The Bewitching Hour

by Diana Douglas

  Desperate to change his mind, she bowed her head and sniffed, waited a few seconds and sniffed again, this time lifting her shoulders. She wiped at her eyes with her fingertips, then plucked a handkerchief from her reticule and brought it to her face. Nothing happened. Drat! Tears were essential.

  Things were in such a horrible mess, it shouldn’t be that difficult. All she had to do was think of everything that had brought her to this miserable state. She thought of the promise that was ruining her life. She thought about the hateful letters she had received from some soulless, greedy cur. And then she thought about Lord Stratton, with his dark hair and his demanding ways and how he could make her laugh and cry and feel things she didn’t know it was possible to feel. Anger and frustration swept through her and tears spilled down her cheeks as she regarded the impossible situation she found herself in. How perfectly dreadful to love someone and not be able to do anything about it.

  It wasn’t until she felt Mr. Andrews hand patting her shoulder that she realized what a state she had worked herself into. She gazed up at him through her tears and he looked as if he would rather be almost anywhere else in the world.

  “Miss Hawthorn. This is most distressing. Most distressing, indeed. Shall I send for someone? Perhaps, Mrs. Hutton?”

  His suggestion brought her back to her senses and dried up her tears. If he spoke with Olivia, she would have to explain why she was at the solicitors and she couldn’t allow that to happen. She wiped her eyes and shook her head. “No. Please don’t. I do apologize. I don’t quite know what got into me. I’m normally much more sensible than this.”

  He eased himself back into his chair. “I wish there was something I could do. If you would confide in me, perhaps we could arrive at a solution.”

  If only she had paid more attention when Mary had her little tantrums and made her demands she might have a better idea how to proceed. Priscilla stared at her lap. Why did Mr. Andrews need to be so stubborn?

  “My dear,” he continued. “As you insist you pay your bills promptly and you haven’t any intention of buying a home or investing.” He paused and gazed at her with compassion. “Have you lost money at the tables? You don’t strike me as one who plays recklessly, but I know how quickly these games, even those at afternoon card parties, can get out of control. One minute you’ve won a tidy, little sum and the next, you’re signing IOU’s without any idea where the money will come from.”

  Priscilla barely stopped her mouth from dropping open. Did he really believe she was that stupid? Yet it seemed he not only believed it, he was sympathetic. As humiliating as it was, his sympathy made it a better excuse than anything she could have dreamed up.

  She swallowed her pride and sniffed. “I’ve been terribly foolish. I so seldom play cards. I don’t know quite how it happened. At first, it seemed I couldn’t lose, and then it all went wrong.” Her voice trailed off.

  “It happens often enough." His voice oozed with sympathy and understanding. "I would say you’ve learned a valuable lesson." He shook a finger at her as a nursemaid might when scolding a child. "One I hope you will remember.”

  She nodded quickly. “Oh, I will. I promise. I simply want to pay it off and be done with it." Her hand flew to her chest. "It’s my responsibility. This is why an advance on my allowance is my only choice. I don’t borrow money from others, Mr. Andrews, and I always pay my debts.”

  “I will turn a blind eye this one time, but it mustn’t happen again. If so, I would be compelled to—ah—inform someone.”

  Near giddy with relief, she smiled at him. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Andrews. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”

  “Your funds will be available in three days. I assume that is acceptable.”

  “Perfectly.” She rose from her chair.

  He had no choice but to do the same. “Miss Hawthorn, if you wouldn’t mind my offering a piece of fatherly advice. You need a husband to look after you. You are so young and innocent and as I said, the world can be terribly unkind." He paused. "I’m certain, you’ve had many offers and I know of one young man who fairly worships the ground you walk on.”

  Hoping to discourage him, she gazed at him and said nothing.

  “His father and I were the best of friends. When he passed, it was like losing a brother, so in some ways I regard Lord Mallory as a nephew.”

  “We don’t suit.” The words escaped her lips before she had time to think. It was the second time in two days she had used that excuse. This time it was true.

  He looked at her with unveiled surprise. “I see.” It was quite obvious from the expression on his face that he didn’t.

