The Marriage Spell (29 page)

“Lady Frayne, if you please,” the other woman corrected. “I have chosen to retain my title. With my dear Alfred's permission, of course. He says he likes being married to a viscountess.”

Abby knew that it wasn't uncommon for women to retain the higher title when they married a man of lower rank, but having two Lady Fraynes under the same roof might be confusing. She hoped it wouldn't be for long.

Helen's lapdog struggled to get down, so she set her pet on the floor. The beast came over to Abby and started jumping on her. “Homer doesn't like you,” Helen drawled. “He's very discriminating.”

“I think he smells my cat.” As the dog reared up, a low hiss came from inside the basket. Abby was about to check the basket's latch when the lid popped open to reveal Cleocatra, her white whiskers a quivering accent against her sleek black fur.

Homer began whining and jumping. Abby stepped back, but the dog managed to bang a paw against the bottom of the basket, setting it swinging. With a furious growl, Cleo leaped to the floor. Every ebony hair on her body was standing on end, making her look twice the dog's size.

Homer launched himself at the cat. Hissing like a dragon, Cleo slashed her claws across the dog's nose. Homer howled and raced away, escaping the entry hall as if pursued by demons.

“What a horrible beast!” Helen exclaimed. “You must get rid of it at once!”

As Abby scooped up Cleo and soothed her, Jack said, “Abby lives here now, and so does her cat. Homer could use training to improve his manners.”

“Homer is
never
the least bit of trouble! That filthy cat is the problem.”

“Like most cats, Cleo is immaculate,” Jack said, suddenly amused. “I wish my soldiers had washed half as often.”

As he and his mother talked, Abby studied Helen's aura. Under her polished exterior was monstrous self-absorption. Though she seemed glad to see Jack, her reaction was mild, more like greeting a distant cousin than her only son. She showed no interest in her new daughter-in-law. Even her insult had been casual. Was this Helen's true nature, or was her behavior another sign of Langdale's wrongness?

A dark presence entered the room. Helen turned and said caressingly, “Darling! Look who has come.”

The tall, lean man with silver hair had to be Jack's wicked stepfather. Though Sir Alfred Scranton was conventionally handsome and meticulously well dressed, he felt
wrong.
It took her a moment to realize that he had almost no aura. Most people were swathed in subtly colored energy, but not Sir Alfred. Instead of radiating energy, he seemed to suck it from his surroundings. He was like darkness personified.

As she studied him, she felt a tug at her energy field. She strengthened her shields instinctively to prevent him from draining any of her life force. She wasn't sure if he was aware of how his negative energy pulled at everything around him. As was common with married couples, an energy bond connected him and his wife, but even that was colored by disturbing possessiveness.

Turning from Helen, he inclined his head politely. “Good to see you, Frayne. You should have let us know you were coming so we could prepare for your visit.”

“This isn't a visit. I've come home for good, and I've brought my wife.” As Jack performed the introductions, Sir Alfred's eyes narrowed. His expression was so serpent-like that Abby half expected to see a forked tongue flicker when he spoke.

Tired and uncomfortable with the tension in the room, Abby said, “Might I go to my room to refresh myself? It's been a long journey.”

“That's a good idea.” Jack put his hand behind her back. “Mother, could you order the servants to build a fire and make up the bed in the master suite?”

She looked shocked. “Those are
our
rooms.”

His brows rose. “On my one other visit, you were in the blue suite. I'm surprised that you moved into my rooms without consulting me.”

“You were never here!” She looked at her son with an air of tragic sadness. “Surely you wouldn't put your mother out of her own bed!”

Jack hesitated, and Abby felt him wavering. She glanced up at him, mentally trying to project the reminder that he had asked her to help bolster his resolve. He gave her a faint nod to show that he understood. “We shall discuss that and other matters over dinner,” he said. “For now, my wife and I need a place to rest and refresh ourselves.”

Abby returned Cleo to her basket, knowing that the first salvo had been fired. Larger battles lay ahead.

Chapter
XXIX

J
ack and Abby were assigned two guest rooms with a connecting door. Leaving Morris to unpack for him, Jack walked straight into Abby's room and wrapped his arms around her as Cleo, newly released from the basket, explored her surroundings. “I knew this would be difficult,” he said as he absorbed her warmth and sanity, “but I didn't expect my mother to insult you to your face!”

Abby rested her head against Jack's shoulder. “Has she always been like this?”

The question helped him to regain his objectivity. “No, she was always flighty and perhaps a bit self-absorbed, like a shimmering dragonfly. But she had a kind heart. I never, ever heard her say something so rude.”

“So she is also part of the estate's wrongness,” Abby said thoughtfully as she left his embrace and removed her cloak.

“I wish…” Jack stopped. “I'd like to talk to someone knowledgeable about the situation, and I just realized I can. The vicar, Mr. Willard, was my tutor, and he has some magical ability as well as wisdom. It's still early afternoon. Do you mind if I call on him now? The village isn't far, just outside the estate. I'd like to speak with him before we dine with my mother and her husband. Assuming he's still here, of course.”

