Lessons in Enchantment

by Patricia Rice

  Smote by a smile, Drew collapsed on his back and studied the underside of the table. What the hell was he doing? Just that brief glance from a woman who mentally talked to cats had his gut clenching in anticipation, had him believing she was noticing him but was too polite to acknowledge what they both knew they shouldn’t.

  He shouldn’t be wanting to heave the cat at Hugh’s overlarge head.

  “Mr. Simon, I cannot think small swords are suitable for the nursery,” she said as his cousin’s shadow blotted Drew’s ability to find the screws.

  “A man needs a good dirk at his side,” Simon argued. “I can halt a rabid dog or cut a lamb loose from the thorns with this blade.”

  “And should we be in any danger from lambs, that might be useful, but wearing a weapon in town is an invitation for trouble.”

  Drew watched Phoebe’s skirt rise as she stood. From his position on the floor, he admired her pretty black and white boots, then realized the sole was coming off one, and the heels were worn to a nub. Shoving out from under the table, he took a closer look at the lady.

  She spoke with the authority of the upper class to which she belonged. She possessed a haughty long nose accompanied by a firm tightness to her malleable lips of one accustomed to giving orders. Her hair might be lively, but it was always clean and smelled of rich fragrances. And then there were those crisp, rounded tones that he’d never attain in a million years. She exuded aristocratic privilege—in his humble mind.

  But her gown was nearly threadbare. He hadn’t really noticed since she flaunted bright colors and styles no other woman wore. But now he had to wonder if she had stockings to replace the ones she’d torn yesterday.

  The fool woman bloody well needed every farthing he paid her, and she still wouldn’t sign his contract! He’d never understand the female mind.

  Once he was standing, she turned that formidable frown on him. “That is my trunk in the corner. Do I merit an explanation?”

  “Simon, use your dirk to herd your brats back to the nursery. Take the cat with you since the twins are on the stairs hunting for it. Hugh, don’t you need to check into that problem with the deed the solicitor warned us about?” Drew knew how to give orders too. The room cleared of everyone but him and the disapproving governess.

  She didn’t exhibit an ounce of annoyance or fear at his highhandedness. She offered no covert glance from under long lashes to let him know he interested her in that way. The damned direct woman merely waited, her eyebrows raised in question.

  “You need a chaperone,” he said curtly. Explaining his thought processes didn’t come easily. Explaining his need to ravish her every moment they were alone wasn’t happening at all. “This suite will provide you with room for a maid and your mother, if needed. I do not want your aunts thinking I cannot offer you the accommodations due a lady.”

  “Balderdash.” She glanced around at the hodgepodge of furniture they’d moved around to fill the once-Spartan suite. “I was perfectly fine upstairs, near the children. Where will Mr. Simon and Mr. Morgan stay?”

  It amused him that she’d reduced his older cousin to Mr. First-name, giving Drew sole claim to the family appellation. Apparently titles of one sort or another were necessary in her circles. “Simon will only be here briefly. He’s been relegated upstairs so he may look after his children, as he must learn to do. Hugh has his own room down the hall. Think of him as my chaperone.”

  She frowned and nodded thoughtfully, then crossed the suite to examine the front bay window overlooking the road. A small room between the two larger rooms served as washroom, and they’d installed a cot in an alcove for a maid. Drew waited almost nervously for her approval.

  “You’ve been busy,” she finally said with a sigh, turning to face him. Her features looked drawn with worry and maybe weariness. “I thank you for your consideration, but it really is unnecessary. Unless she has changed greatly in the last years, my mother cannot tolerate company for long. That inclination has only worsened with her illness. Mr. Lithgow is looking for a place in the country for her. I will hope that at best, she’ll only be here a night or two.”

  The name Lithgow rang bells, but Drew was more focused on the woman before him. “The earl left her no dower house, no place to call her own? That is beyond callous.”

