The Bewitching Hour (5 page)

“You’ve got it bad my friend.” Rand had just settled himself in a large leather chair on the other side of Stratton’s desk in his study.
      Stratton set down his quill, looked at Rand and scowled. “What the devil are you talking about?”
      “I come into your office unannounced and find you staring into space with a lovesick expression on your face. In addition, you’ve dripped ink all over your paperwork. I hope it wasn’t important.”
      Stratton swore as he saw the blotches of ink on correspondence he had just received from his man of affairs. “I’m suffering from unfulfilled lust, not love.”
      Rand snorted. “Rubbish. It’s more than lust. You are completely besotted with Miss Priscilla Hawthorn. It’s enough to make me ill. But as your friend I want to see you happy, so I suggest you consider marrying her.”
      Stratton’s mouth dropped open. “Good God! Marry her? Isn’t that a bit premature? I’ve seen her exactly twice. I barely know her.”
      “It makes perfect sense. Her background is perfectly acceptable and you do need an heir. You have to get married some day. It might as well be Miss Hawthorn.”
      “At present, she thinks I’m forward and ill-mannered.”
      “Excellent.” Rand nodded approvingly. “It’s best that she understands that now instead of finding out once you’re married.”
      “It would be a rude surprise, wouldn’t it?” Stratton agreed. “I don’t know, Rand. I honestly can’t stop thinking about her. It’s beyond my scope of experience and a damnable situation to be in.”
      “She’s not the type to dally with. The way I see it, you’ve got two choices. You can court her or you can stay away from her.”
      “I don’t think I can stay away from her.” He leaned back in his chair and stretched. “Oh, hell. It’s complicated isn’t it? This ridiculous situation with Bertram and these elusive letters will have to be taken care of. I'm not certain I can court Miss Hawthorn and dodge Bertram, all at the same time.”
      “You’ve never figured out what this Miss Dearborn’s talking about?”
      Stratton shook his head. “I haven't the vaguest idea. I don’t remember receiving any letters from a fifteen year old female and I certainly don’t have them now.”
      Rand tipped his chair back on two legs, felt it wobble, quickly caught the edge of the desk and saved himself from falling flat on his back. “Bloody hell!” he exclaimed.
      “Impressive reflexes,” Stratton commented. “Don’t know that I could have done as well.”
      Rand leaned over and saw that the bottom of one leg appeared to be well chewed. “You do realize, don’t you, that those damned dogs are eating your furniture?”
      Stratton ran his fingers through his hair and grimaced. “Yes. I’ve had to start locking the door in here. For some reason, the beasts don’t like closed doors. They’ll whine and cry until it’s so blasted annoying that someone opens the door. They have taken over the house. It’s ludicrous.”
      Rand got up to switch chairs. Then he headed over to a side cabinet to pour himself a brandy. “Any idea when your parents will be back?”
      “No, but I’m afraid it will be some time. The baby’s not due for another three months, and I imagine they will stay another three or four months after.” He rubbed his face with the palms of his hands. “At least when I’m in Surrey, I can talk to the tenants and see what’s happening. This is stifling.”
      “I would suggest that you get used to it.”
      Stratton frowned. ”Why would you say that?”
      “Because it’s fairly obvious that over the past few years your father has been handing more and more of his responsibilities over to you. If I’m not mistaken, there’s very little remaining that you haven’t taken over. You’re past the point of simply being groomed for your earldom, my boy. Do you really think that the Earl is planning to take on these duties again once they return? I’d make a bet that he’ll relinquish his seat in the house to you next year.”
      “He’s already done so,” Stratton admitted. “He knew he wouldn’t be here and it didn’t make sense to have no voice at all.”
      “The way I see it, he’s entitled to spend his remaining years doing what he loves most. Traveling and spending time with your mother.”
      “Only God knows why. I love my mother dearly, but she’s almost as loony as Aunt Mirabella. I guess I should be grateful that she doesn’t own dogs or wear clothing that makes her look utterly ridiculous." He stretched his arms over his head and tried to ease the tension in his shoulders. "Pour me one of those, would you? Good Lord, Mother and Father have to come back sometime, don’t they?”
