Midsummer Magic

by Catherine Coulter

  “My lady, is there anything you wish? Tea perhaps?”

  Hawk swung around to see Otis, standing tall and unintimidated in the doorway, his eyes fixed on Frances.

  Frances smiled. “That would be quite nice, thank you, Otis. My lord, should you like tea now?”

  Hawk couldn’t believe it. There was his butler, looking as stolid as a rock, speaking to her, protecting her!

  “Yes,” he nearly roared, then said, more quietly, despising himself for allowing this ridiculous situation to rile him, “Yes, I should. In the drawing room, Otis.”

  To his further chagrin, Otis looked toward Frances. He saw her nod. The damned butler, his damned butler, was looking at her for her approval! He never should have left, he never ...

  “In the drawing room,” Hawk said again, his voice as icy as a winter Yorkshire frost.

  “Very well,” Otis said, and withdrew with all his dignity still intact. Hawk’s dignity was in tatters and he knew it. Suddenly he smiled, an evil smile.

  “Come here, wife,” he said, very quietly.

  Frances froze, her eyes widening. She didn’t move a muscle.

  “I said to come here. Now.”

  “No,” she said, backing up another step. “However, I will have tea with you now, if you wish.”

  “Before I have tea, I wish to ... look more closely at my wife. Come here, Frances.”

  She began to walk toward him, then at the last moment ducked away, and nearly ran from the room. He whirled about, but she was too fast. His hand caught air, not her arm.

  “Frances!” he roared.

  But she was gone. He heard the rustling of her skirts and the clicking of her slippers in the corridor.

  He strode from the estate room toward the drawing room. He came to a disconcerted halt when he stepped into the room. Both Otis and Mrs. Jerkins were flanking his wife. He suddenly felt as though he’d stepped onto the stage of a very bad comedy. The blind fool of a husband, and he didn’t know his lines.

  “My lord, welcome home,” said Mrs. Jerkins, a tight smile on her lips. “Tea is ready, my lord. Won’t you sit down?”

  “If the general will dismiss her soldiers,” Hawk said acidly, and saw Frances stifle a smile.

  She said in that damned calm voice that infuriated him to the point of insensibility, “Thank you, Otis, Mrs. Jerkins. I will serve his lordship,.”

  Both old retainers took their blessed time leaving the drawing room. Otis didn’t close the doors. Hawk strode to the doors and pulled them closed with a snap.

  He turned to see Frances calmly pouring tea. “The scones are quite tasty,” she said, all her concentration on the teacups. “Cook has got them just right. There is sweet strawberry jam I believe you will enjoy.”

  “Frances, shut up.”

  “Very well,” she said, not looking at him. As if she didn’t have a single bloody care in the world!

  She simply stuck out the cup of tea in its saucer, and he took it, out of habit. He sat down opposite her, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He sipped the tea, getting a hold on himself. He said, “I didn’t want a beautiful, frivolous wife.”

  “I know you didn’t. That is what I was on the point of telling you when Otis ... my general ... interrupted me. ”Had you had the courtesy to give me warning, I would have appeared as you ... expected.“

  “You said you gave your clothes to the rector.”

  “I lied.” She shook her head ruefully and his eyes were drawn to her quite beautiful ears with the soft tendrils of hair caressing them. “Well, I did lie, but not about that. I didn’t want to go back to the diffident dowd, as you called me. However, I would have preferred warning of your arrival. Then I should have thought about it quite diligently.”

  “You will not put on those damned spectacles, ever again!”

  “No, I shan’t. Poor Mrs. Jerkins believed I couldn’t read, for I truly was unable to see clearly with them perched on my nose.”

  “As I said, I didn’t want your kind of wife.”

  “My kind?” She arched a brow at him.

  “You know damned well what I mean, Frances!”

  “Oh yes, I guess I do. You didn’t want to be leg-shackled to a woman who would demand your time, your attention, indeed, venture to London with you and ruin all your ... pleasures. But I didn’t, my lord—venture to London and spoil all your pleasures, that is.”

  “I detest liars and frauds.”

