Bride Enchanted

by Edith Layton

  EDITH LAYTON

  BRIDE ENCHANTED

  To brand-new Hugo Norbert Holland,

  my brand-new hero.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Good lord, but he was beautiful. Not the right word…

  Chapter 2

  Eve was ready to see the man who had asked…

  Chapter 3

  She leaned forward in her chair, a smile on her…

  Chapter 4

  It was a sparkling ball, masquerades always were no matter…

  Chapter 5

  Eve shuddered. Aubrey’s lips had left hers, his hands slowly…

  Chapter 6

  “You’re nervous,” Aubrey told Eve as their carriage drove through…

  Chapter 7

  She woke to a kiss, a light warm velvety touch…

  Chapter 8

  The night was almost done, and gray shadows in the…

  Chapter 9

  Sheridan, for once, was speechless. He looked up and down…

  Chapter 10

  The night of the ball finally came, and when it…

  Chapter 11

  If Far Isle were in London, the ball would have…

  Chapter 12

  Aubrey was gone when Eve awoke in the morning. He…

  Chapter 13

  He came to her in the night, to their bed,…

  Chapter 14

  Aubrey came in from the cold. His high cheekbones were…

  Chapter 15

  Eve didn’t know what to say, or if she should…

  Chapter 16

  If he was any mythical character, Eve thought sleepily, then…

  Chapter 17

  The note she left for him, on her pillow, was…

  Chapter 18

  The physician was well known for his treatment of the…

  Chapter 19

  “I had planned to take you when my sister lost…

  Chapter 20

  “I’ll never run away from you again,” Eve assured Aubrey…

  Chapter 21

  They left her father’s house together.

  Epilogue

  Apple blossoms fell like fragrant snow onto the daisy-dappled grass.

  Other Romances

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter 1

  Good lord, but he was beautiful. Not the right word for such a masculine man. Not exactly the wrong one either. He moved like a freshening breeze through a field of ripened grain as he crossed the crowded ballroom. Bodies shifted to form a path, voices murmuring in his wake. Bright as the sun and cool as deep water. He was, Eve thought, surely the most handsome man she’d ever clapped eyes on. But what was odd was that his brilliant dark brown gaze seemed fixed only upon her.

  Eve turned her head to see whom he was staring at as he approached. The sea of transfixed females standing behind and beside her on the fringes of the dance floor didn’t offer a clue. Dewy miss to dowager, they were all staring at him. So she turned back to get a closer look at the newcomer, the fascinating Aubrey Ashford, before he passed her by.

  He was everything they said, but much more so: tall, lithe, and graceful. Well dressed, of course, in immaculate linen, a high neckcloth, a dark tightly fitted jacket stretched over his wide shoulders, and formal breeches and stockings that showed off straight, strong legs. But it was his face that stopped her breath. He had thin dark brows arched over watchful eyes. His complexion was smooth, his dark hair slightly overlong, his cheekbones high, his mouth classical. A pronounced chin was the only thing that gave that glorious countenance a slight imperfection, making it seem a bit more human than a face seen in marble in a museum. And so, far more accessible.

  He stopped, directly in front of her.

  Eve was caught in his steady gaze. She wondered vaguely if she should move aside. She was too enthralled, head back, staring at him, to think clearly. She tried to shake herself to action so she could step away. She was many things, but not a ninny.

  She was Eve Faraday, a woman of three and twenty, and no fool. She was a bit too short for fashion, though a little too tall to be called a “pocket Venus.” She was wearing a charming gown tonight, in green, her favorite color. Her figure was slender, with just enough bosom to do justice to the low neckline, but she knew it wasn’t spectacular. Her short wavy curls were brown. Her eyes were brown. She’d been called an “imp” by her father and a “pixie” when she grew older. She’d had beaux and never propped up the walls at a ball.

  But she knew very well she wasn’t a raving beauty or in fashion. She wasn’t a swan-necked beauty like Miss Simpson, standing nearby. Or a classic English lovely like blond, pink-cheeked Miss Lord, or dark-haired and exotic like Miss Lake, the current rage of the Season.

  Although her family was well to do, she wasn’t fabulously rich or titled. And everyone in the ton knew this gentleman before her was from an old family, and said to be incredibly wealthy. Mr. Aubrey Ashford didn’t need her family’s money. So there was absolutely no reason for him to be standing still, looking down at her, and smiling. He’d recently returned to Town after a long absence. Maybe he mistook her for someone else?

  “Miss Faraday?” he said in a soft, melodious voice.

  She nodded, unable to speak.

  “I couldn’t wait to find someone to introduce us. I am Ashford. May I have this dance?”

  She blinked. “Why?” she blurted.

  He smiled. “Because I wish to dance with you.”

  “Oh,” she said.

  He offered her his arm.

  She took it, and dazed, stepped into the dance with him.

  They were playing a waltz. She was glad for two reasons. One, that she was old enough to have permission to dance it with him. And two, if she was not many things, she was, at least, a good dancer.

