Potent Charms

by Peggy Waide

  "Well, I can't say I admire your manner of caring for a lady. Most people have sense enough to come in from the rain. What's your excuse?"

  "Dee." Phoebe glared at her maid in silent communication. Then she smiled at Stephen, one of those apologetic, my-servant-didn't-mean-it kind of smiles. "My companion worries overmuch for me sometimes."

  "Understandable," agreed Stephen, undaunted by the woman's censure. Obviously Dee cared a great deal for her charge and took her responsibilities seriously. He couldn't blame her. He had similar feelings about Phoebe himself. "I plead guilty, Dee. Admittedly, Miss Rafferty bewitches me. My better judgment eludes me when I'm near her."

  Dee stilled her hands. She tilted her head, raised her ebony brows to a formidable height and bestowed upon him a look that had surely felled lesser men. "You don't say?"

  Charm from a distance seemed a good strategy right now. Stephen crossed to the tea service and filled two cups. He offered one to Phoebe, then moved to the window facing the street. "Quite so. Miss Phoebe is enchanting company, for which I'm sure you are partly responsible."

  "You're right about that. I raised Miss Phoebe since she first saw daylight. I know exactly how enchantin' she can be. I also knows what men like you, Mr. Duke, like to do with enchantin' women, and I'm here to tell you, I didn't teach her to act a silly goose without a lick of sense. You just remember that."

  The warning was perfectly clear. Dee protected Phoebe like Winston did Elizabeth ferociously defending her anytime she felt her charge in any danger. Dee would make a formidable adversary, or a favorable ally. He would have to think on that. "Most assuredly."

  Finally freeing herself from her sodden cape, Phoebe shrugged it from her shoulders, grabbed her hat, and placed the garments into Dee's waiting hands. "In case the two of you forgot, I'm still here in this very same room. If you-"

  A screech, distinctly shrill and clearly female, sounded from the foyer. Phoebe snapped her mouth shut and rubbed her hand over her face, then glared at Dee, who grinned about something Stephen evidently knew nothing about. When someone, presumably Aunt Hildegard, squealed a second time, Phoebe glanced at Stephen and sighed, her breath fanning the damp curl on her forehead. From his secluded spot, he watched the doorway in anticipation.

  Hildegard, her cheeks flushed and puffed with indignance, stomped into the room. One hand pressed against the lace neckline of her bright purple pelisse, the other fanned back and forth, her white handkerchief flowing from side to side like a flag of surrender.

  Charity crept behind her mother, watching the scene with cautious yet avid fascination.

  Hildegard stopped and glared at Dee. "You ...you..."

  "Somethin' wrong, madam?" asked Dee, her brows knitted in confusion. Stephen surmised the servant knew exactly to what Hildegard referred. This would be an interesting exchange.

  "Don't you madam' me. What is the meaning of this?" Hildegard pointed to Siggers, who had moved to the doorway as well, a bland, almost serene expression pasted on his face. He held a dead mouse at arm's length from his body.

  Dee's grin widened, revealing a row of white teeth. She flounced over to the butler and relieved him of his burden. "Goodness gracious. I best get rid of that. Wherever did you find it?"

  "You know as well as I do," snapped Hildegard, her words flying fast from her mouth. "It's one of your tricks. You purposely placed it beside my embroidery."

  "I did?" Dee scratched her head. "Goodness, I don't remember that a'tall."

  "On no, not this time. I have had it," said Hildegard, stomping her foot. She pivoted toward Phoebe. "You, young lady, are responsible for this abomination. I imagine your father allowed such ghastly behavior in his servants as well. Not me. This is my home. I will-"

  "Auntie," Phoebe interrupted.

  "What?" Hildegard barked, her temper bound by a thread.

  Nodding toward the comer, Phoebe directed her aunt's attention to where Stephen stood. "We have company."

  Hildegard's head swiveled so quickly that had her feet not been firmly planted on the ground she would have toppled over into a heap of chartreuse and purple linen. He certainly admired Dee's backbone. The maid planted that ignorant smile on her face and latched on to him, which obviously irritated Hildegard all the more. He barely contained his grin. "Good afternoon, Lady Goodliffe."