“Take me, too.” Abby made a face. “I would rather not be here alone.”

He remembered the dream he'd had of soaring over the blasted fields of Langdale, his mate at his side. “If you're not too tired, I'd like you to come. I think it best that we be together as much of the time as possible.”

“Strength in numbers?”

“Exactly.” He could feel the blight pulsing around him like a poisoned fog, ready to move in and undermine his spirit. Mr. Willard might be an ally in the struggle.

They needed all the allies they could get.

T
he church's square Norman tower rose sturdily at the far end of Langdale's high street. The familiar sight eased Jack's heart. Next door stood the vicarage, the rambling structure constructed from matching gray Yorkshire stone. How many lessons had Jack received in the vicar's study? Hundreds, and they were some of the best hours of his childhood, even though at the time he'd complained bitterly about having to learn Latin and Greek and philosophy.

As they climbed from the carriage, Abby said, “The vicar's wife is a fine gardener. Her daffodils and crocuses are blooming and several trees are ready to leaf.”

“Everything here is much healthier than on the estate,” Jack agreed as he rapped on the door. “Mrs. Willard was a devoted gardener, but she died several years ago. She was a lovely woman who always had a ginger cake or piece of shortbread ready to feed a starving student of the classics.”

The door was opened by a little maid. Her eyes opened wide when she saw that the visitors were gentry. “Sir? Madam?”

Jack said, “Lord and Lady Frayne are calling for Mr. Willard. Is he in?”

The girl invited them into the parlor, then left to summon the vicar. Jack felt a burst of happiness when Mr. Willard's familiar tall, thin figure appeared. He looked very much a vicar, but under his gentle, otherworldly air was dry humor and a shrewd mind.

Willard smiled at his visitors, and his aura was the clear, bright gold of spirituality. “Jack! Or rather, Lord Frayne. What a pleasure it is to see you again.”

“Mr. Willard!” Jack crossed the room and caught the vicar's hands in both of his. “So much has changed. It's a blessing to find that you haven't.” He grinned. “You will be pleased to hear that the Latin you pounded into my unwilling head proved useful. I found myself reading Caesar and Cicero and other Romans while on campaign in Spain.”

“And did you read the Greeks as well?” the vicar asked with interest.

“Content yourself with your success in Latin.” Jack beckoned Abby forward. “My wife is eager to meet you.”

He was becoming better at reading energy; it was obvious as he performed the introductions that Abby and Mr. Willard were kindred spirits. His gray eyes lit up when his gaze met hers. “At last you've come. Welcome to Langdale, Lady Frayne.”

“At last?” she said quizzically. “Do you have the ability to see the future?”

“I have a touch of the Sight. Usually it's more a nuisance than not.” He gestured for them to sit on the sofa. “But for some time, I've felt that possible salvation was coming for Langdale, and it would take two people to bring it about.”

“So there is hope.” Glad they needn't waste time with social pleasantries, Jack leaned forward in his seat. “Tell me what has happened here.”

The vicar tossed a scoop of coal on the fire. “The decline began with your mother's remarriage. As soon as Scranton moved into Langdale Hall, the estate began to fail. Many tenants and employees left, even though good jobs are scarce around here. Those who stayed there turned surly and suspicious.” He sat in a chair opposite his guests. “Your mother changed most of all.”

“She seems very different,” Jack agreed. “Has the estate been cursed?”

“I don't believe so.” The vicar frowned. “But I think your mother has been ensorcelled. I have known her a very long time. The woman living in the hall is like a frozen, glittering copy of her. The charm and sweetness that distinguished the lady gradually disappeared.” He spoke as if an old, dear friend had died.

There was a break in the conversation when the young maid brought in a tray with tea and cakes. After the girl withdrew, Abby asked, “Mr. Willard, has anyone else with magical ability investigated the problems here?”

“Over the years, a number of skilled wizards have visited me and tried to detect the underlying problems, but none succeeded,” the vicar replied. “One was a bishop with great experience in ghosts, curses, and spiritual possession. Even he could not find the cause of the dale's decline. There seems to be no magic involved, so most people have accepted the problems as natural, like the biblical plagues.”

“Did anyone have a theory that might be a starting point for us?” Abby asked.

“I kept a journal of events and speculations, if you'd like to see that.”

“I would.” Jack's gut tightened at the knowledge that he would be reading a journal of his own failings. Even learning about the spell designed to keep him away from home could not relieve his ultimate responsibility. But maybe the journal would provide useful clues. “You have been the wizard closest to the estate's decline. What are your personal opinions about it?”

The vicar hesitated. “I suspect that the problem lies with the land itself. There is magic in the earth—magic and life. That magic has almost vanished from the estate. The amount remaining can barely sustain life.”

“The problem isn't necessary magical,” Abby said thoughtfully. “Sometimes estates go through periods of bad luck. If that's true here, Scranton's inherently negative personality might be making it worse, but not be the cause.” She smiled a little. “Jack is known for his good fortune. Maybe his presence can turn Langdale's fortunes.”

