Midsummer Magic

by Catherine Coulter

  Frances shook her head against the pillow. He was a man, and men did as they pleased; men got their way. Her father always did. She found herself wondering, appalled at herself for even thinking it, if her father did that to Sophia, and Sophia bore it in silence and patience. The picture created in her mind made her extremely uncomfortable and embarrassed. Surely her father wouldn’t, not now, now that he was older. He already had a son, so there was no reason to continue doing such distasteful things.

  Frances resolutely shut her husband out. She would deal with him, oh indeed she would. She even managed a small, smug laugh. She said aloud to her pillow, “I’ll see you to the devil before I allow you to touch me.” Her eyes narrowed. “Never,” she said softly. “Never will you touch me.”

  Hawk came to an abrupt halt when he entered the breakfast room the following morning. Frances was seated at the table, calmly eating her breakfast, perusing the Gazette.

  She looked quite lovely, he thought, eyeing her objectively. She was wearing a muslin gown of pale green with a matching ribbon threaded through her hair. What had he expected? The return of the dowd? No, he thought, frowning a bit, he supposed he really expected that she would hide from him, avoid him at all costs. He felt an appalling surge of lust for her, and was furious with himself. The devil—a husband shouldn’t feel such things for his wife. It was nonsensical, ridiculous ...

  “Why, good morning, my lord,” Frances said, smiling at him as she folded the paper.

  Smiling as if she hadn’t a bloody care in the world! His eyes narrowed on her guileless face. What game was she playing with him now?

  “Good morning, wife,” he said, and seated himself at the head of the table. Rosie, the breakfast maid, quickly began to serve him. When his plate was as he wished, he nodded dismissal. But Rosie didn’t take herself out of the room. Hawk watched with narrowed eyes as she smiled toward Frances and said, “Is there anything else you wish, my lady?”

  “No, Rosie, that will be fine. Thank you. You may go now.”

  He watched Rosie bob a curtsy and finally remove herself from the breakfast room. It occurred to him then that Frances’ very warm, wifely behavior was due to Rosie’s presence. He soon was disabused of that notion.

  “Is the sirloin as you wish it, my lord?”

  Lord, she sounded so damned cheerful! “I haven’t even taken a bite yet, so I wouldn’t know.”

  “Ah, then I shall hold my tongue.” She picked up the Gazette again and buried herself behind it.

  “I am most gratified that the servants treat you as their mistress,” he said after some minutes of grating silence.

  “Indeed, most gratifying,” Frances agreed, not emerging from her paper.

  “What are you reading that interests you so much?”

  She started a moment at that. Actually, she wasn’t reading anything, nothing at all. She was striving with all her effort to maintain her cheerful indifference to him. She would much have preferred to throw the thick sirloin at his head.

  She laughed, a charming, soft laugh. “I am reading all the ton gossip, of course! It is so fascinating. Why, it says here that a Lady H was seen conversing in the park with Lord R. And Lady H’s husband was but a short distance away! So very titillating, isn’t it?”

  He ground his teeth. “I don’t know any Lady H,” he said.

  Frances didn’t either. She had just manufactured the entire tale. “You are acquainted with everyone then, my lord? How very knowledgeable you are, to be sure.”

  Hawk set his fork down very slowly and carefully. “Frances,” he said, “you will cease calling me ‘my lord.’ My name is Philip or Hawk. You may take your pick, but no more ‘lording.’ ”

  “As you wish,” she said, and shrugged. She set down the paper, glanced at the clock on the sideboard, and said, “Oh dear! How the time gets away from one! ‘Tis nearly eight o’clock! You will excuse me, won’t you?”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Why, there are so many things to do. Desborough Hall doesn’t run by itself, you know.”

  “It did.”

  “Oh no,” she said, giving him a patronizing smile, “it merely maintained itself.” With that, she was gone.

  He noticed as he left the breakfast room a few minutes later that she hadn’t eaten much of her breakfast.

  Hawk found himself at loose ends. He considered riding off his ill humor, then changed his mind. He was here, he might as well see to estate business. He strode to the estate room, saw that the door was open, and stepped inside. He came to an abrupt halt.

