Lord Merlyn's Magic

by Marcy Stewart

Charlotte Ann gave her a pair of handkerchiefs with Abby’s new initials embroidered in the corners. Francis’s eyes gleamed mischievously as she unwrapped his present. When Abby saw he had given her a traveler’s guide to England, she laughed.

  But it was the seamstress’s gift which made her heart flutter. After cautioning Abby to “just take a peek; don’t let the menfolk see,” Mrs. White gave her a package containing an exquisite nightgown she had made. It was lacy, white, and designed to enhance every curve of a young bride’s body.

  Abby looked from it to her husband and almost wept. Mrs. White’s kindly face began to crumple. Abby quickly assured her it was her love for the gown, not dislike, that brought tears to her eyes.

  If only the reason for her melancholy was so simple. In truth, her longing for Julian was driving her mad. Every time his hand touched hers, every time their eyes met, she felt a heat pass through her body that could scorch the sun.

  He felt the same, she knew he did. The sadness behind his eyes testified to it.

  The party disbanded shortly after nine, and with the exception of Francis, the servants moved off to bed or to attend to their duties.

  Harriet had just announced her intention of taking Colleen home when someone knocked at the door. Powell rushed to answer it; and, curious to find the identity of so late a visitor, Abby and Julian followed.

  The door opened to reveal a well-dressed young man holding a leather folder in his hands. He introduced himself as Mr. Jacob Siddons, representative of the Lyons’s family solicitors.

  “I apologize for the lateness of my arrival,” he said officiously. “I only received your direction from Mrs. Lyons’s butler a few days ago, and I’ve been traveling since then. My orders, Lady Julian, were to find you by your twenty-first birthday if possible.” An extremely self-satisfied look crossed his features. “And I have done so!”

  He was admitted. After they gathered in the parlour, Mr. Siddons informed Abby that she had inherited Sharonfield.

  She did not believe him at first. “How is that possible?”

  Mr. Siddons was sitting on the edge of the chair, the folder carefully balanced and open on his knees. He tapped the papers before him. “Your grandfather was within his rights to will it to you since there are no male heirs.”

  A deep, slow rage began to burn in her chest. “Did my grandmother know of this?”

  The solicitor’s face betrayed no emotion. “We made efforts on several occasions to inform you of your coming inheritance, but she insisted we wait.”

  Abby’s furious eyes met Julian’s. “No wonder she became so anxious that I marry Philip. I suppose she thought I’d force her to leave when Sharonfield became mine.”

  “You may do so now if you wish.” Mr. Siddons’s words were crisp and impassive. “It’s within your power.”

  When she hesitated, Julian asked, “Is that what you want, Abby?”

  Yes. For a week or two only, so she will know how it feels to be penniless and alone. But she said, “No, of course not. She may stay for as long as she lives if she wants, but I never plan to see the place again.”

  The look of approval in Julian’s eyes warmed her.

  After Mr. Simmons refused their offers of refreshments, he guided Abby and Julian in the signing of the papers and departed.

  Moments later, Harriet and Colleen retired to their cottage, and Francis went to bed. Julian and Abby ascended the stairs, then paused outside their adjoining bedrooms, A teasing light flickered in the magician’s eyes.

  “I never thought to have a wealthy wife,” he said.

  “Now you can give up being a magician if you want,” she replied.

  “What, and sacrifice your ambition to play Hilda? I hardly think so.”

  They smiled into one another’s eyes, then Julian kissed her and turned away. Abby entered her bedroom, and he entered his.

  When the door closed behind her, Abby began fumbling with the hooks-and-eyes at the back of her gown and wished she had not told Charlotte Ann to go to bed. Perhaps she could ask Julian for help. But such a course would lead to disaster, she supposed. In a fit of fury, she struggled out of the dress and her unmentionables, threw them aside, and, after hesitating momentarily, donned the sheer nightgown Mrs. White had given her.

  As Abby combed her hair into black silk before the mirror, the nightgown mocked her with all it promised and all she could never know.

