The Marriage Spell

by Mary Jo Putney

  No, not yet. He wasn’t ready. It would be utterly humiliating for him and upsetting for Abby if he should be unable to complete what he wanted to begin. Better to wait until he was sure. For now, caressing her warm, sensual body and bringing her to completion would do.

  With a breathless laugh, she ended the kiss and settled her head on his shoulder. “There is much to talk about tonight, most of it about your family. Did you know that Celeste and her husband are having serious problems?”

  “I guessed something was wrong.” He and Abby had fallen into the habit of talking about their days when they came together in bed. He enjoyed the discussions, which helped him relax and sort out his thoughts, as well as deepening the bond with his wife. But if the topic was an awkward one, there was no place to hide.

  “I assume you didn’t ask Alderton about it because men don’t discuss such things,” she said pragmatically. “Celeste was more forthcoming. While there are some superficial issues, the underlying problem is that she hasn’t had a child. The reason she and I became friends so quickly was because she asked if I would treat her barrenness.”

  “Can you heal that?” he asked, unable to keep hope from his voice. Though he and his sister had never discussed the matter, he knew that her childlessness hurt her. She had been his most faithful correspondent when he was in the army. In the early days she talked eagerly about when she and Piers would set up their nursery and speculated about whether their first child would be a boy or a girl. Gradually optimism had faded, replaced by anguished silence.

  “I can try, but I don’t know if I’ll be successful. If I fail, perhaps Judith might be able to help. She’s particularly good at treating such problems.” Abby sighed. “Sometimes healing performs miracles, but so often it doesn’t. I wish I could do more.”

  “If you could heal all ailments that were brought to you, you’d be dead of exhaustion in a week.” He stroked down her torso, thinking her ribs were more prominent than they had been, and it wasn’t an improvement. “You’re doing too much already. If you had greater power, you would simply burn out all the sooner.”

  “You’re right. It’s the danger healers always face. We must be caring, yet accept our limitations. I’m not good at that.” Her voice was sad but resigned.

  “There is always another desperate person begging you to heal barrenness or a broken neck or a lung disease. I’m no better than anyone else. I want to protect you, but I’m deeply grateful you saved my worthless hide, and I can’t help hoping that you will be able to help Celeste.”

  “Which is why healers are usually not very public in their work. Even the best of us can never do enough.” After a silence, Abby asked, “How did your father die?”

  “A riding accident.” Jack’s mouth twisted. “He tried to jump a stone wall that was too high and was thrown when his horse couldn’t clear it. Smashed his skull in. Riding accidents run in the family.”

  Abby sucked her breath in. “Are you sure his death was an accident?”

  Damn the woman. He should have realized she would ask the unanswerable question. “I don’t know. I’ve sometimes wondered if he was deliberately reckless, pushing himself until he went too far.” Never had Jack been so starkly aware of the similarities between himself and his father. “He had a streak of melancholia. If he was suffering from one of his black spells, it’s possible that he was seeking oblivion that day. I don’t know, and I don’t want to know.”

  “Maybe he couldn’t live with suppressing his true nature,” Abby said softly. “May his soul rest at peace.”

  The strangest sensation rushed through Jack as if a ghostly—or angelic—hand rested briefly on his chest. No, on his heart, the energy went right through him, and was achingly familiar. “How strange,” he breathed. “I feel that he is here and is truly at peace, at long last.” Was that because his father’s children were learning to accept themselves? If so, it was all due to Abby. He kissed her forehead.

  “You’ve never told me about your mother. Or your stepfather.”

  “Just when I’m thinking what a wonderful woman you are, you ask me another impossible question,” he said, half amused and half irritated.

  Her hand came to rest on his chest, right where the angelic hand had touched him. “We’ll be going to Yorkshire soon. It’s best if I know what to expect.”

  She was right, as she usually was. He’d never send his men into possible danger without preparing them as much as possible.

