Charles Bewitched

Charles
Bewitched

A Leland
Sisters Novella

by

Marissa Doyle

Author of
Bewitching
Season
,
Betraying Season
,
and
Courtship and Curses

They’ll never believe him back at school when he tells
them how he spent his summer vacation...

In this novella follow-up to
Bewitching Season
and
Betraying Season
, sixteen-year-old Charles Leland is not looking
forward to his summer holidays from Eton—not when he has to spend them cramming
history to make up for a less-than-stellar grade last term. Even the thought of
staying with his sister Persy and her husband Lochinvar while his parents are
in Ireland can’t cheer him up.

But as it turns out, studying takes a back seat to
finding out what has happened to Persy, who disappears from home the day he
arrives. All signs indicate that she’s been kidnapped by gypsies…but a gypsy
boy named Nando convinces Charles that her disappearance has a much more
otherworldly explanation.

Now Charles must brave the perils and sheer
strangeness of the fairy lands to try to prevent his sister from being forcibly
married to a powerful fairy lord, with the help of the fairy lord’s own younger
(and alarmingly pretty) sister, a copy of
History and Policy of the Norman
and Angevin Kings
that he must read before September, and her majesty Queen
Victoria. But will he also be able to rescue himself?

FIRST EDITION

July 2012

Copyright 2012 © Marissa Doyle

CHARLES BEWITCHED © 2013 Marissa Doyle. 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part or the whole of this book may be reproduced,
distributed, transmitted or utilized (other than for reading by the intended
reader) in ANY form without prior permission by the author. The unauthorized
reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal, and
punishable by law.

The characters and events portrayed in this
book are fictional and/or are used fictionally and solely the product of the
author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places,
events, or locales is purely coincidental.

Cover design by Lisa Amowitz/cravat image courtesy of
Elegant Ascots (www.elegantascots.com)

This ebook is licensed for your personal
enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If
you would like to share this book with another person, please do so through
your retailer’s “lend” function. If you’re reading this book and did not
purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it
and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this
author.

To obtain permission to excerpt portions of this book,
please contact the author at
[email protected]

Visit Marissa on the web at
www.marissadoyle.com
or at her teen
history blog,
www.nineteenteen.com

Table
of Contents

Chapter One
.
4

Chapter
Two
.
8

Chapter
Three
.
16

Chapter Four
24

Chapter
Five
.
31

Chapter
Six
.
38

Chapter
Seven
.
47

Chapter
Eight
57

Chapter
Nine
.
64

Epilogue:
What happens to the Leland Family?
.
69

Author’s
Note
.
70

Want
more about the Leland Sisters?
.
71

About
the Author
72

Charles Bewitched

September
1837

Mage’s
Tutterow, Hampshire, England

It wasn’t till much later
that Charles Leland remembered the odd occurrence outside the church before his
sister Persephone’s wedding. But by the time he understood its significance, it
was much too late.

His sister’s wedding morning
was sunny and warm for late September, and almost as glowing as Persy herself.
Charles had sneaked in to see her after she was dressed in her pale cream
Brussels lace dress while her maid Lorrie did her hair. It was hard to accept
that his sisters were old enough to marry, even though Persy had always seemed
to know everything.

“At least you’re not going
too far away,” he said to her, then cleared his throat awkwardly. Persy was
marrying Lochinvar Seton, the son of their neighbor the Earl of Northgalis, so
it wouldn’t be as if she was
really
going away. The Setons’ home,
Galiswood, was only a few miles from their own house, Mage’s Tutterow.

“No more than a short ride,”
Persy agreed. “Now that you’re almost twelve, maybe Mama and Papa will let you
ride over by yourself to visit us when you’re home on holidays.”

“Do you think so? That would
be topping!” That would let him study with Persy during his holidays from Eton.
Now that he’d proven he had some of the family’s ancient magical abilities, he
was going to learn all he could. And it would also let him see Lochinvar’s
stallion, Lord Chesterfield, who was the most splendid horse in all of England.
Now
that
was important. “Will you tell them you think I'm old enough?
Thanks, Perse!”