  “And I detest conceited, arrogant, bullying idiots!” She rose jerkily to her feet and began pacing the room. Hawk’s eyes followed her progress. Very nice, trim ankles, he thought. Long, elegant legs. She whirled about to face him. “As I said, my lord, I know you didn’t, but I didn’t realize it until it was too late.”

  “So, your whole charade backfired on you, eh?”

  “I should say so, yes. And yours too, of course. I would have told you the truth of the matter, but you rushed from Kilbracken as if the very devil were on your heels, so I didn’t have the opportunity. Then my father and Sophia wouldn’t allow me to say a single word.”

  “Why did you continue the charade?”

  “Because, as I told you, I didn’t want to marry a Sassenach. I didn’t want to leave my home or Scotland. Since I couldn’t avoid it, I knew you would leave me alone as soon as possible if I appeared the ugly dowd. And, of course, you did.”

  Hawk was silent for many moments. He stretched his arms over his head and lounged back in his chair. He looked indolent, and in perfect control. She felt a frisson of alarm. What was the wretched man thinking now? Something evil, no doubt.

  He said finally, “You are quite beautiful.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And you are everything I didn’t want in a wife.”

  “You, my lord—”

  “Philip,” he said mildly.

  “—you are everything I don’t want in a husband!”

  “Then it appears we are even. I imagine that you had a difficult time keeping that sharp tongue of yours in your mouth when I was about.”

  “A very difficult time, you are quite right about that.”

  “I got the sister who was the worst, didn’t I?”

  “Worst? I beg you to define that!”

  “I should say,” Hawk said thoughtfully, stroking his fingertips over his jaw, “that you are headstrong, willful, too independent, and quite used to having men fall all over you like panting puppies.”

  To his fury, she grinned at him. “You sound just like my father. And on such short observation,” she marveled aloud. “Most impressive, my lord.”

  “Frances, I can beat you, you know, and indeed I shall if you don’t cease your sarcasm.”

  “No, you can’t. If you tried such a thing, I should lay you low, I swear it.”

  “I should be curious to know just how you could bring me low. You’re half my size.”

  “I would think of something.”

  Yes, oh yes, she would, he knew. Hawk swept his mind nearly clean to find something that would intimidate her, put her back in her woman’s place where she belonged. He sat forward suddenly and bestowed upon her his most leering smile. “Would you like to know why I came back unannounced?”

  “No, but you will tell me, I suppose.”

  “I came back to seduce my wife. My guilt drove me back. I wanted, finally, to see your breasts.”

  To his immense satisfaction, a flush started at her shoulders and spread upward to her eyebrows.

  “My mistress informed me very tartly that spectacles, ugly caps, and gowns could be removed. That is what I intended to do. That is what I now plan to do, very soon.”

  Frances licked her lips. She stared at him. “No,” she said, shaking her head, her voice a thin, high sound.

  “You are my wife. You will obey me both in our bed and out of it.”

  He had terrified her, he knew it, but something deep within him was angered at her immense and obvious distress at him bedding her. He wasn’t ugly, for God’s
sake. He was an excellent lover.

  And you’ve got excellent teeth, stupid sod!

  “Go back to your mistress, my lord!”

  “No.”

  “I want nothing to do with you!”

  “How very curious,” he said thoughtfully, drawling out his words so his brain could formulate more. “The dowdy mouse lay as still as a martyr, suffering my attacks on her body. But the beautiful woman now believes to deny me my husband’s rights?”

  Frances was silent. Why hadn’t she realized that he would be far more interested in sex with her new appearance? What would he do? Would he treat her as he had before—abruptly, quickly, with determined silence save for his curt instructions?

  “I don’t know,” she said, her shoulders slumping for the first time.

  He’d won, and he smiled. He had her now where he wanted her. He realized that he wanted to take her upstairs this very moment, strip off her clothing, and throw her on his bed. He wanted to kiss every inch of her, he wanted ...

  “I shall give you until this evening to think about it, Frances. You know,” he continued thoughtfully, “I have never had a wife. Perhaps I will enjoy sleeping with you the entire night, perhaps waking you to love you, perhaps—”

  “Shut up! I don’t have to listen to your ... cruelty!”

