Lessons in Enchantment

by Patricia Rice

  “I think I am capable of handling my own affairs,” he said dryly. “Do not concern yourself with me. What do you mean to study at the university?”

  She was a failure at directing conversations. “I wish to be an animal doctor. I thought if I entered the university, the veterinary college might allow me to take courses. It is not easy for women to overcome the prejudices of the past, but Edinburgh is very enlightened in some matters.”

  “An animal doctor, of course. That makes good sense. It will not be easy for you,” he warned. “Men are distracted by beautiful women. It isn’t prejudice but common sense to keep order in the classroom by keeping women out of it.”

  Even calling her beautiful did not mitigate the inanity of that statement. She sighed. “I know you do not mean to be discouraging, but I want to smack the snot out of you when you say things like that. Women are not responsible if men are too weak-minded to control their urges.”

  He laughed, a belly-deep laugh that roared over the rooftops.

  She relaxed a fraction. Perhaps he understood, even if he was laughing at her. Few took the time to know her well enough to laugh at her admittedly eccentric world-view.

  “You might actually talk your way into school with that attitude,” he said when he stopped laughing. “I expect you’ll simply wear them down until they accept you so they don’t have to listen to you anymore.”

  “But something must be done about the children so I won’t feel guilty in leaving them. If you cannot find a wife, then you must discover who might cause them harm. I can try to persuade Clare to speak, but she needs to learn to trust us first.”

  “There are people working on it,” he said with a shrug. “There is little I can do from here, and I must stay in the city to earn the money that provides for the children and my family.”

  “Have you made a list of suspects?” she asked, eager to solve his problem without revealing the journal. “Surely it cannot be too long.”

  “And what, pray tell, would I do with such a list? Knock on doors and ask if they may have murdered an innocent woman?”

  “If you had a list, I could ask my family to help!” she said in excitement. “We may not be closely related except in our differences, but my family communicates with each other.”

  “That does not sound like a good idea,” he said in a low rumble that warned she was exceeding her boundaries.

  “Oh, but you do not know us! I have one cousin who finds things. He helped the queen find a lost earring and a duke to find his long-lost half-brother. He is quite good. There are many more of us like that. Let’s go inside where it’s warm—”

  Mr. Blair caught her in his arms before she could hurry for the stairs. Startled, Phoebe froze where she was, aware of the encompassing heat of his big body and how very. . . strong. . . he was. She looked up questioningly.

  And without permission, he bent to kiss her.

  Ten

  Drew knew better than to give in to impulse, but he hated heights and had distracted himself with noticing the enticing woman beside him. He had this terribly perverse desire to see if Lady Phoebe tasted like a real woman—as opposed to chocolate or vinegar, perhaps. He’d never met a female like her, and he needed a better sense of where he stood in her universe. His notorious need to experiment made him do it.

  She froze, as she often did when caught by surprise, he’d noticed. But then her lips warmed and grew soft, and she was very definitely a real woman, one who tasted of mint and honey and melted like hot wax in his arms. He could feel her perfect breasts pressed into his shirtfront, and if he pulled her any closer, she’d learn more of male anatomy than was decent.

  Fortunately, she was a woman of more fortitude than he. She pressed her hands against his shirt and shoved away. He was quite certain he heard her gasp.

  “I haven’t decided if I should apologize,” he said before she could slap the snot out of him. He grinned again at the vulgarism her rounded vowels had produced earlier. He felt remarkably good, almost carefree, for the first time in centuries. “We are both inviting temptation by meeting like this. It just seemed a good idea to remind ourselves why we should not be alone together. Unless, of course, you find me as appalling as our neighbor apparently does.”

  She stepped back and briskly adjusted her coat. Maybe next time, he could divest her of that damned ugly thing.

  “You are not appalling,” she finally said, back to proper. “But you are my employer. I must insist that we do not do this again. It is most awkward.” She headed for the door.

