Dash of Enchantment

by Patricia Rice

  “Devil take it, Bertie, I might as well be dead as to lie here and let Cass get away! Help me, damn you. I have to find out why she doesn’t answer my letters.” Wyatt struggled to tip himself out of bed without moving the muscles over his ribs. He had no grand desire to reopen the wound and be set back another two weeks or end up in a grave, but he could not bear to do nothing.

  Bertie sent his younger brother a look, and they converged as one upon the bed, pushing the protesting earl back to the pillows and holding him there.

  “You’re a damned fine fellow and all that, Merrick, but you ain’t worth a shilling to no one in your casket. Now, what’s this about Cass? Why ain’t she here, anyway? What happened to that fellow who went after her? Claimed he was her father, didn’t he? ’Fess up, old boy, and we’ll do your walking for you.”

  Wyatt groaned and leaned against the pillows. He couldn’t claim illness to avoid these questions any longer, not if he wanted to get up. But he’d be damned if he could answer any of them coherently.

  “She’s in Sussex with her mother.” He thought rapidly, trying to remember the scraps of identity thrown around that fateful night and to arrange them in some respectable lie.

  “Wyandott’s an old friend of her father’s. He thought it better to get her away after what she went through that night.” He wanted to mention the child, his fears for Cassandra’s health, but he realized he had no right to. “I’ve not told her I’ve been ill. I didn’t want her to worry, what with Duncan and all...” He allowed his voice to trail off vaguely.

  The Scheffing brothers nodded understanding. Under the direction of the American, Duncan had been bandaged up and hauled off protesting to a ship waiting in the Thames. His health and whereabouts wouldn’t be known for months. That was more than enough for a gentle female to worry over. The fact that Merrick had been injured and Rupert killed would be sufficient to send any lady to her bed.

  “She’ll be right as rain soon enough. You ain’t got to worry over Cass. Her name ain’t even been mentioned at the club, so you don’t need to fret yourself over that either. Didn’t nothing get out that we didn’t want to.”

  Bertie settled comfortably in a wing chair beside the bed and propped his new Hessians against the bedcovers. “That valet or batman or whatever he is of yours did a bang-up job of explaining the dust-up. Somehow, everybody’s thinking Duncan challenged Rupert over wedding his sister without getting shed of his first wife. Your reputation stands you in good stead. You come out the hero for chasing Rupert off the continent and marrying Cassandra posthaste, without a word of the merry dance she led you. So you ain’t got nothing to do but lie there and rest and get better.”

  And worry if his child would ever have a name or if it would be born across an ocean or if he would ever see her again, Wyatt amended gloomily. His boredom with the dull routine of his life had led him to seek a little magic, but the damned enchantress was too unpredictable to know whether he had become toad or prince.

  Before Bertie could sneak out thinking he was asleep, Wyatt spoke aloud. “Go get her, Bertie. Take her back to Merrick. I don’t care how you do it, but pry her away from that damned arrogant American and bring her back where she belongs.”

  Scheffing looked startled, then amused by this flight of fancy in his practical friend. Thinking the fever was returning, he agreed wholeheartedly. “Of course, old boy. Didn’t that Jacob of yours mention wedding his Lotta? We’ll all go down and see the happy couple joined. It would be better could you wait to travel with us, but we’ll tell you all about it later.”

  Wyatt nodded in uneasy relief. He trusted Bertie. He wished to hell he could trust Cass. The image of her laughing eyes, sunset hair, and lithe figure taunted his senses, but the cloaked shadow in men’s tights haunted his thoughts. Witch or woman? Would he ever know?

  ~*~

  Cassandra didn’t have time to run and hide when Bertie and company exploded into her secluded life. She was in the foyer, garbed for her walk, when the knock came. Before she could flee, Lotta raced in to grab her hands, Jacob towered over her dressed to the nines in a gentleman’s coat and trousers, and Bertie and Thomas were beaming and making polite noises to her parents.

