The Marriage Spell (24 page)

“Alderton and Ashby are dragging me around the clubs to introduce me to various political chieftains.” He sighed. “I'm not looking forward to it.”

“Let's see, White's is Tory, Brooks' is Whig. Which do you belong to?”

“Both.” He grinned. “I prefer to keep everyone guessing. Besides, I don't agree completely with either of the parties. I think I shall be independent and universally despised by both sides.”

“Can I go and baffle the politicians with you? It sounds interesting.”

“Trust me, it won't be.”

She chuckled at his vehemence. “Did I mention that Celeste has arranged for us to have dancing lessons three days from now?”

Jack looked appalled. “I'm recovering from a dire injury! I don't have to dance.”

“You're not an invalid anymore,” she pointed out. “Unless you can convince your sister that you're in agony or crippled, it's dance lessons for you.”

“Celeste is a tyrant,” he said gloomily.

“But for your own good.” Abby sighed. “I would just as soon avoid dancing myself, but Celeste says that if I do, I'll call more attention to myself than if I do take the floor. I don't have to be brilliant, merely unexceptionable. I suppose I can manage that after lessons to teach me what is fashionable so I won't appear too rustic.”

“By the time we head north, we'll both be ready to flee the city,” he predicted. His hand moved down her with gentle thoroughness. “As for now…”

When he kissed her, she returned it with interest. She was still a little shy, but that was changing fast.

To her surprise, Jack caught hold of her waist and lifted her so that she was sprawled full length on top of him. “What?”

He grinned. “Use that fine mind of yours.”

She relaxed and looked down into his warm hazel eyes, and found that she quite liked having his hard male body underneath her. He gasped when she gave a slow roll of her hips. Encouraged, she began to slowly unfasten the buttons at the throat of her nightgown. His eyes darkened as he watched, until he seized her shoulders and pulled her close enough for him to kiss her breasts.

Excitement shot through her, bringing every fiber of her body to urgent life. She settled down and started using her fine mind.

Among other things.

Chapter
XXIV

E
very day in London was crowded with activity, but gradually Abby's strength and magical reserves recovered from the weeks of strain and depletion. She should be ready for whatever Yorkshire had to offer.

Even the dancing lessons were less fearsome than expected. Abby found that Jack was actually a capable dancer. She shouldn't have been surprised, given his athletic skills. Despite commencing the lessons with a pained expression, he was soon enjoying himself.

The lessons were one of the few occasions when they saw each other during the day, since Jack was as busy as she. Luckily they came together at night, and what nights! Abby started every day with a daft, happy smile.

So did Jack. That was a source of great satisfaction to her.

A week after the initial session of measurements and choosing fabrics, the formidable dressmaker twins returned for final fittings and took over Abby's bedroom. While Celeste perused her correspondence in the sitting room, Abby was marched into the bedroom, attended by the sisters. They started by styling her hair in a sleek, elegant tumble atop her head.

She withdrew behind a screen for modesty's sake when they told her to strip to her skin. First a chemise was handed over. Abby pulled it over her head. The soft cotton caressed her skin like silk. “How lovely! The embroidery is exquisite.” Abby wasn't much for needlework herself, but she recognized quality when she saw it.

Madame Renault permitted herself a small smile of satisfaction as she moved the screen aside. “My girls make the finest lingerie in England. Now for the stays, milady.” There were several forms of corset and this was a long one, designed to give a smooth line from hips to chest and to raise the breasts.

Abby steeled herself as madame personally helped her into the corset and began lacing up the back. “These stays are comfortable!” she exclaimed. “Even more comfortable than my old ones.”

“Of course, milady. A properly designed corset must fit the body perfectly, enhancing but not forcing the feminine attributes into an impossible shape.” She studied the garment's fit with narrowed eyes. “Many women require false bosoms to look their best, but you have been blessed with a splendid figure, milady. Finally the world will know it.”

Abby was unsure how she felt about that, but there was no time to ponder since Madame Ravelle was approaching with a ball gown. Not the blue silk one for the duchess's ball, but a handsome confection of soft rose silk. With matching slippers.

As madame and her minions fussed with the hemline, Abby glanced down at the low-cut bodice, appalled. “I may die of lung fever!”

“Dancing will keep you warm, and you will never lack for partners. Not as long as you carry yourself with pride. There are short women who would kill to have your height and presence,” Madame Ravelle said grandly. “Now show yourself to her grace.”

