Potent Charms (10 page)

Before she decided one way or the other, or risked a broken heart, she intended to discover more about the Duke of
Badrick than the fact that he turned her mind to mush and
her insides to warm cider. If he truly meant what he said,
then her time, which was short and precious, was best
spent on other suitors. Elizabeth appeared to be the most
likely person to help Phoebe find the answers she needed.

When they reached Hildegard's private box, her aunt
paced back and forth, while Charity, sporting an enormous
orange bow in her hair, sat, her eyes diverted to her lap.

"Good evening, Lady Goodliffe," Stephen said.

Hildegard, her back to the entrance, glanced over her
shoulder and lifted her pointed chin a notch higher. "Lord
Badrick."

He nodded, then asked, "Lady Charity, how goes your
study in watercolors?"

Charity shifted in her chair and bumped her knee against
the wooden rail with a resounding thud. "Sorry," she mumbled.

Sighing, Hildegard said, "Charity discovered she prefers
a woman's duties to frivolous notions such as art," Hildegard explained, her words clipped and filled with reproach.
Charity's face grew sullen as she sunk lower in her chair.

"A pity," said Stephen. "She seemed to be progressing
nicely."

"Humph," snorted Hildegard. "How did you happen to
meet my niece?"

Hostility swirled between Stephen and her aunt. Surely,
Phoebe imagined it, but it appeared as though a battle were taking place between them as they both vied for
supremacy. A flicker of apprehension knotted Phoebe's
stomach as she tried to comprehend the reason. She started
to explain how she met Stephen, noted the unpleasant twist
of Hildegard's mouth and changed her mind. Instead, in
hopes of lightening the mood, she pinned a bright smile on
her face and said, "Actually Auntie, Lady Payley is responsible. While I waited for your return, she introduced herself, along with her husband and Lord Badrick."

"A happenstance for which I am quite grateful," Stephen
added most eloquently.

"Really," said Hildegard, her mouth set in an even
tighter line as she focused fully on Phoebe. "Sir Lemmer
paid a call specifically to see you. He was gravely disappointed to discover your absence." She turned back to
Stephen. "Thank you for your escort, but my niece's attentions are required elsewhere now."

Ignoring the apparent dismissal, he leaned against the
wall and crossed his arms before him, his body as stiff as a
stump. With his voice devoid of all warmth, he asked,
"Where is Sir Lemmer?"

"Unfortunately, he received a message summoning him
home."

"In that case, I shall take my leave. Until we meet again,
Miss Rafferty."

Phoebe, already on edge, tensed as he lifted her hand to
his lips, lingering long enough to fire speculation in Hildegard's already suspicious mind. Blast the buzzard. He fled
while she had to stay and face the inquisition she was sure
to get.

Hildegard didn't wait long. "You will not see Lord
Badrick again."

"I assume you have a particular reason for that edict?"

"He is a cursed man who sold his very soul to the devil.
His past is absolutely scandalous, which forces him to a life of isolation. Even then, distance cannot end the tales of
his wickedness."

"Aunt Hildegard, whatever are you talking about?"

"Bad blood runs in his veins, noble or not. Immoral. He
dallies where he should not. He collects young boys for
God knows what. The Badrick line is cursed and evil, that
young man as bad as his relatives before him. He murdered
his first wife when she failed to bear a daughter. His second wife fled for her life only to be hunted like an animal
and killed. Those are only two instances, mind you. There
are many others, but I will not sully my daughter's ears by
repeating them."

"Goodness gracious, you don't believe any of that nonsense, do you?"

"That man will ruin you, and my family as well." The
rigid set of Hildegard's body meant she believed every
slanderous word she spoke. "Stay away from him. Do I
make myself clear?"

Land sakes. Phoebe wanted nothing more than to stand
her ground, but how on earth could she argue in the man's
favor when she knew so little herself? Imagine. Murder?
Wickedness? Curses? Swallowing her arguments along
with the urge to champion the man, Phoebe bowed her
head. Tomorrow was soon enough to begin her exploration
into the past of Stephen Lambert, Duke of Badrick.