  Her parents. It seemed a very odd notion, but as Cassandra watched the two of them while Lotta chattered, she could see that her mother and the American were very much a pair, even after all these years. From scraps of conversation, she knew Wyandott was a widower now, and her mother’s cheeks held the first flush of color she had seen in them in years. Each day her mother was up and about more, and there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that the American’s affectionate badgering had much to do with it.

  As she watched them now, Cassandra felt a painful ache. Merrick had been by turns tender and withdrawn. His cold authority could wither the flowers in a bouquet, and she knew that part of him was more natural to the life he had lived before she entered it.

  The gentle man who loved music and touched her with both passion and reverence was a late arrival and could disappear with a brush of wind. Perhaps he had already disappeared. The events of these last weeks were more than enough to drive any rational man into flight. But still she longed for the same love her father expressed to her mother as they whispered between them. She grew jealous of the unspoken words in their gazes when they looked upon each other.

  Unwilling to watch, she pulled on her gloves and continued out the door as if guests hadn’t arrived. Lotta and Jacob exchanged looks. Still dressed in their traveling clothes, they hurried out after her. Bertie and Thomas did the same.

  “And we’re to be married in the church with flowers and everything,” Lotta chattered as if their conversation hadn’t been abruptly aborted by Cass’s departure. “We don’t know where we’ll be staying as yet. There’s so many lawyers and solicitors and all and Jacob’s sister is still in shock and can’t decide nothing for herself, so we’ll wait to see what happens. But, Cass, you’ve got to promise to stand up with me or I’ll be scared to death up there in front of a whole church. I ain’t been inside a church...” She took a deep breath and tried to remember when.

  Thomas took advantage of the pause to add his eager messages. “And Christa’s had her baby! She and Cunningham are acting perfect asses, as if theirs was the first heir ever born, but Christa insists you and Merrick must grace the christening. She says the place is much too dull without another woman to talk to, and she’s waiting impatiently for your return. Actually, she just wants to show off the squalling brat, but he is handsome in his own way. You will return with us, won’t you, Cass? Merrick said you might.”

  The energy swirling around her buffeted all her senses, jerking her this way and that. Caught up in the excitement of their plans, carried away on their eager friendliness, Cassandra was instantly jarred to the ground by the sound of Merrick’s name. She stared into four happy, familiar faces awaiting her answer, and before the clouds of despair had time to descend again, she heard herself inexplicably saying, “Of course.”

  Chapter 30

  “And Lord Merrick said we might stay in the cottage until we decide where to go. Just like gentry, imagine that, Cass! I can’t believe it myself. I keep pinching myself, waiting to wake up.”

  That effectively closed the option of returning to the cottage, Cassandra decided as the carriage lumbered closer to Kent. She wondered if Wyatt had intentionally created this obstacle or if he had just magnanimously offered the little cottage to Lotta and Jacob out of some misplaced gratitude for their interference.

  She couldn’t intrude her presence on the happy couple. They would feel as if they had to serve her as before. Now her only choices were the ruins at Eddings and Merrick’s home. And without Lotta and Jacob, she couldn’t face those haunting ruins.

  “Well, I’ve quite decided your father had to be one of the Scheffings, so you are gentry, Lotta. Just stick your nose in the air with the best of them and no one will know the difference.”

  Alighting from Wyatt’s carri
age in front of the sprawling Merrick mansion for all the world as if she were the reigning countess, Cassandra swept up the stairs on Bertie’s arm, greeted the smiling butler with charm, and encountered Lady Merrick in the front hall.

  “Where is Wyatt?” Lady Merrick looked startled that her son hadn’t stepped out of the carriage and strained to see around them.

  “You don’t know?” Cassandra asked in surprise.

  Bertie hastily intruded. “There’s still business in London for him to see to. There’s solicitors crawling up the walls, what with Eddings’ hasty departure and this business with Jacob’s sister and all. You know how he is, a finger in every pie. He promises to be back soon enough.”

  “I should certainly hope so. MacGregor is entirely out of line. It is time he is brought down a peg or two. I shall write and tell Wyatt he must be home at once.” The dowager scarcely gave Cassandra a second glance as she started to retreat.

