by Cheryl Holt
As she hurried by a row of bushes, she was clutching the love potion. She nearly threw the bottle away, but for some reason she didn’t. Monsieur Dubois was a captivating character, and the whole encounter made her grin. She would keep it as a memento.
Down the block, there was a stage and a trio of musicians belting out cheery tunes. Revelers had gathered to listen, and she walked toward them. People were chatting, tapping their toes, caught up in the merriment, so she didn’t immediately realize she was being watched. The hairs on her neck prickled as she was pelted with sensation.
She glanced about, searching for whoever was staring, and there was Mr. Swift.
That last morning, he’d promised to follow her to Bath, and she’d assumed he’d appear straight away. When he hadn’t, she figured he’d been jesting, that he hadn’t ever intended to chase after her.
Mildred had been more optimistic and had insisted he’d stagger in before too much time had passed. And now…? Here he was.
She was so happy to see him that she could have twirled in circles.
He sauntered over to her, and he looked even more handsome than she remembered. He was seductive and too tempting to resist. She liked the easy way he moved, the limber sway of his hips and legs. He was comfortable in his body, and he approached until the toes of his boots slipped under the hem of her skirt.
“Hello, Sarah,” he said.
“Hello, Mr. Swift. Where have you been? I’d decided you weren’t coming to Bath after all, but Mildred was more confident about you. She had faith that you’d arrive eventually.”
“I have to admit—when I left Clayton Farnsworth’s home—I headed to London. I couldn’t convince myself that I should pursue you.”
“You’re correct. It’s a deranged notion.”
“But I couldn’t keep on to town. A magnet might have been dragging me here.”
“Am I the magnet?” she saucily inquired.
“You just might be.”
They were grinning like halfwits, the rest of the festival fading away as if they were the only two people on the street. He was studying her eyes, hunting for a hint of the affection that had previously flared, and she made sure he found it.
It was madness to fancy him. It was foolish and pointless, but she couldn’t stop herself from being bowled over.
“Where is Mildred?” he asked. “Are you alone? You can’t be here by yourself.”
“She’s…ah…talking to someone. I’m meeting her in an hour.”
“Perfect. I think this means you have to come with me.”
He clasped her wrist and guided her away from the party and down the closest dark alley. They rushed away from the lights and the crowds, the sounds of the fair quickly vanishing behind them.
Once it was quiet, he halted and pulled her into his arms, then he was kissing her and kissing her. They laughed and sighed and carried on as if they’d been separated for years instead of days. She was stunned by the passion of it, by the fondness of it. She hadn’t understood it was possible to feel such tenderness for another person.
How could that be? They were barely acquainted and had spent very few minutes together, yet it seemed as if she knew every detail about him.
My, oh, my but wasn’t she in trouble?
She was holding the bottle Dubois had given her, and as he drew away he asked, “What’s this?”
He grabbed it from her and lifted it up toward the moon for a better look.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Yes, I will. What is it?”
“It’s a love potion.”
“No! Really?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you get it? From a peddler at the fair?”
“Mildred took me to a gypsy clairvoyant so he could read my palm. It’s who she’s with at the moment, but why am I blabbing her secrets to you again? How is it that you pry them out of me? Please don’t tell her I mentioned it.”
“I won’t, but I visit clairvoyants myself. It’s a hobby of mine.”
“It was my first time.”
“What was your opinion? Many of them are crooks and charlatans. Was he halfway wise and interesting? Or was he filthy and illiterate and missing some of his teeth?”
“I haven’t decided what I thought.” She was particularly disturbed by his assertion that Hayden was still alive. If Dubois was a fraud, it had been a cruel comment. “He was quite dashing and strong-willed. He knew some facts about me he shouldn’t have known, but then he might simply be very good at inventing stories.”
“Why would he give you a love potion?”
“Because silly, he felt I should fall in love. Why would you suppose?”
“What was this fellow’s name? Perhaps I’ll confer with him too. I’d like to hear his predictions about my future.”
“He’s French. Monsieur Dubois? He has a tent in one of the alleys.”
“I’ve met Dubois. He’s very proficient, and he’s the sort who keeps me scheduling appointments.”
“You don’t seem superstitious to me.”
“I have many depths, and I hope you’ll end up plumbing all of them.” He wiggled the bottle at her. “Let’s drink it and see what happens.”
The suggestion shocked her. “Drink it! What if it’s real?”
“Now who’s being superstitious? Aren’t you certain Dubois is a fake? If he is, how could his potion have any effect?”
He pulled out the cork, and she panicked, thinking she should prevent him, but sanity rapidly filtered in. Yes, she was convinced Dubois was an impostor who preyed on the gullible and unsuspecting.
What might such a dodgy oaf chat about with a rich, lonely woman like Mildred? It was obviously enough so she returned year after year, and Sarah would like to discover how much money Mildred had forked over to him. She was betting it was a high amount.
Mr. Swift swallowed down half the contents. He smacked his lips and ran his tongue across his teeth. “If I had to guess, I’d say it’s merely some very sour, cheap red wine.”