      Rand set out another glass. “Did you ever stop to think that your parent’s absence insures your residence in London for the season? You know as well as I that your mother’s concerned about your unmarried state.”
      “That’s preposterous,” Stratton protested. “They wouldn’t stay away just to trap me here. This will be their first grandchild and Mother wants to be there. Is my sister’s condition a part of this plot?”
      “Or just a bit of luck, as far as your mother is concerned.” He set a brandy in front of Stratton.
      “Damn. The idea of living with Aunt Mirabella until Cecelia gets married is more than I can bear. And at the moment she says she’s not planning on getting married anytime soon. I must say, she’s picked an inconvenient time to assert her independence.”
      Rand sat down and leaned back in his chair. “Face it. You’ve been appointed lord and master whether you want it or not.”
      “Hell,” Stratton muttered.
      “Cheer up. You’ll see Miss Hawthorn this evening at Mother’s to-do.”
      “I hope so. She’s somewhat reluctant to attend any social function that might require her to dance with me.”
      “Dislikes you that much, eh?” Rand grinned. “Well you are forward and ill-mannered.”
      “Exceedingly,” Stratton agreed. “There’s always the chance that young Bertram will be there. He’s still hounding me to divulge my misdeed. How is he doing? Any improvement? Should I be in fear for my life? He’s certainly persistent.”
      Rand shook his head. “I’ve never seen anyone so inept with a pistol. I don’t understand what he can possibly be thinking. The boy’s completely ham-fisted and I don’t think he’ll get any better.”
      Stratton picked up his quill and dipped it in the ink pot. “I wonder if she’s worth it,” he mused as he signed the top document with a flourish.
      “Miss Hawthorn?”
      “No, Miss Dearborn,” Stratton answered. “Bertram’s ready to take a bullet on her whim. I can’t see how she could possibly be worth it. So far, it looks as if all she does is cause trouble.”
      “Bertram seems to think she’s worth it. Love is a peculiar thing. Does odd things to its victims. I’m grateful I haven’t fallen prey.” Rand shuddered. “I can’t even imagine what it would be like.”
      Stratton shrugged and went back to his paperwork.
      “You know you’ve got to set up your nursery in the not too distant future and since you’re completely done in by Miss Hawthorn, you might as well make a match with someone who can make pretty brats,” Rand said. “The lady will get away from you if you’re not careful.”
      “Have you forgotten that she thinks me forward and ill-mannered?”
      “Compromise her. She won’t have a choice then.”
      A surge of anger shot through Stratton. His hands clenched. “Don’t be a bloody idiot. You said yourself she isn’t the type to dally with.”
      “I didn’t say you had to copulate with her. You know as well as I do, that it doesn’t take much more than a kiss to force a marriage.”
      “Bugger off, Rand.”
      “You always could turn a phrase.” Rand drummed his fingers on the desk as he thought. Then his face brightened. “I’ve got an idea. A brilliant idea.”
      “God save me." Stratton's eyes rolled toward the ceiling. "How many times did your brilliant ideas almost get us expelled?”
      “We’re not in school any longer. Being expelled is no longer a concern.”
       Stratton heaved a very loud sigh. “I’m almost afraid to ask. What mischief have you plotted?”
      Rand's lips slowly stretched into a smile. “We’re going to write a letter.”

“Priscilla.”
      Surprised by the interruption, Priscilla looked up from the needlepoint she was doing. Olivia rarely disturbed her when she was in her parlor and for a moment Priscilla thought something must be wrong. But her companion’s face was beaming with pleasure. She smiled back at her. "You seemed pleased. What is it?"
      “Someone has sent you orchids,” Olivia said.
      "Drat." Priscilla stopped, hoping she was wrong.
      Olivia looked at her strangely. “What, dear?”
      “Nothing important. I was thinking out loud.” Priscilla set her needlework to the side. “Did Lord Mallory send them?”
      She shook her head. “Oh, they aren't from Lord Mallory, dear. You know he’s much too stingy to send something this exquisite. And he always signs his cards. This card wasn’t signed.”