  Cassandra had once determined that Merrick’s mother must be conquered if she were ever to win his affections. Now was her opportunity. In dulcet tones, she sent her challenge zinging after the dowager’s broad back. “You may also write and tell him his wife requests fabric samples for the draperies in the second salon. Those abominations are coming down.”

  The air should have exploded with the tensions colliding in the hall as Lady Merrick swung to confront her. Cassandra was certain lightning would strike for naming herself what she was not. She waited for the storm to break, but the dowager merely glared and said, “Tell him yourself.”

  She was needed here. Cassandra grinned and kissed a frozen Bertie’s cheek. “It’s good to be home again.”

  Perhaps a challenge had been what the doctor ordered.

  ~*~

  “Open the draperies, James,” Cassandra said as she held a measuring stick to the far wall and guessed at the measurements.

  “Close the draperies, James,” Lady Merrick commanded as she swept into the room a moment later.

  The harassed footman pulled the rod back toward the center of the window.

  Cassandra looked up in annoyance. “Madam, I require the light to work. If you won’t do this, then I needs must. Has MacGregor come in yet? I need to talk with him about my fields.”

  Lady Merrick gestured for the draperies to be opened again. The footman sighed and pulled the heavy brocade open, spilling in the late-morning sunlight.

  “Indeed, you ought to speak with MacGregor. He and those feebleminded field hands of yours have taken it into their heads to practice some kind of experimental harvesting. You will no doubt lose half your crop, or what those men don’t steal. Someone must keep watch over them every minute.”

  “Well, I cannot be in two places at one time. If you will not order these draperies replaced, I must. And that means the entire room must be refurbished. Just look at the discoloration where that painting has been removed.”

  Lady Merrick glared at the bright square on the wall, then back at Cass balancing precariously on a chair arm to reach the top of the window. “Order the servants to do it. That’s what they’re here for. I’ll have the carriage brought around, and I’ll show you what I mean about those fields.”

  Cassandra nearly toppled from her perch. She turned and stared at the dowager and found the footman staring too. Such condescension from the haughty woman was unheard of. Hastily, she scrambled down and handed her pad to the startled James. “Here, find someone to help you. Mrs. Marlow might be able to write the dimensions if you’ll measure.”

  Lady Merrick nodded imperiously and sailed off to seek her bonnet. Catching her breath, Cassandra hurried to do the same. A fluttering in her stomach bespoke her nervousness, but she ignored it. Winning Wyatt’s mother would be half the battle. He couldn’t put her out if his mother approved her as his wife.

  Later that night, after spending a day of inspecting the crops and arguing over the best methods of handling them, Cassandra retired to the lovely ivory-and-green room that Wyatt had assigned to her. She cast a longing gaze to the connecting door to Wyatt’s chamber after her maid left her alone.

  It had been weeks since they shared a bed. They had not been apart that long all summer. Would she ever be allowed to enter that chamber again, or had he finally realized how thoroughly unsuitable she was to be his countess?

  Misery welled up in her, overwhelming her as it had those first weeks since the duel. She should never have run away. She should have stayed by Wyatt’s side, nursed him to health, helped him deal with Duncan and Jacob and Rupert’s estate and all. She had only herself to blame that he had developed a disgust of her and refused ever to see her again.

  She didn’t know why she had run away. It had all happened so quickly, so horrifyingly. And then her father had been there, coaxing her to leave. Her father.

  The feelings of helplessness were terrifyingly new. There had been times in the past when she wished Duncan dead, but when she had seen him fall, it had been much, much worse than she had thought possible. To have it followed by Wyatt’s cry of pain... She shuddered, refusing to think of that terrible anguish.

  Walking to the window overlooking the park, she stared out at the dusky landscape. The moon was trying to rise just over the hill. The silhouettes of trees tossed restlessly in the breeze, and Cassandra contemplated rushing out to join them. The pain inside her needed some release.

  Dropping the curtain, she turned back to face the bed. She had lost Wyatt that night as certainly as if he had died. She had humiliated him by interfering where she wasn’t wanted. She had lost her temper and her courage and behaved like a wicked child. And then she had run away.