He lunged forward to hug
her, but Lorrie neatly stepped in his way, brandishing a curling iron. She
stared at it for a second until it started to glow, then pointed it at him.

“In case you’d forgotten,
your sister is getting married in two hours and I have to finish her hair
before then,” she said, frowning down her nose at him though she was barely two
inches taller than he was. “Why don’t you go comb your own, while you’re about
it?”

“Good idea,” said Persy’s
twin, Penelope, from where she stood by the window. She turned and examined
him, then shook her head. “And maybe get Papa’s valet to retie your cravat,
Chuckles. You look like you just narrowly escaped death by hanging.”

On second thought, maybe it
was a good thing that Persy was getting married and Pen traveling to Ireland
with their former governess and her new husband for some months to further her
magical studies. Sometimes sisters were more than a man could stomach. He
retired to the hallway and thought about soothing his wounded dignity with a
hovering spell—one of his specialties, now—but the housekeeper, Mrs. Groening,
was doing her own hovering just outside the door, hoping to be called in to
help, so he retreated to his room.

But once they all got in the
carriages that would take them down to the church in the village of Atherston,
he felt much better. He was standing up with Lochinvar as groomsman, after all.
That should help send a hint to his parents that he was practically an adult.

Lochinvar was waiting in the
vestibule of the small Norman church. He looked as happy as Persy had, and his
cravat was flawlessly tied, Charles couldn’t help noticing. Hmm. Perhaps it
was
time to pay a little more attention to such niceties, especially if it made him
seem more grown-up. He and Lochinvar hurried into the church lest Lochinvar
catch sight of Persy as she alighted from the carriage, for the groom wasn’t
supposed to see his bride before the wedding.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered
to Lochinvar as they walked up the nave between the pews full of murmuring
guests and villagers. “Persy’s fine. Her dress is horripilatiously fluffy, but
she doesn’t look half bad. You’ll see.”

“Not half bad, you say?”
Lochinvar made a funny face, pressing his lips together then looking away.
“Thank you, Charles,” he said gravely after a minute. “That makes me feel
better.”

“You’re welcome,” Charles
replied from the corner of his mouth. Grandmother Leland, seated in the second
row, was looking at him with
that
expression on her face and he didn’t
dare offer Lochinvar any more brotherly reassurance.

They took their places to
the side of the chancel and waited. Mr. Hamble, the sexton’s brother, played
something churchy and meandering on the organ to fill the waiting, glancing
behind him occasionally in a small mirror to see if it was time to launch into
the processional. Then the vicar emerged from a side door and came to stand
opposite them. He and Lochinvar exchanged nods, so Charles nodded too. The
vicar’s eyes crinkled.

More waiting. What was
taking so long? The family had arrived at the same time, after all. Maybe Pen
had to re-fluff all the flounces on Persy’s dress, or one of the village dogs
had jumped on her with muddy paws, or
some
thing. The congregation was
still quiet, but a subtle rustle of silk and bombazine said that they too were
growing impatient. Across the chancel, the vicar cleared his throat.

A dull thud, followed by a
babble of voices, broke the unquiet silence. The thud must have been the outer
door of the church…but why the bustle? Then the inner door opened and Mama
appeared in the doorway, her cheeks pink and her eyes snapping blue sparks that
Charles could see even from where he stood. That was a bad sign. But she took the
arm of the sexton calmly enough and let him lead her to the first pew. Then Mr.
Hamble started playing again, loudly and joyously this time, and Pen was
walking up the nave. She too looked flustered, but not unduly so. And there
behind her, on Papa’s arm, was Persy.

Next to him, Lochinvar
stirred.

Once all the solemn ceremony
of Papa giving Persy’s hand to Lochinvar and all that had happened, Charles had
a chance to examine Persy for muddy paw prints. But she was unsullied…at least,
mostly. Caught in the lace flounces of her skirt and veil and in the long curls
on her shoulders were what looked like bits of flower petals and dried leaves
and greenish-brown dust. She couldn’t have tripped and fallen, could she? That
would account for the fuss…but the churchyard was newly mown and trimmed and
raked and swept for this important occasion. So where had the bits of plant all
over her come from?

