Potent Charms (16 page)

Dee stilled her hands. She tilted her head, raised her
ebony brows to a formidable height and bestowed upon
him a look that had surely felled lesser men. "You don't
say?"

Charm from a distance seemed a good strategy right
now. Stephen crossed to the tea service and filled two cups.
He offered one to Phoebe, then moved to the window facing the street. "Quite so. Miss Phoebe is enchanting company, for which I'm sure you are partly responsible."

"You're right about that. I raised Miss Phoebe since she
first saw daylight. I know exactly how enchantin' she can
be. I also knows what men like you, Mr. Duke, like to do
with enchantin' women, and I'm here to tell you, I didn't
teach her to act a silly goose without a lick of sense. You
just remember that."

The warning was perfectly clear. Dee protected Phoebe
like Winston did Elizabeth ferociously defending her
anytime she felt her charge in any danger. Dee would make
a formidable adversary, or a favorable ally. He would have
to think on that. "Most assuredly."

Finally freeing herself from her sodden cape, Phoebe
shrugged it from her shoulders, grabbed her hat, and
placed the garments into Dee's waiting hands. "In case the
two of you forgot, I'm still here in this very same room. If
you-"

A screech, distinctly shrill and clearly female, sounded
from the foyer. Phoebe snapped her mouth shut and rubbed
her hand over her face, then glared at Dee, who grinned
about something Stephen evidently knew nothing about.
When someone, presumably Aunt Hildegard, squealed a
second time, Phoebe glanced at Stephen and sighed, her
breath fanning the damp curl on her forehead. From his
secluded spot, he watched the doorway in anticipation.

Hildegard, her cheeks flushed and puffed with indignance, stomped into the room. One hand pressed against
the lace neckline of her bright purple pelisse, the other
fanned back and forth, her white handkerchief flowing
from side to side like a flag of surrender.

Charity crept behind her mother, watching the scene
with cautious yet avid fascination.

Hildegard stopped and glared at Dee. "You ...you..."

"Somethin' wrong, madam?" asked Dee, her brows knitted in confusion. Stephen surmised the servant knew
exactly to what Hildegard referred. This would be an interesting exchange.

"Don't you madam' me. What is the meaning of this?"
Hildegard pointed to Siggers, who had moved to the doorway as well, a bland, almost serene expression pasted on
his face. He held a dead mouse at arm's length from his
body.

Dee's grin widened, revealing a row of white teeth. She
flounced over to the butler and relieved him of his burden.
"Goodness gracious. I best get rid of that. Wherever did
you find it?"

"You know as well as I do," snapped Hildegard, her
words flying fast from her mouth. "It's one of your tricks.
You purposely placed it beside my embroidery."

"I did?" Dee scratched her head. "Goodness, I don't
remember that a'tall."

"On no, not this time. I have had it," said Hildegard,
stomping her foot. She pivoted toward Phoebe. "You,
young lady, are responsible for this abomination. I imagine
your father allowed such ghastly behavior in his servants
as well. Not me. This is my home. I will-"

"Auntie," Phoebe interrupted.

"What?" Hildegard barked, her temper bound by a
thread.

Nodding toward the comer, Phoebe directed her aunt's
attention to where Stephen stood. "We have company."

Hildegard's head swiveled so quickly that had her feet
not been firmly planted on the ground she would have toppled over into a heap of chartreuse and purple linen. He
certainly admired Dee's backbone. The maid planted that
ignorant smile on her face and latched on to him, which
obviously irritated Hildegard all the more. He barely contained his grin. "Good afternoon, Lady Goodliffe."

Her expression shifted quickly from anger to disapproval to what some might call cordiality. Almost. She
wasn't the least bit pleased to have him here. "Lord
Badrick. You seem to have caught me unawares. As you
have certainly ascertained, I've had a difficult day."

"Quite all right. Now and again, everyone, even myself,
begins a day only to realize they'd have been better off to
stay abed. Good afternoon, Charity. You look lovely."

Charity managed a curtsy.

