How to Entice an Enchantress (31 page)

Everything he ate tasted like sawdust, every joke he heard was unfunny, every activity proposed for the guests’ amusement sounded dull and repulsive. Never in all of his life had he ever felt so low. All he could do was think about his last conversation with Dahlia and suffer his own regrets in silence.

It might have helped if he’d been able to speak to her, but since their disastrous argument, she’d been locked away helping with Miss Stewart.

He’d heard this morning that Miss Stewart was
much improved, and for the first time in three days, his heart had lightened. He and Dahlia had to talk, and they couldn’t do it if they never saw each other. He wasn’t certain they could find a solution, but he couldn’t bear for things to stay the way they were now. He couldn’t bear the thought of her being unhappy, of her gray-blue eyes filled with tears, as they’d been the last time he’d seen her. That image tormented him, disturbed his sleep and thoughts until he felt he might go mad with it.

A coach rolled past and he watched it. Yet another fleeing guest, he supposed. There were few enough of them left. He made his way into the castle, where he was greeted by four footmen and a herd of yapping pugs.

He glared at the dogs. “You are a pack of wild ones.”

Gray-haired Randolph, calmer than the rest, sat off to one side, though his tail waggled crazily.

Kirk nodded his approval. “You know how to behave, don’t you? But the rest of you are disgraces.”

One of the footmen offered, “They’re hopin’ to get to the tree, m’lord. Her grace just closed the doors to the ballroom and refuses to allow them to enter.”

“Why would dogs care about a Christmas tree?”

“They love to grab the silver strings and run off with them. Her grace dinna like tha’, as she worries they might eat them and get sick, so she sets us to watch the beasties.” He suddenly straightened and stared ahead as the butler sailed out of a side hallway.

“Och, me lor’, allow me to take yer coat,” MacDougal said.

“No, thank you. I’d like to keep it on, for I’m not appropriately dressed to meet another guest.” It was almost laughable that he heard himself say such a thing. Good God, he was becoming a dandy.

A burst of wind hit the front of the castle, banging the shutters and sending an icy wisp under the doors. The dogs barked and ran in circles.

“Silence, ye wild beasties!” MacDougal shook his head. “ ’Tis a north wind, me lor’. When they come, they bring us icy rain or snow.”

“Lord Kirk, there you are.” Her grace sailed out of the Blue Salon, dressed in a green gown adorned with a multitude of furbelows. “Just the man I wished to see.”

He bowed. “Your grace. May I help you?”

“Yes. Lady Charlotte and I wish to speak to you.”

“I need to bathe and change my clothes first.”

“Nonsense. Roxburghe rides from dawn until dark and reeks of the stables from the day he arrives until he leaves for London, so I’m quite used to such things. Come. It won’t take a moment.” Without giving him time to speak, she turned and disappeared back into the salon, the pugs falling in behind her.

MacDougal gave Kirk an apologetic look. “She’s been oop since dawn, worryin’ aboot the guests as are leaving. I canno’ blame them, fer the Spanish influenza is naught to treat lightly.”

Kirk nodded. “I’m not leaving. Not unless Miss Balfour does.”

The butler smiled fondly. “Och, she’s no’ goin’ anywhere, is Miss Balfour. She’s a heart as stout as her head.”

“I know. Sadly, she’s set them both against me.”

“Ye think so, me lor’? I was well on me way to thinkin’ she was showin’ herself to be fond o’ ye.”

“If only I were so lucky.” Sending the butler a wry look, Kirk went into the Blue Salon.

At the opposite end of the room, her grace and Lady Charlotte sat at either side of the fire. Her grace was on a settee, one of the pugs in her lap, while Lady Charlotte occupied a plump chair. She was knitting while also trying to read a book that lay open upon her knee, and doing neither particularly well. With every few rows of knitting, her yarn would catch the edge of the book and slide it off her knee.

He bowed. “Your grace. Lady Charlotte.”

Her grace patted the settee beside her. “Come. Sit.” It wasn’t a question.

“I would rather stand, if you don’t mind.”

“I mind. Now come and sit.”

He reluctantly did so. Randolph rose from his place in front of the fire and shuffled to Kirk’s feet, snuffed his boots, and then dropped into a ball across the toes.

“Well?” Lady Charlotte said.

“Well what?”

