Lessons in Enchantment

by Patricia Rice

  How could he possibly know. . .“Tell me again why were you in Margaret’s Wynd today?” she demanded, her gut knotting before he gave his answer.

  “Because Hugh and I own those buildings.” His expression was stern and unapologetic. “If you’ll excuse us, ladies, I will attempt to rectify the situation. The children are being unusually quiet, are they not? Should I send Simon to check on them?”

  He was the one throwing people from their homes? Not the landlord?

  Only because he’d asked about the children and offered to send Mr. Simon instead of her kept Phoebe from killing him. “They are coloring with the new paints I ordered. By all means, send your cousin to admire their handiwork. But Mr. Lithgow remains our solicitor, and we will hear any discussion of the lien we have placed on the property you wish to destroy.”

  Her mother simply sipped her tea with a frown of disapproval. Or maybe she plotted. It was hard to say. Phoebe had been much younger and more naïve when she’d last seen her mother.

  “It is not diplomatic to discuss settlements in front of ladies,” Andrew insisted. “You have appointed Mr. Lithgow to discuss your interests. Let him discuss them.”

  “Settlements?” Lady Persephone said in a dangerous tone. “We merely wish to be paid what we’re owed so we may seek another residence.”

  Once her mother became involved— Phoebe thought it might be safer to go play with the children and wait to see who was left standing. She’d almost rather be back on the sixth floor, clinging to a pillar, and reaching for Evie than waiting for her mother and Andrew to rip each other up. Settlements. She was fairly certain Andrew meant marriage settlements—involving her home, apparently. Or lack of one.

  Which meant she had to stay and join the fray. Really, it was more than enough for one day.

  “Lady Persephone, I am willing to provide you with a residence, within reason,” Andrew said, confirming part of Phoebe’s suspicion about settlements. He shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned forward in emphasis. “But this also involves my contract with my investors, my partnership with Mr. Morgan, and my offer for Lady Phoebe, none of which concerns you, countess, until the discussion is done.”

  “Provide us with a residence?” Phoebe corrected warily.

  “If I know the type of residence your mother requires, I will be better able to calculate whether we can continue with our plans to rebuild the tenements. If we cannot come to terms, then we’ll have to let the property go, and you may negotiate with someone else.”

  He sounded cold and unflinching, and Phoebe didn’t know whether to flee or fight. How had she not known who owned the building?

  And what could she have done differently if she had known?

  Not gone to bed with the man to start with.

  “You let that building fall apart?” she asked in incredulity. “You are putting hundreds of people out of their homes?”

  Before he could respond, her mother stood. “My daughter wishes to attend the university. We will prefer a similar flat in that location. I daresay the choices are limited, but they should be sufficient parameters for negotiation. Come along, Phoebe, let us leave the gentlemen to their talk of money.”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Phoebe said, surprising even herself. “I don’t wish to be tied to another empty flat when you return to France. I loved our home because it was a home. But that’s gone now, and I don’t want another. And I certainly don’t want one from him.”

  “I won’t be returning to France,” the countess said stiffly. “I have sold the cottage to my nurse and her new husband. She wished to remain there. That sale will give us funds for new furnishings. Come along, leave the men to their boring talk.”

  Reading Phoebe’s furious look, Drew refused to cringe, despite the quagmire of guilt he wallowed in. He changed the subject before anyone could come to blows. “Lady Phoebe, we have a more crucial problem that you and your mother might be able to assist with.”

  When Phoebe glared but didn’t rise, the countess disapprovingly returned to her seat.

  “For safety’s sake, we must remove the children from this house until we have the real villains behind bars.” Speaking of Simon’s problems in front of the countess and her solicitor seemed worth the risk. Drew preferred enlisting their aid than having them oppose him.

  Phoebe looked as if she’d take off his head, but they’d not had that talk he wanted. She’d simply have to work things out for herself. He was pretty certain she would. He hadn’t been alone in that bed, after all.

  “I thought the children were safe now that the criminals are caught,” she said cautiously, not looking at her mother.

  Drew shook his head. “We only caught the hired help. The real criminals are still at large. It will take them time to regroup, but last night made it apparent that they are seeking a book they think the children possess.”

  “That’s simply ridiculous,” Phoebe protested. “They are four years old and talking of ghosts, for pity’s sake! No court of law will listen.”

  “The court of public opinion might do otherwise,” he said. “Letitia was liked and respected and her abilities were well known. The mine owners in the Association are universally despised. Simon’s neighbors will want to believe the children. The miners are ready to walk out anyway. It only takes a small match to start a large fire. If Simon had a mind to do it, he could stir entire villages to riot and march against his enemies. There is a reason someone tried to kill him, and it had nothing to do with the children.”

  “What on earth is this about?” the countess asked querulously. “Who is Letitia? What do small children have to do with miners? And what have you dragged my daughter into?”

  Even the merry solicitor was starting to frown behind his spectacles.

  Drew had never meant to be a politician, but he practiced his best diplomacy now. “I will let Lady Phoebe explain later, my lady. Right now, my concern is that the children be removed from this house. I am hoping Lady Phoebe will go with them. They need her.”