  But while she was good, he was sublime. They moved around the floor as though dancing on air. Yet she didn’t forget they were on earth. She couldn’t, not in his arms. He was cool and yet warm, distant, and yet somehow he made her feel as though he was concentrating on her alone. He wore gloves, as was proper, but the touch of his hand on hers and the feeling of his other hand at her waist made her whole body tingle.

  She caught a sudden scent, leaned closer, and inhaled. Yes, the glorious fragrance of sweet grasses and deep woods emanated from him. Most men wore lavender or sandalwood, if they wore any scent at all. He smelled of the whole spring earth. He smiled to see her nostrils widen. She opened her eyes, saw his expression, and embarrassed, moved away as much as the dance allowed.

  All the while they danced he smiled down at her. She avoided his gaze because she didn’t know how to respond. So she let herself move with him and the music and found herself feeling treasured and excited, anxious and yet thrilled by how well they moved together. She wished she were the swan-necked Miss Simpson or the exotic Miss Lake. But she was who she was, and so resolved to enjoy the dance until she had to stop and face reality again.

  She was both glad and sad when the music ended. He walked her to the sidelines, but didn’t leave her side.

  “They’re playing a country dance now,” he remarked. “I think I’ll wait until the next waltz before we dance again.”

  “You’re going to ask me again?” she managed to say.

  “Of course.”

  Now, suddenly, she once again became aware of herself and her surroundings. She gathered her wits. She had to know. “Why me?” she asked, tilting her head to the side. “I’m flattered, of course. But also puzzled. We’re in a room filled with beautiful, rich, and educated females just perishing to be asked by you. Now, what’s the jest, please?” Her tilted brows came down as a thought o
ccurred to her. “Oh. I think I see. Was it a friend of the family? No!” she gasped, aghast. “Was it my brother? Did you lose a wager with him?”

  He laughed. It sounded so gloriously merry she had to stop herself from laughing with him. “No,” he said.

  She frowned.

  “Miss Faraday, I find you enchanting,” he said. “Though I hope for more, much more in the future, I wish to take my second dance with you now, since that’s all that is allowed to me. Please be at ease with me, unless you’ve taken me in dislike. I also wish to call upon your father, and ask to pay my addresses to you.”

  She gaped at him. His eyes were sparkling, dancing with dark light. But he didn’t seem to be joking. She frowned again. “Pay your addresses to me? On such sudden acquaintance? But why?”

  “You need ask?” he said. “After our dance?”

  “The point is,” she said, ignoring his questions, “the point is,” she repeated, tearing her gaze from his, forcing her thoughts into line, “that I honestly don’t know why you’d want to.”

  “Then let me show you,” he said.

  Eve paced her father’s study. Then she stopped and wheeled around to confront her father. “He didn’t say anything else?”

  Her father ducked his head. “He asked permission to pay his addresses and I said yes,” he reported again.

  “And you didn’t ask him why?” she asked, amazed.

  He looked hunted. But that meant nothing. When it came to his children, Malcolm Faraday always looked as though he’d done the wrong thing, because he never was quite sure if he had.

  He was a good man, but not a thoughtful one. He sat hunched in his chair: a tall, bland-looking, middle-aged man who seemed to have the weight of the world on his shoulders. He did, Eve supposed, with a wayward son and a clever daughter to raise by himself, all these years. A widower for decades, he’d never remarried, or professed any desire to do so. Her mother had been a forceful female, and one hard to replace.

  Malcolm Faraday’s primary love was fishing, and going round to the local inn to drink and brag about his catch and listen to his cronies do the same. But they were in Town now. So now his first love was his club, a glass of something bracing, a crackling fire in the hearth, and old friends to chat with. He didn’t ask much from life, but his children always asked for things he didn’t think he had: worldly wisdom and good advice.

  “Why?” he answered finally. “Well, because you’re a fine-looking girl, pretty as a picture and with a good head on your shoulders. And a nice body to hold it up,” he added, his cheeks turning a bit pink.

  “That’s what he said?” she asked, relentlessly.

  “Ah, no,” he said miserably.

  “He just asked for my hand?”

  “And I said it was fine with me, if you suited,” he said with more energy. “I added that you were a girl of firm convictions, and that I’d never force you to anything…even if I could,” he added in a low murmur.

  “You told him that last bit?” she asked.

  “No,” he admitted sadly. Then he perked up. “But why are you so angry, Evie? He’s top of the trees. Talk of the Town. Even I heard of him. He’s got looks, money, and brains. He’s sophisticated, with the manners of an angel. Charming too. Even I think so, and I don’t much notice charming gentlemen. Well, none of my friends are. And he isn’t annoying, or foppish either. He’s a man, with manners. So why are you carrying on when you should be dancing? Do you know something about him I don’t? I won’t have you marrying a cheat or a blackguard,” he said with less conviction, because he realized he knew he had little to say about it if her mind were set.

  “No,” she said, plopping down into a chair facing him. “But can you think of any reason such a fellow would fall head over heels for me? And after just two dances? It doesn’t make sense; at least, I can’t make sense of it. Can you?”

