Dash of Enchantment

by Patricia Rice

Cassandra glared at him. “I am not blind. I can see you perfectly well.”

  “Even better from a distance, I wager,” he agreed cheerfully. “And I do not have particularly fine features to confuse you when you are up close. It’s no wonder that you can look blissfully upon this dull visage of mine. You do not see it as others do. Ah, Cass, you are a miracle to behold. Come here and kiss me and tell me you’ll be mine.”

  She went to him uncertainly. “You mistake me, Wyatt,” she murmured against his shoulder. “I am not at all like you. I simply do not have the patience to study over a book. And I really can see you quite well. You have lovely thick hair, and dark eyes, and lips that curve up ever so nicely when you laugh at me, like now.”

  “And can you tell me where the freckle is that I hate so much?”

  Cassandra tilted her head up and stared at him with suspicion. “What freckle? Is this some ploy to make me search you all over? I shall, if you like.”

  Wyatt laughed. “Yes, I should like that. Perhaps you can find other freckles of which I’m not aware. However, if you have not seen this one, I doubt that you’ll find more.” He took her hand and placed one finger on a spot just in front of his ear. “There, my sweet. There is a quite noticeable brown speckle just there. Shall I fetch a candle for you to see it?”

  Cassandra squinted and supposed there was some darker spot there if one looked closely. But that was scarcely to the point. “Who is to notice such a thing?” she demanded. “If everyone were to go about looking for speckles on people’s faces, we’d appear very strange indeed. I do not spend my time staring at people’s faces to see if they’ve got spots.”

  “But you see, Cass, other people don’t have to stare to see them. They notice them right off. You have a whole different view of the world from most of us. You can’t see the details, so you concentrate on the whole. Your lovely bouquets, for instance. You don’t see that the petals of wildflowers scatter all over the furniture. And it doesn’t occur to you that a flower might be a weed because you are seeing only this lovely haze of color. You need spectacles, my love, but I love you just as dearly the way you are.”

  Cassandra stared at him in confusion. She didn’t know whether to argue over her blindness or kiss him for his words of love. He had never said he loved her before. Gentlemen were supposed to scatter gallant flattery so she had taken all his words of praise with a grain of salt, but this was Wyatt, not just any gentleman. Could a man like Wyatt love a pathetic creature like herself?

  “You are just saying that for fear you have hurt my feelings,” she murmured. “You needn’t, you know. I have been told often enough that I’m stubborn, willful, and stupid. Being told I’m blind can scarcely compare.”

  Wyatt caught both her shoulders and pressed her back against the pillows. Leaning over her, he interspersed his words with kisses. “Stubborn and willful, I’ll not deny. Impetuous, occasionally wrongheaded, and decidedly argumentative, of a certainty. But not stupid. Never stupid. You are generous, lovely, talented, and the solace of my soul.

  “And if you cannot love me in return, I will understand, but I shall never stop trying to make you love me. Isn’t that enough to base a marriage on? Say you’ll marry me, Cassandra. Tell me you’ll stay and be my wife. Say you won’t ever leave me again.”

  Cassandra was breathless from his kisses and the ardor with which Wyatt wooed her. It was a most improper marriage proposal, indeed, but she would not have it any other way.

  Wrapping her arms around his shoulders and arching brazenly against him, she complied with his heated demands.

  “I’ll never leave you, I’ll always love you, and we shall make beautiful music together for the rest of our lives. Now, will you make love to me?”

  Wyatt crowed in happiness and triumph, and Cassandra didn’t have to ask him twice. With gentle care, he joined their bodies, and in passion he took her to that world they shared alone, an enchanted kingdom for those who love.

  Chapter 32

  “Cassandra’s mother requests a private wedding, Mother. She will only have the two of us as guests. There is no need for you to accompany us.” Wyatt returned his cup to the saucer and lowered his paper to stare down his mother.

  Cassandra scooped a spoonful of eggs from the platter on the sideboard and let Wyatt argue with the dowager’s unusual request.

