The Marriage Spell

by Mary Jo Putney

  “Are you tired?” she asked with spurious innocence as her hand began its own explorations.

  His hand settled over her breast. “Too tired to climb in a carriage and ride all day. But staying in bed—that’s easy.”

  A shiver ran through her. Staying in bed was indeed easy, but tiring in its own delightful way.

  Abby felt more than a little wary as they went down to the family dining room for a late breakfast. She and Jack hadn’t eaten much the previous night, so she was ravenous. It was a relief to find that they had the breakfast room to themselves. She was finishing eggs, toast, and tea when Celeste came in. The duchess had shadows under her eyes, but her expression was radiant.

  “All is well?” Jack asked.

  “All is wonderful!” She swept down on her brother and gave him a hug, then turned and did the same for Abby. “I can’t even regret the weeks of misery, since Piers and I understand each other so much better now.” She plopped into the chair next to Abby, asking under her breath, “Abby, is it possible for a woman to know she’s pregnant as soon as it happens?”

  Startled, Abby studied Celeste’s aura. There did seem to be an extra glow around the abdomen. “I’ve known women who have made such claims and been right.”

  “It’s too soon to tell anyone, but in my heart, I know.” Celeste lowered her voice still further. “Did you do something? I saw how intently you were studying Piers during that horrible fight.”

  Abby flushed. “I did a quick scan and found a small anomaly, then corrected it. That was wrong of me, but at the time it seemed like a golden opportunity.”

  Celeste’s hazel eyes glowed with gratitude. “It was, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking advantage of it.”

  Before Celeste could say more, the door opened and the Duke of Alderton entered. Abby stiffened and Jack rose to his feet warily. “We can leave almost immediately if you wish us to,” he said to his brother-in-law.

  “That isn’t necessary.” The duke looked directly at Abby. “I apologize, Lady Frayne. I was upset and irrational and behaved very badly to everyone, particularly to you. I hope you can forgive me.”

  Her wariness melted. “Of course. We all behave badly sometimes.” She hoped his rudeness to her balanced her action in healing him without his permission. “You called me Abby when I first came. I hope you will do so again.”

  “Thank you, Abby. I hope we can begin again.” The duke was a very different man from yesterday. The darkness and anger in his aura had been replaced by calm contentment. This was his real nature when he wasn’t driven half mad by doubt and fear.

  Jack asked bluntly, “How do you feel about magic now?”

  Alderton hesitated. “Still rather uneasy, but I’ve realized that if I set aside the preconceptions I was raised with, there is no reason to despise everyone who works with magic. Especially since such powers are more common than I realized.” He smiled ruefully. “I am working on acceptance. I’ll reach that eventually.”

  Which was good, Abby thought, since she had a strong intuition that the long-awaited Alderton heir would have a talent for wizardry.

  She looked forward to finding out.

  Chapter XXVIII

  “We’re almost there.” Jack leaned forward and gazed out the window, expression tense. “The gates to the driveway are just around the next bend.”

  “Time to put Cleo back in her basket.” Abby transferred her drowsing cat from her lap to the cushioned, lidded basket she had bought to keep her feline friend safe on the trip. She hadn’t wanted to risk Cleocatra becoming frightened and bolting from the carriage at a stop.

  On the journey north, they had stopped in Melton Mowbray for three nights. Besides visiting family and friends, they collected Dancer. Jack’s horse had recovered from his hunting injury and was now trotting behind the carriage on a lead.

  The night before they had stayed in Leeds, the nearest city to Langdale Hall. Today the carriage had climbed into the Pennines, the chain of steep hills that divided Britain in the north.

  Even on a gray day with rain threatening, the landscape was spectacular, with craggy cliffs and waterfalls that plunged down hillsides before flowing into the fertile valleys, which the locals called dales. Abby could learn to love Yorkshire, she thought. “Spring is coming early this year. Even this far north, I’ve seen daffodils. Soon the countryside will come alive.”

  They rounded the bend and the carriage halted in front of the cast-iron gates that led to the hall. Jack opened the window and called, “Halloo, Ned! Are you still here?”