Her grace sighed. “I don’t have time for nonsense,
Kirk. There’s Spanish flu on the loose and my guests are leaving in droves, so pray cut to the chase and don’t pretend everything is fine between you and Miss Balfour. We know something is wrong.”

He blinked. “Has she said something?”

“Lud, no. Every time we say your name, she just gets quiet, which is quite annoying.” Her grace looked at Charlotte. “I do wish women were more outspoken.”

“Me, too.” Charlotte knitted on.

Kirk sighed. ”Dahlia’s been attending Miss Stewart. That’s all.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why not?”

“We’ve eyes in our heads,” her grace said sharply.

“Oh yes,” Lady Charlotte said, her book starting to slip. “It’s obvious to everyone that you’re not speaking to each other.”

Randolph looked up as if to agree.

Kirk patted the dog. Should he tell Lady Charlotte and her grace about his mistake? If he was careful, he could explain a portion of the issue. Perhaps they could advise him in how to proceed. God knew, he could use the help. “You’re right; Miss Balfour and I had an argument. She seems to think that something I said was a grievous mistake.”

“A mistake?” Lady Charlotte’s hands couldn’t knit faster. “Another one?”

He almost winced. “I feel maligned.”

Her grace patted his hand where it rested on his
knee. “There, there. No need to look so upset. Tell us what happened.”

He sighed and leaned back. “It’s about the poetry reading.”

“Which was lovely,” Lady Charlotte said.

“Very,” her grace agreed. “I thought Dahlia very touched by it.”

“She was,” he agreed. “I did as Lady Charlotte suggested, and changed the eye color mentioned in the poem to match Dahlia’s.”

Her grace beamed at Lady Charlotte. “So that your doing.”

Lady Charlotte blushed. “I thought it would make the reading more personal.”

“Sadly, it did.” He gave a short laugh and raked a hand through his hair. “Dahlia thought the words of the poem were about her, and she responded very warmly.” If he closed his eyes right this second, he could still feel her warmth about him. “
Very
warmly.”

“Oh my.” Lady Charlotte leaned forward.

The duchess did the same. “And?”

“And so I proposed to her again.”

“Good for you!” her grace said.

“No, not good for me, because once again, she refused me.” He threw up his hands. “And damned if I know why! When she told me she wished I would ask, and not just order her to marry me, I asked her right away.”

The duchess’s brilliant blue eyes narrowed. “Hold
a moment, Lord Kirk. How, exactly, did you ask her to marry you?”

“I said nothing about her family.”

“But?” she prompted.

“I merely pointed out that she needed to marry me.”

“Needed to? Why?”

Because I compromised her.
But he couldn’t say that, so instead, he said, “Because that’s the way it is—she must marry me.” That wasn’t a lie, either. She had to marry him. She must. He didn’t know how or why, but it had to happen or the rest of his life would be the way it was this instant, colorless and cold.

“ ‘That’s the way it is’?” The duchess pressed a hand over her eyes. “Lord Kirk, pray tell me you didn’t use quite those words.”

“Actually, I believe I used exactly those words.”

Lady Charlotte groaned. “Lord Kirk, after all of the work we’ve been doing!”

Her grace dropped her hand from her eyes. “We don’t need to ask Miss Balfour’s reaction, as we can already guess.”

“She was angry,” Lady Charlotte said.

“And perhaps sad,” her grace added.

“And hurt,” Lady Charlotte added.

“And definitely disappointed.”

Kirk grimaced. “That’s exactly what she was. She thought the poem I read was about her, but of course it wasn’t, and that started things off poorly.”

Lady Charlotte stopped knitting. “Wait, it
wasn’t
about her? You didn’t select it because it reminded you of her?”

He shrugged. “It was short.”

Her grace and Lady Charlotte exchanged glances before her grace said, “And you admitted that.”

“I’m not going to lie to her.”

Her grace sighed. “No, of course you aren’t. Though there are times I wish you would.”

“Surely you can’t mean that.”

“Perhaps. So you told Dahlia the poem wasn’t about her, that you only selected it because it was short, and that you only changed the eye color because Lady Charlotte thought it might strengthen your suit.”

“Yes.”

“Oh dear. Lord Kirk, let me explain something to you about women: we like to be asked for things.”

“I
did
ask.”

Her grace lifted her brows.