      
Blast
. Priscilla stood up, straightened her skirts and tried to keep a pleasant look on her face. “Are you certain they're for me? Lord Hamilton has been quite attentive to you of late and he's a very generous man.”
      “Yes, of course, I'm certain. Your name is on the card.” Olivia continued to chatter as Priscilla followed her along the corridor and down the stairs. “I believe someone new has set his cap for you. I only wish we knew who it was. How terribly exciting.”
      The orchids sat on a rosewood table by the front door. Delicate and exotic, with long waxy stems and thick petals streaked with brilliant purple hues, she had to admit Olivia had been right. They were exquisite. She lifted the card and read,
For the lovely Miss Hawthorn.
There was no signature.
      The blood rushed to her head. She had no doubt who had sent them.
      Beldon cleared his throat. “Where would you like me to put the flowers, Miss Priscilla?”
      Priscilla pressed her lips together and forced a smile. “Just leave them. They’re fine where they are.”
      “But dear," Olivia said, "we don’t spend any time in the entrance hall and they're so lovely. It would be a shame to keep them where we can’t see them.” She looked at the window where a steady rain was drizzling down the glass. “And it’s such a dreary day. The orchids would help brighten things up, don’t you think?”
      Olivia was proving to be a major obstacle in her plan to ignore Lord Stratton. “Why don’t you put them in your bedchamber, Olivia? That way you can enjoy them.”
      Her companion looked horrified. “Absolutely not. They were most definitely meant for you and you must enjoy them. I insist.”
      Priscilla clenched her jaw and pressed her lips together. “Very well. Put them in the drawing room.”
      “That might not be wise,” Olivia said.
      “Why ever not?”
      “If Lord Mallory sees that he has serious competition he could very well become all the more determined to win your hand.”
      This was growing quite ridiculous. Priscilla made a sound of exasperation. “Then, where would you suggest?”
      “What about your lovely little parlor? I know how much you enjoy spending time in there.”
       Her parlor? Oh, no. It was too personal. Too close. She couldn't allow Lord Stratton to invade her little sanctuary. “But I’m the only one who ever goes in there,” she said. “That would be terribly selfish. You wouldn’t be able to enjoy them.”
      Olivia smiled. “But dear, I’ll come visit you. You wouldn’t mind, would you?”
      Good grief. What else could she say? She smiled tightly. “Of course not.”
      “Good.” Olivia beamed. “We’ll have our tea in your parlor this afternoon. Maybe around four? That should give us plenty of time to get ready for this evening.” Before Priscilla could object, Olivia turned on her heel and left.
      “Miss?”
      She looked up at Beldon.
      “This arrived not long after the flowers. I was given instructions to deliver it in private.” He offered her a silver salver holding a letter.
      She took the missive. The wax seal was imprinted with the Stratton insignia.
What else could he possibly want
? “Thank you, Beldon.” She carried it upstairs to her bedchamber, then sitting on her bed, broke the seal, opened the letter and read:
      
My dear Miss Hawthorn, I believe I may have some information regarding the letters Miss Dearborn so desperately wants. If you would be kind enough to meet me this evening at the Danfield’s ball, we could discuss it further. I hope to bring this misunderstanding to a close. Please accept the orchids as a token of my gratitude for your patience. Yours truly, Viscount Eugene Terrance Rutherford, Lord Stratton
      Priscilla tore the note into pieces and dropped them onto her bed. If this was a ruse, she was going to kill him.

L
ater that evening, Stratton stared out the window as their carriage crept toward the Danfield’s town home. The crush of carriages was enough to set his teeth on edge, but Rand was right; he had best get used to spending time in London. It was no longer practical to spend the entire year in the country. And besides, Priscilla wasn’t in Surrey. She was in London. She was here. At least, he hoped she was here. And if she wasn’t? Then he would go to her house and demand that she see him.
      He groaned and slowly closed his eyes. What an idiotic idea. She would think he had lost his mind. Because he had.
      “Eugie.” He felt a rap on his knee and looked up.
      “Eugie. You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?” Mirabella held her fan poised a few inches away as if she couldn’t decide whether or not to rap his knee again. He was tempted to snatch the fan from her hand. She had been rambling off and on for the length of time they had been stuck in their carriage. After a while, the sound of her voice was enough to make him shudder. In order to preserve his sanity, he had shut out her prattle.