“Sir Alfred's presence might be amplifying anything else that is wrong,” Mr. Willard agreed. “He never leaves the estate.”

“Never?” Abby asked, startled.

“Possibly he goes to his own estate sometimes, crossing where the two properties touch. But I don't know for sure.”

“What about my mother?” Jack asked. “I know she hasn't traveled to London in years, and she won't even visit my sister. But surely she must leave the estate even if only to come to the village.”

“After her marriage, she stopped attending holy services.” The vicar looked bleak. “I have offered to make pastoral calls at the hall, but she has refused.”

Jack shook his head. “My mother always loved to be out and about. She enjoyed Sunday services as a chance to show off new clothes and visit the neighbors.”

“I've known of cases where possessive men won't allow their wives out of their sight for fear of losing control,” Abby said. “Often they beat the women to keep them obedient. If Scranton is that kind of man, it would explain why your mother won't even visit her own daughter at Alderton.”

Jack swore. He'd heard of such cases, too. Sometimes they ended with the man killing his wife. “I'm not sure which is worse—my mother ensorcelled or beaten.”

Abby flinched at his expression. Obviously she hadn't intended to incite Jack to homicide. “I didn't see any sign that your mother was being beaten. She seems very happy with her husband.”

The vicar nodded agreement. “Your mother and Sir Alfred scarcely notice anyone except each other. No one else seems to matter.”

That included long-absent sons. Her reaction to his hug had been tepid. “It won't be easy to dislodge Scranton from the hall,” Jack said harshly. “But it must happen. That will be the quickest way of learning if he is the source of the problems at Langdale.”

The vicar's brows arched. “You are going to ask your stepfather to leave? If you do, be very careful. He is rich and well connected and I fear that he will do almost anything to maintain his position in Langdale.”

The more information they could pool, the better. Jack said, “Let me tell you some of what he has done already. Perhaps that will help us deduce what black magician he uses. That would help us in countering his wickedness.”

The three of them together should be more powerful than one obsessive, negative man who could afford to hire black magicians. At least he hoped so.

A
bby and Jack talked with the vicar all afternoon. By the time they returned to Langdale Hall, it was time to change for dinner. Abby took special care with her appearance as she prepared for her first meal at the hall. Even knowing that Jack's mother was probably ensorcelled didn't eliminate the sting of her words about Abby's looks. Despite the insult, Abby needed to keep the situation civil so that Jack wouldn't explode and kill his stepfather. She didn't think that was likely, but it was not impossible.

The sky blue gown she chose was one of Madame Ravelle's best, and just right for a family dinner in the country. She wore her sapphires because the jewels held some of her mother's protective energy. Having them around her neck made her feel safer.

A knock on the connecting door announced Jack's arrival. She turned and saw that he wore his uniform again. She was going to miss seeing him in it—and out of it!—when he finally packed his regimentals away. “You look wonderfully dashing.”

“I wanted to remind my mother and Scranton what I've been doing for the last few years.” His slow gaze moved over her. “You look splendid. How much time do we have before we have to go down?”

“Not enough time for that,” she laughed, though his gaze was quickening her pulse.
Later.
She took a last glance at her reflection, glad that the corset concealed the effect his heated gaze had on her breasts. “I have determined not to allow either of them to irritate me again.”

He grinned. “Refusing to anger will irritate Scranton, and probably my mother as well. I shall attempt equal control. If I don't keep a firm hand on my temper, I'll be tempted to bring my pistols to the dinner table.”

Wishing that was a joke, Abby said, “If you have pistols with you, I trust you'll leave them in the room.”

“I do, and I will. It's best I don't carry a weapon tonight.”

“Use your magical perception,” she advised, thinking he needed something to occupy his attention while they ate. “I don't suppose your stepfather is likely to poison us, but look carefully at your food, and don't eat anything that seems wrong in any way. Ideally, eat only from dishes that are shared by all.”

Jack blinked. “What a very unnerving thought. I'm not physically afraid of Scranton—my instincts for avoiding murderous assaults are excellent. But I don't know if that extends to possible poisoning in my own home.”

“There is risk all around us,” Abby said soberly. “Our campaign must proceed with all due care and thought.”

“I'm so much better at waving a sword and charging, but I shall strive for control.” Jack offered his arm and together they descended to the small parlor to have drinks before dinner. He said quietly, “The house seems shabby. Not well maintained. Too many servants have left, maybe.”

“And those remaining are dispirited.” Abby frowned. “I suppose it's not surprising the house reflects the same problems as the land.”

They stopped speaking when they entered the parlor to find Helen and Scranton already there. In the candlelight, the energy bond connecting the two was very clear. “Sherry?” Scranton asked, smoothly taking the role of host.

Abby saw the faint tightening of Jack's eyes at the recognition that his stepfather was acting like the master of the house, but he didn't challenge the older man. A veteran soldier learns to choose his battles. “Yes, thank you.”