  “Oh, I grant it’s awkward. I will have difficulty listening while remembering your mouth against mine. And once we start down this road, it becomes harder to stop. So perhaps we should simply send each other written notes.” He knew that would never happen. She was too alive and volatile.

  He watched her sway down the narrow stairs into darkness and wanted to tug her back into his arms again, even if it meant staying on the dratted roof. If he didn’t look down. . . The lady provided an ideal distraction.

  “Perhaps I should seek another position,” she said stiffly as he followed her down to the attic. “But I cannot recommend sending any of my younger cousins here under the circumstances.”

  That knocked his confidence straight out of him. “Don’t do that. The children need you. I almost feel comfortable leaving them with you. We’ll work out something.”

  “Almost.” She snorted and proceeded through the empty attic to the stairs to civilization. “That’s reassuring. You consider me almost safe with your wards.”

  “Be fair. You haven’t exhibited exemplary comportment so far. You are obviously not a trained governess, but you’re apparently a good animal trainer, and that’s almost as good with my wards—for now. But there’s a world of difference between animals and children, hence my hesitation.” Drew wasn’t entirely certain what he was doing here—putting her off him so she’d keep out of his company?

  “Hmpf.” She entered the light of the narrow nursery hall.

  She looked utterly delectable in that ancient coat, with her hair wind-blown and curling around her long, elegant face with its perfectly rounded chin. He didn’t dare lower his gaze to the firm bosom that had been pressed into him just a few minutes earlier. He waited for her condemnation.

  Instead, she glowered. “Are you aware that Malcolms keep journals?”

  He tried to work out how they’d gone from kissing to journals and couldn’t. “You mentioned it before.”

  “Your cousin’s wife was a Malcolm. She kept journals. There may be some chance that she wrote something in hers that could incriminate her killer. Talk to your cousin, ask. And you, sir, need a wife, one I can speak to about the children without being in the same room as you. Find someone a little older than Dahlia.” She spun on her heel and marched off.

  He’d hired her rather than marry, he wanted to shout. But he’d wake the children and the nursemaid, and it was all too complicated. He’d just have to arrange to have a maid in the same room with them when they discussed the children.

  If only the damned woman would stay upstairs and out of sight.

  He’d be dreaming of that kiss for months. Maybe he should go out and seek relief elsewhere.

  He didn’t want paid kisses and pretend caresses. Still, harassing employees was never a good idea.

  What the devil had she meant about a journal? That sounded damned dangerous.

  Cursing, Drew traipsed downstairs to write to Simon.

  Hugh waited for him—with a stack of papers in hand. “As I was trying to tell you before you went haring off. . . The tenants are filing a lawsuit. They don’t have a leg to stand on, but—”

  “You found an empty building to house them in?” Drew asked cynically, marching through the dining room to his workshop, previously known as the withdrawing room.

  “I’m still looking. I can’t build Rome in a day.” Hugh sounded offended.

  “Sorry. It’s been a long day. All right, I understand ano
ther builder might come along with less interest in doing what’s right. We’ll move forward.” He took the packet of papers and returned to his office.

  “Our neighbor and his wife are having a screaming argument,” Hugh said conversationally.

  Hugh never made small talk. Drew shot him a shrewd look. “Eavesdropping, were we?”

  Hugh shrugged his big shoulders. “Didn’t have to try. They’re loud. And the new stableboy said he was in their kitchen with his aunt and heard them. Sounds like their niece ran off rather than marry you. You’ll have to hunt further afield for a wife.”

  Drew signed his name with a flourish and flung the packet at his assistant. “No, we need to hunt for a killer so Simon will be satisfied the children are safe, and we can send them back where they belong.”

  Still stunned and nervous about last night’s kiss—and her reaction to it—Phoebe stayed in the nursery the next morning. What on earth had she been thinking?

  She hadn’t. She’d behaved like every silly woman on the planet in the presence of an attractive man. She knew better. She certainly wasn’t opposed to men as Dahlia was, but they just weren’t on her agenda. Not in that way. She wanted to go to school and learn to do what she did best. She didn’t have time for dalliance.