  When no gatekeeper appeared, Jack muttered an oath and climbed from the carriage to open the gates himself. A wizened old man shuffled out of the gatehouse. “Ned!” Jack offered his hand through the iron bars. “It’s good to see you again.”

  The old man ignored the outstretched hand. “Ye’ve taken your time coming home. My lord.” The title was stuck on with no pretense of welcome.

  “I’ve been busy fighting Britain’s battles, Ned,” Jack said as he lowered his hand.

  The gatekeeper snorted eloquently, making it clear that foreign battles mattered little to him. As he opened the gates, he said, “Much has changed. My lord.”

  “In what way?”

  “Ye’ll find out.” Ned closed the gates behind the carriage and stomped into the gatehouse.

  As soon as the carriage drove onto Langdon property, there was a startling energy shift. Abby had grown accustomed to the bracing Yorkshire air and a sense of sturdy upland life. Now that they had entered Langdale, there was a flat, suffocating heaviness that pervaded the atmosphere.

  “Do you feel a difference?” Jack asked.

  “Dramatically so,” Abby replied as the carriage started up the driveway. It ran up the dale so far she couldn’t see the house at the end. “Did you choose your gatekeeper to frighten people away?”

  “Ned used to be a lot friendlier.” Jack frowned. “You have much more experience reading auras than I do. What did you see in his?”

  “He seemed like a man struggling to survive, his energy pulled tight around him.”

  “That was what I sensed. He felt wrong.” Jack rapped on the panel by the driver as a signal to stop the carriage. “Everything feels wrong.”

  When the carriage stopped, Jack swung out. “I’ll only be a minute.”

  Abby waited as the minute stretched to several. Nerves taut, she opened the door and climbed out. Jack stood about a hundred yards away beside a small grove of bare-branched trees. As she walked to join him, the first cold drops of rain began to fall. Wishing she had worn her bonnet, she said, “What are you looking for?”

  “There was a mass of daffodil bulbs planted here, and the number increased every year. The flowers covered the ground like a shimmering golden blanket. Now there isn’t so much as a single shoot breaking the soil.”

  He was right. Now that they had entered Langdale, all traces of spring had vanished. No shoots broke the ground, and the leaf buds on the trees were as tight and hard as if it was midwinter. Knowing that daffodils were famously resilient, she asked, “Could someone have dug up all the bulbs?”

  “I can’t imagine why.” Jack squatted and used a stick to poke into the earth. Almost immediately, he found a bulb and freed it from the soil.

  Abby peered at the wizened bulb. “This doesn’t look dead, but it’s like a bulb in December, not March. It should be at least sprouting by now. Maybe even blooming.”

  Jack got to his feet. “Proof that I’m not imagining this sense of wrongness.”

  Abby scanned the barren landscape. The wind moaned in the trees and the rain was coming harder. “This land is dormant. Barely alive.”

  “Cursed?”

  “I don’t think so, but I’m not sure,” she said slowly. “It would take a wizard of unimaginable power to curse such a large area, and curses have a distinct, twisted feel to them. This land feels as if it has been drained of life until there is almost none left.”

  “Cur
ses, draining of life, whatever. My land is near death, and I don’t know how to cure it.” He shoved the bulb back in the earth, tamping loose soil over it. “Ned also seemed barely alive. I had dreamed that Langdale Hall was blighted, but I didn’t realize that the blight is literally true.”

  “Do you think this denial of life comes from your stepfather?”

  “Probably. I hope to know for sure when I see him.” Jack turned back to the carriage. “Does killing a man lift his curses?”

  “I hope you’re joking,” Abby said, unnerved by his soldierly ease with violence.

  “Not really.” Jack’s bleak gaze swept the hills. “Langdale is my responsibility. Now that I have returned, I will do whatever is necessary to restore it to health.”

  “Murder won’t do the trick,” Abby said firmly. “Even if a black magician was hired to curse this land, Scranton’s death won’t end the curse. Even the black magician’s death wouldn’t end it. If there is a curse, the cure is to counter it with powerful healing magic. So don’t do anything foolish! I don’t want to see you swing at Tyburn.”

