Potent Charms (17 page)

"Yes, a foreigner," added Lady Tipler, a reed of a woman
with birdlike features and a high chirping voice to match.

"You are most fortunate," added Lady Ostlin. "You have a veritable melange to choose from tonight. All delightful
gentleman."

At that very moment, Sir Lemmer approached, carrying
a small plate. The men were evidently free from their afterdinner caucus, one that Phoebe greatly resented at the
moment. He said, "Good evening, ladies. I must say, Lady
Ostlin, that you look exceedingly lovely tonight. And Lady
Tipler, your beauty puts the young girls to shame. I thought
you might enjoy a bit of refreshment." He offered them crumb cakes, which the matrons accepted, beaming toothy
grins of approval. They obviously enjoyed every bit of flattery Lemmer gushed. When he turned his attentions to her,
Phoebe pasted a bland expression on her face.

"A pleasure to see you again, Miss Rafferty. Would you
care to join me for a beverage before the concert?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but the ladies and I were engrossed in a
rather interesting conversation. Thank you all the same."

With one hand behind his back, the other draped across
his waist, and his head slightly cocked, he executed the
perfect bow. "Until later, then."

Lady Ostlin waited all of two seconds before she tapped
Phoebe's knee. "Mind that young man, my dear. Sir Lemmer is a prize, to be sure. And if my instincts are correct,
which they usually are, he seems most determined."

Bobbing her head up and down, Lady Tipler agreed.
"Most determined."

Phoebe didn't even bother to counter Lady Ostlin's
opinion of Sir Lemmer. They evidently liked the man. Fine
and dandy. Let there marry him. She alternated her attention between each woman. It seemed Lady Tipler was
incapable of more than a word or two. All her thoughts
belonged to her sister. What an odd pair, Phoebe thought,
but she wanted information and they seemed willing to
speak their minds. She directed her question to Lady
Tipler, simply to see if the woman would answer. "Someone mentioned Lord Badrick might be here as well. I hear
he's quite handsome."

Lady Ostlin tutted a dozen or so times, then pulled a
white lace handkerchief heavily doused with violet water
from her bosom and dabbed her brow. "He simply will not
do. Avoid him, no matter what. Lord Badrick is dangerous."

Well, good heavens. There was no subtlety there.
Phoebe fought the immediate impulse to roll her eyes and offer the woman a piece of her mind. She smiled politely.
"Surely one man cannot be as bad as all that."

"His grandfather killed a young girl and started the
entire debacle. If memory serves me, at least six wives
have died at the hands of the Badrick men. Shameful. As
for the young duke, he killed his own wives with his bare
hands. The beast stands naked before a full moon while he
worships the creatures of the night."

"The beast," repeated Lady Tipler, nodding her head this
time.

"And he collects young boys," Lady Ostlin continued.
"Especially those with dark hair. Takes their toes and
hangs them from the trees of his estate. It's to warn all gypsies, bothersome creatures that they are, from his lands
when he could simply post a sign."

"A sign," Lady Tipler echoed.

Phoebe sat perfectly still, dumbfounded, by the accusations, which grew more absurd with every spoken word.
These two women belonged in the company of Hildegard.
Their misguided opinions meant more to them than the
truth. Phoebe's racing pulse twitched behind her right ear,
which began to itch. It spread down her arms until they
grew rigid. Her hands clenched and released. If she sat
here much longer, listening to these hateful and ludicrous
lies, she feared what she might do. Yet she couldn't just
walk away. She faced Lady Ostlin, who sat as straight as a
porch pillar. "Have you witnessed any of these events or
habits?"

"Of course not."

Phoebe swiveled toward Lady Tipler. "Then your husband saw these things and informed you of the circumstances?"

"Did he, sister?"

"Of course not, sister," answered Lady Ostlin.

She wanted to shake the women silly, loosen the preju dices collected in their minds tighter than bees in a honey
jar. Forcing a deep breath through her lips, hoping it might
calm her anger, Phoebe drummed her fingers together. "I
understand. You're somehow related to Lord Badrick and
read such factors in a family journal."

"Don't be absurd," Lady Ostlin cajoled. "His behavior is
common knowledge."

