Silver Enchantress

by Patricia Rice

  The door opened without a key, and the moans became more audible. Drake lifted his candle to pierce the darkness. Nothing appeared out of place. His glance found the bed, discovering the long rope of auburn first. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he noted the shadow of her nightdress entangled in the covers. The gown looked too big, and he suspected it belonged to Lady Summerville. He almost smiled, guessing the reason for Lady Summerville’s precautions with her precious niece. The Sherburne household had a rakish reputation.

  The pitiful whimpers from the bed wiped away his amusement. Eileen appeared asleep, but she fought like a tigress against the covers, guttural noises emanating from her throat. Drake set the candleholder on the bedside stand and took the covers from her grasping fingers, flinging them to the foot of the bed.

  She woke with a small gasp. Her eyes glistened with tears but she did not raise her hand to wipe them away.

  Drake held out his hand to her, not daring to do more. If it had been Diane, he would have sat upon the bed and drawn her into his arms and comforted her, but this girl was a virtual stranger in his household. She had avoided him since he had brought her here, and Drake had respected her privacy. But he could not leave her like this.

  Grudgingly she accepted his hand and sat up. A dressing robe lay across a nearby chair, and he brought it to her, helping her to put it on.

  “Come, we’ll find a cup of hot chocolate.” Drake helped her to her feet, wondering if she owned slippers or where they might be. She did not seem to notice their lack. She could not reply if he questioned her. Without the full petticoats and panniers and feminine frippery, she seemed frighteningly small, yet he saw no trace of fear in her tear-stained face. What horrors haunted that silent mind of hers?

  Outside the room, the argument below once more intruded, and Drake scowled. The girl halted, drawing away from him and closer to the protection of the wall.

  “It’s only my cousins, Auguste and Pierre. I’ll send them away if they frighten you.”

  She grasped the wooden banister and ignored him as they descended.

  Downstairs, they stopped outside the open study door. A fire flickered in the grate, reflecting the shadows of a pacing figure. Two silhouettes lounged in the high-backed chairs set back from the warmth of the fire, brandy glasses dangling from their fingers.

  “I tell you, James Stuart is the rightful king! That Hanoverian timekeeper has the blood of merchants in him, not royalty! With Prince Charles to lead us, we can—” The harangue halted as Drake intruded.

  “Hang like all the other traitors,” Drake concluded. “Go to bed, Pierre. Your shouting has woken Miss Summerville.”

  As if by magic, a weary footman appeared, and Drake turned to order, “See if you can find a cup of hot chocolate, Smythe.”

  The servant departed, and Drake turned back to the argument. “Mind your manners for a change, Auguste. Get up and offer Miss Summerville a chair.”

  The young man leaped guiltily from his chair and pushed it closer to the fire, turning it so she might enjoy the heat. Drake saw her settled, then reached for the brandy decanter, halting at the sound of the insolent drawl of the third occupant.

  “Who in hell is she? Bit young to be one of your doxies, ain’t she?” The man in the second chair didn’t rise, acting as if a lady had not intruded upon this all-male conference.

  “Edmund, one of these days I’ll have your tongue cut from your throat. Don’t think I’m not aware that you’re the one feeding these young fools with dangerous notions. If you haven’t even the rudiments of manners with which to greet a guest, I suggest you remove yourself to whatever tavern you frequent now.” Drake despised this older cousin who had inherited the position of his estate manager.

  The servant brought the hot chocolate but Edmund focused on Drake.

  “I’m leaving, but you do yourself no favor by throwing me out. If this estate is to make money, you will have to learn to deal with me.” Edmund lifted his glass to his mouth, draining the last drops of amber liquid.

  “You’ll receive your percentage whether or not you do your job,” Drake informed him. “Just remember, the lands are mine, not yours. What is the meaning of that fence going up across the south field?”

  “I’m turning it to pasturage. It should have been done a century ago.” Edmund set aside his empty glass and rose to leave.

  “Pasturage! You intend to herd sheep under Nanny’s wash-lines and through the vicar’s garden?” Drake set aside his drink and glared at his cousin, forgetting the room’s other occupants.