  She shrugged. “She has the cottage in France. We had a flat here, but she preferred the cottage. If, as your cousin says, my uncle has no more than a watchtower, it would never have suited.” Her gaze roamed the stout walls, carpets, and drapery of his home. “This is far less drafty than our old home, but. . .”

  “It’s not hers, understood. And if she cannot bear to live with her sisters either. . . I’ll ask about, see what is available.” And given the state of the lady’s clothing, Drew assumed it would have to be inexpensive, not an easy task.

  “I cannot expect you to deal with my problems,” she protested. “She will travel slowly, so our solicitor has time to look around. I will feel. . .” She gestured at the enormous suite. “I am out of place in this luxury. I am only a governess.”

  “You are the daughter of an earl. Your aunts made that quite clear. I am humbled that they have allowed you to live here to deal with Simon’s children, and I do not wish you to leave. I’ll have Hugh add to the contract that you will receive an additional allowance for refurbishing your rooms as needed.” He hoped she might spend it on herself, but he suspected she wouldn’t. He didn’t know any polite way of overhauling her wardrobe. He didn’t understand why her aunts hadn’t done so.

  She rolled her eyes heavenward, then stalked through the suite in his direction, making his pulse race with anticipation as she approached.

  “You are being ridiculous. There is nothing holy about being the offspring of a man with wanderlust who managed to get himself killed before he could provide for his wife and daughter. And my mother. . .” She boldly laid her palm over Drew’s waistcoat. “My mother may look like a dainty fairy, but she’s dangerous. If you fear my aunts, you really do not want to meet the countess. Let us do something more productive and determine how we can persuade Drumsmoore to tell us about the Association.”

  Phoebe dropped, exhausted, into her new bed that night. She knew, if she must share this suite with her mother, that the countess would claim this front room with the wide bay window. Her mother did not like enclosed spaces.

  But for the nonce, the room was hers, and Phoebe tried to enjoy it. The featherbed was exquisitely new and soft, the sheets were like silk, and she had more space than an entire cottage could possibly hold. If only she could bring her books and. . .

  No. She could not become too comfortable here. Simply going upstairs to the children invited trouble. She was on the same floor as her employer now, further from her rooftop retreat. She must learn to sit in the window and absorb the stars and listen for the night creatures from behind locked doors.

  So maybe there was a little of her mother in her. She liked her freedom.

  The mice noted a stranger in the alley. Wolf was alert to the stranger’s scent. She showed him an image of waking Henry. Did she tell the men? She was in her nightclothes.

  She listened to the low murmur of their voices as they climbed the stairs. As a lone unmarried woman, she hadn’t been able to join them over dinner and drinks. She resented that they could discuss her ideas without her. The earl was her uncle, after all. Of course, the men apparently knew him better than she did.

  She’d offered to speak with Drumsmoore but been refused. She’d offered to write a letter, and that had been rejected as well. She’d suggested they dictate the letter and have her aunts sign it. She was fairly certain Simon would prefer to take his dirk to the earl’s throat before he’d let her aunts speak for him. The last she’d heard, Andrew was to ride out there and make inquiries about Mr. Glengarry, as if he were considering running for office.

  She should simply go to sleep and not worry about any of it, but she was unaccustomed to letting down her guard. She felt useless in
this pampered environment.

  That was ridiculous. She’d spent the better part of her life running about, helping others, holding the tattered edges of her life together, free to come and go as she pleased. And now she had a grand home and people who looked after her—and she didn’t know what to do with herself!

  And she’d told Andrew he needed to expect more from his life. It appeared that making the leap from just surviving to pursuing a dream was harder than she’d realized.

  She should apologize.

  By all that was holy, she should not go near the man again.

  He wanted to court her.

  She could not begin to imagine any world in which she might fit as wife—and mother.

  She sank down into her pillow and pulled the covers over her head to block out the memory of heated kisses and strong arms and an honest man trying his best to do what was right.

  But it would be so lovely to have someone she could talk to when she didn’t know how to go on—someone who didn’t think her peculiar.

