Faery Weddings

by Jo Beverley

  "Good lord, no. I'm the most popular fellow around. All my friends are seeking introductions." His eyes wandered to the pearl again, and were controlled. "Perhaps it's just that you're not a little girl any more. I want to kiss you." As soon as the words were out he flushed. "I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm thinking tonight." He was staring at her lips now, as he had that night in his camp.

  Perhaps had that night.

  He looked around frantically. "We need Aunt Amelia. Where is she?"

  "In a comfortable corner somewhere." Gwen licked her lips, and he caught the movement. Stared again. She could see each breath he took. She could sense the Lady's beringed fingers moving them both like puppets, but was powerless no resist.

  As was he. How else to explain him standing here with her, dazed and staring between the pearl and her lips?

  He was in her power. She suspected that with very little effort she could get him to kiss her here in the crowded ballroom. Do even more that that, even.

  It wasn't right.

  "Drew," she said, taking an urgent grip on his arm, squeezing to snap him back into his senses. He started and looked at her, more focused. "Drew, don't scoff at what I'm about to say. I'm covered with faery glamour. The way you feel isn't.... Oh, it isn't the way you feel! It's magic. I'm supposed to get you to marry me, but I won't. Not like this."

  He stared at her. "What on earth are you talking about?"

  "The way you feel! Andrew Elphinson, you grew up in the dale. You can't have forgotten everything."

  He laughed uneasily. "Oh, the dale. You're as bad as Father."

  Gwen stared at him. "What has Sir Thomas to do with it? He never came near the place."

  "Precisely. He was always going on about the dale being cursed, that it had caused my mother's death. He sent me a death-bed letter begging me to promise to stay away."

  "And did you? Promise?"

  He shrugged. "Not exactly. I was abroad. It seemed pointless. The whole letter was full of nonsense, especially about you." He laughed almost like the old Drew. "He seemed to think there was something odd about you. That you…." He fell silent, staring at her.

  "That I'm faery, and I'll try to trap you into marriage?"

  He chose to take it as a joke, and laughed.

  "Well, he was fading fast," he said. "The dale's a pleasant sort of place, I suppose, but it's a bit bleak. Hardly fairyland."

  Gwen sighed. She'd tried to warn him but it was as if he were deaf.

  In fact," he said as he steered her onwards in their stroll around the room, "I've been thinking it's time we improved life for the people there."

  "They're very happy," Gwen said, adding pointedly, "Remarkably so, if you think about it."

  He wasn't listening. "They need more employment, better housing. I've been talking to someone who thinks he could build a woolen mill there. Use the river for power."

  "You can't!" gasped Gwen, stopping so he had to look at her. "It would be horrible!"

  "Don't be selfish. Life may be pleasant up at the Hall, but think of the people. Conditions are terrible all over England with so many soldiers coming home from the wars. After all their service, some are starving to death, actually starving to death in the streets. It's our duty to do something."

  "Yes, of course it is, but matters are not so bad everywhere." Then she had an inspiration. All she needed was to get him back home. "You should visit the dale first and see what's really needed there."

  But the warning bars of the next set sounded and he wasn't listening. His eyes had turned to Miss Baraclough who sat demurely across the room, fluttering her eyelashes expectantly at him over her fan. "Perhaps," he said.

  Lord Netherfield approached and asked for the next set. Gwen didn't come close to Drew again for the rest of the night.

  What pulled him away? Was it pretty Miss Baraclough or was it Dark Earth? Gwen didn't know which was worse. Perhaps they were the same thing. Did Dark Earth have similar powers to those of Faery, and had it too sent a seductress to London?

  If so, Dark Earth was winning.

  As Betsy assisted Gwen to undress, she asked no questions, but she said, "We'll be staying here till it's settled, Miss Gwen."

  "You seem to think I'm not trying! He doesn't want me, Betsy."

  "Course he does. Perhaps he doesn't want to want you, but why would that be?"

  "I don't know. What am I supposed to do?"

  Betsy pursed her lips. "We'll have to try harder. You don't want to stay here. In fact, you probably can't stay too long without it wearing you down. But you can't go back to the dale without the Lord."