"Common knowledge," agreed Lady Tipler, bobbing her
head on her skinny little neck somewhat like a barnyard
chicken.

That was it. Phoebe could not listen to one more viscious rumor. "Common is right, such as your behavior.
How can you believe, let alone speak of, any of this? Why,
you old withered busybodies, it's malicious gossip
designed to wound, created by jealous men and women
with nothing better to do with their time."

Her hefty bosom heaving with indignation, Lady Ostlin
stood and extended her hand, which her sister grasped.
"You ungrateful child," she huffed. "See if we offer our
assistance ever again." They strutted from the corner, arm
in arm, their pompous heads perched on their squared
shoulders, their chins jutted forward.

Mercy, what had she done? Phoebe hoped she hadn't
raised her voice. Glancing nervously over her shoulder to
see if anyone had noticed her outburst, she crept through
the nearest door into the night.

Darkness surrounded her like a shield. Noticing a light
in the barn like a beacon, she sought comfort from the animals. She eased between the open doors and inhaled the
familiar scent of horse and hay, a pleasant alternative to
perfume. Closing her eyes, she could almost believe she
stood in her barn back in Georgia, where she'd watched the
birth of her very own horse; where Tobias had taught her to
snap a whip and how to load a gun, both necessary means
of defense for a woman running a plantation.

The image ebbed and shifted to more recent years. The
stately plantation house of River Bend had finally gained a
reputation for quality cotton, Phoebe's efforts finally paying the bills. She saw her tear-streaked face as she
glimpsed Hercules one last time before the new owner
hauled the horse away. She felt the stifling summer heat as
she lay in the hayloft, crying over her father's death, his
final betrayal.

She remembered the day she'd stood in a near-empty
barn to say her good-byes to the people she had worked
beside, laughed with and loved. The memories, good and
bad, warred with one another as she sought to make sense
of her current situation. One thing was certain, she never
wanted to rely on the whims of a man or experience that
feeling of helplessness again. The soft nicker of a horse
followed by a small voice snapped her back to the present.

Stuff and nonsense. She wasn't alone after all. She pondered whether to stay or go when the tiny voice, a child's
voice, spoke again. Phoebe crept forward until she reached
the last stall. Inside, a little girl with wild blond curls hovered over a small black foal. The child wore a lovely red
velvet robe that was now covered with straw.

Phoebe spoke softly. "She's quite lovely."

The young girl's gaze darted over Phoebe's shoulder and
beyond.

Being a child that had tested her father's patience time
and again, Phoebe recognized and understood the girl's
wariness. She appeared to be about six or seven, likely
Lord Tewksbury's daughter, and was probably supposed to
be tucked in her room, asleep.

As though she shared a great secret, Phoebe whispered,
"Please don't tell anyone you saw me. I simply had to
leave the party for a bit of fresh air."

The child's blue eyes rounded, her worries now focused
on Phoebe. "You don't like parties?"

Phoebe remembered her nasty exchange with Lady
Ostlin and Lady Tipler. "Usually I do, but sometimes they
give me a pain in the head. May I join you?"

The child nodded. "You talk funny. What's your name?"

"Phoebe Rafferty, and I'm from America so that is why
I sound a bit different."

"My name is Meredith. You may call me Bliss. I live
here. Do you like horses?"

"I love horses," Phoebe cooed, sitting beside Bliss without a care to her dress. "My father gave me my first pony
when I was six."

"I'm seven," Bliss announced in a regal manner likely
copied from her father. "This is my horse. Her mother
died. I help take care of her."

"Your father must be very proud. Not all children are as
responsible."

"That's what I tell my father. My mother died, so father
thinks I need a new mother, too. That's why he's having
this party. I heard him tell my grandmother. I told him if
the new mother was for me, then I should be able to
choose."

Phoebe wanted to laugh over Bliss's impertinence. "Did
he also tell you that eavesdropping was poor manners?"

"No, but my nanny did. She grumbles over most everything I do."

This time Phoebe did laugh. What a wonderful child.

She imagined herself sitting like this, sharing secrets
with a dark-haired, dark-eyed, child that resembled
Stephen. She blinked the image away and straightened her
shoulders.

