Whisper of Magic (31 page)

Hog-grubber? She would have smiled, but Erran looked
decidedly grim. She thought perhaps this had not been his plan.

“We will discuss it in the morning,” was all he said
however. “I’m escorting Miss Rochester to her family. I will be back after
we’ve had time to rest.”

Celeste bobbed a half curtsy before she remembered the
marquess couldn’t see her. His presence was so striking, she’d almost forgotten
his blindness. “Good-night, my lord. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

He snorted rudely.

“You’re in danger of becoming a curmudgeon, Dunc,” Erran
warned. Guiding Celeste from the room, he slammed the door so his brother would
know they were gone.

“Court?” she whispered. “Why? I thought we only need present
the will to the solicitors.”

“Lansdowne has evidently thrown down some personal gauntlet
to which Dunc objects. We’ll find out in the morning. He’ll have servants
posted at the doors, so you should be safe now. I’ll leave you to your family
and see you in the morning.”

He held her hand as if he didn’t wish to let go. Breathless
with the agony of releasing him, Celeste merely nodded. Their shared interlude
had ended. Reality had returned far too rudely.

Checking the corridor to be certain no one lurked, he bent
and placed a kiss on her cheek. Celeste almost begged him to stay—but she could
not. Tears forming, she watched him stride toward the back door, evidently to
check their security.

He was a good man. And she was in grave danger of loving him
and ruining his life.

“Pascoe and Lochmas have discovered Lansdowne has sold his
vote and his pocket boroughs to a group of investors willing to loan him enough
to cover part of his more pressing debts,” Ashford said bitingly.

Workmen hammered and nailed next to the downstairs study, creating
new chambers in the back of the house. Sitting at the ancient desk in his
appropriated office, the marquess almost looked like his old self. Almost. The
scar on his brow, Erran observed, had lost some of its raw redness, and the
blind eyes didn’t focus with the intensity they once had. But his oldest
brother could snarl with the best of them.

How could he explain why he didn’t wish to take Lansdowne to
court? He couldn’t tell Duncan that he would inevitably lose his temper, bellow
his fury, and be thrown from every courtroom in the kingdom. With a little
time, however, the Rochester issue could be resolved with appropriate threats
and posturing without need of a courtroom.

Erran stretched out his legs and glared at his boots. “Still
no proof that Lansdowne is behind the thugs who have been harassing the
Rochesters? Or that he’s working with your not-so-charming neighbors causing
rural riots? I’d like to keep this civil and settle out of court, if at all
possible.” Dunc would laugh himself into a fit if he knew Erran feared turning
a staid courtroom into a riot. Or worse.

“I have no proof other than that Montfort and Caldwell are
siding with Lansdowne and the Tories. The hands of time can’t be turned back,
industry can’t be halted, but they’re fighting anything that resembles change.”
Ashford bounced a ball between his hands, successfully catching it despite
being unable to see it. “If Montfort had his way, steam engines would be banned
as the work of the devil, and we should go back to knights in shining armor—the
good old days when the peasants knew their place.”

“Lansdowne is more progressive than that. Politics makes
strange bedfellows. That still doesn’t persuade me,” Erran argued.

“Lansdowne is a bully. He is too deeply in debt to settle
for anything less than complete control of a very valuable asset when he sees
the Rochesters as weak and unable to put up a fight,” Ashford continued. “He is
currently smearing Miss Rochester’s name across town and is hinting that Lord
Rochester is too dark to be English. That won’t stop the court from deciding on
the basis of the will, but it will influence solicitors. Try to settle, if you
want, but proceed as if it won’t happen.”

Erran ground his molars. “Then we need to trot the
Rochesters around town, introduce them as your wards, let Aster’s family dote
on them, and snub our noses at the old hedge pig.”

Duncan snorted in amusement. “Or paint
hedge pig
on his door. The ladies will sort all that out, but they
cannot fight the legalities. If there is any chance that Lansdowne can sell the
plantation and its inhabitants, he will. I will not have people sold into
slavery on my watch.”

