The Hourglass (9 page)

“What would you like most?” he asked. “Jewels? Artwork? Greenhouses full of exotic blooms? Tell me.”

“I like the idea of turning workhouses into training places, where poor people can learn a trade.”

“No, I mean for yourself, besides a new wardrobe, of course. You’ll need one for the changing seasons, and your changing shape. We already have two houses, or is it three? I believe they are crowded with treasures, with a safe full of heirloom gems. But what else would you spend money on, now that you can? All I gave you as a wedding gift was a plain gold ring.”

Genie had intended to give him her body. “I gave you nothing.”

“Of course you did. You made me laugh. Now it is your turn.”

She took a moment to think. Recently all she had wanted was to know that her rent had been paid, that the butcher would not refuse her credit. A new ribbon to freshen her old bonnet had been a rare luxury. Now she could have anything she wanted—anything money could buy, that was.

Ardeth was adding another chunk of coal to the already-blazing fire. “Surely you must have dreamed of something when you were growing up?”

Her parents’ affection, her sister’s friendship? Those he could not purchase for her. “I wanted a pony of my own, but always had to share with my sister.”

“That is no challenge. I intend to fill the stables anyway. You may have your choice of the best-behaved mounts. What else?”

“Well, I once thought I would like to travel, but following the army cured me of that, I suppose.”

He nodded. “Travel is not all it is cracked up to be, by Harry.”

“I suppose you have seen all the sights, though, all the marvelous places of the world. If I could, I’d like to see the Great Pyramids.”

“No, you wouldn’t like them. Sandstorms and locusts.”

“The Alps, then. They are said to be awe-inspiring.”

“Avalanches.”

“India, with the colorful markets and the spice trade.”

“The worst. Constant droughts, then constant floods. The same as Africa. Insects and epidemics. Besides, getting to any of those places is hazardous enough. Hurricanes, cyclones, shipwrecks galore, to say nothing of pirates and mutinies.”

She had to laugh. “What about the moon?”

“No one has managed to die there. Yet. You will be far safer in England.”

She was still chuckling, thinking he was joking again. “How is it you have traveled the world over and seen nothing but doom and destruction? Were you so busy that you saw nothing beautiful anywhere?”

Ardeth looked at Genie, with the firelight behind her making her robe more diaphanous than ever. He could make out the shape of her rounded breasts and the rosy glow of her nipples. Her red-gold hair was curling from the heat in the room, forming a shimmering halo around her delicate features. And her soft lips were turned up in a smile. For him.

“I do not think I have ever seen a more lovely sight than right now.”

“Oh.” Her smile faded. “You need not give me Spanish coin, you know, false flattery. That was never part of our bargain. And you have convinced me: I will
be content to view the moon through the window, and think about visiting Scotland or Ireland.” She started to rise.

“So you may give away another wagonload of gold to those who actually need it. Good night.”

“No, do not leave yet. We have much more to discuss, like the houses and home farms. I know nothing of domestic matters.”

“You are a great reader, you said. You will learn from books. And we have a lifetime to discuss the rest.”

Six months was too short a lifetime to waste in sleep. “Please stay.”

“It is late. Besides, it is too warm in here for me. I suppose you are used to hotter climes.”

He simply shrugged.

Half of her wanted to stay, to hear his foolishness, to see that look of admiration in his ebony eyes. Her sensible half wanted to flee. Reason lost. “But perhaps you could open a window?”

Instead he snapped his fingers; the fire went out.

“It was only a silly parlor trick,” Ardeth shouted at her retreating back. “Anyone can do it,” he said to the door that slammed behind her. Then he cursed, long and loud, in scores of languages. He might have cursed all night without repeating himself; he knew so many foul imprecations and improbable suggestions. After all, few people had ever greeted his arrival with kindly welcomes.

Frustration was a new experience he could do without. Then he kicked the bed. “Damn.” So was pain.

His anger had awoken the gremlin crow, whose head was turning, beady eyes looking for a way out or a place to hide.

“Don’t say it,” Ardeth ordered.

“Me?”

“Who else would dare call me a fool?”

“Me?”

“And I shan’t have it—do you hear me?—impudence from a foul being that eats worms.”

“Me?”

“I know I handled the woman badly. I do not need you to tell me. I was trying to impress her, that was all, like a schoolboy. Fool.”

“Me?”

“I told you to be quiet. One more comment out of that pointy beak and I will get a cat.”

“Meow?”

“That’s right. A big, ferocious feline with long claws and sharp teeth. Not one more word.”

So the crow silently squatted on Ardeth’s pillow.

Chapter Seven

The rest of the wedding journey—an end to army life, an escape from despair, or the entry to real existence, depending on whose eyes the trip was viewed through—passed uneventfully.

Ardeth kept busy with the horses, his papers, and his increasing staff of couriers, information gatherers, and outright spies. He was planning his arrival in London and introduction to its society with the same care he had given sieges on enemy strongholds. He did not intend to fail. Too much depended on his acceptance. Now he was responsible for another’s welcome back into the rarefied air of the aristocracy, where she would have to live after he was gone.

Genie had no intention of living among the haut monde, because she knew she would never be accepted there. She would worry about Ardeth’s disappointment later, though, for now she kept busy with seasickness, motion sickness, morning sickness, and being sick at heart when they finally reached London.

Gracious, she had taken enough of a chance wedding a slightly mad stranger, but Ardeth was far stranger than that! She had married a monster, a freak. There was no other way of describing her befuddlement. Ardeth did not seem evil, just so different her mind could not comprehend his nature. She tried out the notion that he might be an angel. Heaven knew he was beautiful enough. Sometimes he talked in such otherworldly terms that she could not conceive of a real man being so noble, so wise, so learned. She had a hard enough time believing in angels coming to earth to work wonders, however, much less marrying pregnant widows. Besides, what did angels need with money if a simple miracle or two could better mankind? And no angel would pull
a dagger from his boot to carve his beefsteak.

