The Magic of Love Series

by Margaret Locke

  “Does it help you learn when she does that? Does it make you want to work harder?”

  He stuck his lower lip out, considering. “It makes me want to hit back,” he admitted. “But I know if I don’t mind, it will happen again.”

  “I understand. But I think people respond better to kindness, don’t you?”

  His eyebrows lifted as if he was surprised she’d asked his opinion.

  “I suppose so,” he said. “Jerome the stablehand always kicks at the dogs, saying that’s what will make them stop chewing at his breeches. But the dogs never chew my breeches.” He took a breath.

  “Exactly,” Eliza said. Sensing an opportunity, she continued. “You like dogs, don’t you?” The joy on his face when he’d burst into his mother’s chamber, dog on his heels, just a few days ago had said as much.

  “Papa says I’m not to play with them, that they’re for hunting.”

  “Hmm. Well, we had a dog when I was young, and I loved him. He was my best friend for years.”

  Freddy looked at her, his eyes round in surprise. “In truth?”

  “Yes, really. Maybe you can take me down to where the dogs are? Perhaps we could pet one today.” If she couldn’t be with Deveric, at least she could get to know his son.

  His face lit up. He stubbed his toe on the ground again. “But Papa—”

  “—is gone for the time being. And I will deal with him if it becomes an issue.”

  Oh boy. Interfering with Deveric’s authority wasn’t the wisest tack to take. But come on; dogs made the kid happy. And wouldn’t Deveric want his son happy and thriving? Wasn’t that what all parents wanted?

  The dowager’s stern face flashed before her. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe in this period, appearances and conformity outranked familial affection. If that were the case, she was in deep trouble.

  On the other hand, how much worse could it get? It was not as if Deveric’s mother liked her, anyway, though at least she hadn’t thrown Eliza out. If you keep challenging her, she might, regardless of what her son said.

  Shaking off all the what-ifs, Eliza walked over to the boy, crouching down in front of him. “We have not been properly introduced.” The rushed greeting from their first encounter didn’t count. “My name is Mrs. Eliza James. I’m from the United States—Virginia, actually. I’m your cousin”—funny how she hardly tripped over those words anymore—“but also now your governess. You may call me ... Miss Eliza.” Mrs. James sounded too formal for a child that young, and Eliza too casual, so she took the good old Southern approach of slapping “Miss” in front of her first name.

  “I am Lord Harrington,” Freddy responded, his voice as supercilious as his father’s.

  Lord Harrington? He expected her to address him by his courtesy title? Perhaps he’d been taught to; she was a stranger, after all. “That is an appropriate title for an important lad such as yourself,” Eliza said. “But since I have given you leave to call me by my first name, might you extend the same courtesy to me?”

  The boy mulled that over, his brow crinkling in an adorable imitation of his father. “I suppose. My name is Frederick. Though my aunts call me Freddy. Since you are a relative, you may also call me Freddy.”

  “Thank you, Freddy.” She wanted to scoop him up in a hug, this boy pretending at his tender age to be a man. “I am sorry it upset you to see me in your mother’s chamber the other day,” she said, her eyes fixed on his darling green ones. “I lost both of my parents. I know how hard that is. I want you to know I wasn’t trying to take over her space—I didn’t even know it was her space. It’s just where they put me.”

  His lip trembled. “You did? You lost your Mama and your Papa?”

  “Yes, I did. I was older than you are, but they died in a car—a carriage accident.”

  Freddy tentatively linked his hand with hers. “Let’s go and see the dogs!” he said, clearly wishing to change the subject.

  Her heart melted at the feel of his tiny fingers in hers. “Lead on, my little lord.”

  Chapter 24

  As they exited the house, Eliza said, “I heard you’ve been sick. I’m glad you seem to be feeling better.”

  Freddy just nodded. So much for hinting for information—he was about as forthcoming as his father.

  “May I ask what sickness you had?”

  “Don’t know.” He shrugged. “I’ve had fevers. Everything was achy, ‘specially my legs. And my throat hurt very much.”

  Eliza puzzled over that. Whom was she kidding? She was no pediatrician. “But you’re feeling better now?”