  And there it was, in all its shining glory—she had never wanted marriage because she couldn’t conceive of any man who might accept her as she was. She was a clatty coward.

  And coward that she was, she let Wolf scare off the stranger rather than face Mr. Blair in her nightclothes.

  “What do you mean there’s a bloody great lien on the property?” Drew roared at his assistant the next morning. “Isn’t that something we should have known before we signed the agreement?”

  He’d postponed all his meetings for the day and was prepared to ride out to Drumsmoore. He didn’t need any more disasters heaped upon his head.

  Hugh looked even more upset than Drew felt. “Bennet didn’t tell us of a lien, even though he had to have known about it because the lien holder threatened to sue. I would have checked the deed before I spent money, but the solicitor’s warning sent me looking sooner. The previous owner has a life lease on the property. It’s built right into the contract and deed.”

  “Then find the value of the lease and take it out of the funds of whoever was responsible for not checking before we made the agreement.” Drew slammed his hat on his head and marched for the door.

  “It’s not that easy,” Hugh called after him. “Negotiating the value could take months, while the place crumbles into a liability.”

  And his bank account emptied in the process. Seeing all his years of work turn to dust did not improve his mood. “One week,” he shouted back. “You have one week to settle the matter or I’m out of the consortium.”

  Drew practically fled out the back door. He’d been driven out of his own home by a pair of tattered shoes and a tempting bosom he didn’t seem able to resist. Even as he left, he could hear the governess’s clear contralto teaching the children a song they enthusiastically, if less musically, belted out. Little by little, she was dragging the bairns from their gloom back into the happiness of childhood.

  His horse was already saddled and waiting. So was Simon and his mount. Drew glared at his cousin. “You’re supposed to stay here, guarding the children.”

  “No one will scale the walls of your fancy townhouse. And even if they tried, there’s a wolf and a fairy to teach them better, and I’ve bribed the constable to keep an eye out. I want to look Drumsmoore in the eyes when he denies knowing of the Association.”

  “Lady Phoebe is not a fairy,” Drew said in disgust, trotting his horse down the mews. “No more than that mutt is a wolf. And looking Drumsmoore in the eyes will not do more than rile your temper.”

  “Then I’ll at least feel alive for a wee bit. I’m tired of feeling like the walking dead. Knowing what we know now, I want to look in the eyes of a bastard who would deny shelter to a grieving widow and her child.” Simon’s face set in solid stone.

  “You’ve met the child and been warned of the widow,” Drew reminded him, picking up the pace. He, too, wanted to meet the earl on more social terms than he had before. Phoebe’s classification of her titled father as a man with wanderlust had made him seem more human and less the all-powerful lord wielding his will over others. Maybe the current earl had his own flaws. Aristocracy was no longer a remote concept to be feared but an obstacle to overcome. “The man might have good reason to keep the women out.”

  “Cowardice,” Simon said in disgust. “Bigotry and cowardice. In which case, we can play to his weaknesses.”

  “A man so weak that he fears strong women isn’t dealing in logic. Perhaps we should use superstition against him,” Drew suggested, toying with an idea he’d had last night—when he’d been sleepless for thinking of the lady lying in a bed down the hall from him.

  “Aye, right,” Simon replied with a snort. “And we should warn him of dragons down the mine and witches in his fields?”

  “It’s an hour’s ride out there. We have time to work up a fairy tale or two.” Drew almost wished he had Phoebe here to help them. He’d wager she could add a realistically creative spin or two.

  They had a suitable story worked out by the time they rode up the pitted lane to the medieval stone watchtower that gave Drumsmoore Hall the look of a castle. The long low building attached to it had originally been little more than a byre, but windows and a second floor had been added.

  An ancient butler answered their knock. With misgiving, the servant took their cards and left them standing in the drafty foyer. Drew gazed up at the cobwebs on the ancient candle-lit iron chandelier overhead. “Housemaids are apparently not one of the earl’s expenses,” he whispered.

  “Another good reason to keep out women,” Simon said with a chortle. “They’d insist on a bevy of maids.”