  Edmund shrugged. “The land is ours. They will have to learn to keep within their boundaries.”

  “Over my dead body!” Drake shouted. “Has our income been so depleted that we must take from the poor to replenish our larders?”

  “Yours may not, but you will remember mine is only a percentage. It is in everybody’s interest that I increase our income in whatever manner is available.”

  Drake shook his head in disbelief. “My God, Edmund. You live in my house, eat my food, make free with my stable—what in hell do you need with the money? Would you have me deny my father’s will and divide Sherburne in two to cultivate your greed?”

  Edmund strode toward the door. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll manage on my own.”

  He stalked out, leaving Drake fuming. When he turned on his younger cousins, he had completely forgotten the lady’s presence. “I don’t want to hear any more of this nonsense about ‘King’ James and ‘Bonnie Prince Charlie.’ The Stuarts abdicated their thrones along with their reputations, and you would do best to remember it. You’re Frenchmen, for God’s sake! Stay out of English politics.”

  “With the Stuarts back on the throne, we could put an end to these incessant wars!” Pierre argued. “Even our uncle says so, and he is privy to Louis’s affairs. And you have said yourself, Drake, that King George is a poor excuse for royalty. He’s a barbarian pig! He’d slaughter half the continent to hold those pitiful lands at Hanover for his ugly mistresses. If only we could send men and money to Charles—”

  “If only pigs had wings! Your illustrious French court has not sent one sou. Why should I?”

  Realizing the argument threatened to continue for the remainder of the night, Eileen gazed sleepily into the fire, remembering her arrival amongst this fractious family. She had been resentful at being produced as the latest plaything for Lord Sherburne’s invalid sister, but she could summon that resentment no longer.

  At the time, she had studied the identical golden hair and blue eyes on the feminine features of Drake’s sister with something less than grace. Unaccustomed to living among the upper echelons, she had felt dowdy beneath the cool, aristocratic gaze of Lady Diane Neville. Only the oddity of comparing the haunting shadows of the lady’s eyes to the laughing blue of Drake’s had kept her from fleeing.

  Diane’s haunted eyes seemed to brighten when his sister finally grasped the meaning of Drake’s fanciful introduction. “The Princess of Apples! Oh, they have never captured her, have they? Has the leprechaun army deserted, then?”

  Her genuine distress mixed with confusion and laughter matched a chord in Eileen. She threw Drake a covert look. There was something so vulnerable in his features she could not think of him in the same terms as she did most men. From the first, she had thought of him as a friend, one with a tongue lighter than her fingers. She knew a story lay behind his sister’s words.

  Drake’s grin grew as he intercepted her look. “The leprechaun army never learned proper military procedures,” he explained. “Leprechauns have a tendency to come and go as they please, disappearing before your very eyes, reappearing when least expected. They protect the Princess of Apples from all sorts of evil, but never in a soldierly fashion. They’re a mischievous lot, you see. They drop apples on the heads of evil tyrants and tug the stockings off wicked witches.”

  His grin was irresistible and a smile tugged at the corners of Eileen’s mouth as she understood the turn these tale
s would take. With a gesture of inquiry, she distracted Drake into watching one hand while the other slipped the black ribbon from his queue. As he felt his hair fall free against his neck, he exclaimed in surprise, then held out his hand for the purloined ribbon.

  Eileen presented empty hands and shook her head in bewilderment. Lady Diane broke into gales of laughter at the look of confusion on her brother’s face.

  “Oh, yes! Just like that, Eileen,” she said. “Leprechauns are very tricky creatures and can steal the lace from a lady’s shoe if she is not careful. Or a ribbon from a man’s hair!”

  In that instant a friendship was formed. Since then, Eileen had enjoyed her weeks at Sherburne. She and Diane had got on splendidly. As Drake had predicted, Diane did all the speaking for both of them.

  The odd, wheeled contraption in which Diane was forced to spend her days explained much of the pain behind her eyes. Legs rendered useless by the weight of a horse in a jumping accident when she was just a child, Diane had been confined to a narrow world most of her life. Uncomfortable at the stares and pity of outsiders, she hid in the security of Sherburne.