      “I was just remarking that Mrs. Danfield gives lovely balls,” she said. “She certainly spares no expense. And her connections are such that no one dares mention the Danfield’s lack of title for fear they won’t be invited to the festivities. I heard there were several lords and ladies who weren’t invited this year for that very reason. They’re apt to find themselves uninvited to a number of balls this year." Mirabella opened her fan and waved it in front of her face. "Serves them right. It doesn’t pay to treat someone as lovely as Mrs. Danfield, poorly. She’s very well connected. I’ve heard there’s a marquise somewhere in her background. It’s said the ladies at Almack’s adore her. Though I do find that odd, given that Mrs. Danfield is such a free spirit and the ladies at Almack’s can be frightfully stuffy." She stopped briefly to catch her breath. "But that’s neither here nor there. This should be a marvelous evening. What I wouldn’t give to be eighteen again and out on the dance floor. I always loved to dance. If I were a good deal younger, I believe I might waltz. I don’t think it’s scandalous at all. It’s quite elegant and romantic.”
      “I wish I were allowed to waltz,” Cecelia said wistfully.
      “Patience,” Stratton said. “It will happen soon enough. Sooner than I like. I must confess the thought of my little sister waltzing with some young dandy doesn’t thrill me.”
      “You aren’t planning on scaring off my dance partners are you, Eugene?" Her voice held a touch of petulance. "If you do, I’ll never forgive you.”
      He reached over and touched her arm reassuringly. “I promise I will behave myself. I will only scare off the unsavory characters.”
      “Mrs. Danfield wouldn’t invite unsavory characters to her ball.”
      “Are you certain? I received an invitation, didn’t I?”
      “Don’t be silly. You haven’t been considered a rake for several years. Though,” she added slyly, “I suppose that’s only because you don’t spend any time in London.”
      “How disappointing,” he murmured. “I’ll have to remedy that.”
      “Eugie!” Aunt Mirabella swatted his knee with her fan. “You shouldn’t joke about such things.”
      “I wasn’t aware that I was joking.”
      Cecelia adjusted her skirts. “I heard that Melanie Huston’s brother had to pay people to dance with her last year.”
      “I don’t doubt it,” Stratton retorted. “Melanie Huston looks like a toad and she’s very disagreeable.
      She giggled. “That’s mean.”
      “And very crude,” Aunt Mirabella muttered.
      Stratton ignored her comment. “You’ll have plenty of dance partners, Cecelia.”
      “If you would only brighten up your colors a tiny bit,” Mirabella broke in. “And Eugie, you could use a little color as well. Why you insist on wearing black when there are so many perfectly lovely colors to choose from is beyond my understanding.”
      “Aunt Mirabella,” Stratton warned. She shut her mouth and began fanning herself again. “I think Cecelia looks very elegant this evening,” he continued. She did look quite striking in her simple, ivory satin gown with embroidered overskirt and matching shawl. Long satin gloves trimmed with seed pearls reached just below her short capped sleeves. Copper ringlets curled over her forehead and at the nape of her neck and were dressed with a pearl studded clip and cluster of miniature gardenias. A last minute improvisation after it was discovered that one of Mirabella’s dogs had chewed up her embroidered evening cap. “I believe it’s fortunate that one of those bloody dogs ate your hat. The flowers are quite fetching.”
      “Must you swear?” Mirabella asked.
      “Forgive me,” he apologized without meaning it.
      “It isn’t at all attractive,” she said. “I don’t understand why men feel the need to be so vulgar. Your grandmother didn’t think twice about adding bitters to your grandfather’s drink when he cursed and I’ve a mind to do the same.”
      “You’ve mentioned that before,” Stratton commented. “A number of times.”
Every bloody time you hear me swear you mention it and it's damned annoying.
He sighed with relief as the carriage finally pulled to a halt. They had arrived.