  “Mostly,” he said. “I still get tired a lot. Nurse Pritchett always wants me in bed.”

  They neared a large stone hut not far from the stables. As yelps and barks pierced the air, Freddy started to run.

  With an excited grin, Eliza gave chase. “Wait for me!”

  Freddy was already on his knees inside the door, a foxhound jumping on him and licking his face. He laughed, his cheeks flushing with happiness.

  “Who’s there?” came a grouchy voice, as a tall, lean man came out of the shadows. “Oh, it’s you, Lord Harrington.” The man’s face was kindly, in spite of the brusque greeting, and his eyes brightened as he watched the boy.

  “Good day, Mr. Sayers,” Freddy answered absent-mindedly, giggling as the dog’s tongue scrubbed his face.

  “His Grace doesn’t like for you to be here,” the man chastised, but Eliza sensed softness under his tone. She warmed to him immediately, thrilled to see someone look affectionately upon the child.

  “Hello,” she said. Habit had her wanting to extend her hand to shake his, but she caught herself just in time. “I’m Eliza James. I’m ... Fr—Harrington’s governess.”

  “She’s also my cousin, Papa says,” the boy offered before he went back to tickling the dog’s stomach.

  The man touched his fingers to the brim of his hat. “John Sayers, my lady,” he said. “Master of the Hounds.” As he watched Freddy roll on the ground with the dogs, he added, “His Grace does not like his son with the dogs.”

  “Why not?”

  “The dogs are trained hunting animals.”

  “And?”

  “They are not meant to play.”

  She eyed Mr. Sayers. Something in his tone caught her attention. “But you don’t agree with that?”

  He looked at the ground. “I would never disagree with the Duke of Claremont.” His voice was strong, but he didn’t meet her eyes.

  “Of course not,” she affirmed. “But it is nice to see the boy smile, is it not?”

  He gave her a measuring look. “It is, indeed. He is a fine lad.”

  Turning back to the boy, Mr. Sayers said, “Harrington, Althea whelped her pups. Would you like to see them?”

  Frederick leapt up, dogs at his heels. “I would! I would!”

  The hounds master gave him a kind smile. “Remember not to touch them. They are too little.”

  “I won’t, Mr. Sayers, I promise!” Excitement laced the boy’s voice.

  Eliza followed them farther into the hut, her ears echoing with the sounds of myriad dogs barking as they passed.

  Mr. Sayers opened a door, and the majority of the hounds ran out. As she passed by, Eliza glimpsed the dogs romping in a small field surrounded by a wooden fence.

  Gesturing to Eliza and Freddy, the hounds master quietly approached a corner in the hut, where a foxhound lay on her side, nursing her new pups.

  Deveric’s son crouched down eagerly, getting as close as he could, but remembered to keep his hands to himself.

  “Look, Miss Eliza!” he exclaimed. His green eyes, so like his father’s, sparkled.

  Smiling, Eliza bent over next to him. Wow, I’ve never seen dogs this tiny. She watched a teensy pup try to work its way into the mix of its brothers and sisters. “That one seems quite small.”

  “Ayup,” Mr. Sayers said. “He’s a runt. Probably not going to survive. Even if he does, he’ll never be a hunting dog. One of his eyes is damag
ed.” He crouched down next to the boy. “I should probably put him out of his misery, but, well, it’s not his fault he got the short end of the stick.”

  Eliza’s esteem for this John Sayers rose by leaps and bounds. Hunting dogs in this era were not pets; they were business. To have a hounds master be unwilling to kill a less-than-ideal animal spoke volumes as to his character.

  “Oh, can I have him? Please, Mr. Sayers, please?”

  The man’s face twitched in a frown. “Lord Harrington, the little pup most likely won’t live. And I’m not sure what your father would say.”

  “Let me take care of that,” Eliza broke in. “I bet I can convince him there are lots of educational lessons to be learned in caring for another creature.”

  Frederick looked at her with grateful eyes. Mr. Sayer’s were more indiscernible.

  “But as Mr. Sayers said, Freddy,” she added in a gentle voice, “it may not survive.”