  She had been sentenced to virginity forever. Forever.

  It was impossible. The mere sight of Julian was beginning to cause her pain. She couldn’t live this way.

  The face in the mirror stared back at her with growing resolution. A loud hammering pounded inside her chest. Courage sparked darkly from her eyes.

  She lit the lamps closest to the door to Julian’s bedroom. When she was certain there was a sufficient backdrop of light, she turned the knob.

  He was propped in bed reading a book. His nightshirt hung open to the waist, revealing a mat of dark hair on a strong-looking chest. At her entrance, he looked up in surprise. The book fell to his lap, then flopped unheeded to the floor. His eyes roamed swiftly over her, then glanced away and returned. His cheeks darkened.

  Why, she had made him blush!

  “What are you doing here, Abby?” he choked. “Where is your robe?”

  “I have come to seduce my husband,” she answered, her voice cracking on every word.

  “Sweetheart—,” he began, but before he could finish, she flew across the room on bare feet and sat on the edge of his bed. To still his protest, she placed a trembling hand over his mouth.

  “Women die in childbirth every day, Julian. Every female knows that when she enters marriage. Besides, I have survived a pistol at my back and poison in my glass. Childbirth sounds easy in comparison.”

  She removed her hand from his lips and began smoothing the tousled hair from his forehead. He started to touch her face, then dropped his arm as if she were fire.

  “I think you are wrong about your dream,” she continued. “Perhaps your fears for my safety have given you nightmares. But, nightmare or prophecy, I cannot love you halfway. I don’t want to grow old and sour and empty like my grandmother, always wishing for something I never had. I would rather live my life fully, no matter how long its duration.”

  He closed his eyes. “I shouldn’t have told you,” he whispered. “I know how strong you are. Why didn’t I guess you would say this to me?” When she leaned forward to kiss his eyelids, he breathed deeply and turned his head aside. “There is only one hindrance to your plan, Abby. You may be willing to live a shorter life, but I am not willing to live without you.”

  “Take courage, Lord Merlyn,” she murmured, brushing his earlobe and cheek with her lips.

  “Are you trying to kill me?” he demanded.

  She pulled back. “If you force me to leave, I will go. But know this. Your love has made me more than I was. You have given me hope and confidence in myself; otherwise, I would have gone over that wall with Philip. But if you reject me now, you will crush my soul. And I have always accounted my soul to be of more importance than the well-being of my body.”

  His blue gaze locked with hers. A wealth of tenderness and yearning could be read in his eyes. He touched the gauzy fabric at her back. She jerked slightly at the contact and felt waves of pleasure move across her body.

  “Are you certain, Abby?”

  “More certain than I am of anything.”

  After a moment, he said, “Then come here, you brazen wench.”

  She laughed. He laughed with her, but there was a sadness behind his eyes she could not like. She determined to kiss the sorrow away and proceeded to do so.

  *

  Julian awoke when the morning sun lit the windows. During the night, Abby had nestled against him, and he could not resist slipping his arms around her. She stirred, opened her eyes, and smiled sleepily.

  “I didn’t have the dream last night,” Julian whispered. “I don’t know what it means, but fo
r the first time in weeks I didn’t dream about you.”

  Her lips curled. “Coming from anyone else, that would be an insult, I think.”

  “Well, in the event I’ve hurt your feelings, allow me to make amends.” He kissed her until her toes ached, then raised himself on one elbow to stare into her eyes. “Better?”

  “You are a magician indeed,” she said breathlessly. “More magic, please.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “Do you know, Abby, I’ve been remembering the night we met, when I read your hand and saw marriage as the only solution to save your life. I’m beginning to think I was wrong.”

  “Oh?” Her voice inflected worriedly.

  “Yes. There was a more obvious reason for our wedding, only I was too thick-headed to see it.”

  Her heartbeat steadied, then began to race again. She had never seen such a beautiful mouth in her life.