  Jack didn’t reply. With cold clarity, she realized that he would indeed do whatever he deemed necessary to lift this strange lifelessness. Trained as a soldier, not a wizard, he didn’t really understand how taking life would make the land even further out of harmony. She must keep him in balance, if she could. As he helped her into the carriage, she said quietly, “Please don’t do anything dramatic or criminal without talking to me first. Together we can discover the truth and find a solution.”

  Alarmed when he didn’t reply, she said sharply, “Jack?”

  He gave a reluctant nod. “I won’t kill Scranton without informing you first.”

  “I find that faint comfort,” she said tartly as she tried to neaten her wet hair.

  “I hope it doesn’t come to that. But my skin crawls from the wrongness here.”

  Abby could feel it, too, and the effect must be much harsher for Jack, since this was his home. That knowledge did nothing to reassure her. “There will be a solution. We must take the time to find it.”

  “I fear the solution is to throw my mother from her home,” Jack said, his face tight. “How does one accomplish that?”

  “Think of this as throwing your stepfather from your house,” she suggested. “Your mother can stay or go as she pleases. She has choices, after all. She can go with her husband to his estate, which is right next door. Or stay at Langdale Hall without him. Or use her jointure to set up an establishment elsewhere, such as London or Bath.”

  “You’re right. It’s not like I’m condemning her to the workhouse.” He frowned. “But it will be difficult to ask her to move. Will you help me, Abby?”

  She had been afraid of this. “Of course. Do you want me to tell her she must go? She’ll resent me anyhow, so I might as well be the villain.”

  “That’s tempting, but it is my place to issue the ultimatum.” He sighed. “Just…support me. Don’t let me give in and avoid doing what I know is right.”

  In some ways, that would be even harder than giving the orders herself. “I’ll do my best. But you must be sure of what you want to do. If you are uncertain, it will be difficult for you to be as firm as you will need to be.”

  “I am certain that I want to restore Langdale Hall. I hope that will give me the resolution necessary to send Scranton away.”

  “If he is the source of this blight, removing him from the estate might be a good start to fixing the situation. If we’re really lucky, perhaps nothing more will be needed.”

  “Then I will get rid of him.” Jack smiled wryly. “On the whole, it would be easier to shoot him. Guns are simpler than difficult conversations.”

  “No doubt. But not the best long term solution.”

  The rest of the ride to the house was in silence. Abby kept Cleocatra’s basket in her lap, one hand resting inside on the cat’s soft fur. Considering how nervous Cleo had been since they’d entered the estate, she wasn’t sure who needed comfort more.

  The sprawling manor house was an interesting mix of old and older styles. The carriage pulled under a portico on the right side that protected them from the now-heavy rain. Jack helped her from the vehicle. “The oldest section of Langdale Hall dates back to the thirteenth century, they say. Various Langdons have added new bits when in the mood, with never a thought for what was already here.”

  ”It is rather a hodgepodge,” she admitted. “But charming.”

  “You lie well,” he said with a glimmer of a smile.

  “I’m not lying.” She gestured at the jumble of towers and mismatched facades and windows. There was a nice chunk in Tudor style, and even a Palladian wing from the last century. “Granted, the place looks like it was built by a blind tinker, but the pieces all go together. The lovely gray stone makes it look as if the hall has grown out of the bones of the Yorkshire hills.”

  His expression softened. “I’ve always thought that, too.”

  As they walked to the door that opened from the portico into the house, Abby held Jack’s arm with one hand and carried Cleo’s basket in the other. Jack rang the bell. Once more there was a wait.

  This time the door was opened by a well-dressed footman in livery and powdered wig. His eyes widened as he saw Jack. “You were not expected, Lord Frayne.”

  Jack arched his brows. “Is the hall in such a state that a warning is necessary before bringing my bride home?”

  “No, my lord.” The footman bowed after a quick glance at Abby. “It’s good to see you again, my lord. Welcome to Langdale Hall, my lady.”

