Potent Charms

by Peggy Waide

  Dee chuckled, her white teeth gleaming against her dark skin. "Yes, I did. Go on, now."

  Reaching the foyer, Phoebe peeked around a plaster urn that reached her shoulders and into the dining room. Hildegard certainly liked extravagance, a bit too much if anyone asked Phoebe. Three walls boasted elaborate murals of gleaming chariots, mythical Gods, and lightning bolts. Gold plaster trimmed the red ceiling and a floral rug covered most of the marble floor. The chandelier glittered as morning sunlight filtered through one large window and reflected on the hundreds of crystal teardrops. The enormous mahogany table, inlaid with ebony and brass, seemed to consume the entire room.

  Hildegard sat at one end, Charity at the other. Neither female conversed with the other but then again, to do so they'd probably have to raise their voices, which according to Hildegard simply wasn't done.

  With her brightest smile, Phoebe walked to the center of the table and sat. "Good morning."

  Glancing up from her morning paper, Hildegard peered at the clock on the wall and pursed her lips. Charity merely nodded, returning her attention to her eggs and toast. Cook brought a silver platter filled with assorted meats and cheese and waited for Phoebe to make her choice. Selecting a bit of ham and a currant scone, Phoebe said, "I'm sur prised to see you awake so early this morning, Aunt Hildegard."

  "This entire sordid business is disrupting my routine. I actually found a post regarding you in the Times society section. I will have you know I do not like it."

  Upon Hildegard's nod, a servant placed the folded newspaper beside Phoebe. She scanned the section and read aloud, "Who shall be the lucky man to win the prize offered by the lovely American, Miss P Lands alive. Had people nothing better to do with their time than report on the comings and goings of London society? Frowning, she said, "I fully understand, Aunt Hildegard. You've made your feelings quite clear. I'm as unhappy about the situation as you are. Still, I cannot stop the press from printing what they choose. As to the other, I have no choice. I could always find work and lodge elsewhere."

  "Humph. And add more fat for the gossipmongers to chew? I think not. I cannot allow your sorry circumstance to ruin my daughter's chance for a prosperous match."

  "Certainly not," agreed Phoebe, knowing Hildegard also anticipated generous compensation from Phoebe's estate. She turned toward her cousin. "Have you special plans for the day, Charity?"

  Charity offered a shy smile accompanied by a soft twitter. "I thought I might go to the museum."

  Hildegard glared beyond the large bouquet of daisies on the table to her daughter. "You need improve your feminine skills more than you need fill your head with frivolous poppycock. You shall stay home and practice your embroidery.,,

  "Yes, Mother," murmured Charity as the joy faded from her face.

  No wonder Charity wanted to marry as soon as possible. Hildegard constantly ordered her about like a servant. Phoebe wanted the girl to stand up, toss her napkin to the table and demand to go to the museum.

  "Phoebe," said Hildegard, her annoyance quite clear. "Correspondence and invitations have arrived all morning. I expect you to exercise proper etiquette in all your responses, unlike your mother who proved herself common and irresponsible, not worthy of a penny of my family's money."

  Gritting her teeth, Phoebe squelched her rising temper. "Obviously, my grandfather thought differently. Otherwise, I would not have the opportunity to inherit Marsden Manor."

  "True enough. A decision he made that I will never understand. He always held a tendre for your mother, even though she broke his heart."

  "Hmmm." Phoebe stabbed a piece of meat with her fork. "I think it's going to be a lovely day."

  "How would you know? You've barely been out of bed. Your father always preferred to lay about in the mornings as well, and see where that landed him. I knew from the beginning. The man showed absolutely no promise-"

  "Aunt Hildegard," Phoebe said, her voice sharper than she intended.

  "What is it?" snapped Hildegard, obviously disgruntled over the interruption.

  Granted, her aunt had been kind enough to offer a roof over Phoebe's head, but enough was enough. Since her arrival, all she'd heard, day after day, was the ranting and raving of a jealous, splenetic woman. Today she was not in the mood to listen. Phoebe pushed the plate away, her appetite ruined. She folded her napkin once, twice, then flattened her palms over the piece of green linen.

