Chemistry of Magic

by Patricia Rice

  She and Bessie stepped into the twilight. Dare followed. Frowning at the drive’s state of abandonment, he went with the groom to see if there was a sound stable for the team.

  The footman the marquess of Ashford had sent with the carriage rapped the door knocker while Emilia glanced around in bewilderment at the overgrown shrubbery and unmown lawn. No one answered.

  They waited for Dare to return with the keys.

  “I’m quite certain Father said the estate was paying to keep the help on,” she murmured as he fished in his coat pocket for a key ring.

  “I was told the place would be ready when we arrived. I hope everyone hasn’t gone to the fair or the fight.” He said this last with a chuckle as he located a key and handed it over to the footman.

  “Grandfather was proud of his roses and lawn. He would never have allowed them to reach this state. I know he’s been gone for years now, but still. . .” She glanced around in dismay. Even in the dusk, she knew the neglect wasn’t right.

  Ashford’s footman inserted the key, jiggled the lock, and finally shoved the door open. It creaked on its hinges.

  “We’ll set things to rights in the morning,” Dare said with masculine assurance, draping his arm over her shoulders and steering her away from the unkempt lawn.

  James, Dare’s short but muscular valet, removed a carriage lantern to light their way. As the servants lit tapers and hunted for lamps to illuminate the interior, Emilia sagged in weariness at the disarray revealed.

  “I should have set up housekeeping here years ago,” she murmured in dismay at the ghostly shapes of Holland linen draped over all the furniture.

  “Unmarried maidens cannot set up housekeeping on their own,” Dare admonished, squeezing her shoulder. “I doubt your father or the estate executor would have allowed it, in any case. I will, however, have a sharp word with whomever is responsible for this abandonment. I saw the expenses of upkeep. I asked for them particularly when I discussed the settlements with your father.”

  “If I did not remember this place so well, I would think we’d mistaken the property. But there is grandfather’s secretary desk.” She yanked the covers off the parlor chairs, sending a storm of dust into the air. “These are the same chairs I used to sit on to read.” She held up the lantern. “That is an oil painting of my grandmother behind those cobwebs. What can have happened to Mrs. Wiggs and Mr. Barton?’

  Dare gestured at his valet and the footman. “Search upstairs and down, if you please. Find out if anyone appears to be in residence.”

  Even Bessie was silent and wide-eyed in the gloom of a parlor shrouded in linen and layers of grime.

  Unable to tolerate waiting, Emilia led the way from the parlor to investigate the remaining rooms on the ground floor. The once well-waxed mahogany chairs and dining table remained arranged as if awaiting the next meal. A layer of dust coated the polish.

  The butler’s pantry that led down to the kitchen showed no indication of intrusion. The silver tea set was tarnished but still stood in its position of honor. The china and crystal inside the windowed buffet were less dusty, if not exactly gleaming.

  “It doesn’t appear as if the staff robbed you and ran away.” Dare said what she was thinking.

  “Mrs. Wiggs and Mr. Barton were elderly. I suppose they could have taken ill or gone home to family. But they would have left someone in charge.” Emilia led the way to the all-purpose room at the rear where her grandfather had a habit of depositing anything he didn’t know what to do with. The assorted equipment, books, and boxes appeared undisturbed.

  “The dust and cobwebs aren’t overly thick.” Dare ran his finger through a layer of grime on the table. “Your grandfather has been dead for how long?”

  “About five years, this winter. I am no expert on dust accumulation, however,” Emilia said, running her gloves over a bookshelf. “Besides Mrs. Wiggs and Mr. Barton, he used to have a footman and a housemaid and a cook. He did not entertain, so he had little need for more. The lesser servants might have been let go when he died.”

  James clattered up from the kitchen. “No sign of break-ins, my lord. No food in the pantry. Linens still on the beds in the chambers below stairs. No obvious sign of mice or other vermin. Shall I begin carrying in bags?”

