Bewitching

by Amelia Grey

  "I'm not for sale, sir, and I'm highly offended by your proposition." She turned and stomped away. His good-natured chuckle made her lips tighten. What gave men the right to behave so abominably toward women who had to work for a living?

  She'd known she would have to fight off advances from drunken sailors when she had taken the job, but she hadn't expected it from regular patrons or nicely dressed gentlemen.

  When the Duncans had thrown her out of their house, they'd refused to pay her back salary. She'd only had enough money to stay at the boarding-house for two months while she'd tried to find another post. Her money ran out too quickly, and she wasn't able to obtain a job.

  As a last resort, she'd agreed to work at the tavern to pay for her room and board. She'd asked to work in the kitchen where no one would see her, but the owner wouldn't agree. Mr. Muller said he needed the pretty ones serving the drinks. He and his wife did all the cooking and washing.

  Weary, aching from her head to her toes, and upset, Chelly walked straight into the kitchen. She wouldn't take any more. "Mr. Muller, I'd like to speak with you," she said in a tired voice.

  The gray-haired man turned from banking the embers in the fireplace. Gray ash had settled on his clothing and the crown of his hair.

  "Everyone gone?"

  "No. There's one gentleman left. He's almost finished and will be gone soon." She took a deep breath and ran her hands down her stained apron, hating the feel of the soiled cloth. "I wanted to tell you I'm quitting."

  "What?" He propped himself on one knee.

  "I'm leaving. Most of the men who come in here think it's their right to touch me and proposition me. I won't put up with that anymore."

  He rose with a grunt and placating smile. "They mean no harm. It's all part of getting away from their wives for a time." He rubbed his flat nose with the back of his hand and left gray ash streaked across his face. "Don't give it a second thought. They won't hurt you."

  Mr. Muller wasn't listening to her. "No, you don't understand. I'm quitting, leaving. I'm not working here any longer." Her voice was stronger this time, his lack of concern fueling her displeasure at her predicament.

  "Don't get difficult with me, girlie." He threw his shoulders back and raked the back of his hand under his nose again. "Why do you think I hired you? A comely wench like you brings many men into the tavern, just so they can look at you and slip a little feel of you every now and then. It won't hurt you. I've been tempted to feel of you a time or two myself."

  Appalled by what the tavern keeper said, Chelly gasped. He didn't mind that the men groped her. He wanted them to. Her anger was renewed.

  Trying to keep a check on her temper, she said through clenched teeth, "I'll be leaving first thing in the morning."

  She whirled toward the door; but just as quickly, he ran in front of her and blocked the doorway. His face glowed red with anger. His eyes twitched. "All right, I'll give you a dollar more a day. That should make a few pats on your backside worthwhile."

  Her feet hurt. Her back ached. The strong odor of burned food and stale ale filled the room and strengthened her resolve.

  "Nothing is worth having leering men think they can touch me or say anything they want to me. I'd rather clean chamber pots in a boarding-house. I'll take my pay and be leaving first thing in the morning."

  "No, girlie, you won't." His eyes narrowed. "If you're going to leave, it has to be now. I'm not giving you a bed for the night and have you walk out on me in the morning." He yanked her by the arm and pushed her forward out the kitchen door.

  Pain shot up her arm. Chelly winced. A shove from the back sent her tumbling to the floor. Her legs tangled in her skirts. He reached down and grabbed her hair, yanking her cap off her head. She cried out in fear. His hand closed around her chignon, and he pulled her up by her hair. Intense pain spiraled through her. Chelly struck out at him. Her fist connected with the side of his face. The tavern-keeper's head snapped back. He grunted.

  "Ungrateful bitch," he muttered and hit her with an open palm on the side of her head.

  He swung her around and twisted her arm behind her back, shoving her forward again. He pushed her through the taproom, forcing her to run ahead of him.

  Dazed from the stinging blow, Chelly found it difficult to focus. "My things, my wages!" she called out when she realized what he was doing.

  "As far as I'm concerned, you have no things here and haven't earned any wages. Now get out!" He opened the front door and shoved her hard. She stumbled and fell into something that rocked, then crashed to the ground with her. The door slammed shut behind her.