  "Aunt Hildegard," she began again, much calmer this time, "I appreciate everything you have done for me. Truly I do. However, I think it best if we avoid any discussions about my mama and daddy."

  "Are you telling me what I can and cannot speak of in my own home?"

  "I wouldn't think of it. I loved my momma and daddy very much. I'm sorry you feel differently, but nothing you say will change my mind or my heart. I will not listen to their good names being trampled. I hope you consider my feelings in the matter. If not, I will have no choice but to find lodging elsewhere"

  Hildegard squinted as her skin flushed with red blotches. Her forehead scrunched together to form a patchwork of wrinkles across her brow. Charity sat perfectly still, her eyes as wide as Hildegard's were narrow.

  Considering the fact that dozens of things remained unsaid, Phoebe smiled, congratulating herself on her composure. "Now, was there another reason you wished to see me, Auntie?"

  With stilted movements, Hildegard pressed herself from her chair and away from the table. Her chin angled such that Phoebe thought it just might snap like a cornstalk. She said, "You have correspondence. I recommend you give the invitation from Sir Lemmer some thought. We leave for the Halsten ball at eight. Come along, Charity."

  Phoebe watched her relatives leave, Charity casting a backward glance as if to reassure herself that she had actually seen what had just transpired. At least her mouth was closed now. When they reached the door, the two nearly collided with the butler, Siggers, who held an enormous bouquet of flowers in a rainbow of colors out beyond his rounded belly. A small piece of paper dangled from the fingertips of his left hand. He announced, grinning proudly, "Flowers for Miss Rafferty."

  Blatantly ignoring the fact that the envelope was addressed to someone else, Hildegard grabbed the paper and tore it open. She gasped, then turned a vicious scowl toward Phoebe.

  Before Hildegard uttered one word, Phoebe knew who had sent the flowers. The cook was in the kettle now. She stood beside her chair, masked her face with innocence and waited.

  "I knew it all along," railed Hildegard. "You are exactly like your mother."

  "Thank you."

  "Humph." Hildegard's hand, the note now dangling from her fingertips, shook as she approached. "Explain this."

  "May I read it first?" asked Phoebe, wondering what she would say, depending on what Lord Badrick had written.

  Hildegard thrust the note into Phoebe's outstretched hand.

  It was simple and to the point. "May the best man, or woman, win. Until tomorrow morning. Your greatest admirer." Needing nothing new to fuel Hildegard's foul temperament, Phoebe's mind raced for a rational explanation. Or a convincing lie. "My greatest admirer?" She tapped the note against her hand and affected an expression that had fooled her father a number of times. "How should I know who sent the flowers? He neglected to write his name."

  "What of this morning rendezvous?"

  "I'm as confused as you are. Perhaps the flowers were sent to the wrong household."

  "Siggers," snapped Hildegard. "Who delivered these?"

  He kept a bland expression on his face. "A street urchin, madam."

  Hildegard glared from Phoebe to Siggers and back as if they had conspired with one another. She even threw Charity a passing glance of disgust before she declared, "Siggers, dispose of them."

  "Aunt Hildegard," interrupted Phoebe, her voice calm but resolute. She intended to keep her gift. "Those were delivered to me. I believe I'm entitled to make the decision to keep or throw them away."

  "A true gentleman does not send flowers wit
hout a proper introduction. And a true lady would never accept them."

  "Who's to know, Auntie? I certainly won't tell." Phoebe rescued the flowers from the butler, knowing as long as he held them, he would feel bound to do his mistress's bidding. "If you don't wish to share their lovely scent, I will gladly take them to my room."

  "Oh, mother," said Charity. "They are quite pretty."

  "Go upstairs." Hildegard waved Charity away as easily as she might a chambermaid. With her daughter gone, she focused her full attention on Phoebe. "Let me make myself perfectly clear on this issue. I will allow you to keep those flowers because I wish it. If and when you discover the person responsible, you will tell me immediately."

  The devil she would. "Of course," agreed Phoebe.

  "And" Hildegard leaned in "do not think, for one moment, that you have me fooled."

  Phoebe watched Hildegard storm across the marble floor, her shoulders squared, her chin held high. How exhausting. And how depressing. She still had five weeks left in this household.

