The Marriage Spell (21 page)

“He sounds like a man who wasn't easy, but who did his best to live up to his responsibilities as he saw them. If only he had been able to accept his own power.” Abby slid her foot under his leg. Her toes were cold. “I gather that your relationship is not so good with your stepfather.”

“I prefer to think of him as my mother's husband,” Jack said, unable to control the edge in his voice. “He has never been a father to me. I would not want him to be.”

“Tell me about him. The good and the bad. Surely there is some good.”

Jack considered doing his best to be fair. “I don't know Sir Alfred Scranton well because he didn't inherit the adjoining estate till after I had left Langdale. But he is a respected landowner in Yorkshire, and he dotes on my mother, even more than my father did.”

“When did he and your mother marry?”

“A year after my father's death. My mother took off her mourning and picked up a bouquet.” He vaguely assumed that she would remarry. He just hadn't expected it to happen quite so soon.

“Did you dislike him from the beginning?”

“No, I was glad that Mother had someone to care for her. She doesn't like to be alone. It seemed a good match, since Scranton is a man of wealth and consequence. But he has turned out to be a blight upon the earth. Literally. Langdale Hall has been deteriorating ever since he moved in.”

“They don't live at his estate?” Abby asked, surprised.

“My mother didn't want to leave the hall, so he moved in with her. I didn't object. Since I was in the army and Celeste was married, we were both gone from Yorkshire. A house is better for being lived in, and I certainly didn't want my mother to feel unwelcome in the home where she had been mistress for twenty-five years.”

“Did you visit them in Yorkshire on your next home leave?”

“Yes. Almost as soon as I walked in the door, my mother told me I should lease Frayne House, since they wouldn't be going to London again. Which was strange, since my mother had always loved going to town in the past.”

The visit had been deeply strange, and he could barely conceal his frantic desire to leave and go back on campaign. Better bullets than being close to his stepfather. And yet he could think of no good reason for why he felt so strongly. He had made arrangements with his father's trusted steward to manage the estate, and fled like the veriest coward. “I found myself uninterested in visiting Langdale Hall again, so I haven't seen either of them since. My mother and I correspond, of course.”

“Of course,” Abby murmured. “In other words, this marriage is so distasteful to you that you allowed your stepfather to effectively drive you out of your own home. If he is so dreadful, don't you worry that he is mistreating your mother?”

“There has been no hint in her letters that he is ever unkind. In fact, she sounds very happy.” Too happy, he'd sometimes thought. She was like a child in the nursery who had never seen anything of darkness. Her present blithe self-absorption was not entirely different from the way she had always been. Or was it?

“What does your sister think about the marriage?”

“Celeste hates Scranton almost as much as I do, but for our mother's sake, she has visited Langdale. She's seen nothing to make her concerned for Mother's welfare. She says Scranton is overprotective and she suspects he wants to keep my mother to himself, which is why no trips to London. They don't even socialize with the neighbors, but my mother seems content with their quiet life. Celeste can't even get her to visit Alderton Abbey, Piers's family seat, which is only a day's journey away.”

“Then why do you hate Scranton so much?”

His mouth hardened as he decided to tell the truth about his feelings. “The man is evil. Ever since he moved into Langdale Hall, the land and people have suffered. Yet he hasn't done a single thing that I can point to and prove that it was wrong.”

He half expected Abby to gently say that he was being irrational, probably because he was jealous of his mother's attention, but instead she said seriously, “If your instinct says Scranton is a bad man, you're probably right. Your nature is too generous to be suspicious when there is no cause.”

“You are too kind, Abby,” he said harshly. “The cold truth is that I have stayed away from Langdale because I'm terrified that I might murder Scranton if I visited, and then I would be hanged, which would upset everyone.” He sometimes dreamed of killing Scranton with his bare hands. Slowly. “So I've stayed away, and allowed our tenants to suffer the man's evil. I'm a coward who has avoided my responsibilities. I'm not fit to be Langdale's lord.”

So there it was—his wife knew the worst of him. He half expected her to withdraw. Instead, she moved even closer, her warmth flowing through him. “You're no coward, Jack. There is something profoundly wrong at Langdale Hall, and you sensed it even when you were under Colonel Stark's spell.”