  Chelly groaned and opened her eyes. Moonlight shone down, lighting the midnight darkness. She lay atop the stranger with greenish-gray eyes who'd propositioned her just minutes before.

  He smiled up at her. "I guess this means you changed your mind about my offer."

  Chapter 2

  Chelly's eyes widened as she rolled off the man and scrambled to her feet. "I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to knock you down." She brushed her hair out of her face. The coolness of the late night immediately chilled her, and she hugged her arms to herself.

  Chuckling lightly, the man rose to his feet and dusted his clothes. "No harm. I've never had a woman fall so hard for me before. You know, you could have simply tapped me on the shoulder."

  A tall, robust Negro man appeared out of nowhere and picked up the man's hat. Not sure what kind of predicament she was in, Chelly stepped away from the men.

  "Are you all right, Mr. Radcliffe?" the dark man asked.

  "Yes, Jubal, I'm fine. Don't fuss. I was standing on the porch, putting on my hat, and the next thing I know I'm laying on the ground with this lovely young woman on top of me. What happened?" His gaze darted to Chelly.

  "I was watching from the carriage, sir. A man opened the taproom door and pushed her out on the porch, right into your back."

  The Negro's eyes shone brightley. His voice wasn't frightening, and he didn't seem to be paying any attention to her. She relaxed a little.

  Concern showed in the features of the man she'd knocked down. She shivered from the coolness of the spring night and from the shock of the rough treatment by Mr. Muller.

  "Is that true?" the gentleman asked. "Did you get thrown out?"

  "Yes. I told him I was quitting in the morning. He wouldn't let me stay the rest of the night." Her voice grew fainter with each word.

  What was wrong with her? Suddenly she felt like she wanted to cry. She never cried. Many were the times she could have felt sorry for herself and given in to tears, but she was too strong for that. She had to be. It didn't matter that she was tired to the point of exhaustion. Her arm hurt as if it'd been ripped from its socket. And being thrown out of the tavern and on top of the attractive man who'd propositioned her minutes before was the last straw of a very bad day. She wished she could sit down and cry.

  "Do you have a place to go?"

  She swallowed hard and glanced toward the closed tavern door. She'd get no sympathy from Mr. Muller, but she couldn't tell this man that. He obviously hadn't given up on the idea of getting her into his bed for the night. "I'm sure I can find a place."

  He looked at her doubtfully. "Do you have money?"

  Against her better judgment, Chelly decided to fib, just so he would go away and stop looking at her with those penetrating eyes and that soothing concerned expression.

  "I don't see a satchel or a purse."

  She swallowed hard. "I'll have to get Mr. Muller to open up again so I can get my things. Your concern isn't necessary. I'll be all right." But, as she said the words, her stomach tightened. She knew that front door wasn't going to open for her tonight. What was she to do? She looked around the darkened street. If only her sister or brother-in-law were still alive, she wouldn't be so alone in the world. With their recent deaths she had no one to turn to.

  The tavern was several blocks from the docks, but it wasn't a safe time for a woman to be out no matter the neighborhood. Two
men stood huddled together on one corner, and the other three corners held clusters of men. She heard them talking, laughing. What would she do, if she couldn't find a boardinghouse to take her in without money in hand? And, how would she get past all those men without the protection of the tavern-keeper? Unbidden, a soft moan escaped her lips.

  "Don't worry about tonight. You can come with me to my town house."

  "No," she whispered, shaking her head. How many times did she have to turn this man down? Her ears rang. A pressing weight centered itself on her chest and tightened. For a moment she felt light-headed again. "No—I can't go with you. I've told you I—I'm not like that." She slowly backed away from him until the back of her legs hit the porch railing.

  "Calm down. Don't get upset." He held up his hands and approached cautiously. "I'm not asking you to be my doxy for the night. All right? I'm just offering help. I can be a gentleman when I see a lady in distress. No one's going to let you in this time of night without payment." He pointed to the tavern door behind her. "I don't think he will let you in at all."

  Chelly's gaze darted around the street again. What was she to do? Dared she trust this man who'd propositioned her? She rubbed her forehead, trying to think clearly. He seemed sincere.

  "I give my word you can trust me—Your name?"