  Her expression shifted quickly from anger to disapproval to what some might call cordiality. Almost. She wasn't the least bit pleased to have him here. "Lord Badrick. You seem to have caught me unawares. As you have certainly ascertained, I've had a difficult day."

  "Quite all right. Now and again, everyone, even myself, begins a day only to realize they'd have been better off to stay abed. Good afternoon, Charity. You look lovely."

  Charity managed a curtsy.

  "Charity, quit skulking in the hallway and sit down." Her mouth set with annoyance, Hildegard spared no glance for her daughter, but kept her eyes on Dee. "You may go. We will discuss this matter later."

  "Absolutely, madam. Come on, Siggers, I can see we're going to need more tea for all these people."

  Hildegard tucked her handkerchief into the sleeve of her dress and sat on the scarlet and rose floral chaise opposite Charity, who perched stiffly on a matching chair. "Pardon my trivial problems, your grace. To what do we owe this visit?"

  "Hasn't Miss Rafferty told you?"

  Hildegard glared at her niece. "Obviously I missed something of import."

  Accusation radiated from her eyes. She truly was a most disagreeable woman. He pitied anyone forced to bear her company for any length of time, especially Phoebe, when Hildegard's dislike was so apparent. Phoebe busied herself with a cup of tea, then moved to the fireplace. Evidently, she wasn't about to offer an explanation when she had no idea what he was thinking. Smart girl. He crossed to Phoebe's side. "It is of minor importance, actually. I offered my services as counsel in her search for a husband."

  "I see no need, your grace. I am fully capable of giving advice"

  "Of course you are." He agreed readily while he studied the flamboyant two-handed silver vase decorated with an Egyptianesque motif sitting on the mantle. Conquests were all a matter of strategy and timing. "What an extraordinary piece."

  "It happens to be one of my favorites. It was created by Paul Storr."

  "I thought I recognized the work. Storr is quite talented, but back to the subject at hand. Women are excellent judges of character, but men are often privy to some of one another's habits that women are not. Between the two of us, Miss Rafferty shall make a marvelous match. Which is, I'm sure, exactly what you seek."

  "Indeed."

  "After all, family ties bond us forever. I know it is your fondest wish to aid your only niece in every possible way."

  "I do my best."

  He swore he heard Hildegard's teeth grinding behind her pinched lips. Lady Goodliffe did not like this discussion, nor his interference. Phoebe, on the other hand, seemed content to remain a silent bystander. Stephen clapped his hands together. "Splendid. That being the case. I brought with me an invitation to Lord Payley's country affair next week. I believe a number of suitable lords shall be present."

  Shifting in her chair, Hildegard squared her shoulders with revived confidence. "We have previous plans. Besides, it's far too late to accept. We should have received and responded to such an invitation weeks ago."

  Like a conspirator, he lowered his voice to a whisper. "Who's to know, Lady Goodliffe? Did you not receive and accept Lord Tewksbury's invitation a mere two days ago?"

  She managed to sputter, "That is different, your grace. It is a simple dinner party, not a weekend outing which requires a substantial amount of preparation."

  "A slight inconvenience, nothing more, for a woman of your skill. Of course, Phoebe's companion may accompany her as well as yourself and Miss Charity, if she is so inclined." He spoke directly to Charity. "I believe Eustace Ellwood will be present as well. I heard through the rumor mill that his interests lie in your direc
tion."

  Bowing her head slightly, Charity squirmed in her seat, gazing from Stephen to Phoebe to her mother and finally at the floor. The poor girl was more skittish than a young filly. Nervous or not, pleasure shined in her eyes.

  "Forget Ellwood," said Hildegard. "I am considering a match with Lord Hadlin."

  "But mother, he's been married four times already, and he's so old."

  "He's also quite rich. Count your blessings that he wants a young, strong wife to breed an heir."

  Stephen barely contained his disgust. He understood the business of making satisfactory matches. It was quite simply the way of things. His sudden interest in Charity's plight surprised him, but Hadlin was at least forty-eight with the personality of a stiff, unyielding bench and a propensity for virgins of any age. He might have money, but he seldom spent it on his wives. His mistresses, who were many, were far happier. But Hildegard cared nothing of those things, wanting only the prestige she'd receive for her daughter's match.