He hadn't known how intensely he craved her understanding until relief rushed through him like a cleansing river. “Then I'm not going mad. Sometimes I've wondered.”

“Given the way people have used magic to distort your mind, it's a wonder you're as sane as you are!” Abby shook her head, the motion agitated against his shoulder. “The tracks of malicious magic are all over this situation. If you had been left alone, you would have developed your natural magic and had good strong defenses. But you had suppression spells inflicted on you, which distorted your abilities. I suspect another spell might have been used to reinforce your reluctance to return to Yorkshire.”

He rubbed at his left shoulder, which had born the serpent brand for so long. “Wouldn't my anti-magic charm have protected me from further spells?”

“Not necessarily. Your charm had the strength to protect you from everyday magic. No thief would be able to sneak up on you by casting a confusion spell, and no one would be able to get away with cheating you at cards. But a really strong wizard could have got around the charm without your knowledge or permission.”

“You're strong enough to do that, but you wouldn't.” Of that he was sure.

“It would be an unforgivable breach of ethics and trust.” She sighed, her breath soft against his throat above his nightshirt. “Few people need worry about becoming targets of serious wizardry, but you are rich and powerful, so others have wanted to control you. If Scranton is possessive of your mother, it's quite possible he would wish you to stay away. From what you say of him, he wouldn't hesitate to hire a dark magician to plant a repulsion spell in your mind to keep you distant.”

Jack unleashed a string of hair-raising curses. When he managed to get his temper under control, he said, “Your theory explains so much. Ever since my last visit to Langdale Hall, I've wondered what was wrong with me that I couldn't bring myself to go home! And I've hated myself for my cowardice.”

“If Scranton did that to you, he deserves to be shot, and I'd do it myself,” Abby said vehemently. “Your mind needs a thorough cleansing. Too many people have used magic to work their wills on you, and because your own power was constrained, you've been unable to defend yourself. You won't be fully in control of your life and your power until any and all spells are removed.”

He thought about what she had said, and could see only one conclusion. Though he disliked the idea of using his magic, even more he hated the thought of being the victim of someone else's power. “Can you enter my mind and remove the remnants of spells that have been laid on me?”

“Yes, if you trust me.” She stroked his forehead gently. “When you're ready.”

Her fingers soothed the throbbing in his head. “Not tonight. I've had all the revelations I can endure for one day. But soon. Very soon.”

Chapter
XX

A
bby woke to Jack's kiss on her forehead. “Sorry to rise so early, but there is much to be done today,” he murmured. “I probably won't be back before dinner.”

She blinked sleepily at the clock. “You really want to get out of bed at this hour on a winter morning? Were you unable to sleep?”

“I slept the sleep of the innocent, which I don't deserve.” He kissed her again, this time on her throat, lingeringly. “But I always wake up at the time I decide on the night before.”

She shivered with pleasure at the pressure from his warm lips. “That's a convenient knack. Magical, even.”

He looked blank. “I never thought of it that way.”

“Many magics are small.” She caressed his deliciously whiskery chin, wishing he could stay longer. But she would rather not attempt to persuade him and fail at the endeavor. “Try not to push yourself too hard.”

“I won't.” He brushed the back of his hand against her cheek, then left.

She watched him return to his own room, ruefully aware that there always seemed to be a reason to continue lending him energy. Maybe she should withdraw it now. Yet she hated to think of him collapsing in exhaustion somewhere in London. Very soon she would stop. Yawning, she rolled over and went back to sleep.

She woke again a more civilized two hours later, when Lettie entered quietly to build up the fire. A few minutes later the maid delivered a tray with hot chocolate and a fresh roll. As Abby sipped her chocolate, she realized that she could have been waking to such luxury at home, but she was always too busy to lie about in bed. It would be interesting to have leisure time here in London.

Leisure lasted until she dressed and went downstairs for breakfast. The duchess was finishing her own meal. “Oh, good, you're awake. My modiste and corsetiere will be here in a few minutes. I thought my private parlor would be a good place to work.”

