, but, as Sarah well knew, appearances could often be deceiving. There was many a man who strutted about in his regimentals, bragging to the ladies about exploits they had never performed. It seemed Lord Ransome was no such preening peacock.

“It sounds as if Lord Ransome was very brave,” she said.

“Indeed.” Mary Ann’s wide, dark gaze turned shrewd as she looked at Sarah. “He seemed to like
you
a great deal. He listened very intently to everything you said about the Vikings.”

Sarah felt her cheeks grow uncomfortably warm, and she glanced back down at her book. “Of course, he listened, Mary Ann. This is
his
land we are working on. He is bound to be interested in what happens on it.”

Mary Ann shook her head. “No, it is not just that. He was admiring you, not the work.”

“Mary Ann! Really,” Sarah cried. It had been a long time since she was teased about a gentleman by her girl-friends; so long ago, she could not even remember it. She wasn’t sure how she felt about it now, especially from her baby sister. It made her want to squirm.

Ancient Viking relics she was quite comfortable with. Men, especially handsome, young ones, she was not so sure about.

“What?” Mary Ann said innocently. “I merely observed that Lord Ransome seems to admire you. And why should he not? You are very lovely.”

“And I am also newly widowed.”

“Hardly new! Sir John has been gone for over a year. It is perfectly respectable for Lord Ransome to admire you, and for—for . . .”

Sarah was quite curious against her will. What was Mary Ann going to say? “For what?”

Mary Ann shrugged. “For whatever may happen to happen.”

“I am not thinking of marrying again, as I have told you and Phoebe many times. I am far too busy. If I did want to look about for another husband, I would do so among my friends, among other scholars.” She gave her sister a rueful smile. “A man like Lord Ransome would not find a woman like me very interesting for very long.”

“Fustian!” Mary Ann cried. “How could he not?”

“Well, for one thing, his station is far above mine. The Bellweathers and the Iversons are respectable, but hardly at the level of a marquis. And that is only the beginning of the reasons Lord Ransome and I would not suit. But we don’t have time to discuss this now! Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton are coming to supper, and we have to change our gowns.”

Mary Ann sighed, and shuffled her sketches back into their portfolio. “Very well. May we discuss it later, then?”

“No! Later we will have too much work to do to giggle over men.”

“Oh, Sarah! You are no fun at all.”

“Imagine it, Neville! Only here one day, and we are invited to a
marquis’s
supper party!” Emmeline Hamilton peered into her dressing-table mirror, and dusted rice powder over her cheeks. Then she reached for her jewel case and dug inside it for a pair of pearl earrings. “It is absolutely splendid.”

Neville Hamilton, who had been staring out the window of his wife’s inn bedchamber down to the street below, looked over his shoulder at Emmeline, watching her uncertainly. She appeared happier than he had seen her since the days of their courting. Her pale blue eyes sparkled with life. All because of the prospect of supping with a marquis.

When he first met Emmeline, at an assembly in Bath, where he had gone to visit his old aunt, he had thought her so fun, so fresh. Not at all like the serious, scholarly women he was accustomed to. She flirted with him, and flattered him as no woman ever had. He had always been rather shy with ladies, comfortable only with his studies and his work, but Emmeline had taken no notice of that. She looked at him as if he were the strongest, the most handsome man in all of England.