Bewitching the Baron

by Lisa Cach

  James and Judith, Daniel the gardener, and a number of other Raven Hall staff who had long been familiar with Theresa also stood by. Lord Carlyle appeared genuinely grieved, and even Paul looked somber.

  I was wrong to have thought myself completely friendless here. She did not have words with which to thank them, but when she spoke with each, she laid her hand on an arm, or clasped fingers, and tried to send through that connection a healing touch. One of Sally’s boys looked curiously at his hand after she had touched it, giving her hope that she was at least partially successful.

  They retired to the hall for a light meal, the townsfolk looking uncomfortable with the fine china plates in their hands, from which they ate James’s creations as they stood, milling about, sharing stories of Theresa. When she had the chance, Valerian took Charmaine aside for a private word. “I will be cleaning out the cottage. Are there things there that you want?”

  “The chest from under her bed, with the papers and keepsakes, that is all.”

  “I have it here already. You know about the gold Theresa saved?”

  Charmaine nodded. “And the necklace, which is yours. I think you should keep the coins for yourself.”

  Valerian was surprised by the offer. “At least let us share them. They are yours more than mine.”

  “She saved them in case we should ever need to flee, to go into hiding. I have no need of that, but you do. I cannot think that you could want to stay here.”

  “The baron has offered me shelter, at least for the time.”

  A bit of the old Charmaine fire returned to her eyes at that. “You are not our grandmother. I do not care what Mother thought, it is a life with even less honor than playing village witch. Do you think I will be any happier with a cousin selling her body for protection than with one casting spells for her keep?”

  She wanted to protest that she did neither, but it would be a game of words. Nathaniel would want her to remain his bedfellow, and no one could tell Alice Torrance that she had not removed a curse from her warty feet, for all that there had been no magic involved. “What would you have me do, Charmaine? Run away? Do you dislike me so much that you wish me gone?”

  To her shock, a film of tears came to Charmaine’s angry eyes. “Why could neither you nor Mother ever understand? I want an ordinary life, one that no one notices or gossips about, that is all. I never wanted either of you gone, I never hated you—I wanted you normal, like everyone else.”

  “But we are not like everyone else.”

  “You never tried to be! Keep the gold, Valerian. If you have any love for me, leave this place, set up a new life somewhere else, where no one believes in witches. Do what your mother did, and marry. Have children. Forget your potions and your animal bones, and forget the baron.”

  “Am I to forget my power to heal, as well? I have often wondered what it has done to you, to stifle your gift, whatever it may be.”

  “I have no gift.”

  “All the women of our line have a gift. You have tried all your life to be ordinary, Charmaine, and I do not think it has brought you happiness. Perhaps it is time to be true to yourself.” She paused, taking in her cousin’s dragonlike countenance. “However out of the ordinary the result.”

  “Send the chest to my house,” Charmaine said tightly, and walked away.

  “I would not have guessed such a stern woman to be Theresa’s daughter,” Lord Carlyle said from behind her.

  Valerian turned, a weak smile on her lips. She was still stunned by Charmaine’s wish for her to leave Greyfriars. “I think my aunt on occasion was surprised as well. There is no question that Charmaine disapproved of the relationship.”

  “I recall meeting your own mother, Emmeline, on a few occasions. You are very much like her.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” Valerian said, touched. “Now that Aunt Theresa is gone, you are the only person I have met who knew my mother.” She lay a hand on his arm. “I have not had the chance to ask you how you met them, although I assume it was at a party or ball of some sort.”

  “Of some sort, yes.”

  “Lord Carlyle, I know the history of my family. I will not be embarrassed if you tell me that either my mother or my aunt did not attend completely respectable gatherings.”

  He gave a sheepish grin. “I sometimes forget what I was like then, the crowd with whom I ran. I do not doubt but that my son would like it if I reminded myself more often.” He led her to a loveseat and pulled up a small table for her to set her untouched plate upon, then sat beside her.

  “Aunt Theresa has told me much about those times, but I confess it was like a fairy tale to me,” Valerian said. “It is only in these past couple weeks that I have understood that it was real.” The gown and the jewels, and the presence of this nobleman at Theresa’s funeral made it seem that the window to the past was open more widely than it had ever been.

  “You have more luck than your ancestress. Thank God Nathaniel came in time.”

  It took her a moment to realize what he was talking about, what he had been reminded of. “Were you in London the night my grandmother was killed?”

  “Yes, actually. It was a mystery for some weeks where your mother and aunt had run to. Many said they had fled to the continent.” He looked down at his hands, scraping at a hangnail with his thumb.

  “Someone helped them to escape. It was one of my favorite stories, actually. Aunt Theresa groaned whenever I would ask her to tell it, but I think she enjoyed doing so. Or at least enjoyed telling the racy parts. She liked to shock me.”

  “Racy parts?” The words came out a croak, and his skin started turning pink.

  “She could be quite explicit—” Valerian broke off, seeing his shock. “Lord Carlyle, is there something wrong?”

