Bewitched
Melissa Lynne Blue
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Bewitched
Copyright © 2013 by Melissa Lynne Blue
Cover Design by Rae Monet
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.
For more information: www.melissalynneblue.com
Bewitched
Dedication
For my valentine, Greg… Because of you I believe in true love and love at first sight.
Bewitched
ONE
February 7, 1861
London
“You cannot be serious!” Penelope Hale folded her legs beneath her night dress and repositioned herself on the pale green bedspread. She cast a dubious gaze between her twin cousins, certain their matching blonde curls were wound entirely too tight. “A love potion?”
Katherine and Marie shared one of their knowing looks before snapping their attention back to Penelope. “Yes,” the pair replied in perfect unison, their expressions so serious that Penelope burst out laughing.
“Stop, Penelope.” Marie slapped her arm. “Don’t you see that this is the perfect solution?”
Penelope drew a long breath and pursed her lips as she realized just how serious her cousins were. “Solution? How is dosing men with a love potion a solution?”
The twins exchanged another tentative glance. “To snag you a husband,” Kate supplied after a long moment. “We know you’ve been recently… disappointed, but that doesn’t mean you should give up hope.”
All levity brought about from her cousins’ silly scheme evaporated. Disappointment did not begin to describe the depth of Penelope’s heartbreak. “There is no hope for Colton and me,” she said, throat tightening as memories flooded her mind. Try though she might, she could not banish the memory of Colton smiling down at her with those deep, chocolate hued eyes. His thumb brushing her cheek. That one perfect kiss they’d shared behind the French doors at Lady Bridger’s ball. Even now her lips burned with remembrance. That night love had brimmed in her breast, an emotion so certain, so absolute, she’d never, not even for half a heartbeat, doubted that he’d return her affections. After that magical interlude he should have asked for her hand and proclaimed to love her in return, but instead… “He is engaged if you recall.”
“Ah, yes, engaged,” Kate’s green eyes lit as she scooted across the mattress to grasp Penelope’s hand, “but he is not yet married.”
Penelope raised her eyes doubtfully. “Surely you’re not suggesting I administer a love potion to a duke. An engaged duke.”
“Precisely.” Marie flashed a devious grin. She reached into her robe pocket and brandished a small vial filled with amber liquid. “Pour this in his drink, make sure you’re the first one he sees, and,” she snapped her fingers, “he is all yours.”
Penelope rolled her eyes. “Even if it were possible to make a man fall in love with a potion, he could not jilt Miss Featherton now.”
“All the better,” Marie chirped, shoving the vial into Penelope’s hand. “He can marry that snooty Mallory Featherton and her money, but go to the grave miserable because he’s really in love with you. The perfect revenge.”
“I have no need for revenge on anyone.”
“Not even Miss Featherton?”
“Especially not Miss Featherton.” Penelope sighed, dropping the apothecary vial back into her cousin’s lap. “It isn’t her fault she’s rich, and she would have had no way of knowing I had feelings for Colton. Besides,” she said quickly, wanting to steer the conversation from the hurt still raw on her nerves, “you cannot possibly believe this would work.”
“Corrine, my maid, assures me it will.” Kate plucked the potion from its resting place on Marie’s white skirt. “Her grandmother was a Gypsy.”
“Gypsy love potion?” Penelope smiled and flipped the long red-brown plait of braid over her shoulder. “I’d say you’re both touched in the head.”
Marie promptly stuck her tongue out, sparking another laugh from Penelope. It felt good to laugh. She hadn’t laughed so freely in a little over two years. Coming to live with her cousins had been good for her in more ways than one.
“I trust the two of you will be using this as well?”
“When we find a man worth marrying, absolutely.”
Penelope squinted playfully. “But until then I am your test subject?”
“Of course not,” Marie protested. “We have nothing but your best interest at heart.”
“At least think about it.” Kate slid off the bed, spinning the vial between thumb and forefinger. She set it on Penelope’s mahogany dressing table. “What could it possibly hurt to try?”
Penelope’s laughter dried immediately. What could it hurt? She stared at the offending liquid unable to tear her gaze away. Hope could hurt. Like the hope her dying mother would miraculously improve. No amount of hope or prayer had saved Mama.
Her heart twisted. However silly her cousins’ notion, dosing Colton with Gypsy hokum could only lead to hope… And hope was every bit as dangerous and hurtful as the original heartbreak. No… she would not be foolish enough to set herself up for surefire failure.
“It doesn’t have to be Colton you administer the potion to,” Marie murmured, following her sister’s lead and hopping off the bed. “You could choose another man.”
The twins left then, closing the door with a gentle click.
Penelope flopped backward onto her bed, fingering the end of her dark braid. The amber liquid glinted in the flickering lamplight. “A love potion,” she whispered to the shadows. “How completely silly.”
And yet that ounce or two of liquid had her thinking. Or mayhap not thinking, but something infinitely more dangerous... hoping. Hoping that all was not lost in her quest for love and romance.
“Romance.” She scoffed, flipping up on an elbow. “Naught but foolishness and rot.” The stuff of novels and nothing more.