After that, though, the
ceremony went smoothly apart from Persy sneezing twice. She and Lochinvar gazed
at each other with the moony expression that they often wore when together,
only even moonier than usual. Ha.
He’d
never look at someone that way,
by Jupiter—especially not a
girl
. And then they were walking back down
the nave, both of them grinning, and he had to take Pen’s arm and follow after.

“What happened?” he muttered
to her under cover of the organ’s loud rejoicing. “What took you so long?”

“Oh, just something silly,”
Pen muttered back. “Just before we were about to go in, this rackety old beggar
appeared from nowhere and started throwing handfuls of flower petals and stuff
at Persy and nattering nonsense about how pretty she was and how she’d be his
bride some day, and then he actually kissed her. He was obviously feeble-minded
or a lunatic. We shooed him off and hurried her inside but didn’t want to brush
the stuff off and stain her dress, so we shook off what we could, except that
it didn’t seem to want to come off.”

“Oh.” Where had the beggar
come from? There weren’t usually any around, although bands of gypsies sometimes
traveled through the village in the spring and fall.

They followed Persy and
Lochinvar out through the vestibule and into the brilliant sunshine, where
everyone immediately pounced on the bride and groom to offer their
felicitations. Charles cast a longing glance toward the churchyard, where a row
of horse chestnut trees provided excellent conkers for shying at squirrels, but
fear of Mama and Grandmother Leland and Grandmother Revesby, whose combined
powers of observation were fearsome, kept him from wandering. Still, he
couldn’t help squinting up at the mightiest horse chestnut at the back of the
yard, just in case they’d started to ripen and fall—

A movement by the lych gate
leading into the churchyard caught his attention. Just behind one of the gate’s
supporting pillars was a hooded figure clad in rags and a tattered cloak of
greenish brown, gazing out at the crowd of well-wishers around Persy and
Lochinvar. Could it be the beggar who’d bothered Persy?

He began to edge slowly
around the throng toward the gate to get a better look. Something about the
beggar didn’t seem right—the way he stood so tall and straight and still,
maybe, when Pen had called him old and rackety? Or the fact that when presented
with a crowd of merry-makers like this, crazy beggars were supposed to caper
about and ask for alms, whatever those were…not lurk behind pillars, watching
in silence?

“Charles!” His mother’s
voice startled him. “
There
you are. Do come along, child. The carriage
is here, and your grandparents are waiting.” She took his arm and tugged. “You
know how cranky Grandpapa gets if he has to wait. You can come back and look
for conkers tomorrow.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Charles let
her propel him away from the gate where the beggar still stood and through the
crowd to the carriage waiting in the lane. He climbed in obediently and sat
next to Papa, facing the back. No matter. It had just been a dotty old beggar
who thought his sister was pretty, no more.

The carriage jolted and
began to inch slowly up the lane behind the one holding Persy and Lochinvar, on
its way back to Mage’s Tutterow where they’d have the wedding breakfast and
drink toasts to a long life and a large, healthy family for his sister and new
brother-in-law. Good lord—if Persy were to have a baby, that would make
him
an uncle. Mama and Papa would just have to let so important a personage as an
uncle ride to Galiswood any time, wouldn’t they? He grinned to himself. Yes,
definitely.

They crept past the
churchyard. Still smiling, Charles glanced out the window and felt his glee
fade. The beggar was watching their carriages, leaning back against the lych
gate barely twenty feet away with his arms crossed on his broad chest, hood
thrown back to reveal dark, shoulder-length hair and a narrow, handsome face,
pale and unlined. Charles met his eyes and nearly jumped in his seat. They were
cold, those eyes, and filled with an amused, icy triumph that momentarily
chilled the warm autumn day.

Then they passed the gate,
and the beggar disappeared from Charles’s sight.