by Bess McBride
“I wouldn’t put it past her, Rachel. She’s sneaky. I know she means well, but come on!”
“Can she do that? Can she really cast a curse like that?”
“Well, she definitely did it to St. John!”
“I have to tell him that he can marry whomever he wants. This isn’t about me!”
“That’s what I said this morning. Who is it about then?”
“Well, I don’t know! Hickstrom? Halwell says he’s going to London, that he will never be welcome here again. He won’t be at the ball. And he feels just awful!”
“I know he does. He is such a nice guy! To see those two mixing it up in a fistfight this morning... I still can’t believe it. I can believe St. John would tackle someone—he’s temperamental—but I’ve never known Halwell to be. I haven’t really known him that long though.”
“Well, I have to see him. I have to talk to him.”
“You mean get in a carriage and go over there? I’d have to go with you. You can’t really go calling on a gentleman alone, and even then, Lady Georgianna would want to know why we’re there, why you want to see him alone.” Mary shook her head. “No, that won’t work. We could send a note to ask him to call, but whew...St. John. I don’t know about that right now either.”
“What if we send the note and I meet him near the gatehouse?”
“Oh, Rachel, they don’t do stuff like that here. Roger is likely to see you, and he’ll tell St. John, and you will still be meeting a man alone.”
“Wow, this is complicated!”
“It is.”
Rachel thought fast. “Okay, here’s what I think I’ll do,” she finally said. “I’ll talk to St. John. I’ll tell him that I have to talk to Halwell, and I’ll ask him if Halwell can come here. Do you think Halwell would come here if St. John relented?”
“Yes, I’m sure Halwell would.” Mary hesitated. “Listen—I was angry with St. John this morning, angrier than I’ve ever been since we married. I don’t want to feel that way again about the man I love. If you want St. John to let Halwell back onto the property, I’m going to have to leave that for you to do. I want to support you, but a happy husband is a happy...” She grinned.
“Life?” Rachel finished.
“Doesn’t rhyme, but you get it.”
“How long do these nineteenth-century gentlemen hold grudges?”
“I have no idea. You’re about to find out. St. John is in his study. I’ll just leave these dresses here. Call me when you’re finished.”
Rachel nodded. “I can do this!”
Mary smiled. “He won’t bite your head off.”
They left the bedroom, Mary heading to her room and Rachel descending the stairs. She tapped on the study door and entered when St. John called out. St. John jumped up when she stepped in.
“Miss Lee! Rachel! Are you well? Are you in pain?”
“No, I’m fine...still.” Rachel clasped her hands in front of her, twisting her fingers through each other.
St. John came around from behind his desk and gestured to a chair. Rachel sat obediently, and he took a seat opposite her.
“Are we expecting Mary?” he asked, looking toward the door.
“No, just me.”
“I see,” he said in the voice of one who didn’t see. “How may I help you?”
Rachel took a deep breath.
“Well, you know I had a note from Halwell this morning.” She paused at the tightening of St. John’s jaw.
“Yes.”
Rachel chewed on her lower lip for a moment. All she wanted was to talk to Halwell. How was such a thing so difficult? Because she was in the nineteenth century, that was why! She took a deep breath.
“I need to see him. I need to talk to him.”
“I would not prevent such a thing, Rachel. You are my guest, not my ward.” His face was grave.
“Well, I discussed it with Mary, and she doesn’t think that I will be able to speak with Halwell alone if I go to his house.”
“No, I do not believe that would be fitting, nor would Lady Georgianna allow it...for many reasons.” St. John allowed himself a small smile.
“I know, book peddler that I am.”
“Just so.” His smile broadened.
“So I thought I could send him a note and meet him at the gate and talk to him there.”
“That seems slightly nefarious and additionally improper. I know that you and Mary struggle with the restrictions of nineteenth-century society, but it would be unsuitable for you to meet a man alone unless it were entirely by chance, and only then you could do little more than greet each other and move on.”
“I was afraid you would say that.”