"Charity, quit skulking in the hallway and sit down." Her
mouth set with annoyance, Hildegard spared no glance for
her daughter, but kept her eyes on Dee. "You may go. We
will discuss this matter later."

"Absolutely, madam. Come on, Siggers, I can see we're
going to need more tea for all these people."

Hildegard tucked her handkerchief into the sleeve of her
dress and sat on the scarlet and rose floral chaise opposite
Charity, who perched stiffly on a matching chair. "Pardon
my trivial problems, your grace. To what do we owe this
visit?"

"Hasn't Miss Rafferty told you?"

Hildegard glared at her niece. "Obviously I missed
something of import."

Accusation radiated from her eyes. She truly was a most
disagreeable woman. He pitied anyone forced to bear her
company for any length of time, especially Phoebe, when
Hildegard's dislike was so apparent. Phoebe busied herself
with a cup of tea, then moved to the fireplace. Evidently,
she wasn't about to offer an explanation when she had no
idea what he was thinking. Smart girl. He crossed to
Phoebe's side. "It is of minor importance, actually. I
offered my services as counsel in her search for a husband."

"I see no need, your grace. I am fully capable of giving
advice"

"Of course you are." He agreed readily while he studied
the flamboyant two-handed silver vase decorated with an
Egyptianesque motif sitting on the mantle. Conquests were
all a matter of strategy and timing. "What an extraordinary
piece."

"It happens to be one of my favorites. It was created by
Paul Storr."

"I thought I recognized the work. Storr is quite talented, but back to the subject at hand. Women are excellent
judges of character, but men are often privy to some of one
another's habits that women are not. Between the two of
us, Miss Rafferty shall make a marvelous match. Which is,
I'm sure, exactly what you seek."

"Indeed."

"After all, family ties bond us forever. I know it is your
fondest wish to aid your only niece in every possible way."

"I do my best."

He swore he heard Hildegard's teeth grinding behind her
pinched lips. Lady Goodliffe did not like this discussion,
nor his interference. Phoebe, on the other hand, seemed
content to remain a silent bystander. Stephen clapped his
hands together. "Splendid. That being the case. I brought
with me an invitation to Lord Payley's country affair next
week. I believe a number of suitable lords shall be present."

Shifting in her chair, Hildegard squared her shoulders
with revived confidence. "We have previous plans.
Besides, it's far too late to accept. We should have received
and responded to such an invitation weeks ago."

Like a conspirator, he lowered his voice to a whisper.
"Who's to know, Lady Goodliffe? Did you not receive and
accept Lord Tewksbury's invitation a mere two days ago?"

She managed to sputter, "That is different, your grace. It
is a simple dinner party, not a weekend outing which
requires a substantial amount of preparation."

"A slight inconvenience, nothing more, for a woman of
your skill. Of course, Phoebe's companion may accompany her as well as yourself and Miss Charity, if she is so
inclined." He spoke directly to Charity. "I believe Eustace
Ellwood will be present as well. I heard through the rumor
mill that his interests lie in your direction."

Bowing her head slightly, Charity squirmed in her seat, gazing from Stephen to Phoebe to her mother and finally at
the floor. The poor girl was more skittish than a young filly.
Nervous or not, pleasure shined in her eyes.

"Forget Ellwood," said Hildegard. "I am considering a
match with Lord Hadlin."

"But mother, he's been married four times already, and
he's so old."

"He's also quite rich. Count your blessings that he wants
a young, strong wife to breed an heir."

Stephen barely contained his disgust. He understood the
business of making satisfactory matches. It was quite simply the way of things. His sudden interest in Charity's
plight surprised him, but Hadlin was at least forty-eight
with the personality of a stiff, unyielding bench and a
propensity for virgins of any age. He might have money,
but he seldom spent it on his wives. His mistresses, who
were many, were far happier. But Hildegard cared nothing
of those things, wanting only the prestige she'd receive for
her daughter's match.

Smiling at Charity in an obvious attempt to offer support, Phoebe added, "Perhaps other lords we have yet to
meet will attend."