  When he’d sorted out his thoughts, he was surprised to find it easier to discuss his family than he’d expected. “My mother, Helen, is like a shining golden butterfly. Beautiful and always ready to dance in the sunshine. Men have been falling in love with her since she was in her cradle. She has a happy disposition; I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t enchanted by her.”

  He thought back to his childhood. His mother had a carelessness that had frustrated him when he was a child, but in her casual way, she had loved her children. “She was the daughter of a Yorkshire clergyman—good breeding, no dowry. But because of her charm and beauty, she had her choice of suitors. She chose my father.”

  “If I can ask this without being too indelicate, did she love him, or do you think she was more in love with the idea of being Lady Frayne?”

  “I’ve wondered that myself,” he admitted. “I think it was a bit of both. She and my father seemed well suited. She could make him smile even during his dark moods. She was the one who calmed him down after I bought a commission against his wishes. He didn’t want his heir dying of fever or bullets in some foreign land. Which was sensible, of course, but I was determined.”

  “Why did you join the army?” Abby asked curiously. “It’s rare for the only son of a peer to do so. Were you army mad?”

  “A little, but mostly I wanted to irritate my father,” he said wryly. “My mother had to work hard to persuade him to accept what I’d done. After he mastered his temper, we started to correspond. Not long after that, he died. I was glad that we had been reconciled.” He had never expected his father to die in the prime of life. It had been a bitter lesson in life’s unpredictability.

  “He sounds like a man who wasn’t easy, but who did his best to live up to his responsibilities as he saw them. If only he had been able to accept his own power.” Abby slid her foot under his leg. Her toes were cold. “I gather that your relationship is not so good with your stepfather.”

  “I prefer to think of him as my mother’s husband,” Jack said, unable to control the edge in his voice. “He has never been a father to me. I would not want him to be.”

  “Tell me about him. The good and the bad. Surely there is some good.”

  Jack considered doing his best to be fair. “I don’t know Sir Alfred Scranton well because he didn’t inherit the adjoining estate till after I had left Langdale. But he is a respected landowner in Yorkshire, and he dotes on my mother, even more than my father did.”

  “When did he and your mother marry?”

  “A year after my father’s death. My mother took off her mourning and picked up a bouquet.” He vaguely assumed that she would remarry. He just hadn’t expected it to happen quite so soon.

  “Did you dislike him from the beginning?”

  “No, I was glad that Mother had someone to care for her. She doesn’t like to be alone. It seemed a good match, since Scranton is a man of wealth and consequence. But he has turned out to be a blight upon the earth. Literally. Langdale Hall has been deteriorating ever since he moved in.”

  “They don’t live at his estate?” Abby asked, surprised.

  “My mother didn’t want to leave the hall, so he moved in with her. I didn’t object. Since I was in the army and Celeste was married, we were both gone from Yorkshire. A house is better for being lived in, and I certainly didn’t want my mother to feel unwelcome in the home where she had been mistress for twenty-five years.”

  “Did you visit them in Yorkshire on your next home leave?”

  “Yes. Almost as s
oon as I walked in the door, my mother told me I should lease Frayne House, since they wouldn’t be going to London again. Which was strange, since my mother had always loved going to town in the past.”

  The visit had been deeply strange, and he could barely conceal his frantic desire to leave and go back on campaign. Better bullets than being close to his stepfather. And yet he could think of no good reason for why he felt so strongly. He had made arrangements with his father’s trusted steward to manage the estate, and fled like the veriest coward. “I found myself uninterested in visiting Langdale Hall again, so I haven’t seen either of them since. My mother and I correspond, of course.”

  “Of course,” Abby murmured. “In other words, this marriage is so distasteful to you that you allowed your stepfather to effectively drive you out of your own home. If he is so dreadful, don’t you worry that he is mistreating your mother?”

  “There has been no hint in her letters that he is ever unkind. In fact, she sounds very happy.” Too happy, he’d sometimes thought. She was like a child in the nursery who had never seen anything of darkness. Her present blithe self-absorption was not entirely different from the way she had always been. Or was it?