“I regret my action and words this morning more than you can imagine. I am not yet prepared to make my apologies to Halwell, but you have my permission to receive him here at Alvord Castle.”
“Really?” Rachel said, jumping to her feet.
“Really,” St. John repeated.
“Oh, thank you...thank you!” She searched the room, her eyes lighting on his desk. “Can I borrow some paper and a pen from you? And how do I send him the note? He’s leaving for London, and I want to talk to him before he goes. I’m not sure when he’ll leave!”
“You may use my desk. I have blank paper and pen at the ready. Simply fold the note, and I will seal it and have a footman take it to Alton House.”
“Great!” Rachel moved over to the desk and sat down, pulling the paper and inkwell close.
“I will leave you alone.”
“Oh, no need! I’m just going to ask him to come as soon as possible and that you said it was okay.”
“In those words?”
“Pretty close! I don’t think I can carry that ‘I can receive you’ thing off very well. It sounds lovely though.”
St. John’s lips twitched, and he resumed his seat and waited for Rachel to write her note.
“Done!”
St. John quirked an eyebrow and rose. “That was quick. Very well. Let me seal it, and I will have it sent to Halwell.”
Rachel watched as St. John applied the wax and his seal. He strode to the door, called on the footman waiting nearby and gave him instructions.
“I hope you are able to speak to him as you need,” St. John said, turning back to her.
“Thank you, St. John. I’ll go upstairs and see Mary now.”
“And I must return to my work.”
He bowed formally, and Rachel turned away and headed for the stairs. Mary saw her in the hall and followed her into her room.
“How did it go?” she asked.
Rachel smiled. “St. John is such a good man. He had me write a note to Halwell asking him to call and had it delivered.”
“Naturally.” Mary beamed. “I knew he would take the high road.”
“He says he’s not ready to apologize to Halwell yet but helped me anyway. And he apologized to me yet again.”
“Yes, I imagine he would, poor guy. I know how sorry he is.”
Mary picked up a satin gown in a lovely shade of powder blue.
“How about we start with this one? Do you think Halwell will call today?”
“I did ask him to come as soon as possible. I don’t even know if he will come.”
“He will. If he hasn’t left for London already, he will. That’s what these men do. They can’t just ignore people, and he wouldn’t refuse you. Especially not after he sent you an apology.”
Mary helped Rachel out of her gown and into a chemise, petticoat, stays, stockings and the dress.
“I had no idea these Regency ladies wore so much under their dresses! You’re right. The stays aren’t too bad. I look taller already!”
Mary grinned and reached for a pair of black slippers.
“Here, put these on and let me do your hair. I’ve developed quite a knack for it!”
Rachel slipped the shoes on and followed Mary over to the small dressing table. Mary pulled Rachel’s loose bun down and brushed out her hair
before piling the curls loosely on her head and securing them with a few pins.
“There! You look like the perfect Regency miss!” Mary said, patting her own hair done in a similar style.
Rachel rose and admired the sleek lines of the satin dress. “Fancy!”
“Indeed.”
A knock on the door brought Sarah to the room.
“If you please, your ladyship, miss, Lord Halwell awaits you in the drawing room.”
“Thank you, Sarah,” Mary said.
The maid left, and Mary turned to Rachel, whose heart had started pounding. “I’ll have to go down with you, but I’ll leave you alone as soon as I greet him. You know, I’ve watched some Jane Austen movies, and the only time an unmarried lady is left alone is when the guy is going to propose! I’m just saying!”
Mary laughed and pushed Rachel from the room. Rachel grabbed up Halwell’s note and stuck it down the front of her gown.
“I’m not sure that’s funny,” Rachel muttered. She couldn’t understand why her legs were shaking. Trying to remind herself of what she wanted to tell Halwell, she descended the stairs with Mary. Somewhere in the clutter of her chaotic thoughts, Rachel finally recalled that she wanted to reassure him that he was free to marry whom he liked...that was, if he was even aware of what Hickstrom had prophesied/cursed/said.