  “No, no,” he said, obviously trying to act as if nothing were amiss. “So tell me, did your aunt ever reveal the name of this man who had helped her?”

  “Never, which perhaps made the story all that much more entertaining. The midnight lover of noble heritage, the Arabian horse he gave her . . .” Valerian sighed. “When she wanted to, she could make it into quite the tale of romantic adventure, but never would she tell his name.”

  “Ah. A woman of discretion.” He visibly relaxed.

  “Lord Carlyle,” Valerian asked, frowning, “do you know who it was who helped Aunt Theresa and my mother?”

  He raised his brows, his mouth parted as he searched for words. Comprehension came to Valerian before he found them.

  “Good lord!” she said, standing up. “Do not tell me it was you! You were the one who was in bed with her when my mother came to find her?”

  “She did not tell you all the details of that, I hope!”

  She looked quickly around the room, aware that she had spoken too loudly. The one person she did not want to have heard her was out of earshot, or had not noticed, for she was talking with James and Judith. Valerian sat down again, smoothing her rough black skirt over her knees.

  Heaven save her, she was sitting next to Charmaine’s father, and he did not even know he had a full-grown daughter in the next room.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Valerian looked at the weed growing amongst the leeks, and could not decide if she should pull it. It was already several inches high, showing spiky baby thorns, and its siblings were making their presence seen amongst the neat rows and squares of the cottage garden. No more than a week had gone by since she had last been out here, yet they had grown so fast. Should she pull it?

  The simple decision was beyond her. All decisions were beyond her. She did not know what to do with the knowledge of Charmaine’s paternity, for after hearing again what Theresa’s last hours had been, it was clear her aunt had had the opportunity to tell Lord Carlyle if she had wished. Valerian did not know if Theresa’s decision was right or wrong. She did not know if either Charmaine or Lord Carlyle would welcome such information, and did not know if it was Aunt Theresa’s right to decide for them. Or her own, for that matter.<
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  Perhaps she should pull the weed. Or perhaps it made no difference.

  She did not know when she would return again to the cottage, if ever. She did not know if she would remain at Raven Hall, or take the gold and the necklace and find a new life for herself where no one knew her.

  She would lose Nathaniel if she did that. She had come back for him, so it made no sense to leave him. Not now, not so soon, when she could feel his need to take care of her like a palpable thing. And perhaps she needed taking care of, for this short while at least. She was not as strong as she had thought she was.

  “They have loaded the last trunk and set off for the hall,” he said, coming up behind her and laying his warm hands on her shoulders.

  “Good.”

  There was silence for a moment. “What are you looking at?”

  “The weed. I do not know whether or not to pull it.”

  He bent around her to get a better view, then reached down and yanked it out of the ground, tossing it aside, its delicate white roots torn and exposed, clinging hopelessly to crumbs of dirt. “There. One less thing to disturb your sleep.”

  “You are determined to slay my dragons for me,” she said, feeling her own ineffectualness.

  “I could have lost my finger to a vicious thorny weed, and this is the thanks I get?”

  She tried to smile at his jest. “I am not used to being the princess who stands aside to watch.”

  “No, you are the sort of princess who would think of giving the dragon an herbal enema, and would probably ask me to hold his tail up while you administered the foul concoction.”

  The corner of her mouth pulled up in a lopsided smile. “I am sorry that I have made such a poor companion these last days.”

  “Valerian, for God’s sake, you are in mourning. Throw fits, be rude, tear your hair out if you wish. No one is asking you to be entertaining.”

  “I could not do that in your home,” she protested.

  “Why ever not?”

  “I would not be comfortable. I am your guest.”

  She saw the exasperation on his face, and then he sighed and gently pulled her into his arms, his lips pressed to the top of her head. She closed her eyes, for a moment feeling safe and warm and not alone, his brocade vest both smooth and rough beneath her cheek, the scent of him coming through his clothing.

  “You and I need to talk,” he said into her hair.

  She tightened her arms around him. Talking meant thinking, and thinking meant reality. She wanted to bury herself in him, to disappear, but the moment was already gone. She loosened her hold on him. “Yes, I suppose so.”

  “Not here.”

  They rode up to the cliffs where Valerian had found Oscar, leaving Darby free to graze on the coarse grasses. It was Nathaniel who led the way to the cliffs this time, although not all the way to the edge. He chose a spot several yards back, and sat, his legs stretched out before him.

  Valerian remained standing, closing her eyes and feeling the wind against her face and billowing in her skirt. He must have remembered this was one of the places she came to deal with her grief as a child. She opened her eyes, squinting against the glare of sunlight, making out the humped shape of the Isle of Man set upon the grey sea.

  Her awareness of herself flickered within her, for seconds at a time disappearing and leaving her blissfully free. She had trained her mind to lose itself in her environment, to be the sky and the waves and the sloping ground, the circling ravens and the scent of the sea. She could make herself vanish, becoming transparent, part of the wind, without thought or emotion.

  For a time, at least. She knew Nathaniel waited for her, and she came back to earth, taking the last few steps towards him and sitting near him in the grass. She took off her shoes and stockings, and brought her knees up, tucking her bare feet under the hem of her skirt, her gaze still toward the sea.

