He turned to Dare. “I understand you are undertaking the chemical end of medical science. Will you also be publishing your discoveries?”
Emilia could see her husband was taken in astonishment at the notion that his hobby might be thought beneficial. She squeezed his elbow until he nodded acknowledgment.
“If I have anything worthy of publication, of course. I have not my wife’s experience, but I am hoping to have more time in the future for experimentation.” At the duke’s questioning look, he continued. “If my theory is correct, I may have longer to live than expected. I have just come to suspect that my consumption may be the result of arsenic inhalation.”
“Is there some way to know for certain?” Emilia asked what Dare would not.
The distinguished physician listened with interest. “After dinner, I will listen to your lungs. Arsenic, you say? Now there’s an interesting theory.”
Lady Ashford called them to the table, and the conversation became more general. Lord Erran had been successful in winning the election of one of Ashford’s pocket boroughs, so there was discussion of labor laws and banning slavery from British soil. The duke had examined Ashford’s eyes and found them recovering from the blow that had caused temporary blindness.
Ashford announced that his son and heir was to be named Alan Dunstan Russell Ives in honor of his ancestors and Christie’s father.
Christie counter-announced that he was to be named Alan Duncan Malcolm Ives in honor of her husband and mother.
The duke wisely withdrew from the debate. While he and Dare left to determine a possible diagnosis, William and Erran cornered Bridey and Emilia.
“The animosity and suspicion toward your plans for the abbey are high in Harrogate,” Erran stated without preamble. “Having their plans for a railroad rejected has not improved your relationship with the community. I understand that’s not your fault. I’m just warning you.”
Bridey. . . bridled. Emilia couldn’t think of a better word.
“I am not giving up my school,” she said emphatically. “Pascoe says he will support me no matter what I choose to do, and I choose to go forward.”
“I stand with Bridey,” Emilia said. “I don’t understand how men can feel so threatened by a few powerless females. It’s silly.”
“Crenshaw,” William said.
Erran nodded at this reminder. “Pascoe sent us to warn that Frederick Crenshaw is crying murder. I have gathered depositions from the witnesses. He has no grounds for charges. But rumor, insults, and innuendo are more interesting than facts, and the town is more inclined to believe one of its own.”
“Arthur Crenshaw,” William said tersely, prodding the tale along. “And Peter Dare.”
“Locals,” Emilia cried. “They can speak for us.”
William nodded approval at her understanding.
“Neither is considered a man of substance,” Erran warned. “Arthur, your gardener, is seen as eccentric at best, mad at worst. Peter Dare has no title or position, only a large mortgage on his small estate. While his father-in-law is a respected landowner, Peter’s relationship with him is. . . not close. There is animosity over his estrangement from his wife, although I’ve met the wife, and she and Peter seem to be on good terms.”
Emilia puzzled over this revelation. If she’d been Peter’s wife, she would have run him through the heart with a meat cleaver for haring off to London and raising a family with his mistress.
Dare and the duke returned before she could respond. The duke continued on to talk business with Ashford, but Dare hugged Emilia’s shoulders. “The duke claims he can find no trace of consumption, that I might live a hundred years if I don’t overexert my damaged lungs.”
Emilia covered his face in kisses. “I will learn how to heal lungs,” she declared boldly. “His grace says I must not fear my gift, and that he can teach me techniques to make it less daunting. You will be my experimental lesson until I can trust myself.”
Dare laughed and hugged her hard. “Thank you, I think. I am glad I can be useful. Now, what trouble can I cause to remove all your long faces?”
Erran and William congratulated him with enthusiasm. And Bridey cried. When Emilia turned to her in concern, her friend waved her handkerchief in dismissal. “I become weepy over everything these days. Pay no heed to my tears. I am thrilled for you both, and Dare, I welcome any aid you can offer. We are apparently about to be destroyed by small-minded merchants and uninformed physicians.”
“And your cousin Peter is not wealthy or established enough to be influential,” Emilia added.