“I’m not surprised. I would expect nothing less from a character like Dubois.”
He dangled the bottle again. “What about you, Sarah Barrington? Will you throw caution to the wind? Will you risk all for a chance at love?”
Clearly, he was daring her, and he appeared so sly and amusing she couldn’t keep herself from joining in. She snatched it from him and downed the remainder of the liquid. He was correct that it tasted like cheap wine.
She waited a few seconds, then frowned. “I don’t feel any different. How about you?”
“I don’t feel anything—yet. Was there to be an immediate reaction?”
“I have no idea. He simply said to drink it and all my dreams will come true.”
“All of them? That’s quite a boast.”
“And I have a lot of dreams so it’s a huge burden for such a small potion.”
“Will it work for both of us?”
“It’s just for me. If you want any dreams to come true, you’ll have to get your own bottle.”
“Drat it.”
Their banter dwindled, and they were smiling, pondering each other and where their relationship might ultimately go, and though she’d claimed she was experiencing no effect her skin was suddenly itching. Her ears were ringing too, and her hair seemed to vibrate so Dubois had probably put a medicinal in it after all.
As she stared into Mr. Swift’s eyes, she suffered an interval of disorientation where she was gazing at him down through the years. The universe was showing her a picture of how they would always be happy together. There they were at their wedding, at the birth of their first child, then another and another. Four in total. The decades whipped by, and their children grew and had families of their own.
There were the grandchildren, their family constantly expanding, and it was such a joyous vision. There they were older, then elderly, and they were still wildly in love.
She shook her head, anxious to dispel the sense of bewitchment, and she realized he was murmuring her name.
“Sarah, Sarah, Sarah, what should I do with you?”
His steady voice yanked her out of her strange reverie. “I don’t know.”
“Mildred told me you’re a Henley.”
“I am.”
“Apparently, there’s a big secret about it, but she wouldn’t tell me what it is. Will you?”
“There’s no secret. I’m a Henley, but I don’t use my surname out in public. I don’t like people to discover I’m related to Jasper and Desdemona.”
“I can’t blame you. Desdemona doesn’t like you.”
“The feeling is mutual.”
“I mean she really doesn’t like you.”
“Her opinion doesn’t matter to me. When I stumbled on her at Mr. Farnsworth’s party, I hadn’t seen her in three years. If I’m lucky, it will be three more before I see her again.”
He studied her, his attention fierce and probing. “That’s not the secret though, is it?”
“Why would you think it’s not?”
“Your beautiful face is an open book to me, and I can read every detail that’s written there. What else should I learn about you?”
“There’s naught you’d find to be interesting.”
“I doubt that very much. What sort of cousin are you to Desdemona? Where do you fit in the family? Who were your parents?”
She assessed him forever, not eager to speak the truth aloud, but she remembered Mildred and Dubois telling her to stop hiding. Maybe she should.
“If you must know—” she started.
“I must.”
“My father was Lord Middlebury. Jasper inherited from him.”
“You’re Hayden’s sister?”
“Yes.”
“Now that you mention it, it’s obvious I should have recognized the similarities on my own. You look just like him.”
“I’ve heard that.”
“I knew him at school. Not well—we didn’t run in the same circles—but I knew who he was.”
The news was thrilling, his connection to Hayden making it seem as if he had an even deeper connection to her. It bound them even more closely.
“I’m glad you’d met him,” she said.
“I liked him.”
“So did I. Very much.”
“Jasper is the head of your family.”
“Yes.”
“But he’s left you working in the city? Your sister Catherine too?”
“Yes, and my other sister, Abigail. He and Desdemona wouldn’t help us after Father died. They claimed he’d bankrupted the estate so they shouldn’t have to support us.”
“What an ass Jasper is. Next time I see him, would you like me to pummel him for you?”
“Would you?”
“Absolutely.”
She chuckled and batted her lashes. “My hero.”
“I like the sound of that.”
He kissed her again, and the embrace was even more stirring than the previous ones they’d shared. Fleetingly, she wondered if it was the potion, and she supposed—whenever he seemed particularly enamored—she would contemplate the notion.
It was simply beyond her to imagine that she would have landed herself in an unexpected amour so she would insist magic had caused it. Nor could she imagine she would fall for a dissolute libertine who likely had broken hearts all over the kingdom. But she had, and she was nervous about how to proceed.
She was clueless about romance and had had no serious flirtations. She couldn’t guess how a female conducted herself in a detached fashion, how she dabbled and kissed, but without her emotions becoming engaged.
She wanted to keep him for her very own. She wanted to marry him and live happily ever after. How could she force that conclusion to occur? There wasn’t a way to capture it really, and she had to calm down and behave more rationally or she would dig herself into a very deep hole.
They continued until her knees were weak and her limbs rubbery. If he hadn’t been holding her, she might have collapsed to the ground in a stunned heap. Visions were flitting in her mind, of them in a more private spot, touching each other and doing other things she’d heard rumors about but couldn’t precisely describe.