      A footman pulled the carriage door open and Stratton stepped out. It had been several years since he had attended one of the Danfield balls and he had forgotten what a magnificent sight it was. Most every window blazed with candlelight. The strains of a waltz drifted from the ballroom. Numerous colorful lanterns lit the grounds and red and gold liveried footmen lined up along the marble steps that led to the grand entrance. Aunt Mirabella was right. No expense had been spared. Mrs. Danfield had never been afraid to spend money. He held his hand out for his aunt who was all aflutter.
      She clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, goodness. This is so beautiful. It’s magical, just like a fairyland. Look at all the lights. I adore the season. And the music is superb. Oh, Eugie, you must promise me that you will dance this evening. You’ve been such a recluse of late.”
      “I intend to, Aunt Mirabella.”
      “I’m so pleased to hear that.” She prattled on as he deposited her on the ground and reached for Cecelia. His sister’s face was glowing with excitement and he heard her intake of breath as he helped her down.
      “There are so many people here,” she said in a breathless voice, “and the Danfield’s house looks so elegant. I’ve been here countless time but I’ve never seen it like this.”
      “Don’t let it overwhelm you,” Stratton said as he adjusted her shawl.
      “I don’t know how I’ll ever find Jennifer and Beth. I suppose this is one occasion that I’m glad I’m tall.”
      He took her arm and they joined the other latecomers who were headed toward the brilliantly lit entrance.
      It was only seconds before they were spotted and a female voice called out. “Lord, Stratton! Lady Fitzberry!” Groaning inwardly, he turned his head to see who had called him.
      A heavily powdered, thin-faced woman dressed in gray and silver chiffon and white feathers picked her way over, dragging a young woman behind her. She was familiar, but Stratton couldn’t place who she was.
      “Lord Stratton,” she cried. “It’s been ages, hasn’t it? Are you here for the season? But, of course you are. And Lady Fitzberry. I’m so glad you’re in town. You must come to tea next week.” She continued on without giving Mirabella a chance to reply. “And Lady Cecelia. You look lovely. I’m so pleased to see you.”
      She placed her hand on the shoulder of the young woman she had drug along with her and pushed her in front of Stratton. Attractive with light brown curls and rosy cheeks, Stratton scarcely noticed her as he searched his memory trying to recall the older woman’s name.
Brown? Bronson? What in the hell is it? Brent!
      “Lady Brent.” He bowed his head slightly. “How nice to see you.” He smiled politely at the young woman. “And this is?”
      “This is my daughter, Lady Millicent, my lord. Millicent dear, this is Lord Stratton, Lady Fitzberry and Lord Stratton’s sister, Lady Cecelia.”
      “I’m very pleased to meet you, Lady Millicent,” Stratton said.
      She curtsied and fluttered her lashes at him. “My lord,” she said demurely. “My ladies.”
      Mirabella’s eyes brightened. “Lovely to meet you, my dear.”
      As the young lady fluttered her lashes again in Stratton’s direction, Cecelia’s mouth twitched with barely suppressed laughter.
      Then someone else called his name. Stratton silently uttered another profanity. It was going to be a long night.
      By the time they reached the elegant marble foyer and handed their wraps and invitations to one of the footmen, they had been approached by two additional mamas and their daughters. He was growing weary of the entire situation. His sister, however, seemed to find it vastly entertaining.
      “I believe they actually smell you before they see you,” she murmured as they climbed the steps to the receiving line. “Some of these women would put Mr. Garret’s best bloodhound to shame. You should have Rand hide you somewhere. Though I’m not certain they still won’t sniff you out.”
      Mirabella was thrilled. She tapped him gently on the wrist with her fan. “You’re quite the attraction,” she whispered in his ear. “There are so many young women vying for your attention. Now I know that you’re bound to be tempted, but you mustn’t forget who you are. You must be particular. The Stratton heirs have always made excellent matches. You don’t have to settle for anyone but the best. You are of impeccable lineage and you must take that into consideration.”
      He resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind, Aunt Mirabella.”
      “You remember that as well, Cecelia,” she added. “Don’t go fawning over the first young man who seems interested.”
      “But I thought your goal was to have me betrothed before the end of the season. Have you changed your mind?”
      “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be particular,” Aunt Mirabella said. “It would break your poor mother’s heart if you were to choose someone unsuitable. I did promise her that I would see you well matched.”