  There was Frances again, seated at his desk, with Marcus Carruthers seated beside her.

  “I don’t know, Marcus,” Frances said, her brow furrowed in thought. “I do agree with you that John’s approach just might work here, but the funds involved in clearing the timber away—”

  “What timber?” Hawk said sharply.

  Frances froze, but just for an instant. She raised a guilelessly smiling face to her husband. “Hello,” she said kindly. “Marcus and I were just discussing our need for fencing, and the cost of lumber is so very high at present, you know, and we do have an excessive wooded area just to the east of us, and—”

  “I do not with any trees to be cut.”

  “—and since you don’t want the trees cut,” Frances continued serenely, “of course they shan’t be cut. Now, Marcus, if that is all, I have other matters to attend to.”

  Marcus hadn’t uttered a word. He wasn’t blind. His lordship was in a royal snit. He wished he could escape with Lady Frances. He watched her walk past her husband, toss him a sweet, totally false smile, and leave the estate room. Leave him alone. He tugged at his collar, adjusted some papers on the desk, and endeavored to look industrious.

  To his utter relief, his lordship said curtly, “Carry on,” and was gone. He stiffened again in some alarm when he heard the earl’s voice outside, roaring, “Frances!”

  He wiped the perspiration from his brow, wondering as he did so if his father, a very calm, utterly serene gentleman, was ever in a snit with his mother. He felt himself in the middle of a maelstrom and wondered if he could ask for several weeks away from Desborough to visit his parents.

  Frances wasn’t to be found. Hawk discovered Otis in the nether regions of the kitchen, his presence causing some consternation among the kitchen staff.

  “My lord,” Otis said, bowing formally. The kitchen staff came to immediate, wary attention.

  “I noticed the footmen’s new livery,” said Hawk. “I should like to know when and why this was done.”

  “If I could explain, my lord,” Otis said very kindly, as if Hawk were still a boy at Eton. He moved away from the staring staff. “Her ladyship believed the staffs appearance could be improved upon. Her ladyship and I ventured into York and disposed of the matter. Satisfactorily, I trust, my lord?”

  Hawk grunted.

  “The females were also improved upon,” Otis added. “Mrs. Jerkins accompanied her ladyship into York for that matter.”

  “Anything else her ladyship wanted improved upon?”

  “You will have to speak with Mrs. Jerkins to determine the extent of the improvements,” Otis said, his voice as bland as his visage.

  “Curse you!” Hawk said, and took himself off.

  “... and, of course, my lord, new cutlery and crockery and new linens, for the old ones were in a most deplorable condition, and—”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Jerkins,” Hawk interrupted, his jaw set.

  But Mrs. Jerkins, who had known Lord Philip since he was in short coats, continued undaunted, “Her ladyship is a most proper and efficient young lady, my lord. She has taken a great interest in Desborough Hall ...” Her tone implied that it was about time someone did.

  “... and she is most kind and pleasant to the staff, my lord, but she doesn’t allow laxity, of course, that wouldn’t be appropriate.”

  Hawk let her run her course. When she reached a pause that lasted more than a second or two, h
e said, more mildly now, but it was a distinct effort, “Thank you, Mrs. Jerkins. I’m certain her ladyship has been most ... thorough.”

  Mrs. Jerkins beamed at him, his attempt at sarcasm floating blissfully over her gray head.

  Hawk ran his fingers through his hair, and stared about the drawing room.

  “Will there be anything more, my lord?” she inquired, watching him closely.

  “No, no,” he said absently. “Oh, yes, can you tell me where her ladyship is?”

  “At the stables, I should imagine. She always is there this time of morning. Works too hard, she does, but what with getting the stud back into operation and working with Mr. Belvis to determine the racing horses and their training—” She broke off at the sudden, quite unexpected exclamation from the earl.

  “She is what?”

  “At the stable, my lord,” Mrs. Jerkins repeated patiently, “with Mr. Belvis. She spends every morning there, sometimes into the afternoon. As I said, my lord—”

  “The devil!” he said, but under his breath. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to have Frances’ very pretty neck between his hands. What had she done now?