  Dare lifted his eyebrows in question, leaving the decision to her.

  “We have the linen in my travel trunk and the mattress in the carriage to sleep on if you’re concerned about vermin. We’d best check the state of the beds upstairs, though,” she said, knowing they had little choice.

  “Would you rather call on your friends at the abbey and see if they will put us up?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “It’s late, and they are newly married and still sorting out their household. It would be an imposition. If there is no sign of intruders upstairs, we should see what we can manage here for the night.”

  Robert, the tall footman who had accompanied their borrowed berlin, met them at the foot of the stairs. “Servants quarters in the attic and main chambers haven’t been occupied in a while, my lady,” he reported. “Covers over everything. Attic shows no leaks. I opened windows to cool off the rooms.”

  “They knew they were leaving,” Dare said grimly. “The executor definitely has some explaining to do.”

  Emilia gestured toward the kitchen stairs. “Robert, perhaps you and James would prefer the cooler rooms below for tonight. Bessie can have one of the smaller chambers upstairs near us.” She glanced at her tall husband, who looked both angry and weary. “Do you think the driver will be all right in the stable? Shall we ask?”

  With a curt nod, he sent Robert out to discuss the situation with the marquess’s driver. Bessie and James followed to fetch the feather mattress and baggage.

  “I might not be the bargain you’d hoped to gain, my lord,” she said in a low voice as they climbed the stairs to inspect the chambers for themselves.

  Her husband’s grip tightened on her shoulders. “Call me, Dare, please. And no, I am not unhappy about the prize I have won. I don’t much care where or how I live so long as I have a roof over my head. The people under that roof are what matter to me.”

  He pressed a kiss to her hair to reassure her. Emilia wasn’t reassured. She wasn’t born yesterday and knew he was practiced at using words to flatter and soothe.

  She had never lived without a full complement of servants. She didn’t even know how to hire one. Her honeymoon was not the time to discover that she had been woefully sheltered from reality.

  They chose the wide suite of rooms overlooking the front lawn. Emilia remembered her grandfather sleeping in a smaller chamber near the stairs. He’d always called this larger one the Queen’s Chamber and let Emilia sleep there when she came to visit.

  Dare opened the casement windows so James could shake out the mattresses to be used for the night. Bessie made up the beds when they were done. Emilia used a rag for a dust cloth and rubbed away some of the dust, although it filled the air and set her husband to coughing again.

  “We need hot water for washing,” Bessie insisted once the big bed was made.

  “I believe there is a pump in the kitchen,” Emilia said without confidence. “But I have no idea if the chimneys will allow a fire.”

  “I’ll take a look,” the valet offered. “The pump will need priming.”

  Immensely grateful that they’d brought their personal servants, wondering what they would have done had they arrived without any, Emilia suggested that the remainder of the luncheon basket contents be distributed among them.

  Once everyone had scattered to their tasks, she winced as her husband opened the bottle of patent medicine. She could hardly blame him for seeking relief. He had to be exhausted.

  She had initially thought he would stay in London and leave her to sleep here alone. When he’d insisted on traveling with her, she’d debated what room to put him in. And now, it seemed the matter was settled without discussion. The servants expected them to share a bed. Dare
expected it. She. . . really ought to think about it, but she couldn’t push past the need to learn more of lust. Foolish of her.

  Nervously, she studied the old bed with its high square posts. The extra mattress hadn’t added much height, but it was a tall bed. And not terribly wide. Her travel trunk, valise, and book satchel had been carried into the dressing room next door. There was no cot there for Bessie, so her maid had chosen a small chamber beyond that.

  Emilia was alone with her husband, with no good reason not to indulge in sexual congress. But now that weariness had set in, and she was faced with reality, she was having doubts.

  Lord Dare shrugged out of his coat without waiting for the return of his valet. Should she do the same? Bessie knew Emilia usually undressed herself in the late hours when she returned from her studies. She never came unless called.