Abby opened the door separating her bedroom from the private sitting room. At her entrance, the duchess looked up from the desk. “Oh, well done, madames! Abby, my brother shall be the envy of the ton for the wife he has found.”

“I will settle for his not being a laughingstock.” Abby gestured at the vast expanse of pale skin revealed by the gown. “You're sure this is fashionable, not vulgar?”

Celeste laughed and turned her to face the gilt-edged mirror over the fireplace. “It's the height of fashion. Look at yourself, my dear.”

Abby blinked at her reflection. Though she would never be as elegant as Celeste, she did look impressive. Very…female. A well-designed corset certainly made a substantial difference. “I think I would prefer rustic to flamboyant,” she said uncertainly.

“You look grand, not flamboyant, but you'll no longer be able to pretend you're a plain country lass. You never were, but you did your best to give that impression.” Celeste cocked her head to one side. “Did you deliberately downplay your appearance? Or were you merely not that interested in fashion?”

“Some of both. I didn't want to draw attention to myself. Since there's a lot of me, that meant dressing plainly.” Abby was silent before adding a deeper truth. “I reached womanhood early. The attention from men was…not enjoyable.” She'd once had to use magic to free herself from the unwanted attentions of a drunken tinker. She had run home panting and in tears, never telling anyone because of her sin in using magic to knock a man unconscious.

“Ah.” Celeste gave an understanding nod. “To be attractive to men at a young age is unsettling, especially if one's beauty is more sensual than ethereal. So you took on the plain plumage of a wren instead of the rich colors of the kingfisher.”

Why had Abby never seen the connection between her lavish figure and her desire to go unnoticed? Probably because she never thought much about how she dressed. But as she studied her image in the mirror, she decided she could like more colorful plumage.

The door to the hall opened and she turned to see that Jack had returned early from his business. He entered, saying, “Hello, my dear.”

Then he stopped in his tracks, his jaw dropping. “Abby?”

Celeste laughed. “Come in, Jack. And do try for some composure.”

While Abby blushed, Jack circled her admiringly. “You look splendid, Abby. Not that you don't always look nice, but now! If I had my troops here, they'd give you a fifteen-gun salute.”

“I'm glad you approve.” The light in Jack's eyes removed all Abby's doubts about her new clothing. “All credit goes to your sister and Madames Ravelle and Renault. I'm merely obeying orders.”

“Now that you've admired Abby, go away, Jack. There is much fitting to be done still, and it's no sight for a gentleman.” Celeste's eyes gleamed. “Especially not a gentleman who looks as if he wishes to carry his bride off to some private place.”

Celeste's comments caused both Abby and Jack to blush. After he beat a hasty retreat, the ladies resumed the fittings. The number of gowns and accessories seemed endless, but Abby found herself much more patient than she had been in the past. Patience was easier now that she realized she was going to enjoy being well dressed.

It was midafternoon by the time the dressmakers and their assistants left. Abby and Celeste collapsed in Abby's sitting room after the duchess rang for refreshments. As they demolished a selection of small sandwiches and sweets that again had Abby thinking about ensorcelling the Alderton chef, the footman returned bearing a silver tray with two small stacks of letters, one for each lady.

“Thank you, Williams.” Abby accepted her letters with enthusiasm, glad for news from home.

She and Celeste sipped tea and read until Abby said, “Ah, a reply from Judith.”

Celeste looked up eagerly as Abby scanned the letter. After general news of Melton Mowbray and the progress of several patients, Abby reached the information she had been waiting for: “About that matter you inquired about. I have thought and consulted my case notes and even wrote Mrs. Lampry in Birmingham, who has more experience with such problems than anyone.”

As Abby continued reading, her brow furrowed. Unable to bear the tension, Celeste said, “Mrs. Wayne says nothing can be done for me?”

“No,” Abby said slowly. “She said that in cases like yours, where neither physician nor healer can find anything amiss with the wife, it is logical to ask if the problem might lie with the husband.”

Celeste gasped, her eyes widening. “It has never occurred to anyone that there could be any…any weakness in Alderton.”

“Women are generally blamed when a couple is childless,” Abby said dryly. “And of course one does not suggest that a duke might be less than perfect. But blame is not appropriate. Infertility is a physical problem, not a sin.”