Penelope doused the lamp and slipped between her smooth, cool sheets. She closed her eyes, snuggling the extra pillow against her breast, but sleep proved elusive. Troubled thoughts of Colton would not leave her be. Unlike some of the forward thinking women making a splash amongst the ton, Penelope wanted to get married. She wanted to find a man, run her own household, and start a family.
In short she wanted stability.
Ever since her mother’s death two years ago, Penelope’s father, Earl of Blackmore, had completely withdrawn from life outside of managing his lands and tenants. He scarcely looked upon her and Penelope knew it was because she reminded him too much of his late wife. Her parents had shared a marriage and companionship all too rare amongst British society.
Starved for family life and affection, Penelope had been very happy to spend last season with her aunt, uncle and cousins in London. All too quickly she’d succumbed to Colton’s charms believing she’d found the equal to her parents’ love and a means to settle down and fill the gaping void left by her mother’s eternal absence. Now Penelope realized nothing could replace her mother. No husband. No loving aunt. Certainly not a love potion. As such, Penelope had amended her hunt on the marriage mart. Rather than search for love, she would seek out a likeable man. One she could be friends with but would not open her up to more heartache.
Holding to that logic, she closed her eyes. Colton’s face glowed before her in stark relief as though tattooed to the back of her lids. Once more Penelope considered the love potion.
What could it hurt to t
ry?
Two
“Penelope, are you quite ready to go? The carriage has been waiting for fifteen minutes.”
“Coming, Aunt Laura. I’m just fetching a wrapper.” Penelope gritted her teeth. In all she had no desire to attend yet another dinner party in which Colton would be in attendance—no doubt with Miss Featherton surgically stitched to his arm—but her aunt and uncle would not hear of allowing her to stay in. Penelope knew why. Her father was hoping to marry her off before the start of the next season.
“Terribly expensive,” Papa had said before shipping her off to London after Christmas. “All of those gowns and shoes. See if you can’t snare a husband over the winter, eh?”
Drawing a shaky breath, Penelope gave herself one last perusal in the mirror. The length of her wavy auburn hair was piled loosely atop her head while a few wispy tendrils framed her head and brushed along her shoulders. Smooth emerald green silk molded over her torso and flared into a full skirt in a simple, but elegant style. The ensemble was a bit lower cut than she would have liked, but Aunt Laura assured her the feature was essential in attracting a husband. Penelope was also a little worried about the gown’s brilliant color, but once more her aunt insisted the hue offset Penelope’s green eyes and pale skin irresistibly. Penelope was quite certain that nothing about her was irresistible—not with all those freckles—but… perhaps Colton would notice.
Enough!
Penelope whirled from the looking glass, attempting to stem all thoughts of Colton. Best to put him from her mind and set her cap on someone else. There were a few eligible gentlemen left in London for the winter. Colonel Holbrook for one. A bit older than she, but a likeable fellow all the same. Very pleasant disposition. She reached for the gauzy wrapper waiting on her bed and stopped short.
There it was. That blasted, silly love potion. Penelope’s dark mood instantly blackened. The shimmering vial stared up at her. Mocked her. The soft lamplight in her bedroom tinged the clear liquid a pinkish hue. Pink—the color of love and other romantic notions.
Rolling her eyes, Penelope swiped the bottle from the vanity. It really would be best just to dump the Gypsy brew out. She could even lie and tell her cousins she’d used the concoction. Perhaps then the twins would leave fanciful notions of love spells behind.
Mind made up, Penelope marched to the chamber pot and popped the stopper from the small glass bottle. Curious she lifted the vial to her nose. Hmm… Not bad. She sniffed again. Sweet. With a hint of cinnamon?
“Penelope!” Aunt Laura’s irritable voice erupted from the hall directly outside her door. “Are you ill or do I have to drag you down to the carriage?”
“I’m sorry.” On impulse Penelope corked the vial and shoved it into her handbag. She threw the wrapper around her shoulders and rushed to the door. “I’m coming.”
* * *
“We’re a little late, but fashionably so,” Aunt Laura, Countess of Landon, declared, as she lead Penelope, Marie, and Kate into the assembly area of Mrs. Layton’s dinner party.
The house was filled with guests milling about sampling wine and refreshments. A gaggle of young women surrounded the pianoforte while one played a lovely aria. Kate quickly joined them. She was remarkably accomplished when it came to music; Penelope and Marie were not so fortunate.
Marie sidled close, linking her arm through Penelope’s. “Did you bring it?”
Penelope’s heart thumped heavily. She knew precisely what it her cousin referred to and it was all but burning a hole through her beaded reticule—at least Penelope feared as much. “Yes,” she confided softly. “I had thought to give it to Colonel Holbrook.”
Marie’s green eyes sparked with surprise and curiosity. “Really? I didn’t realize you returned his interest.”
Automatically, Penelope’s gaze sifted through the crowd in search of the Colonel. “Yes, well, I don’t know. It isn’t as though I believe it will actually work, but I thought bringing the vial might give me a bit of confidence.”
