A Certain Magic

by Mary Balogh

They had spoken simultaneously.

  “Sit down,” she said, indicating a chair and taking one across from it, “and tell me what you are doing here just two weeks after your betrothal.”

  He sat down. “I came to see what is so wonderful about Bath that you would wish to make it your permanent home,” he said. “I have not been here for years. It is quite splendid in the sunshine, is it not? I thought I might take the waters for a few days to see if they will improve my good sense. Do they do that, Allie, or do they work only on physical ailments?”

  “I think they are all a big hoax,” she said.

  “Oh, don’t say that above a whisper,” he said. “You might drive all the visitors away, Allie, and be doomed to spend the rest of your life in company with the remaining five inhabitants.”

  “Why did you come?” she asked.

  He grinned. “It is obviously a long time since you prepared for your own wedding, Allie,” he said. “You must have forgotten just how many hours and days you had to spend in conference with your dressmaker and milliner and fan maker and everyone else. And how much time you must spend with your disappointed suitors. As the mere husband-to-be, my presence in London at the moment is supremely redundant. I will not be needed again until the wedding day. ”

  “Will it be soon?” she asked.

  “The date has not been set,” he said. “It is a very ticklish matter, as I am sure you will appreciate. A fine balance has to be struck between not holding it too soon and thus wasting a few moments of the Season and not holding it too late and finding that the crème de la crème has withdrawn already and will not return for the celebrations. It would be a great shame to waste a grand wedding on only half the ton, now, would it not?”

  “Piers,” she said.

  “I am to be congratulated, you know, Allie,” he said. “It turns out that I am not marrying a mindless little bundle of sweet innocence after all, but a young lady with very much a mind of her own. Did you suspect it? It should be an interesting marriage, should it not?”

  “Piers,” she said. “Don’t.”

  “One great injustice has been done me, though,” he said. “My mother disapproves. Can you imagine, Allie? I agreed to take on a leg-shackle and fill the nursery at Westhaven all so that she might become a doting grandmama, and she disapproves.”

  “Has she said so?” Alice asked.

  “Oh, she doesn’t need to.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “I took her to tea at Russell Square, and she addressed one remark to Cassandra. She conversed for the rest of the time with Bosley and Lady Margam. I believe Cassandra has made up her mind that Mama will not set foot over the threshold of Westhaven once we are married. She did not say so in quite those words, but I foresee an interesting conflict developing in the future. Can you see my mother being kept from her grandchildren?”

  “Piers,” she said.

  “If there are grandchildren,” he said. “I daresay Cassandra is made of far sterner stuff than Harriet was, but I might succeed in killing her just the same, don’t you think, Allie?”

  “Piers!” She was on her feet and crossing the room to the window. “Don’t!”

  “But it is all vastly diverting, don’t you see?” He was on his feet, too, some distance behind her. “And very much my just desserts, Allie. I set myself to choosing a bride much as I did the first time, with very little thought to the young lady concerned and her wishes. I mean, what young girl in her right mind would wish to ally herself freely to a man of six-and- thirty? I was the only one who mattered. I would choose someone who would interfere with my life in almost no way. Some little mouse like Harriet. Someone whose sole function would be to breed my heirs and live through the experience. I have been justly served. I deserve Cassandra. And perhaps she deserves me, too.”

  Alice rested her forehead against the glass of the window. “I care about you, Piers,” she said. “I care about your happiness.”

  There was a short silence. Then he laughed. “You care about me?” he said. “After what I did to you, Allie? You don’t wish me in the hottest flame of hell?”

  “You did not do anything to me,” she said. “What we did, we did together. We needed each other. You needed comfort for the unexpected disaster of the evening. I needed comfort for—well, for a two-year loneliness. We chose to comfort each other in the wrong way, but we chose it together, Piers. You do not need to take the burden of guilt all on yourself.”

  “You are Web’s wife,” he said quietly.

  “No.” She raised one hand to draw invisible patterns on the glass. “I am Web’s widow, Piers.”

  “God,” he said from behind her. “God, Allie, what did I do? You have always been on a pedestal for me. I have always marveled that you would condescend to accept my friendship. I always wondered at the perfection of the love you and Web shared. Oh, God. And I defiled you.”

  She imposed calmness on herself with one deeply indrawn breath and turned to face him.

  “Then you have discovered after all,” she said, “that I am human, that I am a woman with needs. You satisfied one of those needs for me on that one night, Piers. That is all. It was nothing more significant or more dreadful than that. I was a widow of two years. I needed physical love. You gave it to me.”

  She kept her clasped hands still and relaxed. She kept her eyes steadily on his. His own closed briefly. “I did not ravish you?” he said.

  “Piers,” she said. “You know you did not.”

  “I have not destroyed you?” he said. “I pictured you living in a torment of guilt and remorse, Allie. And hatred of me. I thought I had destroyed you.” Somehow her facial muscles obeyed her will and she smiled. “Well,” she said, “it is a good thing you came, then. You can see that it is not so. Is that what you have been doing to yourself, poor Piers? Have you been torturing your conscience?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I did not know if I should stay out of your life permanently or if I should come to try to make some sort of peace with you. Allie, forgive me. Whatever you say, it was my fault. I had no business calling on you at that hour. Say you forgive me.”