Sunbeams danced amid the leaves on the trees lining Park
Lane as the carriage headed south toward the River
Thames. Thankful to be outdoors and away from her aunt,
Phoebe relaxed against the soft burgundy leather seat. For
two days, she had suffered her aunt's relentless attacks on
Lord Badrick's character and an onslaught of male visitors
that rivaled the British siege of New Orleans. She deserved
this little adventure. Besides, there were questions she
planned to have answered before the day was through. But
she knew the real cause of her excitement was the fact that
she would see Stephen. She tipped her head to the sky,
sighing audibly.

"You look as though you possess the world," said Elizabeth.

Lost in her haze of contentment, Phoebe said, "I declare,
it is absolutely glorious to be free of that woman for the
afternoon." She immediately realized she'd spoken her
thoughts out loud. Her dislike for Hildegard was one thing, but to openly express her opinion of her family was terribly
irresponsible, especially having just met Elizabeth. "Not
Aunt Hildegard.. .1 mean..." She sat up straighter, as if
the action might make her words more believable. "She
tries the patience of a saint, but..."

Elizabeth's gentle laughter filled the carriage. Her face,
surrounded by a large pink bow attached to her straw hat,
glowed with kindness. "Do not fret so. Your aunt is not the
most accommodating woman."

"True, but she is family and she is providing a place for
me to stay. I should feel grateful."

"As does an abused horse when fed." Elizabeth's whitegloved hand swiftly covered her mouth. She shrugged her
shoulders, removed her hand and said, "There I go. Let us
drop the topic of your aunt altogether."

More than willing to forget her aunt's unpleasantness
and enjoy the afternoon, Phoebe nodded as their carriage
turned toward St. James Park, joining a sea of extravagant
curricles and ordinary wagons. Electricity filled the air as
people waved and laughed. Some silly fools even
attempted to race one another in the crowd. Phoebe felt a
brewing exhilaration all the way down to her toes. "My
goodness, is everyone going to the race?"

"To be sure, but we're perfectly safe. Stephen and Winston rode ahead to secure us a spot. We'll join them soon
enough."

"It's absolutely thrilling. It reminds me of holidays back
home, which were really quite wonderful. There were picnics, horse and boating races, and dances. One of my
daddy's favorites was the watermelon-eating contest."
Knowing she would never again share such a moment with
her father, or possibly even return home, Phoebe's excitement ebbed, her mood changing to wistfulness.

Elizabeth placed a dainty hand on Phoebe's. "I know how difficult this must be. When my father died, I missed
him horribly. My mother told me I would always think of
him, but one day the pain would leave, replaced by marvelous memories. It did. Then I met Winston. I trust you
will find such happiness in England."

"I have hope."

"Splendid. Now, no more dreary thoughts. Tell me about
your morning."

"It was downright tedious. Since word of my situation
spread, I'm swamped with callers. Hildegard becomes
more irritated, Charity crawls into herself like a poor baby
bird afraid she'll trip or stumble or such, and my nanny sits
in a corner, grumbling and grimacing. I simply find the
mess exhausting. Lands alive, I never realized so many
men lacked a title or funds."

Sunlight bounced off Elizabeth's pink parasol as it
twirled in circles while she talked. "Please don't misunderstand me, but some men probably came out of curiosity.
You are the current denier cri. The rage."

"What fiddle-faddle. Last night at the ball, I danced with
a lord who wheezed the entire time while using his cane as
a prop. After which he proposed. Only thing is, I wasn't
sure if he was asking the marble statue he stood beside or
me. Charity said he was fifty-two. Can you imagine? Why,
just today I discussed the weather at least fourteen different times. My favorite card games and the flowers of my
choice were also popular subjects. I made the grave mistake of mentioning Napoleon. You could have heard a
mouse sneeze."

"Heaven forbid we should discuss such topics," Elizabeth confessed, "lest we embarrass ourselves."