“I had a long talk with Peter before he left. His case is unusual and not one he wishes bandied about,” Dare said with a warning in his voice. “If I can swear you to secrecy?” At nods from all his listeners, he continued, “Peter and his wife married when they were very young, to save Susan from her father’s abuse. Men terrify her. She lives comfortably with a female companion in the small house Peter’s family left to him. She has no interest in marital relations. She and Peter are friends, and she has encouraged him to make his family elsewhere.”
“Your poor cousin,” Emilia said in horror.
“Poor Susan,” Bridey added. “We must beg introductions. She will need friends.”
Dare looked on them with pride and relief. “Good, because my next task is to make the railroad profitable, and I will need to do so through connections in Harrogate.”
Bridey narrowed her eyes. “We will not stop the school so you can make peace with bigots.”
Dare shook his head, and Emilia regarded him with love, trusting that his inventive mind had already sought solutions that would not leave her behind.
“While the school and railroad are being built, we will begin building relationships with the town. I will make Peter my man of business and establish him as a man of consequence.”
“And his. . . his children and their mother?” Emilia asked.
“They will have to continue to live in anonymity, unfortunately. But he assures me they will be delighted to move near Harrogate if I’m so evil as to continue living,” Dare said with a smile. “He’s really not a complete termite, and he has the kind of character that deals well with small minds. As a matter of fact, Arthur Crenshaw has agreed that I might rent his estate for Peter’s use. It seems he and his son have had a falling out, and if I’m willing to find some other use for Frederick—somewhere in the Antipodes was his suggestion—he will be delighted. Your gardener is quite an entertaining man.”
“Now I am fascinated,” Erran said. “You are almost Machiavellian in your manipulation. What do you intend to do with that bitter, gout-ridden old goat who wants to charge you with murder?”
Dare shrugged. “I’ve had him brought up on charges of theft. He is currently sitting in gaol, awaiting arraignment, so Mr. Arthur is free to return to his own home if he so chooses. I’ve ordered the locks changed so his son can’t usurp it again. I have left it up to Arthur to decide how he wants his son punished. He is considering sending him to a sister in Scotland if I drop the charges and can’t find a place for him on the other side of the planet.”
The men laughed and pounded him on the back. Dare didn’t cough once.
“You are employing your formidable mind for the good of all and not for profit,” Emilia crowed in delight.
Dare hugged her. “As you will soon employ your gift for others. We will be a national treasure.”
The laughter and cheering aroused the marquess’s curiosity. While the others hastened to tell Ashford the story, Dare took Emilia’s hand and led her from the room.
“Tonight, we will explore the chemistry of magic,” he murmured, leading her down the corridor.
“That should take a lifetime and more,” Emilia agreed happily.
The ancient walls of Wystan hummed agreement.
No Perfect Magic
Unexpected Magic Book Six
Copyright ©2017 Patricia Rice
First Publication Book View Cafe, 20
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To purchase No Perfect Magic
No Perfect Magic EXCERPT
Late September 1831, Castle Yates, Yorkshire
* * *
“You are the dawn’s golden light, the moon’s silver glow, the light of my life, Lady Aurelia. Will you please do me the great honor of accepting my hand in marriage?” the handsome, elegantly attired gentleman beseeched the lady beneath the rose arbor.
“Well damn.” Deciding the tableau beyond the hedge shouldn’t be interrupted, if only for the entertainment value, William Ives-Madden halted the mastiff he was training. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen this play before, but one never knew how the farce would end.
He admired the gentleman’s way with words. In the eyes of every man over the age of six, Lady Aurelia was all he said and more. Her hair shimmered in the palest shades of corn silk. Her thick-lashed blue eyes matched the summer skies, and her dainty, feminine form made a man swell with protectiveness and desire.
Unfortunately, as the wealthy daughter of a duke, she had more suitors than dogs had fleas. She’d had so many proposals, she would probably disdain a prince if one offered. Proposing to her had become a sport wagered on in taverns in the same way hunters wagered on the number of quail they’d bring down.