      Stratton shushed her. “We’re about to greet our hosts and I’m certain Mrs. Danfield has no desire to hear about our mother’s broken heart.”
      “I’m sure she agrees with me. She’s bound to sympathize as her own son hasn’t shown a bit of interest in finding a wife.”
      “Hush!” Stratton glared at his aunt before turning to his host. He took Mrs. Danfield’s hand. “I’m happy to see you, Mrs. Danfield.” His words were more than a simple pleasantry as he was genuinely glad to see her. Still a handsome woman with dark blonde hair, hazel eyes, and an inviting smile, she seemed to have changed little over the years. It was fortunate, he reflected not for the first time, that Rand had taken after her and not his father who had been given to jowls and excess flesh.
      “It has been far too long,” she chided. “You must come visit me and tell me what you hear from your parents. And bring my errant son with you.” She gave a sidelong glance toward the tall young man standing next to her. “Up until this evening, he has been avoiding me like the plague.”
      “That’s very unfair of you, Mother,” Rand protested. Like Stratton he was attired in black evening clothes, his cravat fashioned in a simple but elegant knot. “I’ve simply been very busy of late.”
      She offered a look of total disbelief and turned to greet Cecelia and Mirabella who was chattering nonstop.
      “Is she here?” Stratton said beneath his breath.
      Rand nodded at him. ”She and her companion arrived about an hour ago. She’s very popular. Hasn’t missed a single dance. I imagine she hasn’t a space left on her dance card.”
      Stratton gave him a sour look. “Just make the introduction. I’ll worry about the rest.”
      “I’ll meet you by the fountain as soon as I can make my escape.” Rand then turned a smile on Cecelia. “It’s been at least two years since I’ve seen you and I have to say it was worth the wait. You look beautiful this evening, Lady Cecelia.”
      To Stratton’s recollection, Rand had never addressed Cecelia by her formal title before. More often than not, he’d called her brat. And he’d certainly never told her she was beautiful. Stratton wasn’t certain if he liked this.
      She returned Rand’s smile. “Thank you.”
      At least, she wasn’t simpering over the bounder’s every word. He had to admit that Cecelia had a fair amount of composure when she chose to use it.
      She placed her hand on his arm. “Eugene, I think you’d better do something. Aunt’s holding up the receiving line.”
      Stratton looked behind him and saw that Mirabella was rambling on with Mrs. Danfield. “Pardon me,” he broke in, effectively diverting her from her host. “But isn’t that Mrs. Gibbons over there?” He indicated a short pudgy woman with frizzy grey hair and a royal blue gown who was talking animatedly to a group of ladies of a similar age.
      “Oh?” She squinted. “Why yes, yes it is. And Lady Murray, as well. I did want to speak with them. And I should let Mrs. Danfield get on with her other guests.” She looked at Cecelia.
      “Will you be all right, dear?”
      “I'll look after her,” Stratton assured her. “Go and enjoy yourself.”
      They watched as Mirabella hurried over to where her cronies were congregating. Given her stout figure, full silk and taffeta skirts and blazing red hair, she was an impressive sight. The hem and bodice of her purple gown was trimmed with appliquéd silk grapes, plums and pomegranates and puffed silk fruit bobbled among the feathers on her headdress. “She looks like a large bowl of fruit, doesn’t she?” Stratton remarked.
      Cecelia covered her mouth as she giggled. “She does. Though, it’s very mean of you to say so.”
      “I know,” he agreed. “I tend to get that way when I’ve spent forty-five minutes trapped with her in an enclosed space with no possible means of escape.”
      “I don’t suppose you could send her back to Birmingham, could you?” she asked. “Since Mama and Papa are in France with Arabella, you can do what you want.”
      “Now who’s being mean?” he chastised.
      “Lord Stratton!” Another older female voice.
      
Oh, hell.
      “Eugie,” Cecelia whispered loudly as she whacked his wrist with her fan. “You’re quite the attraction. But remember what Auntie said. You mustn’t settle.”
      “Hush. Pretend like you didn’t hear anything.” He took Cecelia’s arm and tried to steer her toward the ballroom.