And there was the greatest fear—the Rochesters’ servants
could be sold and gone by the time Erran attempted settlements and moved on to
courtrooms. Jamar had said the tenants and servants had gone into hiding, but
that couldn’t last forever. They needed food and housing, and they were deep
into hurricane season. Anything could be happening to them right now. Any delay
would worsen the odds.

“I’ll get it done,” Erran said heavily, pushing out of his
chair. “We haven’t had time to refurbish the house for entertaining. How will
Zack work around you if you set up court in here?”

“Aster is working her magic in the front room. I can dictate
letters anywhere I can sit. Not your concern. Take those documents and file
them and start establishing the Rochesters’ authority over their own damned
property. If Lansdowne won’t work for us, we’ll leave him juggling so many
debts that he won’t have the ability to work against us.” Duncan waved a
dismissive hand in the direction of the door.

“The late baron’s will left Miss Celeste as the guardian of
her siblings until they come of age,” Erran warned. “An English court isn’t
likely to accept that. Lansdowne will claim guardianship. I’ll prepare
documents for you to sign accepting them as your wards.”

“At least I’m good for something,” the marquess said
bleakly. “Go, do what you must.”

What he
must
and
what he wanted were rapidly diverging. With a black cloud of doom hanging over
his head, Erran headed for the front parlor, hoping for a glimpse of Celeste
before he rode into the city. Should he woo her or leave her alone?

A woman wanted to be wooed, he thought. But what did he have
to offer? He knew he was smart and could eventually earn his way in the patent
business, if not as a barrister. But he was years from offering her the kind of
wealth she deserved. She really needed an opportunity to meet men with titles
and land before he tried to tie her down. That she hadn’t responded to his
proposal said she felt the same.

She wanted to return to Jamaica.

He was normally a cautious man. Erran didn’t know how he’d
plunged into this predicament. He’d like to believe in magic just to excuse his
inexcusable behavior.

Celeste and Lady Aster had their heads together over a
selection of fabrics in the salon. They looked up at his entrance, and his
sister-in-law spoke to him, but all he saw was the worry in Celeste’s eyes.

“I am going to file your documents with the court,” he said
after Aster’s nattering quieted. “Don’t go anywhere without strong servants.
Better yet, don’t go anywhere.”

“If you were paying any attention at all,” Aster scolded,
“you would know I am having a dinner tonight to introduce Celeste to a few
friends. We have invitations to my Aunt Daphne’s soiree tomorrow. Celeste
cannot stay home. You will simply have to come with her.”

Go with them and act the part of polite but distant escort
and pretend he hadn’t spent the best nights of his life in her bed . . .
Why didn’t he just strangle himself?

He bowed. “Your wish is my command. I shall see you this
evening, then.”

“Please be careful, my lord,” Celeste said, as if her voice
could wrap him in a protective bubble.

He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had expressed
concern for his safety. Her casual comment struck a chord deep inside him.

He was about to file the papers that would give her the freedom
to marry anyone in the kingdom or to return her to the other side of the world.
That had been his goal from the start—remove her from the Ives townhouse so his
family could return.

And he didn’t want to do it.

He’d always been the peacemaking brother. But right now, he
wanted to sling arrows and have fits of fury like Duncan, then get down on his
knees and plead for Celeste to wait until he’d made his fortune.

Stiffening his spine, he marched out to the combat zone.

***

“You look beautiful, Cee,” Sylvia said wistfully,
straightening a sash on Celeste’s new dinner gown. “Everyone will love you.”

Celeste frowned at the looking glass, studying the effect of
expensive fabric, excellent dressmaking, and a coiffure arranged by one of Lady
Aster’s maid trainees. Out of respect for her father, she hadn’t wanted to wear
bright colors, but those were the only ones she liked. It hadn’t taken much
persuasion for Aster to convince her that a simple cream and gold silk was
sufficiently respectful.

She wouldn’t know how she looked until Erran saw her. She
was no judge of London tastes. She saw a tall, thin woman with boring brown
hair, un-English tanned skin, a too-long neck, and a nose a trifle too
prominent. She’d seldom wasted time over her looks before, but now they seemed
crucial to making a positive appearance in aristocratic English society.