Will pitied the foolish chap on his knees, soaking his best trousers. As usual, the lady didn’t even deign to look at him but tilted her head to admire a bird flitting from the trees.
The only real question was what the deuce she was doing out here without one of her family or servants with her. For good reason, the duke wisely shielded her from just this sort of in-opportunity.
Familiar with the lady’s eccentricities, and in lieu of a better guardian, Will thought it best to keep an eye on the proceedings. His livelihood derived from training dogs to rescue lost animals and people, so this was not his usual sort of task. But he owed the duke for his support, and his benefactor wouldn’t be pleased if Will let the lady come to harm.
“Lydia is playing the most beautiful waltz,” the lady responded inexplicably to her passionate suitor. “Let us see if they have opened the ballroom.”
She was always polite. She never made sense.
Without waiting for assistance, the duke’s daughter rose in a graceful swish of sprigged muslin, revealing a waist so petite that Will knew his big clumsy hands could encompass it.
He went on alert as the scowling suitor groped his way upright by leaning on the bench she’d just departed.
“My lady, I have poured my heart at your feet. I think I have a right to expect an answer.”
The mastiff stiffened at his tone. Will did the same, narrowing his eyes as the gentleman caught the lady’s arm to detain her.
Wordlessly, Lady Aurelia donned her frostiest expression, her impossibly long lashes sweeping up and down in disdain as she regarded the hand on her person.
“Just say yes, my lady,” the gentleman suggested. “We are well suited. I will see that you are never bothered by undesirable admirers.”
“The waltz calls,” she said, removing the hand crushing her sleeve by the simple expedient of bending a finger back until he had to jerk away.
Will breathed a sigh of relief as she swayed briskly in the direction of the duke’s sprawling mansion. He really didn’t wish to lose the duke’s approval by pounding a rich lordling into the ground like a garden post.
Regrettably, the lordling didn’t take the lady’s form of dismissal as an answer. He caught up with her in a single stride, grabbed her arm, and swung her around rather forcefully.
The frightened look on Lady Aurelia’s fair face was all it took to set off Will’s protective instincts. Trying his best to remember he wasn’t at home and couldn’t do as he pleased, he snapped his fingers and set Ajax lose. The giant mastiff ran straight toward the couple.
Arbitrarily deciding the lordling didn’t look as frightened of the dog as the lady did of his grip, Will silently ordered Ajax to jump. The dog enthusiastically obeyed.
Enormous paws landed square on the back of a tailored coat. The gentleman had to release the object of his desire if only to remain upright. Will noticed the nodcock did not attempt to block Aurelia from the dog’s paws, as a gentleman ought.
“Get off me, you beast!” the fool yelled, darting to one side while Ajax waved her tail at the lady’s feet and waited for a reward.
Will sauntered from his hiding place in the hedge. “Well met, my lady,” he called, without explanation. He seldom gave explanations, and the lady knew who he was.
“Is this your bloody brute?” the angry suitor demanded. “Get him off me!”
“Her. Even females can be heroes. Ajax, down.” Will snapped his fingers, then produced a treat from his pocket. The mastiff happily trotted over to where Will had placed himself—between the lady and the gentleman.
“Good afternoon, sir.” The lady patted Ajax’s massive head and accepted a drooling slurp. “Good doggie.”
With legs down, the mastiff stood well over waist high. Her massive head and teeth turned toward the angry suitor, blocking his way. Without another word, Lady Aurelia swept down the gravel path, her petticoats swaying, her head held high.
The lordling glared at Will and fisted his fingers. “Who the devil are you?”
“The one keeping the duke’s dog from biting off your balls.” That was one explanation he didn’t mind giving. Feeding Ajax her treat, Will aimed for his original goal, the kennel.
There. He had behaved like the gentleman he wasn’t for a change. Did the soul good to occasionally refrain from pounding lordlings into fence posts.