  She moistened her lips, then swallowed hard. "Chelly Worthington."

  "I'm Austin Radcliffe, Chelly. You will be properly chaperoned at my town house." He turned around. "Tell her, Jubal."

  The Negro stepped forward. "He's telling the truth, Miss. His housekeeper Thollie won't let anybody mess with you, and I won't either."

  Chelly had heard of Radcliffe Ship Builders and Sawmills and wondered if he were part of that family. His manservant seemed polished in his speech and his dress. She stared into the dark, man's coal-black eyes. Did she dare trust either of them? She didn't know.

  "I'll find a place to take me in," she managed to say on a breathy note, rubbing her arms to ward off the chill, the ache that had settled upon her.

  "Do you really want to walk the streets, knocking on strangers' doors? You've found a place, Chelly. Come home with me. You will be safe."

  Mr. Radcliffe spoke softly, his voice inspiring trust. He didn't act as if he intended to take advantage of her. Could she trust him? From down the street, she heard loud talking and laughing from the men lounging on the corners. Did she have a choice? She could spend the rest of the night on the street or be at the mercy of this man. Two men, smelling strongly of ale, shuffled by them. One of the men leered at her and she shivered again.

  No. She was trapped. If she weren't so tired, maybe she could think of another way out. As it was, she'd be foolish not to take the offer of the properly dressed gentleman over the derelicts and wine bibbers on the street.

  "All right," she whispered.

  "Good," Austin said, taking his hat from the servant. "Jubal, get the carriage."

  The manservant trotted across the street. Chelly knew she could be making a big mistake, but feeling that tonight there was no other way, she resigned herself to putting her safety in this stranger's hands.

  "Don't worry so, Chelly," he said, stepping closer to her. "I know I was out of line earlier this evening, but I won't hurt you."

  Moonlight shone down on his face and glowed in his eyes. She saw warmth, concern, and friendliness. She believed him. The carriage pulled up, and she allowed him to take her arm and help her inside. He climbed in, too, and closed the door, shutting out most of the light from the lanterns which hung on the outside wall of the carriage.

  Her breathing became shallow again. Would she ever feel safe? Jubal snapped the whip and the horse took off, cantering down the street. Although Mr. Radcliffe didn't touch her, she felt the warmth of his body. She tried to relax, but her whole body was stiff with fear of the unknown. What lay ahead of her?

  "You're cold."

  "No, I'm fine," she lied, hovering in the corner, wishing it were light enough to see his face.

  "I don't think so. You're trembling." He took off his jacket and placed it over her chest and arms. "Here, take this and hold it up under your chin until you stop shaking."

  His coat buried her in warmth, soothing her almost immediately. She ached and hurt from her head to her feet. She was tired and so very sleepy. He helped her by tucking the collar of his coat under her chin.

  "It's a long ride to my town house. Lay your head back and close your eyes, Chelly. Rest."

  "Yes," she murmured, following his instructions. She'd close her eyes for a moment. She could think more clearly once she had a little rest.

  * * *

  Something touched her shoulder.

  "Miss. Miss."

  Someone shook her. Chelly's eyes popped open. She was staring into the dark-brown face of a woman staring at her with a curious expression. Startled, Chelly rose up quickly. The room spun and her eyes blurred. She grabbed her forehead and fell back against the pillows. Her head was throbbing.

  "Are you all right, Miss? Do you need the doctor?"

  What had happened? The last thing she remembered was crawling into the carriage with Mr. Radcliffe and getting warm. Chelly's gaze darted around the room. Hazy sunshine filtered through sheer curtains. Early morning or late afternoon? She didn't know which. At a glance she saw an English dressing table with an oval mirror, a small chest, and a wardrobe—all fine furniture. A beautiful painting of a small girl running through a field of wildflowers hung on one wall. To her far right, the room had a spacious sitting area.

  She quickly focused on the woman again. "Where am I?" Her voice sounded gravelly and thick.

  The woman smiled pleasantly. "You in the home of Mr. Austin Radcliffe, Miss."

  So he had brought her to His home. She remembered thinking last night that she'd heard his name before but knew nothing more than a family with that name owned sawmills and ships. "And—and who are you?"