  “But you have only just returned and now you must go jaunting off again!” the dowager complained. “It is not like you, Wyatt. It is nearly harvest. You must supervise the fields. You have neglected all your other properties this summer. You cannot neglect Merrick too. It is just not done.”

  Despite being showered in lace and indulging in passionate love play not more than an hour ago, Cass felt quite proper and sure of herself as she sat down.

  “But, my lady,” she said, “Wyatt has you and MacGregor to keep sharp eyes on everything. The estate runs so very smoothly, it cannot need more than an occasional word or two to keep it running steady. The biggest problem will be my dowry.”

  The dowager sniffed haughtily. “That is another subject I find very odd. Why should the Marquess of Eddings leave his lands to his daughter instead of his son? It is all very peculiar, to be sure, and I am not at all certain that that dreadful American isn’t somehow behind it. How can your mother marry a man who for all intents and purposes sent her son into exile? It is a dreadful scandal.”

  Cassandra and Wyatt exchanged glances. When Wyatt had ridden to Sussex to inform Cassandra’s parents of their intention to marry, Cassandra’s father had offered the former lands of the Marquess of Eddings as dowry. Wyatt had been thunderstruck, but the explanation had been simple.

  The estate was never entailed. When the house had burned and the marquess found himself up the River Tick, he had offered the lands for private sale. Wyandott’s British solicitors had written him of it. Surmising that his former lover might be in a precarious situation, he had purchased the lands, never knowing that one day he would discover a daughter who loved them.

  But the fact that Cassandra was not the daughter of the Marquess of Eddings had never been imparted to the dowager.

  Wyatt picked up his paper and coffee and spoke from behind the newssheet. “Wyandott sent a dissipated bankrupt out of the country to learn better manners. Since he and Cassandra’s mother will be returning to New York shortly, Duncan will have family with him, so it isn’t complete exile. If anyone can straighten out Eddings, it will be this American. I hope so, for Lady Eddings’ sake, but it is scarce any of our affair.”

  “There is considerable work to be done before that property can be profitable. I should think you would need stay here to see to it,” the dowager argued.

  Cassandra smiled at her plate of eggs. Wyatt had not seen fit to inform his mother that their “marriage” was all a hum, and she was no more Lady Merrick than the man in the moon. The special license in his pocket would repair that quickly enough, as soon as they got away from Kent, where they were so well known.

  The matter of her pregnancy had not yet been presented. Everyone thought they had been married at the beginning of August, in France, only two months ago. Yet she was nearly four months gone with child and could not hope to conceal it much longer.

  Behind his newssheet, Wyatt winked at her. Then, lowering the paper, he met his mother’s glare. “As a matter of fact, Mother, it will in all likelihood be next spring before I see to Cassandra’s property. You and MacGregor might discuss possibilities this winter if you like. Just remember, he’s my steward, and you can’t discharge him without my permission.”

  Lady Merrick glared in outrage at her only son. “Next spring? Whatever are you talking about? What can occupy you the whole of the winter that you cannot see to it yourself?”

  Setting aside his paper, Wyatt rose and proudly set his hands on Cassandra’s shoulders. Her cheeks heated, and he stroked them gently. “I am saying that Cassandra and I have never had our wedding journey, Mother. And since we have just discovered that she is already
with child, we have decided to take it now, before she is burdened with the difficulties of motherhood. You would not deny us a few months’ privacy, would you?”

  “A child!” The dowager’s mouth gaped open, then closed. “I had not thought I would ever…” Recovering, she sniffed. “Of course, I should have expected this. You have been behaving like a besotted schoolboy for months.”

  Her eyes narrowed shrewdly as she cast a gaze on Cassandra’s blush and Wyatt’s possessive grasp. Resignedly she set aside her napkin and rose from the table. “Of course, Wyatt. I can see that you must be right. Motherhood is a most strenuous and demanding occupation. You would do right to enjoy yourselves now. I trust you will take a reliable physician with you? You cannot be too careful with Cassandra’s health. She may be carrying the next Earl of Merrick.”