Even females can be heroes, Mr. Madden had said.
Aurelia wished she had the courage to be one.
Although she could hear her sister entertaining their guests on the new piano, Aurelia didn’t proceed toward the ballroom as she’d intended. After Clayton’s assault, the usual pounding in her head had escalated, and she retreated, shivering. She’d had quite enough company for a while.
Concentrating on the music to block out all the rest of the household clangor and chatter, she sought solace in the garden parlor overlooking the path to the stable and kennel.
A long line of yews sheltered the buildings from view, but Mr. Madden hadn’t reached them yet. At the sight of him, she took a deep breath of relief and relaxed. The large . . . gentleman . . . strode along, unharmed, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. She didn’t know what had come over the usually indolent Lord Clayton, but she despised altercations and was glad the dog trainer had behaved with more civility than the earl’s son.
She had heard tales of Mr. Madden. His animals had pulled drowning people from ponds, found lost children in snowstorms, and more. She had thought them mostly local-boy-does-good stories, but his action in keeping Clayton away today added corroboration.
Mr. Madden had the build of an ox, she noted. Any attempt to hit the dog handler’s hard, very square jaw would have broken Lord Clayton’s knuckles. Since Mr. Madden spent most of his time in physical exercise and had the taut bulging muscles to prove it, Clayton wouldn’t have fared any better had he pummeled him elsewhere. She appreciated the trainer’s long-legged stride and straight posture as he directed Ajax into happy circles to prevent the dog from chasing after a rabbit crossing their path.
She sighed in admiration over the overlong wealth of thick bronze hair brushing his loosely-tied neckcloth. Why couldn’t the gentleman who courted her look like that? She might even try to listen to them if they did.
Hearing an argument rising above the music, she decided maybe not. Even a dog handler would need to be a mute hermit for her to be comfortable.
What on earth had caused Lord Clayton to overreact in such a manner? It did not seem in character, although she would be the first to admit that she was not a keen judge of behavior. Unfortunately, out of self-preservation, she preferred shirking society to observing it.
She peered around the corner to verify no one lurked in the corridor,
then darted toward the library. If she was fortunate, she might find a book and sneak up the back stairs to her room before anyone found her.
She grimaced as she slipped into the library and Lord Baldwin rose from a wing chair with a book and a rose in hand. As he spoke, the music faded, allowing in the noise of a large household filled with a hundred servants and guests.
Don’t you ever go in my pantry again or I’ll take this knife . . .
Drip, drip, ping. Drip, drip, drip, ping.
A waltz please! We need to practice . . .
E, F#, G#, A, B, C#, D#, E, G
You bastard, I thought you said there was no one out there . . .
Is she really gone?
The more emotional arguing and whispering escalated in her head, drowning out the lesser noises, nearly crippling all thought. Was that Lord Clayton shouting? At whom? Who was gone? While her suitor spoke, Aurelia tried to focus on the musical notes and shut out the unpleasantness.
Vaguely, realizing a reply was expected when Lord Baldwin stopped talking, she dipped a curtsy. “How very lovely to see you again, my lord.” Intent on no more than escape, Aurelia left the library and another bewildered suitor behind.
She hurried up to the privacy of her isolated bedchamber, only to find her sisters waiting. Well, she had expected no less. She shut and bolted the extra-thick door, then stubbornly sat on a chaise longue near the window overlooking a private, quiet park, and waited for the lecture to begin. At least there were no groveling gentlemen in here. If she allowed the music in the ballroom to fill her head, she could almost concentrate on her sisters and not the other voices. Who was playing now? She was more expert than Lydia.
“Did you accept Lord Clayton’s suit?” Lydia asked, trying on Aurelia’s diamond earrings and admiring them in the vanity mirror. Her round face and blond curls weren’t classically pretty but pleasant enough. At nineteen, she’d already had been presented and snared a suitor— because Aurelia had refused to go to London that season.
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