  “Easy. It’s your sweetness and good temper that transfixed him,” her brother, Sheridan, said as he strolled into the room. “Not hardly,” he laughed. He sobered. “Lord! So you hooked Ashford? The Ashford? How did you do it?” He dropped into a chair, arranged his lanky form to his comfort, and looked at her with wonder. He was nineteen, bright, taller than his father, and no more studious; well enough looking, but no more spectacularly handsome than his sister was beautiful. And he was both as obnoxious and darling to her as the little boy she’d always loved, though his arrival had taken away their mother.

  “I don’t know about him being ‘hooked,’” she said slowly, staring at him. “I asked why he was interested in me. He denied anyone but me influencing him. Did you have anything to do with this, Sherry?”

  “Me?” he asked, astonished. “Why would an eagle look at a worm? I’m nowhere near his class. I’m a carefree lad and I know it, and I’ve just come down from University for the summer. I don’t know anyone in London but my old mates. I couldn’t influence a London rat, much less a fellow like Ashford. We don’t go to the same places. Lud! It’s hard to believe we exist on the same planet. I doubt he knows of my existence.”

  “Well, I didn’t think he knew of mine,” she said seriously. “Yet he ups and as much as proposes after one dance, and then visits Papa to ask his consent after two? There’s something shady about this, don’t you agree, Sherry?”

  “Yes,” her brother said with heartbreaking honesty.

  His father gave him a sharp look. Malcolm Faraday wasn’t a strict man, but he’d never let one of his children hurt another.

  “Not that you ain’t pretty,” her brother said quickly. “But what’s pretty to a gent like that?”

  Eve waved away her brother’s comment. She knew him too well to think he was trying to hurt her feelings. He had, but even though it destroyed her hopeful fantasies, the statement at least cleared the last vestiges of doubt from her mind. There was no reason for the gentleman’s sudden offer.

  “You’ll have to step out with him, old girl,” Sheridan said merrily, “Find out what’s to do. It’s positively Gothic! Like one of those Minerva Press novels you used to read. What fun! Maybe our house has got a fabulous hidden treasure he found out about? Panels in the walls or secret parts of the basements, or something buried in the garden what?…” He stroked his beardless chin. “Or it could be that you saw something you don’t remember that could be bad for him if you did. I say, go with him, talk to him, but watch what you eat or drink in his presence. Keep company until you know what’s up. But watch your back, my dear sister.”

  No, Eve thought sadly, it’s my heart I have to be careful of, as she said, “Yes, I agree. And I’m going to find out, don’t you worry.”

  Chapter 2

  Eve was ready to see the man who had asked to court her. She thought she couldn’t look better. Her green gown, sashed with rose and patterned with tiny yellow roses, was her best. A darling new bonnet covered her curly hair, and she held a green parasol, for support. Because although she was ready, it was the sort of readiness she might feel before jumping off a high wall. She thought she’d land right, but there was always the possibility she’d come to grief. She didn’t want to break anything, particularly not her heart.

  She had to see him. She wanted to see him. The whole thing disturbed her because the more she thought about it, the less sense it made. She feared it was a joke. She was afraid it wasn’t. She stood by the front parlor window, a margin of the drape pulled back an inch so she could see the street, but no one in the street could see her. She waited, her expression already schooled to be polite and bland. She couldn’t be more ready, or more terrified. She had to gather her courage and speak bluntly with him to find out why he was courting her.

  Surely, they could speak more easily if she wasn’t as surprised and overawed by him as she’d been last time. Definitely, she could talk more rationally if they weren’t dancing. And certainly, he’d be less exotic by daylight.

  He wasn’t.

  Her brother, who had walked soft-footed to stand behind her, whistled. Her shoulders
jumped and she swung around, one hand on her rapidly beating heart. “Don’t do that!” she whispered fiercely. “You frightened me half out of my wits! What are you whistling about anyway?” she asked crossly.

  “You ask? Look at him,” he said.

  She did. Mr. Aubrey Ashford was something to see. He handed the reins for the two beautiful matched chestnuts that drew his high-perch phaeton to the boy who had jumped down from the back of it. Then he looked up at the house. He was immaculately dressed in a brown jacket, with dun breeches and shining boots, and a high beaver hat perched jauntily on his black hair. He carried a silver-headed walking stick. Never had a man looked less in need of one. He wasn’t sportsman tan, or poetic pallid. Instead, he glowed. He paused. She could swear his gaze arrowed to where she was. A small smile quirked his shapely mouth, and he strode forward. She dropped the corner of the drapery and tried to catch her breath.

  “Damnation!” she breathed. “He looks better in the light!”

  Her brother frowned.

  “Look at him,” she said crossly. “Now why would that come courting me?”

  “Maybe he has some disgusting habits?” Sheridan asked.

  She gave him a withering look.

  “Well, if he don’t, then I agree,” Sheridan said heartlessly. “It don’t make sense. You have to find out. Maybe he did lose a bet.”

  She nodded, feeling better and worse at having her fears confirmed. She drew on her gloves. “You can bet I will,” she said shakily.

  “Mr. Aubrey Ashford,” their butler said, coming into the front salon.

  The man behind him walked into the room, smiled at Sheridan, looked searchingly at Eve, and then executed a graceful bow. “Good morning, Miss Faraday,” he said in his melodious voice.