  “Where?” Phoebe demanded. “Where will you take them that is safe? Because I am assuming you do not intend to go with them. They need people who will guard them as well as you and their father do.”

  “Guard them from whom?” the fairy countess demanded in a voice that thundered more than should be possible.

  “The Association, my lady,” Drew replied, choosing his words carefully. “I do not expect you to be familiar with an organization once thought defunct, but they are wealthy and powerful. My cousin and I can halt their depredations if we are not spending our time attempting to safeguard the children.”

  The countess’s fine eyebrows lifted. The muscles under her soft cheeks firmed, and her lips formed a thin line. “The Association should be dead. The abomination should never be raised again.”

  Before Drew could react to the stunning news that a countess knew about the dirty dealings of her peers, she turned to Mr. Lithgow. “Is the duke at home these days or in London?”

  “I believe he resides in Sommersville currently, my lady. As always, Castle Yates is residence of various relations. That’s a most excellent notion. Shall I telegraph your arrival?”

  Drew felt as if he were in a runaway carriage and someone else had taken the reins. “Duke?” he asked warily.

  Phoebe looked surprised but not quite as shocked. “A distant cousin,” she explained. “We are related to all manner of people. I don’t believe I have visited Yorkshire though.”

  The countess waved a frail hand. “You did, but you were very young. Previous dukes helped build one of the first railroads through that part of Yorkshire. It would be a simple task to take the train and stay at the castle. Even the Association would not dare anger a duke.”

  Drew was fairly certain his head was coming unscrewed. “The Association was once comprised of nobility,” he argued.

  Both the countess and Phoebe gave him scornful looks. Drew comprehended immediately and waved a hand in surrender. “Of course.
The duke is one of your family and would not approve of profit above people.” A duke with the weird abilities of the women? His world became a little stranger. “I take it he would also understand the children’s abilities?”

  Wearing her new gown with the frilly lace and looking like the lady he had expected her to be, Phoebe nodded curtly, still not happy with him. Had Drew not spent the morning dying a thousand deaths watching the fool woman flit about a condemned building, he’d have groveled at her feet for daring to enter her noble presence. He was the one with haggis for brains.

  The woman he wanted to marry had a duke in her family, one who believed in superstition and enchantresses who made magic happen. Phoebe inhabited a rarified world he’d never meant to enter. And she was rightfully furious with him.

  When she stood, he feared she’d tell him he’d never see her again, and he almost agreed she was right to do so. The pain that caused almost erased what she was saying.

  “I will go up and talk to the children. They will be excited to visit a castle where they might ride ponies. Castle Yates also has a dovecote for messenger pigeons. It’s quite fabled among the family. The children will be much assured by sending and receiving private messages from their father. You should have said something sooner.”

  When? his scrambled brain demanded. Before or after she’d entered crumbling buildings and shaken his world to the core?

  “I will not, however, be going with them.” She was gone on her errand of duty before Drew could find his tongue and roar.

  Twenty-five

  “You will explain to me how Mr. Blair is involved with the Association,” the countess commanded, pointing out items to her maid that she wanted in her trunk.

  “I know little. Apparently someone has revived an old name for a new purpose.” Phoebe finished off a quick missive to her aunts and entrusted it to Abby to send off with a messenger. “I believe Lady Gertrude still occasionally corresponds by pigeon with Castle Yates. Anything too private for telegraph can travel that way.”

  Her mother waved a dismissive hand. “I refuse to act as nanny for small children all the way to Yorkshire.”

  “Your sisters have an entire household of teachers who will happily join you. I’m sure they’ll choose someone far better than I am at managing children. Do you think you will know any of the family at the castle?”

  “I will know all of them,” her mother responded peevishly. “That is not to the point. Where will you be?”

  “Do you really think I would leave the men to fight noble bullies on their own? Mr. Blair and his friends are honest businessmen. They don’t hire criminals to do their dirty work. They don’t think like we do. They will want direct confrontation, and that can only be messy.” Phoebe tried to speak calmly as she jotted more frantic instructions to go with the children.

  She didn’t know what she was doing. She simply knew—no matter how furious she was with him—that she couldn’t leave Drew to fight this battle alone. Fighting a common enemy was far preferable to fighting each other, which was next on her agenda, if he thought he could direct where she lived. And once she fought that battle, the one over the tenement still loomed.

  “The men seem perfectly competent to lop heads,” the countess replied in scorn. “It’s time you met more of your family. I was seriously remiss in keeping you to myself for so long.”

  “We didn’t have money for travel,” Phoebe countered, rejecting her mother’s self-criticism. “Mr. Blair is wealthy enough to send everyone without thinking twice about it.”

  “I could have asked—”

  Phoebe folded the instructions. “I loved our home. I had you and my aunts and the professor and countless others to teach me what I wanted to know. I was given a freedom I never would have experienced if cooped up in a castle with prim governesses and dancing instructors and other such foolishness. Do you really believe I would have been happy making a come-out and going to balls and simpering like a schoolgirl?”