  Gwen lay down in bed, knowing Betsy had spoken the truth at last. It wasn't just city life and late nights that was wearying her. It was being away from the dale. Now, she could feel London, feel out-of-dale, weigh on her like a cold, suffocating miasma because of her faery blood.

  What was she to do, though, if the only way home was to trick Drew out of his wits and into marriage?

  Chapter Ten

  Though she'd had to give up early rising, Gwen still walked each day in the wilder parts of Hyde Park, needing the pure atmosphere of earth and plants around her. Her mother thought it peculiar, but as long as she took her maid and a footman made no objection.

  Away from the fashionable paths, there were few around to bother her, though she did sometimes feel presences. She'd thought that Faery was confined to the dale, but the Lady had mentioned other places and she sensed new energy among the bushes and rough trees.

  The morning after the ball, she was strolling across rough grass toward a favorite spreading oak when Hal Ferryman appeared, heading straight for her. Her footman came forward vigilantly, but Gwen waved him back. "This is a friend from home." She smiled at the stocky young man. "How are you, Hal?" She didn't for a moment think this meeting an accident.

  He touched his hat. "Well enough, Miss Forsythe. Saw the world a bit as Sir Andrew's man, but I'm glad enough to be back in England."

  "And would be happier still to be back in the dale, I suspect."

  "Aye," he said, giving her a shrewd look. "Everything's all messed up out-of-dale, ain't it? So much trouble. So much pain. Beggin' your pardon, Miss, but you'll have to make a push."

  She didn't pretend to misunderstand. "Why is he so against the dale? He used to love it."

  Hal shook his head. "Hard to tell. First it were Cambridge. Had him looking at things too close. Everyone knows there's things you can't see if you look at 'em too close. Now he's fixed that if you can't see 'em close, they aren't there. Then it were going overseas." He considered his words carefully but only said, "Things is different abroad, Miss Gwen. They have their own Folk, but they're different Folk. He knew the difference, but he came to think it proved there were no Folk, if you see what I mean."

  "Yes, I think I do."

  "Aye, well, he's been in a rare stew since he got back. I think he can feel the pull of the dale and it worries him to death. His father warned him of something. He's scared to go back. Has he told you about the mill?"

  Gwen nodded.

  "Granddad'll have a fit, and the Lady...." Hal rolled his eyes. "Well, I tell you, Miss Gwen, I'm right scared. Look what happened to his mother."

  "You think...?"

  "The Folk'll do anything to save the dale."

  "But he's the Lord."

  "I hope he's needed to keep the line going, but you can't tell with the Folk and they work on long plans. Dad told me of another place, down Somerset way. Family didn't follow the ways and were thrown out entire. Perhaps there's another of the Elphinson blood somewhere who'd inherit."

  Gwen's heart was pounding with fear.

  "This Murchison," said Hal. "The one who's after building the mill. He's a very persuasive feller."

  Gwen looked at him quickly. "You think he's" -- she whispered it -- "Dark Earth?"

  "You have to make a push, Miss Gwen, and soon."

  Gwen returned home close to panic. Having met the Lady, she had no doubt
that she would crush Drew like a cockroach if it suited her purpose. Gwen might not be resolute enough to ensorcel him in her own cause, or even to save England, but she could do it to save him from destruction. That evening she was to attend Lady Gresham's ball where she was likely to meet Drew again. She made no cavil as Betsy arranged her appearance.

  This gown was of cream satin with an overdress of ecru net woven with gold. Silk flowers nestled in her hair again and a few more formed a posy at the low neckline. Betsy applied the special perfume and hung the pearl around her neck.

  Gwen didn't object, but she wasn't sure what she was supposed to do with all this if Drew continued to be wary. Glamour him into ravishing her in the middle of a ball?

  As she was preparing to leave, a note was brought to the door. Betsy passed it on. The superscription was a little rough in the lettering. Gwen broke the seal and found it was from Hal.

  Miss Gwen, he's gone and spoken to Colonel Baraclough about his daughter. Nothing's settled, for he's to speak to her tomorrow, but then we'll be in a pickle. Anyway, he's going to the ball with the Baracloughs tonight, Hal.