“It will work,” Marie stated matter-of-factly. “All you need do is pick a man and see that he drinks it.”
Penelope sighed. “So you keep telling me.”
Ahead of them Aunt Laura waved to a woman across the room then turned back to Penelope and Marie. “You girls have fun. I am going to have a quick word with Lady Coleridge.”
“Of course, Mama.”
“Oh, and, Penelope.” Aunt Laura speared her with an all too knowing, reproachful look. “Try not to be a wallflower.”
“Impossible given the color of my gown, Aunt Laura.”
An amused smile tugged at her aunt’s mouth. “You are very clever, my girl. Now put those brains to good use and go snare a husband.”
Marie squeezed her arm and yanked her down the hall. “Come along, Penny. I have a feeling that tonight is the night for you.”
Penelope gulped. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Drapes of soft white and rose hung from the windows and swathed the furniture, the colors made for a festive setting with Valentine’s Day just around the corner, but left Penelope with a pit of dread in her belly. Romance could not be pulled from thin air or Gypsy magic. This plan was utter madness, and she a fool ten times over for even considering it.
“Look over there.” Marie nodded toward a group of men across the room. “It’s Colonel Holbrook.”
Penelope’s stomach dropped. Oh, dear. The colonel stood amongst several uniformed officers smiling and laughing. With sandy hair and pale blue eyes, he had a very pleasant face and an agreeable mannerism to match. Not quite forty, he cut a fine figure in his gold trimmed uniform, possessed a respectable living, and would no doubt make a perfectly good husband. A girl could certainly do much worse, but… Penelope sighed. No excitement trickled through her veins when she gazed upon him. There was no quickening of her pulse or telltale clammy palms. The sad truth was that Colonel Holbrook’s presence had absolutely no effect on her.
The vial in her handbag suddenly weighed a stone.
“Quickly, Penny, where is the potion?”
Penelope shook her head. “Marie, this is a bad idea. I think we shoul—”
Marie snatched the handbag from Penelope’s wrist.
“Marie! Give that back!” Penelope reached for the reticule strap but her cousin twirled away, plunging her hand within.
“Ah, here it is.”
“Hand it over,” Penelope demanded. “I am not playing games.”
“Neither am I.” Marie tossed the handbag back to Penelope, but kept the vial clenched in her palm. “We are going to try this.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Penelope crossed her arms. “Then you try the potion out first.”
Without missing a beat, Marie plucked a glass of white wine from a passing footman. “I’m not the one who’s been pining away from a broken heart,” she said pointedly. “Ever since Colton jilted you it’s as though something in you is broken.”
My heart.
Marie nimbly opened the vial and emptied the contents into the wine. “You shy away whenever a man so much as smiles at you.” She swiftly handed Penelope the glass. “You left Kate and me no choice but to get drastic and take matters into our own hands.” For one long moment their eyes locked.
“I thought I’d done rather well hiding my broken heart,” Penelope murmured, glancing down. Ripples scurried along the surface of the wine as a result of her trembling fingers.
“Not from me.” Marie smiled and gave Penelope’s free hand a quick squeeze. “Now go see to it the man of your choosing drinks this.”
Penelope stared skeptically into the sparkling liquid. “You cannot possibly believe this will work.”
“And why not?”
“Come, Marie, surely you’re too practical to believe in magic and hokum.”
Marie pressed her lips together, expression thoughtful. “Do you believe in miracles?”
Penelope shrugged. “I suppose.”
“Then have
you ever considered that miracles are a form of magic?”
“I suppose not, but—”
“But nothing. Now go to it.”
Penelope began to point out that miracles were few and far between, but held her tongue. There would be no deterring her cousin. “How will I get him to drink this?” she asked instead. “It is hardly customary for a woman to offer a man a drink.”
“You’ll figure something out.” Marie gave Penelope a shove toward Colonel Holbrook.
Caught off guard, Penelope teetered on her modestly heeled shoes. The glass tipped precariously and amber liquid sloshed over the edge. A few drops darkened her hem.
“Don’t spill the wine,” Marie scolded.
“Don’t push me,” Penelope shot back. Heart hammering, she stalled for a moment to regain her balance and her bearings. She squared her shoulders, smoothed her skirts, took one step toward Colonel Holbrook, and stopped dead in her tracks.
Straight in front of her, not ten steps away, stood Colton Breckenridge, Duke of Havenward. Tall, resplendent, devastatingly dark, and… alone.
Three
For one heart stopping instant Penelope’s gaze collided with Colton’s. Time all but stopped as shivers glided down her spine and gooseflesh prickled her arms. Oh, but he was so handsome. The sheer sight of his face could liquefy her knees. Garbed in a black waistcoat and silver vest, he appeared every inch the refined and noble duke. Some gossiped that he possessed a condescending, snobbish manner, but Penelope knew differently. She’d sampled his wit and carried on the most ordinary conversations with him. How she longed to do so again. Staring into his unreadable expression, flutters erupted in her chest with such force she was certain he must see her heart pounding beneath her dress.
Penelope gulped, contemplating the crossroad stretching before her.
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