  “Cruelty? Making love to my wife is cruelty?”

  “Making love?” she nearly shouted at him. “Is that what you wish to call it now? Now that you don’t regard me as beneath your exhalted notice? Now that you don’t believe you’ll become ill touching me? You, my lord, are a despicable animal!”

  “I suppose you are a bit justified in saying that, all save that final insult, of course.”

  Frances saw that he would rise, and quickly retreated. “I have much to do. You will excuse me, my lord. We have ... guests for dinner. John and Alicia Bourchier are to arrive. I must speak to Cook, I must ...”

  It was a lie, he knew it, but said nothing. He watched her rush from the drawing room, and knew her next task was to send a plea to Alicia and John to come to Desborough Hall.

  He couldn’t wait. The evening should prove to be like the second act of the bad comedy. Only this time, he knew his lines, and Frances didn’t.

  He was grinning broadly as he rose and left the room.

  16

  The best laid schemes o‘mice and men

  Gang aft a-gley.

  —ROBERT BURNS

  “It’s not fair, Alicia! Oh, why did he have to come back? I had thought that he wouldn’t return until Christmas! All my plans, everything is in a heap!”

  “Now, Frances, calm yourself,” Alicia said, gently patting Frances on her bare arm. “I’m pleased that you didn’t retreat again—indeed, my love, you look quite lovely. The blue silk does wonders for your eyes. I am not certain what color they are now. I am almost persuaded to be jealous of you. John looks at you like he does at a lovely dessert.”

  “So will Hawk,” said Frances, her voice sounding as dispirited as she felt. She banged her fist against her dressing table and her hairbrush jumped and slid onto the carpet. “He told me it was guilt that brought him back! Likely tale, that!”

  Indeed he would think her beautiful, thought Alicia. What a marvelous tangle! So Hawk had told her he felt guilty? Most curious. She said, “Come along, Frances, we must go downstairs. The gentlemen will be waiting. You don’t wish to take the chance of Hawk coming up and dragging you down, do you?”

  “He would, wouldn’t he? Alicia, stop laughing! None of this is in the least funny! Oh, very well, let us join the precious gentlemen!”

  John Bourchier, a slender, somewhat myopic young gentleman, was standing next to the fireplace, speaking in his measured way about his estate. He had said nothing about Frances’ transformation. He was a gentleman. Still, he couldn’t wait to observe Frances and Hawk together.

  He droned on about drainage problems in his northern acres, and Hawk, barely concealing his impatience with his longtime friend, downed more sherry.

  “Good evening again,” Alicia said gaily, sweeping into the drawing room. She trusted that Frances was following her. “John, dear, may Frances and I have a glass of sherry?”

  “Certainly,” said John, not daring to look at Hawk’s face.

  Frances looked so lovely it was like staring directly into the sun. Hawk felt something deep inside him tighten, but he was easily able to ignore it at the sight of two angry spots on her cheeks and the wary, irritated look in her eyes. Were they more blue than gray? His eyes fell to her bosom. “How very charming, my dear,” he said, his voice honey smooth, his gaze moving reluctantly from her breasts back to her face. Frances merely nodded, and let him lift her hand and plant a light kiss on her wrist. He held it and she shot him a look that could kill were it a pistol.

  “Most fetching,” John agreed, nodding to both ladies.

  “I fear that Frances has quite outdone me,” Alicia said provocatively, her eyes twinkling at Hawk.

  “She has outdone all of us, it would seem,” Hawk said to no one in particular.

  Frances knew her hands were sweaty and she rubbed them on her skirt. She looked up to see Hawk gazing at her with such a knowing look that she wanted to strike him.

  “Ah, Otis!” Her relief at the butler’s presence was as palpable as a Christian being rescued from the lions.

  “Dinner is served, my lady.”

  Hawk proffered his wife his arm. She looked at it like it was a snake. “Frances,” he said very quietly, but she heard the warning, indeed she did. She thrust up her chin and lightly laid her hand on his arm.

  “My dear wife,” Hawk said after he had seated Frances, “has doubtless ordered up my favorite dishes. She is so very delighted at my homecoming.”