  We don’t suit because he’s an overblown bore and I can’t bear to be around him. “But I do appreciate your concern.” She adjusted the lace on her gloves and took a step toward the door.

  The solicitor scuttled around his desk to open it for her. “It’s been a pleasure, Miss Hawthorn.”

  She inclined her head with all the grace she could manage. “Thank you, Mr. Anderson. I truly have learned from this experience and promise I won’t trouble you again.”

  Her mind reeling with what she had just done, Priscilla swept past Sally who was waiting on a bench in the anteroom of the solicitor’s office. “I’ve finished with my errands,” she told her maid. “Let’s go home.”

  A cart rumbled past as they stepped outside. The air reeked with the acrid smell of burning coal and a gray haze blotted out the rays of the sun. Though the street was teeming with activity, it was far too early in the day for most of her acquaintances to be about. Even so, she kept her head lowered so that her bonnet would shield her reddened eyes and nose from unwanted attention.

  She had taken no more than a dozen steps when her maid spoke. “Miss Priscilla.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at Sally, who wore a faint smile as her eyes focused on a point just beyond her. Priscilla followed her gaze and came to a stop. Stratton was coming their way and she had to fight to prevent the smile that threatened to spread across her face. She lowered her head and dipped a brief curtsy.

  Keeping her head slightly bowed, she said, “I’m quite surprised to see you here, my lord. Is this a coincidence or is it possible that you’re following me?”

  “It’s entirely possible that I’m following you. You need looking after, Miss Hawthorn.”

  If she heard that phrase one more time, she would likely throw a fit that would reach the society papers. With a bold toss of her head, she looked up at him. “I most certainly do not!”

  He tilted his head as his eyes flickered over her face. “You’ve been crying.”

  “I haven’t. It’s nothing more than coal dust stinging my eyes. If you haven’t noticed, there seems to be a great deal of it today.”

  “Then we must get you inside.” He placed his hand against the small of her back and urged her toward a small teashop a few doors down. “The pastries here are excellent.” He motioned for Sally to follow them. “Find yourself a table, Sally, and I’ll have a cup of tea and a bun sent over. I need to speak to your mistress alone for a few minutes.”

  Priscilla allowed him to escort her over to a small linen covered table in the corner. Most of the tables were empty and she decided that, for the moment, there were no prying eyes to take notice. “I have a great deal of trouble believing that you frequent teashops.”

  “You doubt me?” he said as he pulled out a chair for her. “I’ve been known to frequent a tea shop on occasion. The females in my family require an outing every so often and the local taverns aren’t really appropriate.”

  Irked that this consideration for his family gave her another reason to love him, she muttered, “I suppose not.”

  He grinned. “Do you find the air more tolerable in here?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “The coal dust in the air that made you appear as if you’d been crying. Are you more comfortable in here?”

  Blast and double blast! “Oh. Yes.” The difficulty in telling lie
s was remembering what one had said.

  “Did you have productive meeting with your solicitor?”

  She placed her reticule in her lap and attempted to retain her composure. “How would you know I was with my solicitor?”

  “Because, my love, you just came from a solicitor’s office.”

  Sometimes, the logic in his reasoning was maddening. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

  “Why not? It’s true.” He glanced past her and his grey eyes took on a darker cast. “Unfortunately, I believe I’ve just been given a taste of my own medicine. Bertram’s here.”

  She turned in her seat as a lanky young man wearing a gold striped jacket and blinding white cravat approached them. The gold tassels on his boots swung rhythmically with every step.

  Stratton muttered a mild oath beneath his breath as he rose from his chair.

  “Lord Bertram,” Priscilla said as the young man reached their table. “It’s a pleasure to see you. Have you met Lord Stratton?”

  Bertram bowed awkwardly. “Yes. We met recently. I was not aware that the two of you were acquainted.” His eyes narrowed as he gazed more closely at her. “Miss Hawthorn, has this cur brought you to tears? If so, I will demand an accounting, here and now.”