Heavens! Now she was contemplating children, and not
just any children, but hers and Stephen's children. Not a
good thing, considering the man refused to marry her. It
seemed a new rut lay in the path of her well-planned future. For all her protests that she wanted to marry and be
left alone to run Marsden Manor, Phoebe knew it to be a
false vow. Thunderation, she wanted it all: children of her
own, a family and Marsden Manor. She wanted to keep
Stephen as well.

"Good evening, ladies. I didn't realize the party had
moved out of doors."

Startled from her woolgathering for a second time,
Phoebe stood as Bliss hid behind her skirts. "Lord Badrick,
may I introduce Lady Tewksbury."

When Bliss stepped forward, he kissed her hand and
bowed. "Charmed, gentle lady."

Bliss giggled. Not a practiced artful twitter, but an honest-to-goodness giggle. Still grinning, she said, "Phoebe
said the indoors sometimes made her head ache so she
needed fresh air. Do you have a headache too?"

"No. I simply ache for the companionship of two lovely
and intelligent women. Do you know where I might find
any?"

A half-hour earlier, Phoebe had been ready to jump from
a window and strangle two overbearing obnoxious women.
A simple smile from Stephen and all seemed right with the
world. She shared a conspiratorial look with Bliss. "I think
we might be able to help you with that, kind sir."

"Splendid." He smiled.

Bliss nudged the straw with her right toe. "Actually I
had best go. Nanny checks my bed. She turns grumpy
when I'm not where I should be."

Phoebe said good-bye, then fidgeted with an iron loop
on the door of the stall, waiting for Stephen to say something as he studied her intently.

"Phoebe, Phoebe, Phoebe." While shaking his head, he
repeated her name like a chaperone preparing to discipline
an unruly child. "Will you ever listen to what I say? Again you chose to wander off where you shouldn't. By yourself.
After your adventure at Lord Wyman's and the park, I'd
think you would have learned your lesson by now."

She couldn't believe her ears. The wretch had finally
decided to talk with her and he had the audacity to offer a
lecture. Mimicking his tone of voice, she said, "Stephen,
Stephen, Stephen. Do you always ignore women in public,
then seek them out in private? I mean, you've certainly
managed to ignore me all evening without any difficulty."

Leaning against the frame of the stall door, he sighed.
"We've been through this before. I am not your best choice
of company when surrounded by my peers, especially considering our dual-appearance in The Times."

"I don't care about that silly old newspaper. How did
you find me?"

"You left a wake equal to one left by a small ship. I
started with Hildegard who remains as disagreeable as
ever and ended with two very disgruntled matrons. You
certainly set their bristles up. Whatever did you say to that
pair of thatchgallows?"

She sailed past him, hoping to escape before he
demanded to know all the sordid details. "You don't want
to know."

He clasped her elbow, stopping her retreat. "Indeed I do,
since according to them, you and I are suited to one
another. It was not meant as a compliment."

"If you must know, I called them a couple of withered
old busybodies. They said despicable things about you. I
lost my temper. No wonder you avoid these people. And
don't you dare get mad at me or I'll not speak to you again.
Someone had to defend you."

With her words, the wall surrounding his emotions
eased ever so slightly. She was so damned earnest. He
warned himself to tread lightly, not to care overmuch. Nevertheless, her defense of him lanced his heart, a desire for closeness he thought long-buried rising like the Phoenix
from the fire. She was a treasure, to be sure, one he needed
to protect himself against at all costs. He bent his head to
kiss her forehead. "Likely a foolish thing to do. I'm not in
need of your defense. I'm not even sure I'm deserving of
such."

"Shame on you, Stephen Lambert, for even thinking
such a thing. You're a kind, intelligent man."

"There's much you don't know about me, Phoebe."

"And whose fault is that?" She shifted her weight from
leg to leg, waiting for any insight he might offer. He
refused to say a word. She muttered, "I can see you have
no intention of answering my questions. We had best
return."

"I'd much rather kiss you." He moved forward. She
stepped back. Stephen persisted until they lingered in the
shadow of the tack room. "Why, Phoebe, m'dear? Are you
afraid of me?"

"No. I just don't think this is a very good idea."