  He strode from the room, leaving Mrs. Jerkins to gawk after him. He galloped down the front steps of the hall and headed for the stable offices. It was beginning to rain, and he thought, very stupidly, that Frances should take a care. She might become ill.

  Silly fool. You’re the one who should take care.

  “Frances!”

  His roar brought forth four stablehands as if they’d been shot from a cannon.

  “Where is her ladyship?”

  Dan, the eldest, said with a very small nervous quiver in his voice, “‘Er ladyship is likely in the training office with Mr. Belvis, milord.”

  The training area was away from the stables, near the eastern paddocks. It had begun to rain in earnest, and Hawk felt water trickling down his neck by the time he gained shelter.

  The office door was ajar, and he strode in. The comforting smell of leather, linseed, and various unguents assailed his nostrils.

  “Belvis! What the devil is going on here? I thought you had left?”

  The moment of reckoning, Frances thought, trying to hide her nervousness. She should have told him, perhaps over breakfast, when he had sirloin in his mouth.

  “Hello, my lord,” she said in a ridiculous attempt to stem the tide. “D-did you wish something?”

  Hawk looked at Belvis. He was a short, very wiry little man, balding, his face merry but seamed from years spent working in the out-of-doors. He looked younger than Hawk remembered.

  “Yes, Frances,” Hawk said, his voice now well-controlled. He even smiled. “I should like to see you, if you please. We will go to the tack room.”

  I don’t want to go!

  “As you wish, my lord. I will be back, Belvis. Please continue.”

  Continue what? Hawk wanted to demand, but he held his tongue.

  The tack room wasn’t at all as Hawk remembered it. It was, first of all, spanking clean; all the harnesses, bridles, saddles, were shiny with care and fastened neatly in their proper places.

  Hawk pointed to an old chair. “Sit,” he said curtly.

  Frances sat.

  “Now, madam, you will tell me what the devil is going on here.” His legs were planted apart, his arms crossed over his chest. He was, she realized, spoiling for a fight.

  “Yes, Frances?” he asked, his voice silky.

  18

  My sentence is for open war.

  —MILTON

  Frances felt as though she was in an open field and the enemy was charging toward her, bayonets at the ready. There was no retreat, of course. She said, pleased at the steadiness of her voice, the reasonableness of her tone, “Desborough Hall is a very respected racing stable and stud, my ... Hawk. I managed to talk Belvis into returning, as you saw, so that we could bring things up to where they were before your brother died.”

  “Did Carruthers clear the money for this ambitious project of yours?”

  Frances felt a surge of relief. It was an obvious inquiry, and he’d asked it a very calm voice. Perhaps she’d been wrong about the bayonets.

  “No, of course not,” she assured him. “I would do nothing so improper as that, and neither would Marcus agree to such a thing.” She slanted him a wary look, then forged ahead. “I borrowed the money from your father.”

  “You what?”

  So much for calm and reason, she thought. “Your father lent me—us—the money,” she said again.

  Hawk wanted to roar, but he managed to contain it, and said with his patented sneer, “I suppose my precious sire also lent you the money for all the wasted expenditures in the house? Crockery? Linens? Uniforms? My God, madam how much blunt do I now owe my father?”

  “Of course not! That is, I did not borrow money from your father for the household. Why, as household expenditures, I assumed, and Marcus agreed with me, that such decisions were mine to make. The household is, after all, my responsibility.”

  “How much money did he give you to start things up again?” He waved his hand about.

  Frances gulped. She looked down at her hands, stared over at a bridle, at the harness beside it. “Five thousand pounds,” she said to the floor.

  He cursed, quite fluently. He calmed and then sneered onward. “I suppose you feel that the racing stock and the stud are also your blessed responsibility?”

  She flushed a bit at that. “Well, not exactly, but, my ... Philip, I—”

  “Would you kindly make up your mind, Frances? Is it to be ‘Philip’ or ‘Hawk’?”