  “You’re Young Jenkins, aren’t you? The eldest son of the butler?”

  “Yes, my lord.” The young man’s face was touched with shadow. “My father passed away two winters ago.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” Jack said gravely. “He was a fine man.”

  As Abby walked in beside Jack, she wondered why his mother hadn’t written him about that. Surely the death of an old family retainer rated a sentence in a letter.

  They were shaking the rain off in the entrance hall when a blond vision carrying a small dog drifted past the open door that led into the house. Seeing the visitors, she paused. “Jack, how nice to see you. Were we expecting you?”

  This was obviously the woman who had established Jack’s taste for petite blondes. Helen, Lady Scranton, must be near fifty, but she was still slim, with shining bright hair and perfectly formed features. Across a crowded room, she could be confused with Celeste. Her small, chubby lapdog wore a dark blue ribbon that matched the trim on her ladyship’s elegant morning gown.

  “Mother!” For all his complicated feelings about his mother, Jack crossed the room and hugged her with pleasure, careful not to hurt the dog. “I wanted to surprise you. It’s been too long.”

  “Far, far too long. And whose fault is that?” Her eyes were blue, not the hazel of Jack and Celeste. She turned to Abby, cradling the dog to her chest. “Who is this? Surely you didn’t hire a companion for me! You know I don’t need one, not when I have my dear Alfred.”

  Jack took Abby’s hand and drew her forward. “Of course I did no such thing. Don’t you remember that I wrote you about my marriage? Allow me to present my wife, Abby, the newest Lady Frayne.”

  Her ladyship’s brows arched. “Really? I thought you’d marry someone prettier.”

  Abby flushed a deep, painful scarlet as the fragile confidence she’d acquired in London vanished. She felt like a great, ungainly cow. One who had been traveling for days, wore an old gown, and was wet from the rain.

  Jack’s hand squeezed Abby’s hard. “That is an appalling thing to say to the new mistress of Langdale Hall,” he said sharply. “I trust you will apologize for your slip of the tongue.”

  His mother shrugged, unrepentant, “I had thought your taste ran to elegant blondes, but of course I haven’t seen you in so many years that I really don’t know your preferences any more.”

  Was her new mother-in-law
quite right in the head? Abby had trouble believing that any woman could be so indifferent to seeing a long-absent child. Trying to sound calm and gracious, Abby said, “Since Jack could never find a blonde as lovely as you and Celeste, he decided to marry a brunette. I’m pleased to meet you, Lady Scranton.”

  “Lady Frayne, if you please,” the other woman corrected. “I have chosen to retain my title. With my dear Alfred’s permission, of course. He says he likes being married to a viscountess.”

  Abby knew that it wasn’t uncommon for women to retain the higher title when they married a man of lower rank, but having two Lady Fraynes under the same roof might be confusing. She hoped it wouldn’t be for long.

  Helen’s lapdog struggled to get down, so she set her pet on the floor. The beast came over to Abby and started jumping on her. “Homer doesn’t like you,” Helen drawled. “He’s very discriminating.”

  “I think he smells my cat.” As the dog reared up, a low hiss came from inside the basket. Abby was about to check the basket’s latch when the lid popped open to reveal Cleocatra, her white whiskers a quivering accent against her sleek black fur.

  Homer began whining and jumping. Abby stepped back, but the dog managed to bang a paw against the bottom of the basket, setting it swinging. With a furious growl, Cleo leaped to the floor. Every ebony hair on her body was standing on end, making her look twice the dog’s size.

  Homer launched himself at the cat. Hissing like a dragon, Cleo slashed her claws across the dog’s nose. Homer howled and raced away, escaping the entry hall as if pursued by demons.

  “What a horrible beast!” Helen exclaimed. “You must get rid of it at once!”

  As Abby scooped up Cleo and soothed her, Jack said, “Abby lives here now, and so does her cat. Homer could use training to improve his manners.”

  “Homer is never the least bit of trouble! That filthy cat is the problem.”

  “Like most cats, Cleo is immaculate,” Jack said, suddenly amused. “I wish my soldiers had washed half as often.”