“You will sweep all the gentlemen off their feet when you
make your come-out, Syllie, and you know it. So give
me a chance first.” Using the childhood nickname to reassure her sister,
Celeste pressed a kiss on her cheek.

“If only I could believe it will happen,” Sylvia said with a
sigh. “The world may blow away before next year.”

“Well, in that case, it will hardly matter if you meet
gentlemen, for they will all be dead,” Celeste countered pragmatically.
“Matters are out of our hands now. All we can do is enjoy each day as it comes
and hope for the best. What was Iveston like? Did you have a chance to wear
your new gowns?”

Apparently accompanying her family to London had given the
marquess incentive to leave the protective walls of his manor, from what she’d
been able to determine. If a carriage was required for Sylvia and Nana, then
Ashford could escort them in the carriage and salvage his masculine pride. His
custom previously had been to gallop into town on his stallion, which he could
no longer do.

It was good that they could be of assistance, she thought.
She’d reserve her opinion until she learned how obnoxious the marquess intended
to be now that he was installed downstairs.

Celeste studied her meager jewelry box and decided on her
childhood pearls. She fastened the earrings while watching her sister in the
glass.

Sylvia laughed. “Iveston was like living in a zoo with
horses and dogs and sheep and goats. Trev rode out with a group of boys every
day, so he was happy. But there are no women there, except a few maids and Lady
Aster. We scoured the library for Malcolm journals and measured windows for new
draperies. It was interesting, but I expected the home of a marquess to be more
elegant.”

“Well, you saw this place, so you shouldn’t have expected
better. Men take little interest in their surroundings, and it does seem to be
an all-male household.” Although Erran had been quick to note improvements
needed here, but as a younger son, he didn’t have the authority to change his
brothers’ careless ways. She thought he might be different from his brothers,
given the chance.

That gave her something pleasant to think about when the
carriage arrived. She was relieved to see that Erran accompanied it.

The marquess had retreated to his own quarters after the
carpenters left for the day, leaving Jamar guarding the front door. Entering
through the foyer, Erran doffed his hat and watched her descend the stairs, but
he revealed nothing of his thoughts. Celeste was left hoping that was
admiration in his eyes when he offered his gloved hand to assist her on the
last step.

“I knew that gown would look excellent on you,” he murmured
as he lifted her hand to his lips. In front of Jamar, he could scarcely do
more.

He stirred everything in her that was female. With Erran’s
approving gaze on her, she felt as if her breasts might actually be the perfect
size, and that her height was ideal. None of that ought to matter, but somehow,
it did. She lowered her lashes so he couldn’t see the longing there, but her
gown was so revealing, she feared he could see her breath catch.

“The gown does what it must,” she admitted, trying to sound
as casual as he. “The problem is in knowing what I must be to achieve the approval
we seek.”

He quirked his dark eyebrows, showing he understood. “Aster
and Theo will only invite sympathetic guests. Their friends are scientists and
intellectuals who will be intensely curious about your home, the charities you
mean to support, and your politics. Try being yourself and see if I am not
right.”

“If only I could believe it so,” she murmured. But so much
rode on her making an impression that she didn’t think she could do it, even if
she knew who she was, which she didn’t, really. It had been so long since she’d
not had to disguise herself!

Erran knew the real her. He appeared to like her without
need of her charm—which enthralled her far more than it should. She had little
hope that he would follow her to Jamaica.

“Do you have additional footmen to send with us?” Erran
turned to Jamar, obviously more interested in practicalities than the state of
her foolish heart.

“Two who claim they can use pistols,” Jamar replied. “Or I
can ride on the outside.”

“No, you need to be here with the others. The driver has
pistols. We’ll station one with him and the other in back. I don’t expect
trouble tonight. It’s too soon. I just prefer to be cautious.” Erran placed
Celeste’s hand on his arm. “I apologize for such harsh talk, but I wish you to
be prepared as well. I don’t think you will become missish
on me, will you?”