  He bobbed his head up and down. “I understand. But I will come every day to talk to him and encourage him—and hold him when you let me, Mr. Sayers. That would be all right, wouldn’t it?”

  The hounds master held up his hands. “I can’t argue with the future Duke of Claremont, now can I?”

  Freddy drew up his shoulders, as if just now remembering his social position and expectations. Eliza hated to see it; she wanted him to remain as carefree as he could for as long as he could. Life brought hardships no matter what one’s position in society; children should enjoy being young.

  Freddy nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Sayers.” Leaning over the pups, he studied the one-eyed dog. “I shall call him ‘Pirate,’” he said, his voice solemn. “Lots of pirates have only one eye. Isn’t that right, Miss Eliza?”

  Eliza laughed. “So I hear. I’ve never met any in real life. And wouldn’t want to.”

  “You didn’t see any on your ship? When you crossed the ocean?”

  Oops. She’d forgotten that part of the story. Hopefully, nobody would press her for many details. How could she speak convincingly of a sea voyage when she’d never actually been on one?

  “In truth, I haven’t got much of a stomach for sailing. I was seasick most of the time and stayed in my cabin.” Well, that was a half-truth—if she had been on a ship, she most likely would have been sick, considering how ill she’d gotten the one time her family had taken a ferry from Maryland to New Jersey.

  “Oh.” Disappointment laced his voice. “I wanted you to tell me some adventures.” He scrunched up his nose and eyed her as if trying to decide whether she’d ever be any fun or not.

  “I can’t tell you about sailing, but I can tell you a little about Virginia,” she said, hoping she’d be able to keep it to stuff relevant to the Regency period. “Plus, I doubt most people encounter pirates at sea.”

  Freddy had already lost interest and was watching the dogs again.

  “It is unlikely His Grace will let Lord Harrington keep a dog, my lady.” Mr. Sayers had removed his cap and was worrying the edges with his fingers. “I love to see the lad happy, but His Grace may fear the dog will not be good for his son, especially given the boy’s frail health.”

  “He doesn’t look frail right now, does he?”

  Both of them watched the little boy, who was whooping with delight at the puppies as they crawled over each other. His cheeks bloomed with color.

  “You said yourself you don’t know if the puppy will survive,” Eliza added. “So let’s cross that bridge when we come to it. Besides, Deveric—I mean, His Grace—is not here right now. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him, right?” She bit her lip, hoping Mr. Sayers hadn’t noticed her flub with Deveric’s name.

  “Be careful, my lady. He is a powerful man who does not like to be crossed. I would hate to see you turned away without a reference.”

  Eliza wrapped her arms around her middle, propping up one arm to chew at a fingernail. “Does he—does the duke do that often?” She couldn’t imagine Deveric being so heartless—he’d taken her in, after all—but it’s not as if she knew everything about him.

  “In truth, no. But his father did. He was demanding in his expectations.”

  “That’s terrible!”

  Mr. Sayers’ eyes flashed in warning. “Don’t let the dowager hear you say that.”

  Eliza nodded. As if she needed reminding to be careful around that dragon. Hold on. This man had known Deveric’s father? Maybe he could shed some light on the family situation, on the dowager, or Deveric himself.

  “Did the current duke and his father get along well?”

  Mr. Sayers pinched his lips. “That is not for me to say, my lady.”

  Shoot. She’d take that as a no, they didn’t, only she didn’t know Mr. Sayers well enough to read him yet. “My apologies. I did not mean to overstep bounds. My American manner is often too direct, I know.”

  The hounds master dipped his head stiffly.

  “May Freddy and I visit again tomorrow?”

  “Of course.”

  “Come, Freddy, we should return to the house.”

  “Aww, do we have to?” His eyes were plaintive as he looked up at Eliza. The dog he’d been petting thumped its tail on the ground.

  “We do. But we shall come back in the morning, provided you attend your lessons and get the rest you need.”

  She grabbed his hand to pull him up off the ground, pleased when he didn’t let go once standing.

  “Bye, Pirate. Bye, Mr. Sayers. See you tomorrow!” Hand-in-hand, they headed back to the house.