Abby poured a quick cup of tea. “So soon?”

“There is no time to waste. You'll need ball gowns, morning gowns, a new riding habit, cloaks, hats, shoes—the wardrobe of a London lady.”

“All that?” Abby said, unnerved.

“You must dress according to your rank. This won't be as bad as you think.” Celeste grinned. “Though perhaps it is more accurate to say that you might hate all the fuss and fittings, but I'll have a marvelous time bullying you and the dressmakers.”

Abby had to laugh as she settled down to her eggs and toast. “That's honest, at least. I shall have to take your advice, since I haven't the remotest idea what I'll need. I hope you won't find it humorous to deck me out like a May cow!”

“I wouldn't do that to Jack's wife even if I didn't like you,” the other woman assured her. “Nor would the modiste allow it. She has her pride.”

After breakfast Abby made her way to the duchess's private parlor, and found it buzzing with activity. Modiste and corsetiere had arrived with half a dozen assistants and mountains of fabrics, feathers, trims, and fashion books.

Celeste said, “Lady Frayne, allow me to present Madame Ravelle, the finest modiste in London, and Madame Renault, the finest corsetiere.”

Abby blinked at the two women. Both were tall, silver-haired, and massively dignified. And they weren't just similar, but virtually identical. “You are sisters?”

“Twins, milady,” the modiste said. She was dressed in blue. “Our skills enhance each other, so we work together.”

Madame Renault, who wore gray, added, “Without a proper foundation, even the finest of gowns will not look its best.” Her eyes gleamed as she studied Abby. “And you, milady, are in dire need of my skills.”

Apparently, talented artisans were allowed such rudeness. Fortunately Abby had little vanity, because the sisters and the duchess began to discuss her appearance with hair-curling bluntness. Abby was stripped down to her shift, measured in amazing detail, draped in swaths of fabric, and analyzed as if she wasn't present.

As Madame Ravelle turned to consult a copy of
La Belle Assemblée,
Abby asked her sister-in-law, “Am I allowed any opinions about what I am to wear?”

“A few,” Celeste said cheerfully. “But you will be offered only good choices, so whatever you wear will look stunning.”

“Indeed, milady has a magnificent figure,” Madame Renault observed. “With your height and natural form, it's a crime the way you have concealed yourself with plain garments and inferior stays.”

“If magnificent means overblown, you're right,” Abby said tartly. “Even when I was thirteen, I didn't have the elegance of figure that the duchess possesses.”

Madame Ravelle shook her head. “There is more than one kind of beauty, Lady Frayne. Her grace is the epitome of ethereal elegance. Men and women gasp when they see her. She is like a fairy queen who is briefly visiting earth to grant mere mortals a glimpse of timeless beauty.”

Celeste laughed. “That is ludicrously overblown flattery, Madame Ravelle.”

“Overblown, perhaps, but essentially accurate,” Abby commented.

Madame Renault turned to her. “Your beauty is of an earthier, more sensual kind, Milady Frayne. When you enter a ballroom, women will see a well-dressed woman and continue what they were doing. Men will stare and yearn and consider challenging your lord husband to a duel to win your favor.”

Abby's jaw dropped. “I hope your dressmaking skills are equal to your flattery. I am not the sort to arouse jealous, lustful thoughts. I don't think I would want to be.”

“Wait and see,” Celeste said. “I don't think you will be displeased by the results.” She lifted a bolt of blue silk and pulled several yards loose, then draped it across Abby. “Look in the mirror. What do you think about this fabric for your ball gown?”

Abby turned to the full-length mirror, then gasped. The silk shimmered a myriad of blues that emphasized her eyes. And the feel! She lifted a fold to rub her cheek. It was the most sensual, luxurious fabric she'd ever touched. “It's marvelous. Any woman would feel beautiful wearing this.”

“Which is part of the magic of fine clothing, Abby,” Celeste said seriously. “If one feels beautiful, one is beautiful. As a child, I was a scrappy little tomboy who always had twigs in my hair and grass stains on my skirts. I might have been considered a pretty child, but I didn't become beautiful until I set my mind to it.” Her gaze became distant. “That was when my mother decided it was time to take me in hand. She is the one who taught me that beauty begins in the mind.” She turned to the sisters. “We're off to a good start, madames. I look forward to what you will create.”