  “Since I wish devoutly for you to take yourself off, I think I shall select ‘Hawk’!” She immediately regretted her insult, for his face hardened with fury.

  She rushed into speech. “I couldn’t just stand by and watch everything continue to rot!”

  Hawk stroked his hand over his jaw. He was well in control again. “Marcus informed you that I was considering selling off everything. You knew, it was all in that letter of yours.”

  “Yes, but I couldn’t ... that is, I didn’t think you really meant—”

  “How the devil would you know what I meant or didn’t meant ... mean?”

  She stared stonily at the toes of her stout walking shoes.

  “You have taken much onto yourself, Frances.”

  “Someone had to,” she said, still unable to meet his gaze.

  “Then you now take it upon yourself to inform Belvis that his services are no longer necessary.”

  Frances swallowed. “I have already spent the five thousand pounds.”

  “On what? New uniforms for the horses? New troughs for their endless eating? What, may I ask, do you—a a woman—know about anything?”

  She bounded to her feet and shook her fist at him. “I know much more than you do! And I care, unlike you, who only wish to waste your time and your inheritance on your damned pleasures in London!”

  “Back to my mistress again, are we?”

  “Back, yes—that is where I wish you to be!”

  His eyes fell to her heaving breasts and she saw his eyes falling. She backed away. To her misfortune, she stumbled over a saddle that was in the process of being repaired. She tumbled over it, onto her back, her skirts flying up.

  “Frances,” Hawk began, rushing toward her. He stopped, seeing she was quite all right, and said in a leering voice, “How lovely. Do you wish to seduce me here, of all places? Can you not wait until this evening?”

  Frances slapped her skirts down as if they were bees to bite her. She came up to her knees, then to her feet. The unmended saddle was between them. She had to try a different tack, she knew. She drew on almost nonexistent patience and said, “Please, Ha ... Philip, it means a lot to me. I know we can bring Desborough back to its respected position. If you are not interested in it, please let me continue. I can make money, I know it. Your father knows it, he trusts me. He ... Please, please don’t sell out.”

&n
bsp; “You make money? I beg to differ with you, Frances. To date all you’ve done is spend it, waste it.”

  “I have not! It is to be considered an investment. As for the household expenses, I had to do something!”

  “Do you know that it is my sister and her betrothed, Lord Chalmers, who have offered to buy?”

  “No, I didn’t know. What does that possibly have to do with anything?”

  Hawk didn’t know, but he didn’t say so. He continued rubbing his thumb along his jaw. To Frances’ surprise, he asked, “What do you know about horses?”

  She brightened and her eyes grew intense with ill-suppressed excitement. “I grew up with horses. I have ... well, I seem to have an affinity, a natural ability to sense if anything is wrong with them. I also know how to care for them when they are ill. I am not stupid, Hawk.”

  He said nothing to that. So, he thought, he was to be Hawk again. Did she hope he would fly off if she kept calling him that?

  “How have you spent the five thousand pounds?”

  “Three new trainers, new equipment, Belvis, repair of the paddocks—”

  “I see,” he said interrupting her. He turned away from her and pretended a concentrated study of a saddle. “Did you know,” he said thoughtfully, “that a woman shouldn’t hunt?”

  She frowned at that, ready to take exception to his ridiculous male pronouncement.

  “A sidesaddle allows no control,” he continued. “A woman can’t bring her legs to bear, she is effectively controlled herself, not the horse. It is dangerous, as a matter of fact.”

  “I hunt and I have never before used a sidesaddle. My father wouldn’t allow it.”

  He raised his head and smiled at her, just a bit. “Odd, isn’t it, that that doesn’t surprise me. At least now, knowing you as you really are, it doesn’t surprise me.”

  “Hawk, what will you do?”

  The wind was out of her sails now, he thought vaguely. He disliked the pleading tone in her voice. “My sister, Beatrice, is a smashing rider, at least she was in the old days. She refused to use a sidesaddle after she’d been tossed in a hunt. It was she who pointed out the danger of them to me. I couldn’t have been more than ten years old at the time.”