  But Mr. Blair had been so solid and alive and. . .

  She cut off that thought. Marriage was a trap even worse than servitude. She’d translate more of Letitia’s journal and see if she found names. Maybe she wrote in code.

  She returned to teaching the children their letters. “Levitating the chalk removes the weight needed to produce a mark,” she warned Enoch. “It might be possible to levitate an ink pen and write without hands, but you’ll need to prove yourself with a pencil first.”

  Enoch scowled and returned to determinedly completing his alphabet.

  “We do not need to write,” Cat said fretfully. “We talk.”

  “What about your father? Would you not like to read a letter from him?” Phoebe asked.

  The twins studied her with suspicion. Cat, of course, was the one to reply. “He would not write us. We’re little.”

  “But you will not always be little. If you sent him a letter showing how big you’re growing, he would send one back.” If she had to write it for him, Phoebe mentally vowed.

  The twins frowned, then apparently coming to some silent agreement, returned to their chalkboards.

  Kitty prowled the room, pouncing on dust balls and imaginary monsters. Time ticked slowly. Phoebe was used to being on the streets, greeting people, helping where she could, trading and offering services where they were needed. She didn’t like confinement.

  Neither did the children. They wiggled restlessly, their attention spans easily diverted by kitten antics. Enoch proudly finished his alphabet and handed it over for inspection. Phoebe fussed over it appropriately and decided he needed to be rewarded with more than a pencil.

  She would not believe evil men would seek children over a journal they most likely did not know existed.

  “You may have a small recess to play with the kitten while I arrange an appropriate celebration of Enoch’s graduation to the next level of education. Do not become too rowdy while I am gone.”

  Refusing to go downstairs where the men were, Phoebe jotted a note and handed it to Daisy, who carried it down to Abby. It was a ridiculous system and took twice as long as it would for her to run down and make the request herself, but she was determined to be proper. She had apparently given Mr. Blair the wrong idea. For the sake of the children, that must be rectified.

  Daisy returned to report, “Mr. Blair says the carriage will be ready soon.”

  The children cheered and ran for their wraps.

  The nursemaid was a plump, sensible, older woman who carried on her work quietly in the background. She would never presume to be asked on an outing, but Phoebe saw no reason she shouldn’t join them.

  “Would you care to come with us, Daisy? I’ve asked if we might have a picnic lunch prepared. While the days are still fine, we should take advantage of the outdoors.” Phoebe helped Clare tie her bonnet.

  “If you think I might help, mum.” Daisy looked uncertain. She hadn’t quite adapted to calling Phoebe my lady, but she hovered over the children as if they were her own.

  “Can we take Kitty?” Cat called, stalking the kitten around the perimeter of the room.

  Phoebe pushed her old porkpie hat over her hair to keep it from flying about, jabbed a pin in it, and mentally consulted the kitten. “No, I think Kitty would like a bit of lunch and a nap. She’s not quite as old as you and needs more rest.”

  “Are we going to the garden?” Enoch asked. “May I take my ball?”

  “Yes, you may bring a ball.” Dealing with a barrage of questions, coats, hats, and toys, Phoebe managed to herd everyone down the stairs and out the back past the kitchen garden to the mews.

  The carriage waited. Instead of a servant in the driver’s seat, Mr. Blair held up his whip and greeted them by touching it to his curly-brimmed silk hat. The children cheered. Enoch immediately climbed up beside him and asked if he could hold the reins. Phoebe lifted the girls into the small seat in back and joined them, leaving the nursemaid to the front with Enoch.

  She had not anticipated sharing a picnic with her employer.

  Mr. Blair lifted one dark eyebrow at her position but merely urged the horse into motion once Daisy had hauled herself in.

  He was just so. . . so manly. From this angle, she could see the jut of his square jaw, the cut of his cheekbones, and the dark curls of his sideburns beneath his hat brim. She’d felt those chiseled lips on hers last night, and she shivered a little.