“I see.” Celeste bit her lip. “Can male problems be healed?”

“Sometimes, especially if the problem is a minor blockage. Would Alderton allow a healer to examine him? As you know, there is no pain or discomfort.”

The duchess shook her head. “He despises wizardry. Nor would he welcome the suggestion that he is in some way deficient. Would it be possible to examine him without his knowledge?”

Abby frowned. “That would be unethical. Also probably useless, since I imagine that the duke carries a powerful anti-magic charm.”

“He does.” Celeste clutched her teacup so hard Abby thought it might break. “He and I are barely talking. I can't imagine asking him to allow a healer to perform an examination to see if he's capable of fathering a child.”

“There are two issues here,” Abby pointed out. “If you can heal the estrangement and become intimate again, it will be much easier to talk to him about an examination.”

“You're right. Heaven knows the first problem is difficult, but it's simpler than trying to solve both problems at once.” Celeste's eyes narrowed. “Do you think an aphrodisiac might help?”

“I wouldn't recommend it. You are husband and wife, not an anxious girl trying to catch the attention of a local boy.” Or a Spanish wench trying to catch the eye of a generous English officer. “Your relationship is deeper and far more complicated. Already trust is strained because he suspects your motives in encouraging him to take a mistress. If you try to manipulate him with a love potion and he finds out, he will be justly furious. You must solve your problems with honesty, not trickery.”

Celeste sighed. “I know you're right, but I wish there was a simple solution.”

Abby had learned much about men in the last few days. “What about going to his room some night wearing sheer silk and nothing else?”

The other woman looked away. “I tried that. He…he has locked his door to me.”

Abby winced, guessing how painful that rejection must have felt. “It sounds as if your solution must come through words.”

“That man could make a rock look talkative when he's in this mood. But I'll try. He has withdrawn before, but eventually he always thaws. I shall have to wait him out.” Celeste glanced down at her hands. “Though he looks the image of a duke, he was a third son, mostly ignored until his father and brothers died of a virulent fever. Perhaps he might have had more confidence if he'd been raised as the heir.”

Abby reached out to the duke and did the kind of light reading that could be done even on someone who was shielded. Celeste was right. Her husband had learned to play the role of a duke, but in his heart, he was still an unnecessary son. “That explains a great deal. He needs to feel that he is loved, not merely the prize in a successful husband hunt.”

“I knew that, but sometimes I haven't remembered as well as I should,” Celeste said softly. “I'm grateful that you and Jack are in town to distract me. Otherwise I would be half mad with worry by now.”

“Then I must be grateful for his moods, because you have been a godsend for easing my visit in London.” Abby contemplated what she had accomplished so far, and what remained to be done. “All I must do is watch Jack take his seat, which should be easy, and survive the ball, which will be less easy. I'll manage.”

“And then you'll both be off for Yorkshire.” The duchess looked pensive. “I wonder how Jack will get on with Sir Alfred?”

“What do you think of your stepfather?”

“He's my mother's husband, not a father to me.”

“That's exactly what Jack said. How am I likely to react to Sir Alfred? I know what Jack thinks of the man. I'd like to know what you think.”

Celeste considered her words. “He is cold as Scottish granite, except when he looks at my mother. Then he…he burns. Perhaps I should find his devotion romantic, but it seems rather unwholesome.”

If Scranton was so obsessed with the dowager Lady Frayne that he'd had spells cast to injure her first husband and son, he was more than unwholesome. He was a menace. Perhaps even a murderer. If so, he must be stopped from injuring anyone else.

Yorkshire promised to be interesting.

T
aking his seat in the House of Lords proved more painless than Jack had expected. In keeping with his mischievous desire to avoid political alignment, he was sponsored by one Whig viscount and one Tory viscount.

When he emerged from the Robing Room with his sponsors, he surreptitiously scanned the chamber and found Abby and Celeste in the gallery, both watching with beaming approval. Abby wore one of her new gowns, this one high-necked and demure. She looked lovely and entirely at home in London. Clothes really did make a difference. In his formal robes of state, Jack almost felt as if he belonged in the House of Lords.

Alderton had orchestrated the ceremony and it went off without a hitch. Jack was unexpectedly moved when he swore allegiance to king and country. He had served both for years, could easily have laid down his life. Yet it was different to pledge his loyalty and best efforts toward governing this nation. Dying was easier than making good laws.