  “Let us not rush things, Mother,” Wyatt replied. “I plan to be around for quite a long time. We shall look for a Viscount Swansea first, shall we? But I’ll settle for a lady this first time. Females are very refreshing, and I intend for my sons to have some around to teach them what’s important.”

  As his mother hastily departed, Cassandra sent Wyatt a startled look, but he gave her a reassuring kiss.

  More than one child. It astounded the mind. She would be but twenty when this one was born. There would be time for several sons and daughters. There was a whole lifetime ahead to share with Wyatt and his children. It sounded too wonderful to be true. A real home, a real family, and someone to love....

  Wyatt caught her misty look and bent to press a kiss upon her cheek. “We’re not married yet, sweet,” he whispered. “Does the thought of young Mannerings make you wish to cry off?”

  “No, that wasn’t at all what I thought of,” she murmured. “It was how all those young Mannerings would get here that crossed my mind.”

  Wyatt grinned. “Once the house is overrun with little creatures, you’ll lose interest quickly enough. I’ll just make certain I take my fill while I can. Lunch at the oak grove?”

  They had not yet made love outside. It gave Cass something to think about as she waded through the morning’s chores.

  ~*~

  Sunlight filtered through the arched windows of the old church, casting a rainbow of color across the dark hewn pews. Dust motes floated in the beams, but there was none to notice, for the pews were bare of inhabitants.

  In the nave, four people stood before the vicar, more elegant people than the ancient country church had known in many a year. The two men were tall and well-built, their wide-shouldered frames elegantly encased in tight-fitting frock coats, one of gray, the other of a rich navy. Since this was not an evening affair, both had disdained knee breeches, but their uncreased trousers fitted neatly to strong legs, revealing the expensive tailoring. Gleaming white linen accented their throats and hands, and the subtle gleam of a gold watch fob on one and the sparkle of a jeweled stud on the other bespoke not only wealth but also aristocratic wealth. Neither man had the need for ostentatious display.

  Beside them, the women made a fascinating portrait in contrasts. The younger, taller lady stood proudly beside the gentleman in blue, her head held at a tilt that held more curiosity than arrogance. Dancing eyes watched the vicar’s stiff stance with a gleam much akin to amusement before they strayed to the dusty candelabra at the altar and the sparrow fluttering near the vaulted oak ceiling.

  Through the delicate web of fine lace covering her hair, a glimmer of red-gold caught in a stray sunbeam. A gown of silk so fine that its pale silver-blue changed color with every movement molded a figure of exquisite proportions. Blue ribbons fluttered beneath her high breasts, and a tantalizing wisp of gathered lace blew in a draft. The gentleman at her side had difficulty keeping his attention on the vicar.

  The lady beside the man in gray was more petite. She rested frequently on the arm of her companion, but her features glowed serenely as she glanced up to him. She wore a darker blue more suited to her pale coloring. A rope of pearls at her throat caught the light and gleamed with a soft luster. Her gloved hand occasionally brushed them, as if in pride and disbelief.

  “Will you, Wyatt Avery Charles Swansea Mannering, Lord Merrick, take this woman to wife, to have and to hold...”

  The time-honored words drifted past them, as much a part of the setting as the vicar and the windows and the pews. To the couple speaking them, they were mere formalities. The real vows had already been said and sealed with hearts, minds, and bodies. This ceremony only made public what they had known privately for a long time. Whatever their differences, the couple was meant to share their lives together. The groom smiled at his bride as he placed the ring on her finger, and the smile she gave him in return illuminated the altar as well. The vicar coughed nervously at the passion flaring in that exchange of gazes.

  When the final words were said, Wyatt had to satisfy himself with a brief promise of a kiss before turning to shake the hands of Cassandra’s parents directly behind them. There were hugs and kisses all around, and then the older couple stepped before the altar. Cassandra and Wyatt exchanged conspiratorial glances, and after standing witness to this second ceremony, they fled from the altar and up into the crumbling organ loft.