His face heated. “Fine. I could have asked first, and not demanded, but my intent was the same. I wished to be with her for the rest of my life. Besides, she doesn’t really have a choice, not after—” He caught Lady Charlotte’s surprised expression and hurried to add, “That is, she needs to be reasonable. We would suit better than anyone else; she must be aware of that. The problem is that she has this idealized concept of what a marriage proposal should be, like something from a novel.”

Lady Charlotte patted the book on her knee. “Novels are lovely.”

“They’re not realistic.”

“Not every scene, no—it would be boring to read about what someone wants for breakfast or whose shoelaces were broken. Books focus on special moments, which we all have. And a marriage proposal should be special enough for a book.”

Her grace nodded. “We’re not talking about Dahlia’s expectations for everyday life, but there’s nothing wrong with wanting an occasional romantic moment. Why not?”

Kirk considered this. Perhaps that was the difference right there—he didn’t differentiate one moment from the next. With Dahlia, they all seemed to be special.
With her, life would be.
He sighed. “Why do those moments matter so damn much to women?”

“They just do—and that’s all you need to know about it.” There was a note of finality in the duchess’s voice. “Lord Kirk, what would you think about being married to someone who didn’t regard your opinion as important?”

“Or didn’t laugh at your jokes?” Lady Charlotte added.

“Or disliked your taste in drink so much as to disallow it in the house?”

“I wouldn’t like it at all. But those are items of comfort.”

“They’re also items of respect. When you dismiss
Miss Dahlia’s wishes as if they aren’t important, you’re in essence telling her that
she
isn’t important.”

Lady Charlotte nodded, her lace cap fluttering. “That’s how I’d see it.”

“Damn it, she’s not so foolish as to believe that,” Kirk said heatedly. “I’ve proposed to her twice now. She
has
to know I respect her and—and care for her, and all of that.”

“She doesn’t ‘have’ to know anything—unless you tell her.” The duchess reached out and placed her hand over his. “Tell her, Kirk. And for the love of God, stop being so selfish and this time, use some pretty words.”

She noticed how his gaze narrowed as he considered what she said.

“You’re right.” He stood, grasping his cane lightly, a look of determination blazing across his face. “As soon as I’m able, I’ll fix things with Miss Balfour. Thank you for your advice.”

“It’s our pleasure.” Margaret waved a hand. “Now, off to your bath. We’re so low on company that I’ve planned a very light lunch, and we’re serving dinner at the ungodly early hour of six. To make up for it, there will be whist afterward if we still have enough guests to make up some rubbers.”

“Thank you, but I don’t think I’ll play.”

“Oh, but you will. And I shall make certain you are very,
very
happy with your partner. That will give you time to talk to Miss Balfour.”

He grinned, his face transforming so that Margaret almost gasped. “Thank you, your grace. I appreciate your assistance.”

“It’s the least I can do. Now off with you. Lady Charlotte and I have much to discuss about the Spanish flu and whatnot.”

He bowed and, with one last pat on Randolph’s gray head, he left.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Charlotte picked up her knitting. “He can’t seem to stop proposing.”

“It’s impulsive. The second she signals in any way that she finds him less than repulsive, he blurts out a command that she marry him.”

“Love is a difficult beast to tame.”

“I’m not convinced he even knows he
is
in love. Yet when he looks at her, it’s as if he could devour her whole and still not be satisfied.” Margaret had to smile. “It’s actually quite adorable.”

“If only we could get him to translate that look into words.” Charlotte’s book slipped off her lap, but she caught it and returned it to her knee. “Sadly, Dahlia is much younger in spirit than Lord Kirk, and she possesses a strong romantic streak. Perhaps too strong.”

Margaret nodded thoughtfully. “Heavens, what a mull. I fear we’ll have to allow fate to have its way, at least for now. Meanwhile, you and I must discuss our ball.” She scooped up Meenie, who was staring at her
with sad eyes, and settled the pug in her lap. “So. Shall we have the ball? Or shall we not?”

*   *   *

“There. Ye’re as fine as five pence, me lor’.”

Kirk glanced at himself in the mirror, dressed in the requisite black and white required of dinner at the duchess’s, and grimaced. “I don’t see why her grace insists on such formality. We’re in the country, for God’s sake. She should think of her guests’ comfort.”

“Indeed, me lor’. I’m surprised the weight o’ yer clothes hasna broken yer broad shoulders and crumbled yer guid leg, too.”