They reached the drawing room door, and a footman opened it. Halwell, dashing in a dove-gray morning coat, pale-yellow waistcoat and black breeches, stood by the window, staring out onto the lawn. He pivoted when they entered, and performed a deep bow. Rachel followed Mary’s example and curtsied.
“Halwell,” Mary said. “Thank you for coming.”
“Lady St. John, please accept my profound apologies for this morning. I am so very sorry.”
“I know you are. I’m going to leave you now.” She nodded at Rachel and left the room, closing the door behind her.
Rachel wondered if St. John hovered in the hallway, worried about a repeat fiasco between Halwell and his wife again. She hadn’t seen him though, but suspected he knew Halwell had arrived.
Halwell left the window and approached the center of the room, twisting his top hat in his hands.
“Are you truly unharmed?” he asked with a look of such remorse that Rachel’s heart ached. “How can I make amends? Tell me what to do.”
“I’m fine, really. There is no need to make amends.” With a shaky hand, she withdrew his note from her bodice.
Halwell blinked at her motion, his face reddening. She opened the note and read as she spoke.
“You wrote that Miss Hickstrom said some things to you. I have a feeling I know what she said, because she told me the same thing. Can you tell me what she said?”
Halwell drew in a sharp breath, and he turned away to walk toward the fireplace. He stared into the cold hearth for a moment before turning.
“Perhaps we should sit,” he said.
Rachel moved into the center of the room and sat down on the sofa. Halwell took a chair opposite, crossed his legs and propped his hat on his knees. He studied it for a moment.
“Absolutely mortifying,” he murmured.
“I’m not trying to embarrass you. I’m trying to fix what Hickstrom has done or said.”
“I did not mean your actions were mortifying, Miss Lee.”
“Oh!”
“Perhaps you should tell me what Miss Hickstrom said to you, as it concerns me,” he said.
Rachel could see they were at an impasse. One of them was going to have to say the words. She supposed it would come easier for her, as she wasn’t quite as repressed as the nineteenth-century man sitting across from her. She dropped her eyes and spoke.
“Well, frankly, I think we’re both humiliated. Hickstrom told me that you have to fall in love with me or you will never be able to marry. You will be doomed to live out your life as your mother’s son and nothing more. Something like that.” Rachel, her cheeks flaming, took a shaky breath. “I want to release you from that ridiculous thought, prophecy, curse, whatever you want to call it.”
Rachel touched her face, willing it to cool down. She peeked up at Halwell from under her lashes.
He pressed his lips together. She wanted nothing more than to push the chestnut curls back from his boyish face.
“Yes, I did mention a curse in my note to you, did I not? Doomed to be nothing more than my mother’s son,” he said in a husky voice. “Miss Hickstrom did not word her curse in quite so stark a manner when she spoke to me. Nor was she specific in her choice of a bride. She said only that I must find the love which was before me.”
“I’m sorry,” Rachel said softly. Though her heart ached for his obvious misery, a part of her ached for herself. Was the idea of falling in love with her really so awful that it could be considered a curse?
“Am I really that awful?”
Halwell looked up at Rachel, and she realized she had spoken aloud.
“No! Don’t answer that! I can’t believe I said that.”
“No, Miss Lee, not at all! You are a lovely young lady. Any bachelor of my acquaintance would be honored to offer you his heart. It is just that...” He seemed to run out of words.
“Mary?” Rachel muttered.
“I was not even made aware that you were the person to whom Miss Hickstrom referred, though I suspected as much. It is a gentleman of no great sensibility who offers his heart to a lady and within a month finds his affections engaged elsewhere. My heart cannot be so fickle that I could love two women in the space of little more than a month. Surely you can see that.”
Rachel wasn’t sure she could see anything straight at the moment. A growing resentment seemed to take hold of her sympathy and give it a good shake.
“So you’re saying that you couldn’t possibly fall in love with me because not enough time has passed since you were in love with Mary?”