  Crossing to Siggers, who remained by the arched doorway, Phoebe placed her hand on his elbow. "Thank you for not divulging my little secret."

  "I don't know to what you refer, miss," he said. He winked and departed.

  Phoebe knew otherwise. In a very short time, with common courtesy and simple kindness, she had earned the servant's loyalty.

  She buried her face in the colorful bouquet, absorbing the texture and fragrance. Thinking of the scoundrel responsible, she frowned. Goodness gracious, the man was resourceful. She'd give him that. She'd left him not more than an hour ago, and already she had flowers. Dozens of them. Instead of honoring her wishes, he'd chosen to issue a challenge. Whether foolish or wise, she felt herself grin all the way to her toes.

  The females in the theater sighed collectively as the darkhaired soprano clung to a high note, her tale of misery captivating the audience. Aside from an occasional glimpse to the stage, Stephen barely paid heed to the production. He felt as he did often of late: irritated. And now he felt impatient, which, to his dismay, irritated him all the more.

  Three days had passed since he'd met Phoebe in Hyde Park, since he'd submitted to the irrational impulse and sent her flowers along with a challenge. Perhaps not his most stellar of ideas, he decided. The illusive female hadn't bothered to take her early morning ride since. She obviously meant what she'd said about wanting a husband and not a protector.

  Well, he meant what he had said as well. He had evaluated every detail of her situation forward and backward, circling around to do it all over again. Numerous times. He still believed that he, being a man, knew what was best for her. Men were supposed to take care of women. That was the way of things.

  He shifted in the high-backed chair as he thought back to his rather hasty proposal. Clearly he had shocked the girl. Still, his idea was the logical solution. He sighed. She probably expected a jeweled trinket or two, soft words in the very least. He simply needed opportunity. Primed with anticipation like a hound on the hunt, he glanced across Covent Garden's horseshoe auditorium, trying to see his prey.

  Opportunity had presented itself moments before The Italian Girl in Algiers began. Phoebe sat across the room in the company of her aunt and cousin. The opera's intermission couldn't come soon enough. As if by divine intervention, the audience erupted into exuberant applause, signaling the end of the first act.

  Winston leaned over Stephen's shoulder. "A rousing first act. What do you suppose the chap will do to mend the fences he destroyed?"

  Stephen wondered exactly what he had missed. "Who can say? How about you, Elizabeth?"

  Flipping her fan open, she said, quite confidently, "Mustafa will plead momentary insanity and beg Elvira's forgiveness."

  Winston snorted. "Darling, he cannot beg the woman to return. T'would be unseemly for a man in his position."

  "Unless he is a man in love, who finally accepts that a woman will have her way no matter what," she stated emphatically. "Certainly, you would do the same for me." When Winston hesitated, she nudged him in the side with her elbow.

  Winston laughed and wrapped Elizabeth in his arms. "Of course, my love. I would do anything to please you. I'd wrap you in silks and jewels. I'd swim the Thames although I'd probably perish shortly thereafter due to disease. I'd even sell my favorite stallion, all to prove my love and devotion." His comment earned him another swat to his ribs, only this time Elizabeth's laughter joined his.

  Stephen watched the tender display with a hint of envy. As the image of Phoebe intruded on his thoughts along with a flash of longing, he immediately squelched the annoying sensation. Love was not for him. "I think I'll grab a bit of air."

  "Splendid. We'll join you," announced Winston.

  The three wended through the throng of people who milled about the upper balcony, some venturing to the upstairs verandah, others meeting friends in private boxes. Purposely, Stephen led Elizabeth and Winston to the other side of the theater toward his prey. A group of boisterous young dandies involved in a lively debate moved toward the entrance, leaving Phoebe in their wake. Stephen recognized her at once. Standing beside a painting of Henry VIII, her back to the mad crush, Phoebe wore a simple emerald gown. Her hair was swept on top of her head, which provided a lovely view of her neck and shoulders. A light dusting of freckles tinted her skin a touch of peach. Stephen anticipated the discovery of all the delightful places where freckles decorated her body.

  Elizabeth prodded Stephen in the shoulder, breaking the spell. "Is that Miss Rafferty over there?"