She was beginning to understand how young ladies got themselves into trouble. Whenever she learned of a girl being ruined, she primly assumed there had been a lack of morals or a failure to exercise strong will. She’d told herself—should she ever find herself in such a predicament—she’d be much too sensible to be tempted by a rogue.
Yet here she was in the midst of a shocking, delicious dalliance.
Eventually, she drew away. How long had they been off by themselves? It had to be an hour or perhaps even more than that. She leaned into him, her arms around his waist, his palms caressing her back in a mesmerizing manner.
“I have to meet Mildred,” she said. “I’m probably already late.”
“I’ll walk you to her.”
They smiled and sighed, but didn’t move.
“I don’t want this evening to ever end,” she said.
“I’ll stay in Bath for a week or two. We can be together as often as you can manage it. With Miss Farnsworth matchmaking, I doubt she’ll care if we sneak off occasionally.”
“I shouldn’t sneak off with you though. You’re much too fast for me. I’m sure I won’t be able to keep up.”
“I will be a perfect gentleman at all times. I promise.”
She laughed at that. “Liar. I’m betting you’ve never acted like a gentleman once your entire life.”
He tapped a finger on the tip of her nose. “You could be right.”
“I suppose I should call you Nicholas.”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to write to my sisters about you.”
“You say that like a threat.”
“I’m trying to figure out how to explain what’s happening between us.” She scowled. “What is happening?”
“I have no idea.”
“Tell me about your family.”
“I’m an orphan, and I have no kin.”
“Everyone has at least a cousin.”
“Not me. My father disappeared when I was a baby, and my mother raised me alone.”
“It must have been hard on both of you.”
He shrugged. “It wasn’t easy, and I’m not certain my mother ever had a husband in the picture. It’s more likely she was tumbled by the wrong boy and had me as a result.”
“What a scandalous admission.”
“I had to be up front about it. With my knowing your true ancestry, I thought you should know mine. You should have no misconceptions about me.”
She snorted with amusement. “Are you too humble of a person to have a relationship with me?”
“Yes.”
“I’m working as a lady’s companion, Nicholas. We needn’t bring pedigrees into it. I’ve been dragged quite low in my life so I won’t win any contests as to who is in the worse situation.”
“We’re very British though so we’re supposed to agree that bloodlines matter.”
“You’re so dashing,” she told him. “Perhaps you’re a prince’s son. Have you ever wondered?”
“Yes, that’s it,” he sarcastically retorted. “I’m a prince’s son. Have I sufficiently elevated myself by confessing such a vast falsehood?”
“Definitely. I shall announce to anyone who inquires that I’ve snagged the highest possible fellow.”
“And you have snagged me, Sarah. I can’t deny it.”
“Good, now I have to get back to Mildred. She’ll be worried sick.”
“Or maybe not. If she’s as fascinated by Dubois as I have always been, she’s still with him. Did he make any exciting predictions?”
“You mean besides that I should drink a love potion?”
“Yes, besides that.”
“He claimed Hayden is alive. I didn’t believe him though.”
“Very wise.”
“He was correct that I’ve had some difficult years, but he declares them over and that I will be happy from this point on.”
“Well, that’s fantastic news. I hope you slipped him an extra coin for raising your spirits.”
“No. I’m positive he provides the same advice to every woman.”
“You might be onto something.”
They headed off, and she wished they could loaf and watch the singing or remain for the dancing, but she had to locate Mildred. The fair was running the following night, and she’d likely be able to attend with him. She suspected Mildred would be delighted to have them socialize.
They approached Dubois’s tent, and Mildred was sitting on a bench and waiting for her.
“Sarah, there you are. I was just beginning to fret.”
“I’m sorry I’m late.” Sarah grinned at Nicholas. “Look who I found.”
“Mr. Swift!” Mildred grinned too. “It’s about time you arrived. I’d given up on you and decided you wouldn’t be joining us after all.”
“How could I resist such an appealing invitation?”
Sarah studied them, surprised again by how much they resembled one another. Previously, she’d noted the similarities, and now that she knew them better they were even more noticeable.
He had a dubious ancestry and didn’t appear to have much information about his parents, but she couldn’t help speculating about his family tree. Might he have a Farnsworth relative hidden on one of the branches?
He said to Mildred, “Sarah tells me you enjoy visiting clairvoyants.”
“Yes, it’s a hobby,” Mildred replied.
“For me too. I’ve consulted with Dubois in the past. He’s very convincing. Not like some of the charlatans I’ve met.”
“My feeling exactly.”
“Was he worth the money this evening?” Nicholas asked.
“Yes, he was particularly insightful.”
“You could be the cat that got in the cream,” Nicholas told her. “He must have had some magical pronouncements.”
“He was quite enlivening.” She stared at him, then at Sarah, then at him. “Where are you staying, Mr. Swift?”
“There’s a men’s boarding house on the edge of town. I rented a room.”