  Emilia swallowed and gazed longingly at the dressing room. He had said she must be honest and direct. She never knew what to say. So she said nothing. She simply left the main chamber to change in the smaller one—promptly bumping her nose on a wardrobe in the darkness.

  She knew she was blessed with above-average intelligence, but sometimes she had the sense of an earwig. Without light, she had to fumble to find a lamp and return to the big chamber to light it.

  Dare had stripped to his shirtsleeves and was unfastening the flap of his trousers. When she reappeared, he stopped to fill and light the lamp for her.

  “It’s a good thing they left oil and clean wicks,” he muttered. “I cannot fault the staff. It is your executor who will feel the brunt of my wrath.”

  “I think we should ask around in the village first, see if we can locate any of the staff. My father would never have allowed an incompetent executor to manage my inheritance, I’m sure.” Her husband’s masculine proximity acutely reminded her of what they had done earlier. Beneath his linen, his shoulder muscles bulged most interestingly, and she was over-curious about what waited behind the placket of his trousers. The lust haze obscured rationality again.

  “At least we have decent accommodations,” he said, glancing at the freshened bed as if following her thoughts. He tipped her chin up and kissed her cheek. “Sleep, first, I think. We both need our strength.”

  Emilia felt the annoying heat rising in her cheeks. She nodded briskly and retreated to the dressing room.

  She’d gone into this marriage as a business proposition, in order for Dare to buy his family a house and for her to acquire this property and set up her laboratory. Men seldom noticed her, so she had expected her husband to do the same. She had fully anticipated that they would go their own separate ways.

  She had never considered being a wife and mother. She’d given more thought to the nomenclature of a new variety of kalmia polifolia than she had to motherhood. She’d better start thinking about it now.

  Chapter 7

  Dare hated nightshirts. He would wake up sweating if he wore one.

  The terrified look on his bride’s face as she’d caught him unfastening his fall warned him that nakedness might send her running.

  Damn, this marriage business was awkward. Or perhaps it was this mortality concern that made him more aware than usual. He’d never worried about bedding a woman before. He prided himself on being rather accomplished at it.

  His gut gnawed with more than unease. Feeling his breath coming in shorter gasps, he tried to stave off a spasm with more mineral water and the last of the horehound. He’d make his bride a widow too soon, he feared. He should try to create half-way decent memories so she wouldn’t spend the rest of her life regretting their marriage. How the devil did he do that?

  He left on his shirt, turned off all but one lamp and dimmed it, and climbed between the fresh linens his wife had brilliantly thought to pack. He’d traveled far and wide, never paying attention to what he slept on unless it crawled, but he had to admit, scented sheets were preferable.

  Anticipation had him partially aroused before she even slipped back into the room. In the lamp’s light, her silhouette inside a high-necked nightdress revealed slim hips and small bosom, but he’d already discovered them. It was her long-legged walk and the curve of her tiny waist that held his fascination now. He feared he could snap her in two, or that his rutting lust would terrify her. She turned off the one remaining lamp and became a shadow in the darkness.

  He lifted the covers and she slid in, staying safely some distance away. Dare knew all wild creatures, especially women, required gentling until accustomed to confinement. He meant to start where they’d left off earlier, but perhaps he should go slower.

  He wrapped his arm around that delectable waist, pulled her closer and pressed a kiss to her nape. “Sweet dreams, my lady wife.”

  She lay perfectly still but didn’t pull away. “Good-night, my. . . Dare.”

  He loved the sound of his name on her tongue. He’d sleep well this night.

  He didn’t wake so well. A rooster crowed so loudly that Dare swore it sat on his aching head. His quick intake of breath at the pain brought a fresh round of coughing. And as his bride attempted to slip from his reach, a scream and a shout from outside destroyed any possibility of lovemaking for the nonce.

  Dare reached for his travel pistol on the bedside table. His fetching bride dashed for the window. She’d braided her long black hair, and it swung down her slender back to a nicely rounded posterior. He was almost distracted from his weapon.