  Gwen re-read the note numbly and made no objection when Betsy took it and read it too. The maid threw it on the fire.

  "There's nothing for it, then," said Betsy and took a small cloth pouch out of her pocket. She tucked it down behind the flowers on Gwen's bodice.

  "What's that?" Gwen asked.

  "Just some herbs."

  Gwen didn't ask. She was swamped with the sudden knowledge that she couldn't let Cecily Baraclough have Drew. There was nothing noble in the greedy feeling. The dale, England, and even Drew's safety could go hang. Cecily Baraclough wasn't having him!

  She straightened her shoulders and patted the pouch nestled between her breasts. She'd do it tonight, even if it did mean glamouring him into ravishing her in the middle of Lady Gresham's ball.

  Chapter Eleven

  The event was popular and a tremendous crush. Normally, Gwen would doubt whether she could meet up with Drew and his party among so many people, but tonight she had no doubt that faery-power would handle it.

  She danced the first set with Lord Ashcroft, whom she had come to know quite well. He was rather stuffy, but pleasant enough. She saw Drew in the distance, dancing with Cecily Baraclough. Cecily looked like a contented cat, but Gwen told herself that Drew did not look like a man in love. His eyes met hers, were caught, were dragged away. No, he did not look like a man dancing with his beloved.

  When the dance ended Gwen made no attempt to seek Drew out. She left it to other powers. In the end, he and Cecily came over, and it was apparently Cecily who had been the instigator, claiming to want to speak to Lord Ashcroft, a friend of her brother's.

  Drew didn't look pleased with the situation, especially when Ashcroft asked for the next dance, a waltz, and Cecily agreed. Certainly an earl was a formidable rival. Perhaps matters were to be solved without desperate measures, but even so, Gwen must make her push. She looked expectantly at her beloved.

  He sighed but made the offer. In moments they were swirling in the daring dance. Gwen found being in his arms during the waltz steps enough to bewitch her and she didn't think there was any glamour in it. Even decorously separated, their bodies were joined as if by invisible energy and her senses began to swim with desire. Drew stared fixedly away from her, jaw tight. She thought, she hoped, that he was fighting the same shimmering arousal.

  "Drew," she said softly.

  "Yes?"

  "I dare you to look at me."

  "I beg your pardon?" he said, still looking away.

  "I'm naked from the waist up."

  He jerked to look down, then colored. "What a silly tease you are." His words were cross, but his eyes were dark, hot, and hungry.

  "You mean you wish I were naked?"

  "Don't be shameless." He was certainly looking at her now, at her face and sometimes at her bosom and the pearl.

  "I have nothing to be ashamed of."

  He stared at her for a few turns of the dance, but then his eyes flicked away again, and he assumed the social manner. "I suppose not, living in Elphindale all your life. You must be in alt to be free at last."

  "On the contrary, I can't wait to return."

  "But will you? Surely you'll marry."

  "I hope so."

  He looked back, frowning. "And live in the dale? There are no young men of your station there. I suppose you hope to marry nearby, though. Who's the lucky man?"

  Gwen summoned her courage. "You, Drew."

  He was a picture of blank astonishment, then embarrassment took over. "Gwennie.... You're like a sister to me...."

  "No I'm not, Drew. Don't you want to kiss me? You wanted to last night."

  He simply stared, but she could tell from his eyes that he did want to kiss her. His arm tightened a little, drawing her too close for propriety.

  "There was another time as well," she murmured. "Do you remember kissing me? In a tent?"

  He sucked in a breath. "That was a dream."

  "Was it? I remember your lips on mine."

  "Dear God...." He drew her closer still.

  "I remember your lips in other places, too."

  His head began to lower toward hers.

  "Drew," Gwen prompted softly, "we should leave the floor before you kiss me."

  He jerked back. "I'm not going to kiss you." But they were at the edge of the dance floor by then, close to a door into a corridor. They stopped dancing and walked through it, arm in arm, gazing into one another's eyes. Somehow, they found a deserted anteroom and a sofa in an alcove there. Somehow, they were on it, side by side.