  Phoebe wasn’t much at describing how she felt, even to herself. She liked keeping busy, not pondering impossibilities. She’d never had time for whispered exchanges with other girls about the attributes of suitors. She’d never had a suitor. It wasn’t as if she socialized among her own set, whatever set that might be. She’d had to put food on the table or go hungry.

  She simply didn’t have the necessary experience to deal with self-assured men of business. What the devil was Mr. Blair doing taking time out from his busy day to go picnicking?

  “Was I remiss in asking for the carriage for the children?” she asked tentatively as they clopped slowly down the street. “Did you need it?”

  He kept his attention on the road. “Not at all. I generally walk to my meetings and the horse needs exercise, as do the children.”

  He gave no further explanation for his presence. Surely he had not heard from his cousin already.

  Refusing to fret, Phoebe turned her attention to the twins, who were practically bouncing in their seats in excitement. She had to grasp the back of their coats to keep them from tumbling out as they tried to watch dogs running alongside the wheels and horses passing by. Being unfamiliar with this side of town, it took a few minutes before Phoebe realized they were moving faster than other carriages and taking side streets that did not lead directly to the green space dividing the two parts of the city.

  Pulse accelerating, Phoebe studied her surroundings. The narrow alley they currently traversed wasn’t wide enough for anyone but pedestrians to pass the carriage. There were few of those and the horses easily left them behind.

  When they entered a wider avenue, Mr. Blair expertly maneuvered around slow carts, staying well ahead of any other vehicle. But horses could easily follow. While keeping half her attention on the children, Phoebe sorted through the various animal minds nearby. Even if she couldn’t see animals, she could identify their. . . presence. It was rather like being aware of people while walking down the street.

  Several horses outpaced them and turned corners in different directions. One stayed a steady distance behind. Phoebe caught at her hat and pretended to glance around and wave at someone so she might look over her shoulder.

  There, the old roan wearing blinders, plodding along beneath a shabby-looking country gentleman wearing spats and
a worn hat even more disgraceful than hers.

  It could just mean the man was lost and looking for an address, but she kept watch for him as the carriage turned a corner.

  The roan turned the corner with them.

  Before she did anything drastic. . . Phoebe leaned over the front seat, close enough to Mr. Blair that she could smell his pine-scented shaving soap. “Is the gentleman riding the roan horse and wearing a battered bowler a friend of yours?”

  “No,” he murmured tersely. “He’s been following since we left the house.”

  Phoebe thought a few curse words but concentrated on locating susceptible animal minds. The roan was tired and hungry. So was the stray dog sniffing the gutter. A farm cart filled with hay waited on a corner ahead. Past the cart was a portly man eating a meat pie from a vendor.

  Mentally apologizing to everyone concerned, Phoebe placed the picture of the meat pie in the dog’s head. Part hound, he lifted his snout and sniffed the air. Finding the scent, he dashed in front of the roan, causing it to rear. Phoebe offered the image of the delicious hay to the blinders-wearing horse, which was prancing nervously as its rider shouted at the dog.

  Rearing again, the roan managed to throw his inept passenger and head straight for the cart.

  Mr. Blair drove the carriage down another street, leaving chaos behind. Phoebe sat back, not satisfied but fretting. She needed to interrogate the roan’s owner.

  “Stop, please,” she whispered to Mr. Blair. “I will meet you by the Scott monument shortly.”

  He shot her a scowl, but she was already leaning over Daisy’s shoulder. “If you would see to the twins, please, I saw some old friends back there. I really must speak with them.”

  The carriage pulled to one side, Phoebe scampered down, leaving Daisy to manage on her own. She gathered her walking skirt and petticoat and hurried toward the shouts. From his contentment, she could tell the horse was still eating. As she turned the corner, she could hear the carter shouting in outrage. She didn’t know how the man with the pie had fared. The dog was long gone.