  She shoved open the window and leaned out. “Bessie, it’s a rooster! Go back inside, and it will quiet.” She leaned out further, presumably peering past the overgrown roses on the wall. “Robert, is that you? Do you think there might still be hens in the hen house? Eggs?”

  Having lived most of his life in town, Dare sighed and set his gun down. He automatically reached for his medicine bottle, but the coughing had stopped. Perhaps he needed a good shock to keep breathing. “Eggs?” he inquired with interest, feeling hungrier than usual. “Do you know how to cook them?”

  “Absolutely no notion,” she admitted, pulling her head back inside. She hesitated at sight of the weapon on the table. “A pistol? Why?”

  He felt a fool in a nightshirt with his hairy legs sticking out, but his bride didn’t shrink in horror. In fact, she regarded him with interest, which had the expected result. But realizing now wasn’t exactly the time to express his ardor, Dare reached into the wardrobe. “It’s best to be prepared when traveling, and I’m not much of a swordsman.”

  “Do all gentlemen carry weapons?” she asked with what distinctly sounded like worry. “I cannot remember my father doing so.”

  “If he doesn’t keep one on him or under his carriage seat, then his driver or footman might carry one. It’s always best to be armed.” He held his clothes to his waist when he turned back to face her.

  His blushing bride was staring at the pistol as if it were a puzzle to be pondered. He’d love to know what went on behind her high, intelligent brow, but he had a notion he wouldn’t be finding out today. More accustomed to action than quizzing the females of his family, he set the clothes down and began unfastening his nightshirt. “Shall I call your maid for you?” he suggested.

  She glanced up, noted what he was doing with alarm, and hastily departed. Not one for small talk was his bride, Dare noted with amusement.

  Fortunately for all concerned, the hens were still about. Someone must be taking care of them. Bessie found eggs, and James knew how to cook them. Robert, the marquess’s well-trained footman, had already run into the village to procure bread, butter, and tea. No one had thought to ask for sugar, so they drank their tea bitter and ate as if starved.

  Dare was accustomed to eating with his manservant when traveling and didn’t mind a shared meal in the kitchen. Apparently Emilia’s maid was more co-conspirator than servant and didn’t protest their informal dining either. She also didn’t shut up and didn’t wash dishes. Since he had as yet to see Bessie help his wife dress or undress, he wondered what exactly the maid did do.


  They’d included the footman and driver in their informal repast, if only to save carrying hot food out to the stable.

  “Robert, did the marquess give you a time for returning the carriage?” Dare asked, leaving his dish in the metal sink while the driver fetched more water from the pump.

  “He’s up north with his lady wife, awaiting the birth of his heir, m’lord. He’ll not be needing me or the carriage for a while, and said it would be convenient if we kept it here so Lady Pascoe-Ives might use it when the time comes.”

  “The midwife,” Dare confirmed, checking with Emilia. “Do you have any notion how soon she will need to travel north?”

  The Pascoe-Ives were the occupants of the abbey he needed to visit. He had to figure out if they’d be willing to sell a portion of the abbey land to the railroad. He hadn’t been there when the surveyors plotted the track. He needed to look at the maps and see which properties they crossed and where.

  “I believe Lady Ashford is due next month,” Emilia said. “That’s all I know. We need to pay a call on the Pascoe-Ives, but I’d rather visit the village and ask after my grandfather’s servants first.”

  “That was my thought. I need to post a letter to your father about the state of neglect here so he can look into it from his end. And while I’m at it, I’ll set up accounts with the merchants. I can ask after the servants as well, if you wish to stay and see things to rights here.”

  She gave him a look that would have withered weeds. “I know as much about housekeeping as you do about dishwashing. I’ll go into Alder with you. A few of the merchants may remember me, and I’ll need to establish a source of pens and paper, as well as pots for my plants.”