  Smiling at Charity in an obvious attempt to offer support, Phoebe added, "Perhaps other lords we have yet to meet will attend."

  "Undoubtedly, Miss Rafferty," added Stephen as he wearied of the game. It was time to exert the authority granted him simply by title. "I am certain your aunt realizes the merits of accepting such an invitation, the disadvantages if she doesn't. Don't you, Lady Goodliffe?" he asked, using his silky tone of voice as a blacksmith uses a hammer and anvil, bending Hildegard to his will.

  Clasping and unclasping her hands, Hildegard cleared her throat several times. Her lips curved into the slightest of smiles. "Of course we accept. It would be foolish to do otherwise. I will inform Lord Payley of my decision to accompany Phoebe or not." She pushed herself from the chaise, her movements precise and rigid. "If you will excuse me. Siggers will see you out."

  "By all means." Turning toward Phoebe, he whispered, "Close your mouth, darling, you're gaping. I told you your aunt was the least of your worries." He grasped Phoebe's hand and placed a kiss above her knuckles. "Until tonight, Miss Rafferty."

  He nodded toward Charity, then proceeded to the doorway where Siggers appeared as suddenly as a puff of smoke. With a smirk and a wink, Stephen sailed from the room.

  "Land sakes," muttered Phoebe, unsure whether to rejoice or run. Hildegard's foul mood would hover like a dark cloud for at least the rest of the day if not the balance of the week. Ready to skip around the room because she could flee to Marsden Manor, Phoebe remembered Charity. The poor thing. Charity's situation was no better than Phoebe's. In fact, it was worse. At least Phoebe had a say in the selection of her spouse. It now seemed that Hildegard planned to sell Charity to the highest bidder, and Phoebe doubted her cousin had the strength of will to disobey.

  "Aren't you excited?" asked Phoebe.

  "Mother will likely find a reason for us to stay home. Oh dear, whatever shall I do? Lord Hadlin is...a..."

  "Your mother hasn't accepted his suit yet." She took the space Hildegard had recently vacated. "I'm truly sorry, Charity. Perhaps you'll see Sir Ellwood at Tewksbury's tonight. I'll do whatever I can to help."

  Right now, this minute, an afternoon in the cotton fields back home held more appeal than the balance of Phoebe's evening. There, she wouldn't be worried about her manners, her dress, her every movement, about what she said or how she said it. This constant charade of proper deportment and her feigned excitement to find a husband was tedious not to mention depressing. Her future seemed dreary, and then some. And she had prepared for this evening with such anticipation.

  Lord Tewksbury had been an attentive host until dinner, which was delicious, efficiently served, and dragged on forever. Now the men, Stephen included, had closeted themselves in the drawing room with their precious brandy and private conversation that was considered unsuitable for females. At the moment, waiting for the evening's entertainment, Phoebe suffered Hildegard's waspish countenance and a young debutante's inane attempt at conversation. Charity hovered nearby, seemingly as bored as Phoebe. Likely her thoughts were with Eustace Ellwood, who conversed with the men as well. The young girl beside Phoebe giggled yet again and she knew she had best move elsewhere or go mad. Excusing herself, she fled toward the conservatory. Perhaps if she hid behind a bush or a potted plant, she'd find a moment's peace and quiet.

  Rounding the cobblestone path lined with assorted palms, Phoebe happened upon two older matrons, who sat together on a stone bench tucked between the marble sculpture of a large bird in flight and a rose bush. She thought she might escape unnoticed until one woman waved. Reluctantly, wanting only to flee outdoors, she crossed to the bench, sat and awaited the introductions and heaven knew what else.

  Lady Ostlin, as she named herself, possessed bosoms capable of sporting a small tea service. Nibbling on her berry tart, she studied Phoebe. Finally, she nodded to her sister, Lady Tipler, and placed her yellow-gloved hand over Phoebe's bare one. "It is rumored, Miss Rafferty, that you are in pursuit of a husband. Although Lady Goodliffe is your aunt, I imagine she cares more for Charity's plight than yours. My sister and I feel it our duty to aid your cause, you being a foreigner and all."

  "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 continu
ed. "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.