  “If it will make you feel better and stop you from tormenting yourself, then yes,” she said, forcing herself forward one step, willing her hands to steadiness as she stretched them out to him. “You are forgiven, Piers.”

  He took her hands and bowed his head over them. He began to raise one of them to his lips, but he lowered it again. He released her hands after squeezing them tightly.

  “And how do I ask forgiveness of Web?” His smile was a little twisted.

  “You don’t,” she said. “I was never, ever unfaithful to Web, and would not have been if we had both lived to a great old age. And you never dishonored him and would not have done were he still living, even if you and I had been alone under very tempting circumstances, as we were two weeks ago. We both know that, Piers. Neither of us has wronged Web in any way at all.”

  “Do you miss him dreadfully?” he asked.

  “Sometimes, “ she said. “Come and sit down again, Piers, and tell me about your betrothal. Is it quite impossible?”

  “Perhaps not impossible, “he said. “Improbable, thought I am going to have to work like the devil at my marriage, Allie, so that we do not come to hate each other.”

  “One always does,” she said. “Have to work at a marriage, that is.”

  “Did you and Web?” he asked. “You seemed always to be the perfect couple.”

  “I resented his worshipful attitude,” she said. “He resented the fact that I would not allow him to do everything for me, even breathe. He would not even allow me another child after Nicholas died. We both had to learn to give a little and to laugh at ourselves.”

  “Perhaps Cassandra will be good for me,” he said. “She certainly will not allow me to have my own way all the time, as Harriet did. I will have to learn a little bit of selflessness. Do you think it possible, Allie? Am I quite beyond redemption, do you think?”

  “
But will it be one-sided?” she asked. “Will she be willing to give in to you sometimes, Piers?”

  “She is very young,” he said. “Little more than a child, Allie. The very young are entitled to be more selfish than men in their dotage, like me. I think perhaps I am going to have to devote myself to making her happy. That will be a new venture for me. Something to brighten up life.” He grinned.

  “Oh,” she said with a sigh, “it does not sound promising. And how very rag-mannered of me to say that aloud. But I do so want you to be happy, Piers. Web used to say that you had a great capacity for happiness and contentment and love if you could just find what you were searching for.”

  ”Yes, well,” he said with a flashing smile, “I might have had a large brood to romp, with at Westhaven now, Allie, if Harriet had only had the good sense to remain alive. Poor Harriet. I wish I could go back and relive that marriage. I would make an effort to bring some happiness into her life before forcing her into doing her duty, as the bearing of heirs seems to be viewed. Perhaps she would have liked to travel.”

  “Harriet was very happy just to be married to you and living at Westhaven Park,” she said. “And she was quite ecstatic to find herself increasing after only a few months. She was shy with me. The only time I can remember her being eloquent was on the subject of her pregnancy and her excitement at being able to bear you a child. She was happy, Piers! Don’t start to doubt that fact again. I thought Web had set you straight on that long ago.”

  He shrugged and smiled. “She was a sweet girl, wasn’t she?” he said. “Far better than I deserved. Have you heard about your niece? No, probably not. It seems that she is now sighing over a Mr. Latham, who does not know she exists. Mr. King made the lamentable mistake of showing interest in her as soon as she showed it in him. Gossip has it that he committed the incredible faux pas of offering for her last week. Her interest in him died an instant death, of course.”

  “Well,” Alice said, “she is very young still, Piers, and rather giddy. I am sure it will be best if she does not fix her choice for another year or two yet, when perhaps she will have grown up a little.”

  “I imagine the estimable Bruce will have a thing or two to say if he has to take her back to the country for the summer unattached,” he said. “Think of all the waste of a fortune, Allie.”

  “Phoebe will take it as a personal failure,” she said. There was a sudden lull in the conversation, and they smiled rather uncertainly at each other.

  “Are we still friends?” he asked, “Or are you wishing me to the devil, Allie?”

  “I don’t think two people can decide not to be friends when they have been friends forever,” she said. “I would miss you, Piers. There would be too much of a void in my life.”

  “And in mine,” he said. “It has been almost unbearable in the past two weeks. You would have come home to Bath anyway, and I would have been missing you and knowing that perhaps I would not see you again for a long time. But there is a difference between thinking of an absent friend and thinking of someone who used to be a friend and never will be again. Imagine the embarrassment of meeting by accident some years down the road.”

  “I’m glad you came,” she said and smiled.

  “I could return to London today,” he said. “Or I could stay for a few days. If I leave immediately, we may find ourselves just as embarrassed when we meet next. If I stay, we can spend some time together and reestablish our friendship as it has always been. Of course, my staying may be distressing or offensive to you. Tell me what to do, Allie.”

  She looked into his half-smiling face. If he left, she could keep working on building her life of dull contentment, as she had for the past year, but with the added happiness of knowing that he had come to make his peace with her. If he left, she could readjust herself more quickly. If he stayed, there would be all the more pain when he left again, all the greater difficulty in adjusting to life in a place where he had been with her.