  “Not any more than I did,” the countess confessed with a sigh. “But I’m still not convinced that wasn’t a mistake. I loved your father, but had I chosen a wealthier man—”

  “You might not have been as happy. And I would not exist. The world is changing. Women have a right to make their own choices. Mr. Blair is building a machine right now that will allow women to work at home, printing up documents for offices. Can you imagine? And the university is allowing us to take classes and study medicine. No, I am exactly where I want to be.” It sounded like a battle cry in her head, but when she said it, it was with satisfaction.

  Andrew might not realize the full extent of who she was and what she could do, but so far, he’d only quailed at her lack of proper attire and carelessness. He seemed self-assured and intelligent enough to overcome his disbelief and see her point of view. She hoped. At least he wasn’t thundering and storming and hauling her to the train station—yet.

  And surely what they’d shared in bed meant more than a moment’s pleasure. That night had held such promise. . . And reminded her that the world was beautiful.

  She ran upstairs to calm the children, who were bouncing with excitement at the idea of ponies and castles, just as she’d predicted. Even silent Clare announced their mother was happy and hoped she could ride the train too.

  Phoebe wished she had the power to speak with ghosts, but she had to make do with curtseying in the direction Clare indicated and assuring the phantom that the children would be receiving the best possible care with family who understood them. She hoped the breath of air lifting the curls at her nape meant approval, but it sent a chill down her spine.

  She settled the children in their chairs to eat their dinner. It was too late in the day for travel. Even with the extra patrols outside, the entire household would have to be on guard for another night. Surely the Association hadn’t had time to regroup yet.

  After reading them stories, she left Daisy to bathe the children and tuck them into bed. The nursemaid was pragmatic about the journey—she’d arrived on a train, after all. But the thought of a castle had her flustered. Phoebe promised everyone was very nice, and Daisy would make new friends, and she’d be back home in no time. She prayed she wasn’t lying.

  By the time Phoebe returned to the suite she shared with her mother, the dressmaker had sent over the first of her boxes. They spilled over with practical flannels and ridiculous silks. The brown gown wasn’t ready yet, but they’d sent a blue silk she’d rejected as too costly. Beautiful, but she was not accepting any more gifts from the damned man. Phoebe packed it back into its box, but her mother caught her in the act.

  “I’m so glad you’re being sensible, dear! That gown is very attractive. Wear it to dinner tonight, and the men will do anything you ask.” The countess shook out the silk and examined it with a critical eye. “It’s far behind the fashion, but I doubt men will care.”

  Trapped. Phoebe couldn’t tell her mother that their host had paid for the blasted silk.

  Grumpily, she opened the message that arrived from her aunts. It improved her humor. “Perfect,” she said, scanning Aunt Gertrude’s scrawling penmanship. “Olivia has agreed to accompany you and look after the children. She is much more experienced than I am. Correct me if I am wrong, but I believe she sees auras like Cat.”

  “That’s what I recall,” the countess said, poking through the rest of the boxes. “These are lovely kid shoes. They should go well with the gown. Hurry. I told Cook to serve promptly at seven and to inform the men to be ready.”

  The image of dining with her mother and three barely civilized men entertained Phoebe enough to try on the shoes she hadn’t ordered. They were completely impractical and wouldn’t last six months under her use, but they were soft and the lightest things she’d ever worn. She’d have to repay Andrew when she declared her independence—after the battle was won.

  “I don’t think they’re accustomed to dressing for dinner,” she warned her mother. “They are not accustomed to sitting at a table
at all. Cook despairs of improving them.”

  “Compromise. With a little warning, they should learn to disengage from their activities to join us. I’ll not expect more than that. One can’t leave men to themselves for too long or they return to caves and gnawing on bones.” The countess rummaged in her jewelry box. “Here, wear this. It is time you wore jewelry, and this will look better on you than me.”

  With the lure of possibly preventing open hostilities, Phoebe managed the lace fripperies. She winced at the notion of adding her battered corset—until her mother’s maid produced the pretty embroidered one from the stacks of boxes. With a sigh, she allowed herself to be tugged into it. She was too skinny in all the wrong places to ever have an hour-glass figure, but the corset mimicked feminine curves better than the old one.

  Which was a good thing, she realized, when the blue silk was pulled over her head. The bodice was the most immodest piece of work she’d ever worn. She stared at her cleavage in dismay.

  “You chose your seamstress well,” the countess cooed, admiring the lace spilling from the silk neckline. “That’s the perfect chemise for that gown. I don’t know why you insist on going about as a flower seller when you could accomplish so much more as a lady. When you present Mr. Lithgow’s list of available properties, your Mr. Blair won’t be able to take his eyes off you to read it.”

  Phoebe had no intention of using her non-existent feminine wiles to persuade anyone to anything. And she’d already made her position clear about living with her mother. So she remained silent and allowed the maid to fasten the sapphire necklace around her throat. The stones were small and threaded on a thin gold chain, the sort of thing a debutante might wear. She calculated how much rent it might buy and concluded it wasn’t enough.

  But she hoped the gown would make her look mature enough to make her own decisions.

  Drew tugged the tight cravat, glanced worriedly in his shaving mirror, and gave up. The countess had seen him without a coat. Phoebe had seen him in less. He didn’t need to dress up for the battle at hand.