  “What does your sister think about the marriage?”

  “Celeste hates Scranton almost as much as I do, but for our mother’s sake, she has visited Langdale. She’s seen nothing to make her concerned for Mother’s welfare. She says Scranton is overprotective and she suspects he wants to keep my mother to himself, which is why no trips to London. They don’t even socialize with the neighbors, but my mother seems content with their quiet life. Celeste can’t even get her to visit Alderton Abbey, Piers’s family seat, which is only a day’s journey away.”

  “Then why do you hate Scranton so much?”

  His mouth hardened as he decided to tell the truth about his feelings. “The man is evil. Ever since he moved into Langdale Hall, the land and people have suffered. Yet he hasn’t done a single thing that I can point to and prove that it was wrong.”

  He half expected Abby to gently say that he was being irrational, probably because he was jealous of his mother’s attention, but instead she said seriously, “If your instinct says Scranton is a bad man, you’re probably right. Your nature is too generous to be suspicious when there is no cause.”

  “You are too kind, Abby,” he said harshly. “The cold truth is that I have stayed away from Langdale because I’m terrified that I might murder Scranton if I visited, and then I would be hanged, which would upset everyone.” He sometimes dreamed of killing Scranton with his bare hands. Slowly. “So I’ve stayed away, and allowed our tenants to suffer the man’s evil. I’m a coward who has avoided my responsibilities. I’m not fit to be Langdale’s lord.”

  So there it was—his wife knew the worst of him. He half expected her to withdraw. Instead, she moved even closer, her warmth flowing through him. “You’re no coward, Jack. There is something profoundly wrong at Langdale Hall, and you sensed it even when you were under Colonel Stark’s spell.”

  He hadn’t known how intensely he craved her understanding until relief rushed through him like a cleansing river. “Then I’m not going mad. Sometimes I’ve wondered.”

  “Given the way people have used magic to distort your mind, it’s a wonder you’re as sane as you are!” Abby shook her head, the motion agitated against his shoulder. “The tracks of malicious magic are all over this situation. If you had been left alone, you would have developed your natural magic and had good strong defenses. But you had suppression spells inflicted on you, which distorted your abilities. I suspect another spell might have been used to reinforce your reluctance to return to Yorkshire.”

  He rubbed at his left shoulder, which had born the serpent brand for so long. “Wouldn’t my anti-magic charm have protected me from further spells?”

  “Not necessarily. Your charm had the strength to protect you from everyday magic. No thief would be able to sneak up on you by casting a confusion spell, and no one would be able to get away with cheating you at cards. But a really strong wizard could have got around the charm without your knowledge or permission.”

  “You’re strong enough to do that, but you wouldn’t.” Of that he was sure.

  “It would be an unforgivable breach of ethics and trust.” She sighed, her breath soft against his throat above his nightshirt. “Few people need worry about becoming targets of serious wizardry, but you are rich and powerful, so others have wanted to control you. If Scranton is possessive of your mother, it’s quite possible he would wish you to stay away. From what you say of him, he wouldn’t hesitate to hire a dark magician to plant a repulsion spell in your mind to keep you distant.”

  Jack unleashed a string of hair-raising curses. When he managed to get his temper under control, he said, “Your theory explains so much. Ever since my last visit to Langdale Hall, I’ve wondered what was wrong with me that I couldn’t bring myself to go home! And I’ve hated myself for my cowardice.”

  “If Scranton did that to you, he deserves to be shot, and I’d do it myself,” Abby said vehemently. “Your mind needs a thorough cleansing. Too many people have used magic to work their wills on you, and because your own power was constrained, you’ve been unable to defend yourself. You won’t be fully in control of your life and your power until any and all spells are removed.”

  He thought about what she had said, and could see only one conclusion. Though he disliked the idea of using his magic, even more he hated the thought of being the victim of someone else’s power. “Can you enter my mind and remove the remnants of spells that have been laid on me?”