  But once he left, whether now or in a few days’ time, she would not see him again before his marriage to Cassandra Borden. And she would not wish to see him after that. She would always consider herself his friend, but she would not want to see him again.

  The next few days were all she could ever have of him. And temptation, as she had found on one previous occasion, is the most difficult of all temptations to resist.

  “Stay,” she said. “Andrea will be disappointed if you fail to appear in her drawing room this evening. There are not many new visitors at this time of year, you know.”

  He rose to his feet. “I shall dress in all my London finery then,” he said, “and dazzle the ladies, shall I, Allie? May I take you up in my carriage?”

  “Yes,” she said. “And I shall dress in my London finery, too, Piers, so that you will not outdazzle me.”

  He grinned. “I could not do that even if you dressed in rags, Allie,” he said. “Until this evening, then.” He bowed to her, spoiled the effect by winking, and left the room.

  ***

  During the same afternoon at the Russell Square house in London, Mr. Bosley was talking with his niece while Lady Margam was otherwise engaged.

  “Well, Cass, “ he said heartily, rubbing his hands together. “We will have the marriage contract all drawn up for Mr. Westhaven’s signature when he returns from the country. Though, of course, the word of a gentleman is to be trusted anyway. Gentlemen are not like cutthroat businessmen.” He laughed merrily. “And are you happy, girl?”

  “Yes, Uncle,” she said.

  “It is strange how gentlemen think to pull the wool over everyone’s eyes,” he said. “A little investigation can uncover some strange things, Cass.”

  She looked inquiringly at him.

  “Sir Clayton Lansing,” he said, “who has been somewhat attentive, Cassie. Do you like him, eh?”

  “I am betrothed to Mr. Westhaven, Uncle,” she said demurely.

  He laughed heartily. “And that means you cannot like any other gentleman, of course,” he said. “Sir Clayton is not as wealthy as he has made out. You have had a fortunate escape, wouldn’t you say, Cass?”

  If you say so, Uncle,” she said, uncertain of his “Of course,” he said, “there is a quite extensive estate. Very rundown, so I have heard, and heavily mortgaged. Gentlemen are strange creatures. They think such a fact something to hide. They don’t know where their assets lie. Would you like your uncle to purchase the mortgage, Cass?”

  Cassandra did not know the correct answer and wisely kept her mouth shut.

  “It is done already,” he said. “His grandfather is a viscount, Cassie. Did you know that?”

  “I believe he mentioned it once, Uncle,” she said. “But Sir Clayton’s father was a younger son.”

  “There were three sons,” Mr. Bosley said, “and two grandsons. Hordes of granddaughters, but they don’t count for anything. Two grandsons, Cass, and one of them dying of consumption. Not Lansing. All three sons are dead, by the way, and the grandfather doddering on the edge of the grave.” He chuckled.

  “Poor gentleman,” Cassandra said.

  Mr. Bosley chuckled again. “The soft hearts of females!” he said. “Lansing probably don’t even know about the sad state of health of his cousin. The family had a falling-out years ago. Maybe you rushed into your betrothal, Cassie.”

  “Yes, Uncle,” she said.

  “Ah, well,” he said heartily, “it is too late now, Cass. We cannot let the gentleman down now that the announcements have been made, can we? Your mother would not consider it at all the thing, “

  “No, Uncle,” she said.

  “You must forget what I have told you, then,” he said with a sigh. “You must certainly do nothing to fix the man’s interest now, Cassie. You must be a good girl.”

  “Yes, Uncle,” she said.

  “A pity, though,” he said. “His assets and mine combined, Cass. Ah, well, Mr. Westhaven will be a baron one day, though the present baron is said to be in excellent health and is a
relatively young man. He could live another twenty years.”

  Chapter 13

  MR. Westhaven did not after all wear his best London finery that evening. His shirt did not have quite the quantity of lace at the wrists that he would wear to a London ball, and he instructed his disappointed valet that a simple knotting of his neckcloth would be more appropriate than any of the more artistic creations the man had been perfecting over the past few months. And he chose a coat more to be comfortable in than to give the impression that it had been painted on him.

  He combed his hair and wished he had not given in to the whim to be fashionable. A Brutus style could not be disguised as anything more casual. The only thing it did show off was the fact that he had not lost any of his hair, even at the temples. A fine vanity, to want to display that phenomenon.

  He had become quite the town dandy, he thought in disapproval. He wanted to be himself again. Except that there was no being himself ever again. There was Cassandra to marry and the rest of his life to devote to her happiness. If it could be done. If he could change himself that much. And there was his love for Allie to be hidden from everyone and everything but his own heart. Not that there was anything particularly new about that. He had done it for years and had had such great success that eventually he had been able to hide the truth even from himself.

  Maybe he would be as fortunate again, he thought, as he rode in his carriage to Sidney Place.

  He was, of course, going about the thing in a marvelously illogical manner. He had accomplished what he had hoped to do that afternoon—-and far more than he had expected. At best he had expected to win her forgiveness mid set her mind at rest about foe extent of her own guilt. He had not dared to hope that their friendship could somehow emerge battered but unbroken from the stress they—-he—-had put upon it.