  She had done what little she could before running away. She knew nothing of nursing wounds. So she had found a physician to do what she couldn’t.

  It had been such a nightmare. She had wanted to run and cry and have Wyatt take her in his arms, but he hadn’t even known she was there, or even seemed to care. She’d been useless and could have only brought him more problems. He hadn’t seemed in much pain. A dying man wouldn’t rise up and try to kill Jacob.

  And she couldn’t face the fact that a man had died because of her, even if Rupert had deserved to die.

  Then, discovering that the distinguished man directing the proceedings was her father... Well, that had been the finish of what remained of her equilibrium. Her own father had stood there and pulled the trigger that killed her husband. Or her false husband. She still couldn’t sort out the right and wrong of it.

  Her father hadn’t seemed a violent man. Her marriage had seemed very real. She could no longer believe her own senses. These last weeks her father had tried hard to be kind to her. Her mother evidently still idolized him. But he had killed Rupert.

  Restless, Cassandra couldn’t climb into her empty bed, but sought the comfort of the small fire smoldering in the grate. Pulling her bare feet under her, she curled up in a chair and stared at the dying embers. From all she’d heard, Rupert had been a worse bastard than she had ever imagined.

  Jacob’s sister and nephew would still be starving on the streets if Rupert hadn’t died. And Rupert would have haunted her the rest of her life had he lived. She knew that, but it was difficult to accept the concept of death. She couldn’t even mourn a man she had thought her husband. Did that make her evil?

  She wished Wyatt were here to explain these things. She knew she wasn’t the sort to think things through and make sense of them. That night, she would gladly have killed Rupert herself and considered the consequences later. But once a man lay sprawled on the ground, his life’s blood seeping out of him, it was too late to consider consequences.

  Leaning her head back against the chair, she tried to imagine how her father had felt when he had seen Rupert shoot one man and aim at another. He must have known then what kind of husband she had been given to. He had done the same thing she would have done in his place. She knew now where she had inherited her impulsiveness.

  Her hand spread across the slight swelling of her a
bdomen. Would Merrick’s child be the same way?

  If he wanted the child, he couldn’t cast her off too easily. Merrick couldn’t be so cruel as to separate her from her child.

  That gave her a toehold of sorts. Did she have what it took to break through that barrier and make him accept her?

  ~*~

  The day of Jacob and Lotta’s wedding began with a steady drizzle, but it didn’t dampen the spirits of the happy couple. Cassandra stood up with Lotta, and Bertie was impressed in Merrick’s place as Jacob’s best man. The company was an interesting assemblage of Merrick servants and townspeople. Even Jacob’s sister, the new widow, and her son were there to bless the proceedings and to add spice to the gossip that flowed like fine wine through the congregation.

  Afterward, much to the dowager’s horror, Cassandra invited the assemblage to a gala reception at the mansion. As the clouds cleared away, fiddlers played on the lawn, lanterns were lit, and ale kegs were breached. The village might have been deprived of viewing the earl’s marriage to his new countess, but this celebration substituted rather better, since everyone could take part. Cassandra viewed the crowd with proud success as Jacob led Lotta onto the lawn to begin the dancing.

  Arriving unnoticed in the confusion, Wyatt signaled the footman who opened the door to silence and watched the gaiety from the conservatory. Still clutching the extravagantly expensive bundle of French lace he had searched all of London to locate, he studied on the festivity. He sought and found Cassandra and hungrily drank in the sight he had dreamed of these many weeks.

  She wore her glorious hair pinned up and wound in primrose ribbons that accented fiery hues and spun in tantalizing whirls around her face and throat. Her gown was all that was proper, but the gauzy material filling her neckline could not conceal the womanly curves beneath.

  Eagerly he sought the changes the child she carried would make, but the distance and the growing dark were too great. Still, he watched as she threw back her head in laughter, kissed Jacob on the cheek, and lifted a mug in toast to the new couple. She was alive and well and here. He could scarcely ask for more.