"I fear I made an even worse mistake than that. I mentioned I read Dante's Inferno. Aunt Hildegard nearly fell
from her chair. But I refuse to play an ignorant hen."

"Good for you. Thankfully, unlike many men, Winston
enjoys intelligent conversation. Has anyone in particular
garnered your attention?"

"Not the way I hoped. It's quite discouraging. Sir Lemmer hovers nearby at every opportunity, which pleases
Aunt Hildegard to no end. Why just this morning, he intimidated poor Sir Ellwood, who really stopped by to visit
Charity, into leaving after only five minutes. The poor fellow managed to exit without any accidents, but Sir Lemmer lingered a good hour." Remembering Lemmer's
expression as he'd sat next to her, fuming like a jealous
husband, she shivered. Real or imagined, the man's manner disturbed her in a most unpleasant way.

"Sir Lemmer has a rather unpleasant nature," said Elizabeth as she absently waved to a couple in a passing carriage. "I know for a fact that both Winston and Stephen
dislike him, and Sir Lemmer despises Stephen. I recommend you look elsewhere for a spouse." Turning back to
face Phoebe, Elizabeth said, "In fact, I am going to be a
rude sneaky-beak and say I think you and Stephen might
make a go of it. He needs a wife."

"I assure you, given my few encounters with the man,
he'd disagree."

Elizabeth leaned forward, her parasol shading both
women. "He has not been as preoccupied with a woman in
years. He wants you but is afraid to take a chance. The
stubborn fool is a dear friend of mine who seems doomed
to isolation and loneliness. All of his own choosing. I, on
the other hand, believe he deserves every ounce of happiness that comes his way."

Two deep notes resonated through the air as Big Ben
signaled the new hour. Phoebe admired the distant gothic
towers of Westminster Abbey, silently debating whether to
pursue the topic of Stephen. She decided a better opportunity might not present itself, but she couldn't quite come out and ask if he had, in fact, murdered his first two wives.
If he'd had two wives, she reminded herself. "How do you
know Stephen so well?"

"Our estates bordered one another. Though he's ten
years my elder, we spent a great deal of time together as
children. When my father died, I moved to my mother's
dower estate. I still saw Stephen from time to time. In fact,
he introduced me to Winston, a debt I can never repay.
Unless, perhaps, I can return the favor."

It was now or never. Remembering all of Hildegard's
vile gossip, a part of Phoebe, perhaps her heart, wanted to
discount everything she'd heard. At least Elizabeth,
Stephen's friend, would tell the truth. "Has Stephen been
married?"

"As a matter of fact, he was. Twice."

"What happened?"

Elizabeth concentrated on a flock of pigeons overhead,
evidently considering Phoebe's request. She leaned against
her seat and said, "I was only thirteen when Stephen married Emily. I think Stephen loved her for all the good and
kindness she brought into his life. We moved away shortly
thereafter. Emily died the next year. Two years later, he
married Louisa. She died the following spring."

Nibbling her lower lip, Phoebe sucked in a deep breath,
then forged ahead. "Did he murder them?"

Elizabeth's eyes rounded and her mouth snapped open,
then shut.

"Oh, I'm sorry to just blurt that out, but I'm so confused
and... well... my aunt said horrible things."

Recovering from her shock, Elizabeth gazed at the activity surrounding them, her lips pressed into a frown. "I
imagine Hildegard filled your ears with a good deal of
twaddle. Sometimes, my own peers irritate me so greatly I
want to denounce them all. Unfortunately, when it comes
to scintillating tidbits regarding the lives of other people, society has a long, if uninformed, memory. Stephen's
desire for privacy fires speculation. Every time he comes to
London, the gossip begins anew."

"Please. I need to know the truth."

"I'm not certain I can help. Stephen's rather taciturn
about his past."

"The words mule-headed and shut-mouthed come to
mind."

Elizabeth stared at Phoebe open-mouthed, then burst
into laughter. "Dear Phoebe, I am so glad we met."