  There was dead silence. Otis hovered. The three footmen looked blank. Otis had trained them well. In fact, he had particularly threatened them for this evening.

  “Aren’t you, my dear?” At her grim silence, he added, “Delighted to see me, that is.”

  “The soup, if you please, Otis,” Frances said, ignoring him. “Julienne,” she added as the footmen served.

  “My favorite,” Hawk said fondly. “Such a caring wife.”

  “It is John’s favorite,” Frances said.

  “Yes, indeed it is,” Alicia added, and quickly spooned a mouthful to keep herself from giggling. Poor Frances!

  Only the sound of spoons dipping in and out of their bowls broke the silence.

  Hawk said, “My dear wife has quite charmed all the staff. I have nothing to do save bask in her adoration.”

  Frances’ spoon hit her bowl and some delicious julienne soup splashed onto the white tablecloth.

  A footman rushed forward, and tripped against her chair.

  Otis drew up stiff as a poker.

  “It is all right,” Frances said quickly. “No harm done.”

  “John was telling me all about his draining problems,” Hawk said.

  “A subject doubtless close to your heart,” said Frances, her voice so acid it would have curdled the soup.

  “Indeed,” Hawk said blandly. “I am always most interested in problems, of all sorts. There are usually so many solutions available to one. It is just a choice of selecting the most appropriate, don’t you agree, Frances?”

  He is doing me in quite well, Frances thought, her lips tight. I can’t allow him to continue. She raised her face and met his eyes head-on, saying in a clear, honeyed voice, “I have found that to be true, particularly in running this estate. Marcus”—her voice softened markedly—“he is such a help! Such insight from a man so young.”

  Hawk froze, frowning before he could stop himself.

  Alicia said quickly, “Our steward is equally efficient. I was just telling John the other day—” She broke off abruptly, sending a heartfelt glance toward Otis, who was serving fried whiting and red mullet.

  “How is Beatrice, Hawk?” Alicia asked. “And her betrothed, Lord Chalmers?”

  �
��She is as she always was, perhaps more so,” Hawk said easily, gently setting down his fork. He looked toward his wife. “I believe that Edmund Lacy will handle her quite well, however, after they are wed. It is a husband’s responsibility, after all, to see that his wife heeds his wishes, and he sees to her well-being. Don’t you agree, Frances?”

  Frances raised her empty wineglass and it was immediately filled by Otis.

  “Frances?” His voice soft, almost intimate.

  “I believe,” Frances said, her voice hard and impersonal, “that husbands are, in the general course of things—” She broke off, realizing that she had to curb her tongue, at least in front of the servants and John and Alicia.

  “Yes, my dear?”

  “Husbands are husbands.”

  “Ah, an indictment or a compliment? I wonder.”

  John, quite aware of the footmen’s rampant interest, turned the topic neatly back to his drainage ditches.

  Once Otis had directed the footmen to serve up the lamb cutlets, rissoles, roast ribs of beef, neck of veal in béchamel, and the multitude of vegetables, Hawk gave him a dismissing nod.

  Hawk’s jaw tightened when Otis looked toward Frances. “Thank you, Otis,” she said calmly, not missing her husband’s look. “We will see to ourselves now.” She didn’t know him well enough. Would he create a scene, jump up from his chair and roar and embarrass all of them?

  “Excellent,” Hawk said as he chewed on the veal. “Do you have veal in Scotland, Frances?”

  “Only at Christmas, my lord,” she said. “And then only a small portion, of course.”

  “How very odd,” Alicia said. “Doesn’t veal grow in Scotland?”

  John laughed. “A city-bred wife,” he said, patting her hand. “Veal is not like potatoes, my dear. Young cow, you know.”

  Alicia’s eyes twinkled. “Really, dear?”

  “You see how informative husbands can be, Frances?” Hawk said. “We can be most useful, I assure you. In many areas.”

  Frances’ beef could have been the buttered potatoes for all she could taste. It was too soon for her to rise and leave the gentlemen to their port. And if she did rise, Hawk would in all likelihood leap across the table and strangle her. Damn Alicia, she thought, she was enjoying herself immensely!