  He kept his voice as casual as possible. "I believe it is."

  "Shall we?" Elizabeth never waited for his response, but charged ahead, wrenching the choice completely out of Stephen's hands.

  Cheerfully, Winston said, "I suppose we had best follow. Otherwise we will never know her intentions."

  Well, blast. Stephen wanted to talk to Phoebe, but certainly not with an audience. He lengthened his stride, overtaking his friends to reach Phoebe first. From behind, he whispered in her left ear. "You've missed your rides, Phoebe Rafferty, and I've missed you."

  Whirling about to face him, her expression changed from surprise to annoyance. She drummed her fingertips together. "Lord Badrick, do you have any idea the trouble you almost caused me?" She lifted her chin in dismissal. "Go away before my aunt returns."

  "Impossible." Not having a trinket anywhere on his person, he resolved to be sweet. "You look stunning this evening. I believe I prefer this choice of dress over breeches, darling."

  "Do not call me that. And whyever can't you leave?"

  Leaning closer, he noted the alluring scent of lilacs clinging to her skin, reminding him of their time alone in Wyman's garden. What he wouldn't give for a few moments of privacy. He whispered again, "Friends."

  "Begging your pardon?"

  "My friends wish to meet you." Glancing over his shoulder to guage the speed of Elizabeth's arrival, and realizing she was almost upon them, Stephen stepped back to a more appropriate distance. "Here they are now."

  The transformation in Phoebe's face was remarkable. The panic and irritation vanished, replaced by an artful smile, one obviously polished from years of practice. Aside from the slight tint to her cheeks, she appeared calm, poised and confident. He'd wager last month's poker winnings her pulse was racing and her heart was pounding.

  Winston, content to wait, hovered nearby. Elizabeth, on the other hand, moved very close, her eyes gleaming with excitement. Stephen could practically hear her mind hard at work with matchmaking possibilities. He almost moaned. Unfortunately, he couldn't very well ignore propriety, or his friends. Elizabeth would introduce herself anyway.

  "Miss Rafferty, may I introduce my dear friends, the charming Lord and Lady Payley."

  Elizabeth clasped Phoebe's hand in both of hers and squeezed. "I still consider Winston's mother Lady Payley. So please call me Elizabeth. I am delighted to meet you. I've heard so much about you."

  Phoebe peeked at S
tephen from the corner of her eyes.

  Elizabeth chuckled. "Heavens, not from him, from your cousin, Charity. You and I are going to be fast friends. I can tell these things, you know. You must join us in our box. I wish to learn all about you and your home."

  The emphasis on you, thought Stephen. Sending a warning, he straightened his lips and glared at Winston.

  With wide-eyed innocence, his friend shrugged his shoulders, then gently pried Phoebe's hand from Elizabeth's. He bowed from the waist. "And call me Winston. Please excuse my wife. She barrels blissfully through life without a thought. Had she run the war, Napoleon would have surrendered within a matter of days. I married her to save her from herself. What say you, Stephen? Shall Miss Rafferty accompany us for the balance of this eve?"

  Obviously intent on meeting Phoebe as well, Winston provided little assistance. Stephen practically growled this time. "A stellar idea."

  "Thank you, but my aunt--"

  "Not to worry," Stephen said, grasping Phoebe's hand and draping it securely across his forearm. "You and I shall move along. Elizabeth and Winston will gladly wait to explain your decision, spinning a reason so believable it will allow your aunt no choice but to submit."

  Elizabeth, one hand on her hip, frowned. Winston plastered a silly grin on his face.

  "All right, sir." Phoebe shot Stephen a look that clearly said, I know what you're about, "As long as you mind your manners."

  Placing one hand across his chest, speaking most solemnly, Stephen said, "I will behave the perfect gentleman." He added mischievously, "Of course, everyone's expectations of a gentleman vary greatly. Come along." Stephen wanted Phoebe all to himself for a few minutes. He waved at Elizabeth and Winston. "Feel free to take as long as need be."

  "Last I recall, you said I shouldn't be seen with you," Phoebe said as she walked beside Stephen.

  "I've changed my mind."

  "Why?" she asked absently.

  "Perhaps I want everyone to know I'm an interested party," answered Stephen.