  The laughing lord who presided over this menagerie of cousins and itinerant artists intrigued Eileen. Once Drake had seen her safely settled amid his family, he had not intruded again, but she had the feeling that he knew everywhere she went. Guests and family alike vied for his attention, and the marquess gave it unconsciously, slighting no one and seemingly enjoying each with equal interest. When Eileen made no attempt to put herself forward, his laughing gaze would seek her out and reassure her of her welcome, but he had never overstepped the unspoken boundaries between them. Until tonight.

  Yawning and fighting to stay awake, she tried to follow the argument between Lord Sherburne and his younger cousins. Drake had been right about needing an army to control his warring family. Edmund Neville was the eldest son of a younger son, older than Drake but not in line for the title since Drake’s birth. That made for difficulties enough, but she had learned that Drake’s mother had been of French Catholic birth, creating another series of problems. Her well-placed connections had despised her choice of the English marquess, but Drake’s father had made certain of his prize, and both families had to capitulate when it became obvious their heir would be born out of wedlock otherwise.

  The families had maintained a love-hate relationship ever since, but never more so than between the male cousins. The Monsard brothers, Auguste and Pierre, had become a part of the Neville household upon the death of their mother. The various Neville cousins had been in and out of the house all their lives as the London season and family fortunes waxed and waned. The endless rounds of politics and personalities created a whirlwind of dissension in the household. It was a wonder the marquess ever rested.

  By the time Drake had dispatched his contentious cousins to their respective beds, Eileen had drifted off to sleep. Only when he extinguished the dying fire did he discover her curled in the chair. Wondering how much of the argument she had heard or understood, Drake hesitated to wake her. She seemed to be sleeping so peacefully, it would be a shame to return the nightmares.

  The last light from the fire flickered in patterns of red and gold through the thick length of her braid. Catching his breath, Drake noted the shadows of her long, dark lashes against cheeks as smooth and creamy as ivory satin. Usually in perpetual motion, she had the looks of a Dresden figurine in sleep.

  With decision, Drake hefted her into his arms. Propping her head against his shoulder, he carried her toward the stairs. She was as light as a child, but as he maneuvered the stairs, her robe fell open, revealing the full curve of a firm breast. His arms tightened about a tiny waist that dipped to rounded hip. As he lay her against the sheets, her lips parted in a soft sigh, and Drake nearly surrendered to the urge to taste them. The realization that she could not scream her anger increased the temptation, but Drake’s sense of honor won out. Pulling up the covers, he left the little princess to her dreams.

  Only when Lord Sherburne was gone did Eileen dare breathe deeply. She could have sworn she felt his kiss brush her forehead. It must have been a strand of hair. Pushing away the offending curl, she snuggled beneath the covers and slept soundly for the remainder of the night.

  Several days later, the Marquess of Sherburne watched from a ridge as the Summerville carriage drove away with its enchanting occupant. The day’s brilliant promise dimmed now that he could not expect to see that pert grin at his table any longer, but he did not dissect his feelings beyond noting that the visit had been good for Diane. The first gray weeks of spring were always the worst for her, but Eileen had brought the spring breezes to the damp old halls of Sherburne. She had even provided him with inspiration, and Drake longed to try his hand at putting the tale to paper.

  Not that he had time for such nonsense since he had inherited the task of riding herd on his obstreperous family, Drake observed, noting the progress of Edmund’s horse down the drive in the direction of the village. They filled more of his time than the estate and all of his money. He spurred his horse to follow. This very day he would make certain those fences came down.

  A mist chilled her face as Eileen carried her easel toward the dock. She gathered her cloak around her and wished for another hand to straighten her bonnet, but otherwise she ignored the inclement weather. The color of the sea and sky today were perfect for what she had in mind.