  “What reason was that, Julian?”

  “Why, that I was going to love you, of course.”

  With her lips almost touching his, she whispered, “It doesn’t require a prophet’s talent to see that. I have known it from the beginning.” She drew back and scowled playfully. “Now, do you plan to continue pontificating, or are you going to kiss me?”

  Without another word, he pulled her to him.

  1826

  Epilogue

  The crowded theatre buzzed with excitement. It was not often a marquess was willing to entertain London society, even for charity. That Lord Donberry had once earned his living as a magician only added to the attraction.

  No one guessed that the two lovely ladies sitting in the foremost box seat had at varying times served as his assistant on stage. Like the green-eyed gentleman behind them, they were too regal and elegant to have done anything frivolous in their past.

  “I’m so nervous,” Harriet said, fanning herself.

  Francis leaned forward and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Calm yourself; you’ll agitate the little one. You never used to get stage fright.”

  She patted her rounded stomach soothingly. “This is different.”

  Abby’s eyes twinkled. “If you can manage my grandmother, you can manage anything.”

  Harriet laughed. “I’m not managing her well. She can’t move from her bed yet tries to rule us all.”

  “But you’ve bought Prosings and joined the estates, haven’t you? That’s what she always desired.”

  “Yes, but it’s not hers. She wanted the Lyons name exalted, not Francis’s. We’re still discussing building our own house, just as we have since we bought Sharonfield from you. Of late we’ve even considered moving to Prosings, but since Mrs. Demere followed her son to America, it has deteriorated dreadfully. I suppose we’ll remain where we are. Besides, the old lady keeps threatening it will kill her if we leave.”

  Abby shook her head. “No worry there; she will never die.”

  While Harriet smiled, the marchioness turned to survey the house. Memories stirred to life; memories of countless performances when she had served as Hilda by her husband’s side. But those days were long gone, buried in the greater responsibilities of raising children and fulfilling her duties.

  Thank God Sophia maintained her interest in the castle. Since Carl’s death the year before, the dowager marchioness had channeled her grief in constructive ways, freeing Julian to remain at Avilion for months at a time. Abby had never grown used to the castle, and it was better at Avilion for the children. Michael and Edmond had legions of friends in Coventry, and Carlotta loved the woods.

  Carlotta, dear child. Abby’s eyes misted at the thought of her only daughter. Julian’s old dream had been fulfilled, though not in the way he thought. Their oldest babe had nearly died— in fact, they thought she had gone; but after a moment of not breathing, the infant filled her lungs and survived. Beautiful, beautiful Carlotta. She was growing up, and they were all spoiling her sadly. Charlotte Ann was the worst.

  The curtains parted, and an expectant hush fell across the auditorium. It jolted her pleasantly to see the haunted castle set again. Julian had changed the act many times over the years, but this one had remained his—and the audience’s—favorite.

  The performance began.

  Thunder sounded. A knocking could be heard. The door swung open, and a young, red-haired beauty entered. She was attired in a modest dress that swished the floor as she walked. It was not at all like the milkmaid’s costume another Hilda had worn years ago. After all, this beauty’s mother was in the audience, and Queen Victoria was on the throne.

  While Colleen asked if anyone was home, Julian came to the wings and peered up at the box seats until he found Abby. When his eyes met hers, he shrugged back his cape and pulled a rose from his lapel pocket. He pressed his lips to the blossom, then lifted it toward her. His hands moved rapidly, and the rose disappeared.

  A smile broke across Abby’s face. Pretending not to have heard Francis’s sudden movement, she lifted the rose that had fallen into her lap and kissed it.

  On stage, Colleen was peering into the top hat. Julian winked, flashed his teeth, and vanished.

  For

  Ken Froemke

  with love

  Copyright © 1995 by Marcy Stewart Froemke

  Originally published by Zebra (ISBN 978-0821751121)

  Electronically published in 2017 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 4110 SE Hawthorne Blvd., #248, Portland, OR 97214

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  This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.