  God save me from chivalrous males. She placed her hand on Bertram’s arm. “I applaud your concern and your gallantry, but you mustn’t think that. Lord Stratton has been very much the gentleman. I’m afraid the coal dust has been bothersome for me today.”

  “If you are certain.” He appeared unconvinced.

  “I am quite certain.”

  “I trust you are well, Bertram.” Stratton tone was unusually jovial for someone who had just had his character called into question. He gestured to an empty chair. “Would you care to join us? I believe they’re bringing our tea right now. An extra cup would be no trouble at all.”

  The young man made no move to sit down. “I’ve been very well. Thank you. But under the circumstances, I must refuse your hospitality.”

  Priscilla accepted a cup of from their server. “Why is that, Bertie? I was hoping you might sit down and update me on how Mary has been. I haven’t heard from her in ages.”

  His face grew pinched; his lips thinned to a tight line. “As you know, Miss Dearborn is quite delicate and I fear that the mineral waters of Bath don’t agree with her. I am most anxious for her return.”

  In truth, Priscilla didn’t understand how the foul tasting mineral waters of Bath could agree with anyone or why her aunt could possibly think they would be of any benefit to Mary. “Will that be soon?”

  His expression turned glum. “I’m not certain.”

  “Do sit down, Bertie. I’m apt to get a crick in my neck from looking up at both of you.”

  “I apologize. I cannot stay. I--um--have a prior engagement.”

  “Well, I suppose it wouldn’t do to be late.” She glanced up at Stratton as she reached for the sugar bowl. “Would you care for sugar, my lord?”

  “No, thank you.” Stratton winked at her and grinned. “Just a bit of cream will suffice. And one of the raspberry tarts. Do you mind if I have a seat, Bertram? I do wish you would join us. How could you refuse such delightful company?”

  “He has a prior engagement,” Priscilla reminded him.

  Stratton seated himself and picked up his cup of tea. “Ah, yes. Well, it was pleasant that you stopped by to say hello. Don’t be a stranger. Perhaps when your fiancé returns, you will both come to tea. My aunt is ever the romantic. An upcoming marriage would thrill her no end.”

  A slight tic jumped at the corner of the young man’s eye. “Might I speak with you, my lord?”

  Stratton frowned on him as if he were chastising a schoolboy. “At present, I am having tea with Miss Hawthorn.”

  “I beg your pardon. Perhaps we might meet at a later time.” The young viscount cleared his throat. “We do have matters to discuss.”

  “Well.” Stratton appeared to consider the request. “I haven’t my engagement book with me but I doubt I shall have any free time until my sister’s ball has taken place. If you would keep that in mind, I should appreciate it. These things are terribly important to a young lady. Once that has taken place, I shall get in touch with you.”

  “Of course. That is a concern. I also have sisters and quite understand. I suppose I should be off, then.” Bertram sketched a bow. “Miss Hawthorn. Lord Stratton. I wish you both a pleasant day.”

  Waiting until the young man was out of earshot, Priscilla said, “That was quite masterful. I’ve never seen an impending difficulty so well averted. If he will leave off until Cecelia’s ball, perhaps there will be time to smooth this thing over.”

  He grinned at her. “I hope so. Fortunately, the lad’s a bit immature and not all that bright. That said, we make a good team.”

  She smiled back at him then felt her pleasure fade away. For a brief few moments, her troubles had been forgotten. But if Bertie had seen them together, who else might come along? “I’m sorry. I can’t stay.”

  Lines formed in his forehead as he frowned. “You’ve barely drunk your tea. I wish you would tell me what this is about.”

  Her resolve was waning, but she shook her head. “I cannot.”

  “Very well. I have promised to take Cecelia and Aunt Mirabella to Vauxhall to see the fireworks this evening. Will you be attending?”

  “No. Olivia has an early supper engagement and I have decided that an evening at home will be a welcome relief.”

  A long sigh escaped his chest. “This is intolerable.”

  So intolerable it hurts. She closed her eyes and took in a long, uneven breath. “I will see you tonight.”

  “At Vauxhall?”

  “No. I’ll wait for you in our back garden. At midnight. Olivia and the rest of the household should be asleep by then.”