  “I cannot stay in your house much longer, at least not in your bedroom,” Valerian said. “Everyone knows I am your mistress, but I do not wish to flaunt it. It pains Charmaine.”

  “Does it pain you?”

  She turned her head to meet his eyes. “No. Except that it will grow awkward with many of your staff. It is not bad right now because they are understanding of what has happened, and they know you have not been sharing my bed. But that will change.”

  “Do you want to stay with me, Valerian?”

  She looked back at the sea. “Until we can work something else out.”

  “I was not referring only to whose roof is above your head.” He took her hand in his, his thumb rubbing gently over her knuckles, drawing her eyes back to him. “I want you to marry me, Valerian.”

  Her lips parted, and she stared at him, all thought flown from her mind. “I beg your pardon?”

  He smiled at her. “You heard me. Marry me. It will solve everything. You will be safe and protected, your cousin cannot possibly object, you will have a place in society, and we can be together. Openly.”

  She tried to tug her hand loose from his, but he would not let her. “Your family, Nathaniel. They would never approve. Your friends would not approve. Putting me in a silk gown will not make me one of them.”

  “You are the granddaughter of King Charles II. You already are one of them.”

  “The illegitimate, impoverished granddaughter with no family, descendent of a long line of mistresses and witches. They will have every reason to object.”

  “My family will be glad to see me married.”

  “Nathaniel, you are deluding yourself,” she tried to explain, as if speaking to a misguided child. “You feel sorry for me, and responsible for my well-being. You do not want to spend the rest of your life with me. I am completely unsuitable to be the wife of a baron.”

  “Would it be better for me to marry someone my parents chose, based upon her family and the dowry that would come with her? Do you think I would live a better life that way?”

  “You might. She might. Can you see me dressed in stays and hoops, my hair done up, spending all day indoors sipping tea?”

  “I have seen you in silk, with your hair done up. You are ravishing. As ravishing as you are in the clothes you wear now, your feet bare, hair coming free of its braid. You could move easily into my family’s world, if you wished.”

  “My place is not there,” she begged him to understand. “I would be even more of an outsider than I am here in Greyfriars. I am not a child of the city, or of grand houses. I would not know how to live in either.”

  “We will spend at least half the year in the country, at one of my family’s estates, or even here, at Raven Hall, if you wish.”

  “Nathaniel, no. It would be a mistake.”

  He looked at her intently. “Tell me. If we were of an equal station, would you marry me?”

  She considered for a long moment, trying to find an honest answer. “I cannot say. I am happy when I am with you, and you know more about me than anyone else, but still we have not known each other for so very long. I have never spent more than half a day in your company. How do we know that we would be so intrigued by each other if we lived together day in and day out?” And how would she be able to stand it if he married her, and found a year from now that he regretted the decision? If he found that he had married her out of a feeling a responsibility rather than love?

  “At least you admit to being intrigued by me. I suppose I should be happy for that.”

  “Nathaniel . . .”

  “No couple knows how they will fare alone together until they try it, Valerian. I sometimes suspect that is the purpose of chaperonage: to keep the pair from choosing a celibate life over the aggravation of their companion’s exclusive company.”

  “I am not jesting,” she said.

  “Neither am I. At least tell me you will think about it. There can be no harm in that.”

  “Then will you think about it as well, and consider that you may be mistaken to ask this of me and of yourself?”

  “Fair is fair.”
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  She shook her head in a frustration as deep as his own. She did not believe he would reconsider, at least not as long as she was the pathetic creature that she was now, alone and miserable in this world. She could not fool herself—she needed him right now, his comfort and his protection, but she cared too much for him to take advantage of him by making their relationship permanent, and live to see his regret. She would not do it, even though had the circumstances been different she could have found great joy in being his wife.

  “Then, if you will not yet agree to marry me,” he continued, “I think it only fair that you grant me a lesser favor.”

  “I am afraid to ask.”

  “Come to London with me.”

  “London?” The suggestion took her by surprise. “I thought you had to stay here. I thought your family had banished you.”

  “Well, yes, but there was never a specific time frame.”

  “A few months could not have been what they had in mind.”

  “You have said it yourself, you cannot remain here much longer.”

  “I never meant to go to London,” she protested feebly, but the idea was not unappealing. It was, indeed, growing upon her with each mention of the name. In London she would be anonymous, allowed to go her way without question by strangers on the street. “Where would I stay? Not in your house, surely.”

  “I will set you up in your own rooms. I am not filthy rich, but I can at least afford that.”

  Valerian wondered if Theresa was watching from above, laughing. And what would her parents think? But the idea had its appeal. She could spend a few weeks in London, and then when Nathaniel saw that she was able to take care of herself again, and saw as well how poorly she fit in London, he would forget this notion of wanting to wed her, and she could go on her way, however painful that might be for herself.

  “I would like to see London, if only once,” she finally said.

  He kissed her hand and looked at her with an intensity that made her wonder if she had seriously misjudged his determination to see them wed.