  “Yes, if you trust me.” She stroked his forehead gently. “When you’re ready.”

  Her fingers soothed the throbbing in his head. “Not tonight. I’ve had all the revelations I can endure for one day. But soon. Very soon.”

  Chapter XX

  Abby woke to Jack’s kiss on her forehead. “Sorry to rise so early, but there is much to be done today,” he murmured. “I probably won’t be back before dinner.”

  She blinked sleepily at the clock. “You really want to get out of bed at this hour on a winter morning? Were you unable to sleep?”

  “I slept the sleep of the innocent, which I don’t deserve.” He kissed her again, this time on her throat, lingeringly. “But I always wake up at the time I decide on the night before.”

  She shivered with pleasure at the pressure from his warm lips. “That’s a convenient knack. Magical, even.”

  He looked blank. “I never thought of it that way.”

  “Many magics are small.” She caressed his deliciously whiskery chin, wishing he could stay longer. But she would rather not attempt to persuade him and fail at the endeavor. “Try not to push yourself too hard.”

  “I won’t.” He brushed the back of his hand against her cheek, then left.

  She watched him return to his own room, ruefully aware that there always seemed to be a reason to continue lending him energy. Maybe she should withdraw it now. Yet she hated to think of him collapsing in exhaustion somewhere in London. Very soon she would stop. Yawning, she rolled over and went back to sleep.

  She woke again a more civilized two hours later, when Lettie entered quietly to build up the fire. A few minutes later the maid delivered a tray with hot chocolate and a fresh roll. As Abby sipped her chocolate, she realized that she could have been waking to such luxury at home, but she was always too busy to lie about in bed. It would be interesting to have leisure time here in London.

  Leisure lasted until she dressed and went downstairs for breakfast. The duchess was finishing her own meal. “Oh, good, you’re awake. My modiste and corsetiere will be here in a few minutes. I thought my private parlor would be a good place to work.”

  Abby poured a quick cup of tea. “So soon?”

  “There is no time to waste. You’ll need ball gowns, morning gowns, a new riding habit, cloaks, hats, shoes—the wardrobe of a London lady.”

  “All t
hat?” Abby said, unnerved.

  “You must dress according to your rank. This won’t be as bad as you think.” Celeste grinned. “Though perhaps it is more accurate to say that you might hate all the fuss and fittings, but I’ll have a marvelous time bullying you and the dressmakers.”

  Abby had to laugh as she settled down to her eggs and toast. “That’s honest, at least. I shall have to take your advice, since I haven’t the remotest idea what I’ll need. I hope you won’t find it humorous to deck me out like a May cow!”

  “I wouldn’t do that to Jack’s wife even if I didn’t like you,” the other woman assured her. “Nor would the modiste allow it. She has her pride.”

  After breakfast Abby made her way to the duchess’s private parlor, and found it buzzing with activity. Modiste and corsetiere had arrived with half a dozen assistants and mountains of fabrics, feathers, trims, and fashion books.

  Celeste said, “Lady Frayne, allow me to present Madame Ravelle, the finest modiste in London, and Madame Renault, the finest corsetiere.”

  Abby blinked at the two women. Both were tall, silver-haired, and massively dignified. And they weren’t just similar, but virtually identical. “You are sisters?”

  “Twins, milady,” the modiste said. She was dressed in blue. “Our skills enhance each other, so we work together.”

  Madame Renault, who wore gray, added, “Without a proper foundation, even the finest of gowns will not look its best.” Her eyes gleamed as she studied Abby. “And you, milady, are in dire need of my skills.”

  Apparently, talented artisans were allowed such rudeness. Fortunately Abby had little vanity, because the sisters and the duchess began to discuss her appearance with hair-curling bluntness. Abby was stripped down to her shift, measured in amazing detail, draped in swaths of fabric, and analyzed as if she wasn’t present.

  As Madame Ravelle turned to consult a copy of La Belle Assemblée, Abby asked her sister-in-law, “Am I allowed any opinions about what I am to wear?”