The dressmakers and their assistants swiftly collected their fabrics, pins, measuring tapes, and other paraphernalia and withdrew. One assistant helped Abby don her old morning gown again. Never had it looked so plain.

When Abby was alone with Celeste, she collapsed on the sofa. “I'm exhausted and all I did was stand still while they treated me like a dress doll!”

“Of course you're tired—over four hours have passed. You'll feel better after we have a light luncheon.” Celeste pulled the bell rope to summon a servant. “In the meantime, think of your new wardrobe as armor against the claws of society.”

“I just hope I haven't bankrupted Jack,” Abby muttered.

“You haven't, quite. Believe me, he'll think it's worth every penny.”

Abby allowed herself a brief fantasy of Jack looking at her with dazzled, yearning eyes. She didn't believe it would really happen. But it was a lovely fantasy.

A
fternoon was darkening to evening when Jack returned to Alderton House. After shaking off rain, he ascended to his room and summoned Morris to help him remove his boots. Then he went in search of his wife.

He found Abby napping under a fluffy quilt. He parked his cane, pulled off his coat and shoes, then slid under the quilt beside her.

She was lying on her side, so he curved his body around hers, her back to his front. She murmured drowsily, “You're cold.”

A sensible woman would retreat from his chilled self, but she reached for his left arm and pulled it around her waist. Muscle by muscle, he began to relax. “I'd forgotten how tiring London is.”

“Now that your magic has been released, it will be even more tiring. Being around so many people drains power like a hole in a barrel leaks ale.”

“It's always going to be so tiring in town?” he asked with alarm.

“After a few days, one adapts.” She yawned. “I always need to nap the first day or two in the city. Luckily Celeste doesn't want me to be seen in society until the ball.”

He propped himself on one elbow and studied Abby's face, noting the dark circles under her eyes. She did look thoroughly drained. “Since she and Alderton are going off to various affairs tonight, she suggested that we could have dinner here in our rooms.”

“What a wonderful idea!” Her eyes opened. “I really like your sister, Jack.”

“So do I.” She had been the most constant, reliable member of his family. The one who was always glad to see him. “I hope you or Judith can do something for her.”

“I wrote Judith this afternoon. I should hear back within the week.” Abby shifted, her delightfully rounded backside pressing against him. “What did you do today that roused you from bed so early? I was so sleepy I forgot to ask.”

“I started with the regimental broker to formally list my commission for sale. Then I visited a tailor who specializes in making official robes of state to get ready for when I take my seat.” He tightened his hold on her waist. “You'll need a set, too. Never can tell when there will be a royal funeral or some such where peers and peeresses have to parade in full finery.”

“I spent half the day being mauled by your sister's modistes and their merry crews,” Abby said gloomily. “I'm sure the results will be excellent, but I can't say that I enjoyed the process.”

He chuckled. “I did the same this afternoon. Ashby came back to town and dragged me to his tailor. He stayed the whole time because he didn't trust my taste and feared I might bolt.”

Her laughter was soft against him. “You and I have become victims of the more fashionable.”

“To be honest, I was glad to have him there, once he accepted my basic rule: no garments that I can't put on or take off by myself. What's the point of a coat that requires assistance? Nothing could make a great ox like me look like a dandy even if I was willing to wear such clothes.”

“Is Ashby a dandy?”

“No, he's the epitome of gentlemanly elegance. He has the figure for it. I don't, so it's best to stick with a plain, well-cut style that calls no attention.”

“I'd like to do the same, being cut on generous lines myself, but I don't know if I'll be allowed to look so sensible.” She sighed melodramatically. “I'm not even sure I'll be able to breathe in my new stays. The corsetiere had a dangerous gleam in her eyes.”

He laughed. “Keep your courage up, my girl. We'll survive and escape back to the country in a few weeks.” He moved his hand up to circle comfortably around her breast. “But for now, we'll nap.”

And they did.