  Eileen tapped on the kitchen door of the tavern near the dock. Sir John would have heart failure if he knew of her acquaintance with the tavern keeper’s wife, but Eileen did not find the relationship in the least bit odd. On days like this, when the north wind blew, a cup of hot chocolate in the warm kitchen was a welcome respite. The friendship was not the same as the one with Lady Diane, but friendliness never hurt.

  Mrs. Drew scolded her as she ushered her into the kitchen. She knew Eileen’s identity, but her disguise of old cloaks and shabby bonnets kept very few others from recognizing her as a grand lady. Eileen scarcely believed it herself.

  She smiled her gratitude and accepted the steaming cup of chocolate while the woman took her cloak and bustled about the room. Eileen was as at home here as in her studio, or as she could be anywhere. She had learned to adapt to strange places long ago.

  “That wind’s too chilly for you to be out and about on that dock, Miss Eileen,” the plump woman scolded. “’Twill turn your fingers blue and blow away your papers and then what would you have gained? I’ve a much better idea.”

  She pushed open the kitchen door and gestured toward the empty common room overlooking the sea. “There’s none about this time of a morn. You can see as well from them great windows as you could with the wind whipping your hair in your face. The old codger won’t object, and if any come in for a nip of cider, I’ll see to it they leave you be. You set yourself up right there, dearie.”

  The proposition was nearly as audacious as her frequenting the docks in the first place. If Sir John had known she rode as far as the coast, he would have forbidden her the stables. As it was, Eileen had to swear Quigley to silence. The footman had been assigned to accompany her whenever she went out on her painting expeditions. Bored with lying about the woods all day while she sketched and painted, he had agreed to occasionally abandon her to pursue his courtship of a certain young maid on a neighboring estate. Those were the opportunities Eileen used to escape her confining existence.

  It did not take long to be persuaded to set up her easel before the huge bay window. She could catch the blend of grays between sea and sky here as well as anywhere, and the framework of the darkened oak window added an interesting contrast. She set out her paints and bent to her work.

  Men sporadically wandered in and out, but not many at this time of day. The fishermen were either out in their crafts or home mending their nets. The first few times she had come here, she had been a subject of much speculation and a ribald jest or two, but she had heard it all before. And even when some drunken lout found her lack of attentio
n a challenge, she had defended her privacy in a manner that left no room for doubt. The Drews had taken her under their wing since then, and she had been left blessedly alone.

  She had been there an hour or two, long enough to grow conscious of time passing, when the conversation from the bar in the corner intruded upon her concentration. She did not turn to observe the speakers, but a frisson of alarm coursed down her spine as their voices grew louder, and she recognized one of them. Eavesdropping on Edmund Neville could become a habit.

  “Now that Bonnie Prince Charlie has arrived, we’ll eliminate the whole damned clan. If they don’t murder each other on the battlefield, the king will have them hung along with the rest of the seditious lot.” Edmund spoke with insolent assurance.

  “I don’t know that Charlie wouldn’t be a damn sight better than that long-nosed German wearing the crown now. With the bloody Neville luck, the Jacobites will come back the winners.”

  “Charlie is a fool, like all the Stuarts,” Edmund admonished. “Without money or arms, he hasn’t a chance. But I’ll not rely on chance. That’s where you come in.” His voice lowered. “We’d best go elsewhere to talk. What in hell is that chit doing here?”

  “She’s a dummy. Don’t pay her no mind. Even if she could hear or understand you, she couldn’t tell nobody. No tongue. Vicious temper, though.” Laughter came from a third, drunken one. “Near took my hand off, that she did. Carries a wicked knife under those cloaks. Ne’er said a word the whole time she was a’hacking at me. Bloody odd, if you ask me.”

  Edmund apparently relaxed his vigilance and began to speak again. “Well, then. You know what you’re to do. Get your message to the Monsards, and they’ll be off to join the fray in a twinkling. Our noble lord will be right behind them. He’s taken this family business seriously and won’t allow the fools to get themselves killed. I’ll take care of the rest, and we’ll all be wealthy by year’s end. It will be a damn sight easier to make a profit out of those lands when I hold the title. Sherburne treats those tenants of his like family. I’ll teach them their places shortly.”