  "I'm Thollie, Miss. I take care of this house for Mr. Radcliffe. He brought you in here early this morning. 'Bout three o'clock, I'd say. You've slept all day," she said good-naturedly, stepping back and looking down at Chelly. "I didn't have the heart to wake you."

  Chelly couldn't believe she'd slept so long. She never slept late; but as she thought that, she remembered how exhausted she'd been from the long hours of work at the tavern. Mr. Muller had dealt her a stunning blow and her head was sore. Slowly this time, she raised her head. She wore only her sleeveless chemise. She prayed that Thollie was the one who'd undressed her during the night and not Mr. Radcliffe. The very thought of the handsome gentleman seeing her so intimately caused her cheeks to heat.

  "My clothes?" she asked.

  "Don't worry. I hung them when I undressed you last night."

  Relief stole over Chelly. It appeared Mr. Radcliffe had lived up to his promise to be a gentleman.

  "It's almost dinner time." The tall, buxom woman picked up a tray from the night table. "Here, I brought you some tea and biscuits to help you wake up. You need to be joining Mr. Radcliffe for dinner in less than an hour."

  Dinner? She had slept the day away! Chelly was forced to sit up and take the tray. "Oh, I couldn't possibly join him for dinner, but thank him for asking me."

  Thollie rested the heel of her hands on her hips, hiking the hem of her black dress. She tilted her head toward Chelly and pursed her lips. "He's expecting you, and we're not going to disappoint him. Now drink your tea. I'll help you dress and fix your hair."

  "But you don't understand," Chelly hurried to say. "I don't have a proper dress for dinner." Thollie walked over to the wardrobe and pulled out one of Chelly's best dresses, a puce-colored sarcenet. "All my clothes are—" Chelly stopped in mid-sentence. Astonished, Chelly gasped. "How did you get my dress?"

  Thollie's laugh was husky, friendly. "Mr. Radcliffe sent Jubal afta your things this morning. Including your wages for the week. It's all there in the wardrobe." She laid the dress on the foot of the bed. "What Mr. Radcliffe sends Ju
bal afta, he comes back with. You remember that." She leaned against the cannonball post at the foot of the bed. "Now, you best start drinking that tea. We have to get you ready for dinner."

  An hour later Chelly followed Thollie out the bedroom door, down the wide hallway to the stairs. Early evening twilight poured softly through the windows. She'd known last night that Austin Radcliffe was not only a man of education and wealth but also a man of means, and she appreciated all he'd done for her. She was embarrassed that she'd slept the day away. Instead, she should have been out finding a place to work and live. Since Mr. Radcliffe wanted her to join him for dinner, maybe he'd let her stay one more night, if she promised to leave first thing in the morning.

  "That's the parlor in there," Thollie said, pointing to an arched entrance as they reached the bottom of the stairs. "Over on this side is the drawing room. Mr. Radcliffe's office is opposite the dining room down that way, and there's a small cook house out back. This house ain't as big as his country home, but he has more room than he needs, not having a wife and chilens. Go on into the drawing room. Mr. Radcliffe's waiting for you in there. I have to check on dinner." She waved for Chelly to go inside and kept walking down the hallway.

  Chelly smiled. Thollie brimmed with information and didn't mind parting with it, making Chelly more comfortable in the house. She looked down at her dark-red dress, thankful she'd had it and two others made just before the Duncans had dismissed her. At least she looked presentable. The tunic style with the high waistline flared into a flowing skirt. A wide, buff-colored ribbon cuffed the long sleeves.

  She rejected a moment of trepidation at the thought of facing Austin Radcliffe. Refusing to accept being tired as an excuse, she berated herself again for not getting up and out. She took a deep breath and walked over to the entrance into the drawing room.

  Austin stood by a beautifully carved tambour desk at the far end of the room, reading a sheet of paper. A fluttering attacked her stomach. The same nervous jitter that had bothered her last night when she'd looked into his eyes. What was it about him that touched her so intimately, so intensely, so completely? He was handsome, kind, and generous. All those things appealed to her; but she'd met handsome, kind, generous men before and not had her stomach flutter, her breath shorten, and her heart race. Why did she feel differently around this man?