Her mind skittered to the idea that her husband—good grief, she was truly married to the man!—was a wizard, with a crow for familiar. But wizards were fairy-tale creatures, weren’t they, ancient, with long white beards and pointed hats? Ardeth was far too virile for that. And he had no staff. Well, not that kind.

Perhaps he was a warlock, she speculated, for he’d spoken of killing. But a warlock would not marry in front of a priest, under a cross. At least she thought not, recalling tales of covens meeting at midnight, naked under moonlight. She would not let herself think of Ardeth without his clothes on, so eliminated black magic from her musing.

Which left everyday magic, then, if every day was a country fair or a ha’penny show.
A wandering magician could learn tricks from many cultures, sleight of hand from hundreds of sources, even books. She’d heard of fakirs who slept on beds of nails, shamans who did rain dances, Gypsies who told fortunes, and mediums who spoke with the dead. She scarcely believed any of it, but she was not well-read or well-traveled, so supposed such things were possible. And she had heard Ardeth himself shout that he’d performed a trick. So her husband was a conjurer? At the same time he was an earl? That was even harder to believe.

Unless he had pulled the earldom out of his hat, as a magician pulled out a rabbit, or a gold coin from behind someone’s ear. His wealth could be as much an illusion. In that case the determined London newspapers would soon discover that none of his story was true, that he was a charlatan, a mountebank.

Did they hang impostors? What of their wives? She guessed they would be transported to Botany Bay at the least, which was better than being burned at the stake, she supposed.

At best his relatives would lock him in Bedlam Hospital, and condemn her for taking advantage of a poor deluded lunatic. Heaven knew what would happen to her then, for she thought any contract a crazy person signed could be declared invalid. Even wills had to be made with sound minds.

The sound she made was half whimper, half moan.

If her fears were not bad enough, they were magnified by her self-imposed isolation in the earl’s London town house. She had no one to discuss her concerns with. She would not speak about her husband to the servants, not to gossipy Marie, and not to steadfast Campbell, who was so happy with the horses, he’d never hear a word of criticism of his master. As for the other servants, they were all in awe of the earl, and so correct in manners that they awed Genie. Why, she almost curtsied to the butler!

Even if the housekeeper were a friendly, motherly sort instead of a coolly efficient work of starch, Genie would not be so disloyal as to talk about the man who had rescued her and now had her ensconced in the center of Mayfair, with new servants to manage, new furnishings to select, a new wardrobe to purchase.

For the latter, Marie quickly discovered the correct modistes to patronize, and Genie quickly discovered that a countess did not have to be bothered with tedious fittings or waiting her turn in some shop. Linendrapers and dressmakers came to her, to her house, at her convenience. For the chance at dressing a countess, a courteous countess whose husband paid the bills promptly, one enterprising shop owner hired a young woman of Genie’s height and weight, except for the baby, so Genie did not have to stand to be pinned and poked.

As a matter of fact, and a matter of choice, Genie seldom left the house. She told herself she was too busy, helping Ardeth, making a home for him. In truth she was too worried about facing society. If he was not denounced as an interloper, she would be. He’d discover she was not welcome in an earl’s circles, that he’d married a pariah who could not attend the balls and such where he would meet other men of influence, to speak of his charities.

For herself, she could withstand the turned backs and sneers. She was not sure about Ardeth. With his sense of honor, he was liable to repay the insults by turning some disapproving dowager into a frog.

Genie giggled at the idea.

“Is something funny, my lady wife?”

Genie quickly got to her feet, spilling a few of the parcels she was unwrapping onto the floor. The carpet was so thick, nothing broke. “I did not hear you, my lord.”

“Don’t you think you could call me Ardeth or Coryn by now?”

“You call me wife.”

“I like the sound of it. And your laughter. Have I told you recently?”

See? Magic. He melted her fears away with a few words. The room was warmer, the day brighter, because he was smiling.

“No,” she said, but added, “You have been too busy,” in case he thought she was looking for more compliments. “I have hardly seen you.” That sounded wrong, too—the man betwattled her brain! “Not that I am complaining, of course, for I never expected you to dance attendance on me.”

“Yet dance we shall. The walls of bureaucracy have now been breached. My claim to the title has been validated. My call to Parliament will be forthcoming.”

“No one questioned your birth?” She wanted to say “sanity” or “peculiarity,” but did not dare.

“I have proof of my legitimacy, if that was what had you worried, and my right to the earldom. That has been on record for decades. My signature has been accepted at the banks.”

Someone should question the intelligence of those in charge, she thought, but said, “Then congratulations indeed!”

He took her hand and swung her around, right off her feet, in a mad whirl. “I have met with the foreign secretary, the home secretary, and the prime minister. His Excellency the prince is hosting a grand fete to celebrate the defeat of Bonaparte after all those years. I am invited. I shall learn to waltz.”

“I thought everyone knew how to waltz by now.”

“Not where I came from. Show me, lady wife.”

So Genie hummed and counted the beat. Ardeth learned quickly, except that he wanted only to sweep her up and twirl her around, missing the boxes on the floor by inches.

“No, no,” she said through her laughter. “The waltz is far more decorous than that. And your partner will become ill if you keep spinning.”

“Are you feeling queasy? Shall I…?”

She slipped from his arms and fussed with the twine on another box. “I am fine, thank you. You will do well at the ball.”

“It would be a serious insult to refuse the prince.”