  A thunderous wheeze startled the occupants of the nave as they bent over the church register to sign their names. They glanced nervously to the pipes filling the whole of the loft balcony.

  Since the death of the last village musician in the middle of the last century, the small parish had not been blessed with anyone talented enough to bring sound from the ancient instrument. When another wheeze followed the first, the company raised questioning eyebrows, but this wheeze was more whisper than thunder. The vicar hurriedly made out the wedding papers to the rattle and hiss of the pipes.

  Above, Merrick issued a mild curse as Cassandra leaned anxiously over his shoulder. They had chosen this church not only for its privacy but also for this magnificent organ. The temptation to make the kind of joyful noise that would have the heavens singing had been too much for either of them to resist. Only now, it seemed as if the only noise they would make was the kind to drive mice from the pipes.

  “One more time, Wyatt. Try it one more time. I know it will work,” Cassandra whispered coaxingly. From habit, her fingers slid into the back of his hair above the crisp linen of his cravat, deriving hope as well as pleasure from this touch.

  Wyatt glanced up to her face, and catching her hand, brought it to his lips for a kiss where his ring now rested on her finger. “If I could but add the dash of enchantment to the organ that you bring to my life, it would sing forever, my sweet.”

  Heart spilling over with love and eyes brimming with moisture, Cassandra dared not let the tears spill, for fear she would never stop weeping in happiness. She kissed Wyatt’s ear, then ran her fingers over the scale of notes he was attempting to persuade from the instrument. “There, I bestow my magic upon yon machine. Make it sing, Sir Wyatt.”

  Wyatt pumped once more, then applied his skillful fingers to the keyboard.

  As the final papers were signed below, the first recognizable notes escaped the ancient instrument. The vicar nearly dropped the book he was holding, and the look of disbelief on his face would have given credence to the legend of ghosts in the upper loft. More notes followed the first, and as the vicar handed the newly wedded couple their marriage lines, the notes became a joyous melody echoing approval throughout the nave.

  In accompaniment to the organ, an angel’s voice began on the refrain. The couple below nearly forgot to thank the vicar as the music lifted and soared and filled the holy chapel with stirring sound. With tears of joy, the vicar dropped to his knees and bowed his head. The glorious music poured down from above, startling even the sparrows into silence.

  Moisture bathed the cheeks of the bride as her new husband kissed her gently, and hand in hand they walked down the aisle to the door. A better wedding gift could not have been purchased with all the wealth in the world, and they halted at the doorway to
hear the song’s end.

  The resounding organ rattled ancient tiles and shook centuries-old dust from the rafters, but the sweet song of a magical nightingale wrapped in and around the mellow notes, bringing tears to the eyes and raising goose bumps on the flesh that lingered well after the last note died.

  The new Mr. and Mrs. Wyandott waited for the musical Lord and Lady Merrick to join them, and together the two couples walked out into the brilliant autumn sunshine.

  It had been planned as a private ceremony, with none but themselves in attendance. Yet as they stepped onto the church steps, a shower of wheat chaff dusted their hats and hair and covered their shoulders before blowing into the breeze, and laughter marked their entrance into the world as couples.

  Wyatt and Cassandra looked up to find Lotta and Jacob perched in the bell tower, dumping the first of the season’s harvest from burlap bags. Laughing, the earl and his bride clasped hands and ran for the waiting carriage, leaving the bemused older couple standing on the church steps, waving farewell.

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  Copyright & Credits

  Dash of Enchantment

  (previously: Touched by Magic)

  Patricia Rice

  Book View Café Edition: February 19, 2013

  ISBN: 978-1-61138-247-1

  Copyright © 2013 Patricia Rice

  Copyright © 1992 Rice Enterprises, Inc.

  First published by New American Library, New York.

  Cover design by Kim Killion

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portion thereof, in any form.

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

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