  He looked around. "Good Lord, we can't do this. Let me take you back." His tone, however, was vague, as it had been in that tent.

  Gwen wanted to cut him free, to shout, "Run, Drew, run!" Instead she rested her hands on his shoulders. "Kiss me," she said. "Kiss me as you did before."

  She was shamelessly using the glamour, but perhaps it was using her too. She was breathing high and fast with the need to be kissed, the need to taste him again. She reached up to frame his face. "I love you, Drew. I always have."

  "Oh God, I love you too, Gwen!"

  His lips were hot and he trembled as he crushed her to him. His hand turned her head and his tongue plunged deep into her mouth. Gwen had no urge to protest this time. She met his kiss and returned it feverishly. When his hand found her bodice, she shifted to allow it, not even complaining when he eased it down to uncover more of her.

  Flushed, disheveled, he teased her sensitive skin so her breathing fractured into a moan. She watched him watching her, adoring her with his eyes, and knew this was right. He loved her and he was hers for all time.

  "Gwennie, you are the most perfect creature I have ever seen." He lowered his head to trail kisses all over the upper swell of her breasts.

  Gwen relaxed back against the arm of the sofa, boneless with need. "Drew...."

  His eyes, hot with passion, burned into hers. "God, but I love to see you like this, melting for me. I've dreamed of it. Thirsted for it. I want you. I've been wanting you so badly it's been hell. You know that, don't you?"

  "I know. I want you just as much." And she did. Like the pangs of fierce hunger, she wanted him.

  He grinned then, wickedly. "I doubt you know yet just how much, Gwennie. But you will."

  "I know I will." She didn't mind him calling her Gwennie now. He wasn't thinking of her as a child. He was slipping back into the closeness they'd known as children when trust was absolute, and secrets unnecessary.

  He lowered his lips to her breast again, easing her bodice further down. Gwen let her head fall back against the arm of the sofa as she savored the exquisite, remembered sensation. Again she held him close, but this was different. This time he was undoubtedly real, and he was hers.

  Hers at last.

  Her legs relaxed apart, and his knee came up between her thighs, parting them further, pressing on a burning need so she arched ba
ck with a cry of delighted desire-

  "Good God!"

  Gwen and Drew froze. Then, like a shattered machine, they broke apart and looked.

  The Duchess of Sommerton -- pale but with angry red flags in her cheeks -- was staring at them through her lorgnette. Behind her hovered a small group of shocked or amused people. Cecily Baraclough however, looked neither shocked or amused and burst into tears. Lord Ashcroft led her away.

  Muttering a curse, Drew stood, straightening his clothes, and stepped between the observers and Gwen.

  Released from the paralysis of shock, Gwen turned away, fumbling with her bodice. Chills shook her, then her whole body suddenly flushed with shame. What they must have looked like!

  She heard the duchess shooing people away, and the click of a shutting door. She peeped around Drew, hoping they were alone again, but the duchess had remained.

  "What have you to say to me, Sir Andrew?"

  "Of course we'll be married...." But Drew sounded dazed and not one bit happy. When Gwen found the courage to look at his expression, she found he appeared to be every bit as miserable as he'd sounded.

  "Indeed you will," snapped the duchess. "I can't imagine what has come over you. Either of you. I am horrified!"

  So was Gwen, but it had been necessary. And they were to marry. It was all going to be all right.

  "You have smirched your name, Miss Forsythe, and mortified me," the duchess was saying, still looking almost ill in her distress. "You will leave the ball quietly. I will find your mother and tell her the sorry tale. Tomorrow you had best both leave town until the scandal dies down."

  The poor lady was seriously upset, and so, no doubt, was Miss Baraclough, though Gwen suspected Lord Ashcroft might be adequate consolation in the end. She went to her hostess, who had been kind to her. "I'm truly sorry to have caused you pain, Your Grace. But you'll receive good fortune out of this. I promise you."

  The duchess blinked. "What nonsense you do talk," she said, but more mildly, and her color began to calm. She puffed out a breath. "Get along with you. I suppose some allowance must be made for young love."