  Before she could change her mind, she quickly rose from her chair, motioned to Sally and left.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Other than the chime of the grandfather clock in the library, the house had been quiet for the past hour. Priscilla opened the back door and slipped into the night. The air was chilled and damp and she hugged herself beneath her old velvet cloak. There was no sign of anyone, but she could hear the approaching sound of boots on gravel.

  “Hello, love.” Stratton materialized beside her. Wisps of fog swirled around his boots and she could hear the swishing of the caped greatcoat against his legs. He took her hand and brought it to his lips. She shivered in response.

  “Are you cold?”

  She nodded. “A little.”

  “I have a carriage waiting."

  "A carriage? But where are we going?" She hadn't dressed, hadn't expected to go anywhere other than the garden.

  "Nowhere in particular," he said evenly. "I simply thought we would be warmer and more comfortable in my carriage than remaining in your garden."

  "You aren't stealing me away to Gretna Green are you?" What would she do if he said yes? A small part of her hoped that he would.

  He laughed softly, the sound muted in the night air. "Only if I have your permission."

  She had to stop herself from nodding. "Well, you don't." A shiver of cold traveled up her spine and she hugged herself for warmth. "I will, however, welcome the warmth of your carriage."

  "Let’s go before you become too chilled.” He put his arm around her and led her around to a side street the where the waiting carriage was parked.

  The carriage lanterns had been turned down low but Priscilla could see the silhouette of the driver who was hunched over the ribbons. His collar had been pulled up around his neck and a curly beaver hat was slung low over his forehead. She hadn’t taken the time to consider that someone else might have to be involved. Stratton couldn’t very well take the ribbons if he were in the coach with her.

  “Who’s driving?” she asked.

  “Someone who will remain deaf, dumb and blind,” he assured her. “Knowledge of this evening will go no
further.”

  “Are you certain?” She chewed her lip nervously.

  “I promise.” He handed her into the carriage. “You should be warm enough inside. I’ll be right back.”

  Priscilla found herself encased in velvet darkness, the heavy curtains at the window insulating her against the outside world. The interior was plush and large enough to accommodate six passengers in full court dress, the wide bench seats were topped with deep velvet cushions and the sides were covered with leather. Her head sunk against the velvet squabs and she tried to relax, but it was near impossible. She was too tense, every muscle in her body taut and her nerves were twitching in anticipation. If she had any sense, she'd open the door and leave.

  She heard the sound of his footsteps as he came around and climbed inside. Shutting the door behind him, he sat on the edge of the seat next to her. “Did you have any problems getting away?” he asked as he peeled off his gloves.

  “No, the household has been asleep for some time,” she answered. “And I don’t expect anyone to be up and about for hours.”

  “Good.” She watched as he shrugged out of his greatcoat, tossing it on the seat across from them, then adjusted the curtain. The moonlight caught the edge of his white cravat and Priscilla realized that he was still in full evening dress. She had simply thrown her blue velvet cape over her night rail. Lord, what had she been thinking? Perhaps, she didn't want to know.

  Stratton tapped his cane against the roof of the carriage and they rolled onto the streets of Mayfair accompanied by the rhythmic clopping of hooves.

  “Did you enjoy Vauxhall?” she asked.

  She swore she could hear his scowl. “Vauxhall wasn’t bad but the dinner afterward was hellish. The food and drink was about as appetizing as that at Almack’s and Aunt Mirabella came dressed as an eggplant.”

  He sounded so annoyed, she couldn’t help laughing. “An eggplant? How does one go about dressing as an eggplant?”

  “It takes a certain skill, I suppose,” he said. “She wore a dark purple taffeta gown with an enormous floor length cape and a puffy green hat. It was hideous. Cecelia wanted to hide Ulysses in the cellar again, so Aunt would stay home, but I thought it was too soon to pull the same trick." He grunted. "And then Lord Miller got completely foxed and proposed to Cecelia. Twice. I put him in his carriage and sent him home before he could propose a third time. But the worst of it was that you weren’t there to share any of this nonsense with me. If you had been there, I’m certain I would have had a much better time.”