"Undoubtedly, Miss Rafferty," added Stephen as he
wearied of the game. It was time to exert the authority
granted him simply by title. "I am certain your aunt realizes the merits of accepting such an invitation, the disadvantages if she doesn't. Don't you, Lady Goodliffe?" he
asked, using his silky tone of voice as a blacksmith uses a
hammer and anvil, bending Hildegard to his will.

Clasping and unclasping her hands, Hildegard cleared
her throat several times. Her lips curved into the slightest
of smiles. "Of course we accept. It would be foolish to do
otherwise. I will inform Lord Payley of my decision to
accompany Phoebe or not." She pushed herself from the chaise, her movements precise and rigid. "If you will
excuse me. Siggers will see you out."

"By all means." Turning toward Phoebe, he whispered,
"Close your mouth, darling, you're gaping. I told you your
aunt was the least of your worries." He grasped Phoebe's
hand and placed a kiss above her knuckles. "Until tonight,
Miss Rafferty."

He nodded toward Charity, then proceeded to the doorway where Siggers appeared as suddenly as a puff of
smoke. With a smirk and a wink, Stephen sailed from the
room.

"Land sakes," muttered Phoebe, unsure whether to
rejoice or run. Hildegard's foul mood would hover like a
dark cloud for at least the rest of the day if not the balance
of the week. Ready to skip around the room because she
could flee to Marsden Manor, Phoebe remembered Charity. The poor thing. Charity's situation was no better than
Phoebe's. In fact, it was worse. At least Phoebe had a say
in the selection of her spouse. It now seemed that Hildegard planned to sell Charity to the highest bidder, and
Phoebe doubted her cousin had the strength of will to disobey.

"Aren't you excited?" asked Phoebe.

"Mother will likely find a reason for us to stay home. Oh
dear, whatever shall I do? Lord Hadlin is...a..."

"Your mother hasn't accepted his suit yet." She took the
space Hildegard had recently vacated. "I'm truly sorry,
Charity. Perhaps you'll see Sir Ellwood at Tewksbury's
tonight. I'll do whatever I can to help."

Right now, this minute, an afternoon in the cotton fields
back home held more appeal than the balance of Phoebe's
evening. There, she wouldn't be worried about her manners, her dress, her every movement, about what she said
or how she said it. This constant charade of proper deportment and her feigned excitement to find a husband was
tedious not to mention depressing. Her future seemed
dreary, and then some. And she had prepared for this
evening with such anticipation.

Lord Tewksbury had been an attentive host until dinner,
which was delicious, efficiently served, and dragged on
forever. Now the men, Stephen included, had closeted
themselves in the drawing room with their precious brandy
and private conversation that was considered unsuitable for
females. At the moment, waiting for the evening's entertainment, Phoebe suffered Hildegard's waspish countenance and a young debutante's inane attempt at
conversation. Charity hovered nearby, seemingly as bored as Phoebe. Likely her thoughts were with Eustace Ellwood, who conversed with the men as well. The young girl
beside Phoebe giggled yet again and she knew she had best
move elsewhere or go mad. Excusing herself, she fled
toward the conservatory. Perhaps if she hid behind a bush
or a potted plant, she'd find a moment's peace and quiet.

Rounding the cobblestone path lined with assorted
palms, Phoebe happened upon two older matrons, who sat
together on a stone bench tucked between the marble
sculpture of a large bird in flight and a rose bush. She
thought she might escape unnoticed until one woman
waved. Reluctantly, wanting only to flee outdoors, she
crossed to the bench, sat and awaited the introductions and
heaven knew what else.

Lady Ostlin, as she named herself, possessed bosoms
capable of sporting a small tea service. Nibbling on her
berry tart, she studied Phoebe. Finally, she nodded to her
sister, Lady Tipler, and placed her yellow-gloved hand
over Phoebe's bare one. "It is rumored, Miss Rafferty, that
you are in pursuit of a husband. Although Lady Goodliffe
is your aunt, I imagine she cares more for Charity's plight
than yours. My sister and I feel it our duty to aid your
cause, you being a foreigner and all."