  Drew would do well to remember that himself, if he chose to surrender his bachelor state—which he couldn’t honorably do if his investment in the consortium fell apart. That left him balanced on a thin edge of frustration.

  The butler led them back to a dismal office with a peat fire, a worn carpet over a stone floor, and a dark oil painting of a stag being murdered over the mantel. Behind a battered desk sat the earl, a man in his fifties with thinning, faded blond hair and the stooped shoulders of someone who spent his days at a desk.

  “To what do I owe this dubious honor?” Drumsmoore asked, not inviting them to take a seat.

  Not inclined to be treated as one of the servants, Drew dragged up an ancient carved armchair and sat. Simon did the same.

  “As you’re aware, my cousin here owns a large mining operation to the west and is planning on opening a manufactory that can burn coal more efficiently and profitably than shipping it elsewhere. I am planning on running for council office with the goal of expanding his business into Edinburgh.” Drew crossed his tailored trousers and propped his silk hat on his lap. The earl couldn’t miss the wealth his attire represented.

  Simon leaned forward, with a straight face. “I, on the other hand, am trying to convince Andrew that the portents are against him unless he marries. He has the opportunity to court a woman of the same exceptional talent as my late wife, may she rest in peace.”

  “What the devil has this to do with me?” the earl asked irritably.

  Drew didn’t see a flinch of guilt, but he continued to study the man as he spoke. “The lady is your niece. If there are any unfavorable portents to fear, it would be in not asking your permission to court her first.”

  Instead of astonishment or anger, the earl’s eyes burned with greed. “You’re looking far above yourself, lad. If you want my agreement, we’ll need to talk settlements. The daughter of an earl is a precious commodity worth a goodly sum.”

  Drew had to fight the urge to lean over the desk and throttle the oblivious old geezer, but he admirably restrained himself. “Lady Phoebe is, indeed, special. I’ll have my solicitor speak with yours. I feared now that the countess is returning home, she might work a hex on you if you did not grant your permission.”

  He wouldn’t have a ha’ penny for settlements if the consortium crashed. So he’d best stay far away from t
he lady until matters were clear. But his true objective here was information, and his ploy appeared to work.

  The earl looked alarmed enough to be fearing the countess might really bewitch him.

  Humor restored, Drew sat back and crossed his boot over his knee. “That leads to the next question. I’ve been informed that Gareth Glengarry is the kind of man who can help me round up the votes I need. Do you know the gentleman?”

  The earl’s eyes narrowed. “He’s a man of the land. He’d not support a vulgar upstart like yourself.”

  “Well, that’s the matter at hand,” Simon said smoothly. “Are you aware of the Association?”

  The earl narrowed his eyes. “Maybe. Why?”

  “I’m willing to give up the notion of a manufactory, if we can obtain the support of the Association. Andrew here is willing to buy an estate if that’s what it takes. We need men like us in positions to keep a lid on rising labor costs or the profits from our mines will continue to decline. It’s in our best interests to work together.”

  Drew watched the old skinflint’s eyes gleam and understood at once why petitioning Phoebe’s uncle to provide support for the countess would never bear fruit. Greed had dried the earl’s soul into a lifeless husk.

  “Marrying the witch won’t help you,” the old man snarled. “But if you can keep the countess off my doorstep, I can help.”

  Eighteen

  With the men scattered for the day, Phoebe decided to use the entire house as a testing ground for the children. Henry had said last night’s stranger had run away before he could have a good look at him. Running away sounded ominous.

  She didn’t wish to risk anyone’s safety by taking the children outside. But they could come to no harm in the attic or kitchen. They needed to be comfortable everywhere.

  On the roof, Phoebe introduced them to Raven and the pigeons. Enoch experimented in helping the old bird lift a heavy stick to the nest he was building. Clare explored but said nothing, as usual. Leaning over the parapet, Cat, surprisingly, declared she saw a rainbow around a lady approaching and a black shadow around a gentleman sitting on a bench.