  Chapter 25

  Deveric groaned as he rolled over in the massive oak bed he’d had custom-made for his beloved St. James townhouse. The property was big enough to hold his entire family, but it provided much-needed respite from the constant commotion of his numerous siblings—not to mention his mother—and so he kept it to himself. There were definite advantages to wealth. He did, however, offer the house as lodging for his close friends when they were in town, though he was regretting that this morning. Arthington yelling for Emerlin was what had woken him.

  They obviously hadn’t drunk as much as he last night. He held his hand over his eyes, blocking out the sunlight streaming in through the windows. They’d started with port, but what had he finished with? Brandy? Scotch? He wasn’t sure.

  He’d only known he’d wanted to forget the images he’d seen that fateful night. And then on Eliza’s phone. It was all real. All too much. And Eliza. Eliza was too much, with the way she’d winnowed herself in through his defenses.

  What was she doing? It’d been a week. A week since he’d fled Clarehaven. A week of trying to drown his confusion and desire in drink. It wasn’t working. The only thing he thought of was her. Eliza, her eyes aglow as she regaled him with tales of the future. Eliza, her face a mask of pain as she sang so beautifully, so hauntingly, of wanting to go home. Eliza, who’d somehow wormed her way under his skin. The unexpected desire she sparked in him was difficult enough to battle, but this ... this stirring of less base emotions was downright terrifying.

  How could it be true? No one could travel through time, for Christ’s sake. It was impossible. Except she had. He had. He’d been someplace else, someplace quite different from Clarehaven, with people he’d never seen wearing clothing that was not quite right, with objects he’d never encountered. He’d been two hundred years in the future.

  He’d wanted to dismiss it as a dream, a quite creative one, though he did not count a vast imagination as one of his over-arching qualities. But it wasn’t. Eliza proved that—proved it with her presence, proved it with her tele-phone. Some might have dismissed the object as some form of trick, some sort of sorcery. He knew better. It was an advanced machine, capable of things he’d never imagined. And what he’d seen on it ...

  Eliza James had traveled through time. With him. To him. For him?

  His mouth watered as he recollected the first time he’d seen her, in that deliciously snug gown with the purple and green embroidery. She’d looked up at him as
if it were Christmas morning, and he her gift. Had any woman ever viewed him like that? As a gift, rather than a prize to be claimed? Or a monster to be avoided?

  He looked over toward the letter his mother had sent, which lay folded on the table near his bed. She’d made no mention of Eliza, which he found suspicious. He’d known how upset she’d been at this stranger appearing in their home. He’d known she doubted his cousin story, though he typically told the truth to a fault.

  She’d written about what needed to be done to prepare the estates for the spring sowing—tasks his estate manager had well in hand, but on which his mother always felt it necessary to comment. She’d shared tidbits about his sisters—they were, of course, all fine, but Emmeline was restless now that the house party guests had gone home, whereas Grace was relishing the quiet and solitude, spending much of her time reading and playing the piano. Becca was out every day with the horses, in spite of the cold. No surprise there. His mother had even written that Freddy was thriving; he’d had no more fevers and was showing great energy again. Thank God.

  But no word on Eliza.

  Surely, he needn’t worry. Surely if something had happened, if Eliza had ... disappeared, his mother would have informed him.

  He wanted to know what she was doing, what she was thinking, how she was feeling. Was she okay on her own there, without him? Okay? The American was wearing off on him, her vocabulary infiltrating his, much like she’d infiltrated his quiet, staid, predictable life. And he liked it. A little too much.

  He hadn’t focused so much on another person since Mirabelle died, and then his thoughts had centered on the daughter he’d never know, not the wife he’d lost, or even the son he still had. Remorse gnawed at him constantly over that.

  He and Mirabelle were never a good match, especially after the first year, after Frederick was born. He’d felt a failure, not being able to build a true marital relationship with her. Not that he knew what that meant; his parents’ own relationship had been volatile. At times, they’d held great passion for each other; at others, they’d reviled each other. Samuel and Matilda Mattersley had always maintained proper decorum in the presence of others, however, just as they had taught their children.