Rachel breathed deeply, as if practicing Lamaze. She directed a belligerent stare at the hapless Halwell.
“I should not think that I could, Miss Lee! Are you staring daggers at me, madam? What have I said or done now?”
“Oh, nothing, nothing at all!” she retorted airily. “Well, look, Lord Halwell. I release you from this thing, if it’s within my power. So don’t worry about all this stuff. Just live your life, meet some nice girl and get married. I mean, can Miss Hickstrom really stop you?”
“I think you might know that better than I. Or Lady St. John might know.”
“Well, okay, I’ll confide. Miss Hickstrom is a fairy godmother, and she has cursed you, but only for your own good, she says.” Rachel had no idea what possessed her to speak in such a snide voice or disclose a supernatural apparition such as a fairy godmother.
Halwell grabbed his hat and rose.
“Are you mocking me, Miss Lee? A fairy godmother? What nonsense is this?”
“No nonsense at all.” Rachel rose, though her eyes came only to the top of his waistcoat. She looked up.
“I think I must leave now,” he said in a strained voice. “As I mentioned, I will remove to London. Perhaps I may be able to clear my head of this Miss Hickstrom!”
“Oh, for sure! You do that. See ya!”
Rachel stomped to the door and pulled it open, ushering him out. She slammed the door behind him, ran to the sofa and sobbed her heart out.
Chapter Fourteen
Halwell strode from Alvord Castle for the second time in a state of perturbation. He mounted his horse and rode out of the castle grounds, wondering if Miss Lee were the spawn of Miss Hickstrom. Both women had managed to anger him in the same day, and he was generally very slow to anger.
He had planned to leave for London in a few days but contemplated moving his departure up to the following day—anything to put distance between himself and a countryside filled with heartache, confusion, distress and references to the supernatural.
Upon approaching the gate, he saw Phelps emerge from the gatehouse. He raised a hand in passing, but Phelps flagged him to stop.<
br />
“Lord Halwell!” Phelps said. “You look pale. Are you well? Have you been at the castle again?”
“I have. I was asked to call,” he clarified lest the estate agent thought he had forced himself upon the household once again that day.
“Yes, of course. Good day!”
“Phelps!” Halwell called out as the agent turned away.
“Yes, your lordship?”
“Do you know Miss Hickstrom?”
Phelps hesitated and seemed to think before he spoke. “I have not met her personally, but I know of her. Why do you ask?”
“I need to speak to someone about her. I need a confidant, and it cannot be my mother. May I confide in you? I know this is most irregular, but I am a man under great duress.”
“Yes, I can see that, your lordship,” Phelps said in a kindly voice. “Would you care to come in for some tea...or something stronger?”
“Yes, I would, thank you!”
The notion of returning home to his mother’s inquiries regarding his whereabouts did not appeal. She would not desist asking until he was forced to reveal he had gone to Alvord Castle. No doubt she would have already had it from one of the servants that a note from Alvord Castle had been delivered to him.
Halwell dismounted and led his horse to the gatehouse. Shaded by large trees, the gatehouse was only partially visible at the gate. He tied the horse up outside and entered the small lodging.
“Please step into the parlor,” Phelps said, leading the way to a room just off the entrance.
“This is a fine house!” Halwell exclaimed in surprise. “Very small and cozy. I should much prefer quarters such as these.”
“Would you, your lordship?”
“Yes indeed!”
Halwell studied the room, which seemed to serve as library, study and parlor. A dark-green velvet sofa and chairs centered the fireplace. Peaceful pastoral landscapes dotted the walls, and a warm green carpet covered the dark mahogany floor. Stacks of books rested on shelves and on several tables.
“Brandy?” Phelps asked, turning toward a small table holding a decanter and glasses.
“That would be lovely,” Halwell said.
Halwell seated himself on the sofa and accepted the glass Phelps offered him. The estate agent seated himself in a worn brown chair that looked remarkably comfortable. A window allowed ample light into the room.
