Potent Charms

by Peggy Waide

  "Lady Goodliffe?" Phoebe asked, surprised.

  Wibolt slapped his hat against his leg. "She came to take things, she did. To take them and sell them."

  Hampson faced Phoebe once again. "I reminded Lady Goodliffe that the furnishings belonged to you, Miss. She'd hear nothing of it. After her second visit, we devised a plan to keep her away."

  "Let me guess," Winston interjected. "The ghost of Grandfather Augustus."

  Hampson turned his head slightly. "Yes, sir. We used the old tunnels, the ones in decent repair and if I may say so, the plan worked grandly. Lady Goodliffe never came back."

  The image of her nasty aunt being roused from a deep sleep by her very own, very dead father lifted Phoebe's spirits slightly. "Why did the ghost make an appearance last night?"

  Wibolt twisted his hands back and forth, his battered hat the innocent victim. "I didn't mean no harm. I just thought... well... maybe you'd be angry with us and if we scared you, you'd leave us be." He wheezed a few times before he continued. "Hampson didn't know. He told me it was foolish. I apologize if n I scared any of you."

  "Truth be told," whispered Elizabeth, "I thought it was rather exciting."

  "Might we continue?" interrupted Stephen.

  "Go on, Hampson," prodded Phoebe. "Why is the estate in such shambles?"

  "Your grandfather neglected to consider the financial ramifications of his will. Without other properties to subsidize this place, it quickly fell into disrepair after his death. That's when Wibolt came. He was an old retainer of your granddad's. Together we used our pensions for as long as possible, even sold a piece of furniture or two, for which I have an accurate accounting. We simply ran out of money."

  "Didn't you think to contact my aunt?"

  "I did, miss. The first time was a year ago. That's when I wrote you. The last was a few months ago. She basically told me to go to the devil."

  "She never said a word to me," murmured Phoebe, not really surprised by her aunt's unwillingness to help, but rather at the extent of Hildegard's bitterness. She massaged a spot at the back of her neck that had begun throbbing with the barrage of questions and was now hammering with the discovery of the woman's duplicity.

  "I apologize, miss. I failed your father and I failed you."

  "We failed you," Wibolt added dramatically.

  Silence stretched uncomfortably throughout the room. Phoebe stood and crossed to Hampson. "You did what you could and more. Thank you. I'll think of something. Now go along and help Dee."

  Stephen waited until the two servants had shuffled from the room, single-file, like a line of prisoners on the way to the gallows. Poor devils. He turned to Phoebe, noted the weariness in her body, the ashy pallor of her skin, the near defeat haunting her eyes. It pained him all the way to his heart. The greater agony came from the fact that he knew he would not offer to ease her worries in the manner she desired.

  He escaped to the window to stare at the distant horizon, his hands laced behind his back lest he succumb to the urge to take Phoebe into his arms and promise her the moon. "What will you do now?"

  "We must return to London tomorrow. Somehow I will set the matter to rights."

  Stephen faced Elizabeth and Winston. "May I have a word with Phoebe?" Elizabeth remained in her seat, an expectant expression on her face. "Alone," Stephen added.

  Winston, a wise and compassionate friend, eagerly pulled his sputtering wife from her chair and escorted her from the room.

  Stephen straightened his spine. He tipped his chin. He spread his feet to the exact width of his shoulders. "Please know that I gain no satisfaction by this turn of events, but I do have a suggestion."

  "Stephen Lambert," Phoebe said, wagging her finger toward his face. "If you ask me to be your mistress right now, I declare, I am liable to throw something."

  "You are the most stubborn female I have ever encountered. I was going to suggest you sell the mansion today and be done with the entire affair."

  "I cannot believe you would suggest such a thing."

  "Certainly not because I enjoy being right, simply because I see the practicality of the situation."

  As though prepared for battle, she crossed her arms over her breasts. "I intend to keep my home. Hampson has lived here since he was eighteen. He served my grandfather well and although misguidedly, he did his best to protect my inheritance. Wibolt has nowhere to go and in his condition it would be impossible to find work elsewhere. My heavens, they spent their pensions trying to save this place."

  "Fine. I have another suggestion. Secure a loan."

  "Whomever from? A banker would only laugh in my face."

  "Me."

  "You?"

  "Yes."

  "You're serious?" She continued to stare. She slowly rose from the chair, her movements sluggish. Crossing to the window to stare at the gray skies outside, she considered all she'd learned in the last half-hour. There was no discernable reason for her aunt's secrecy.

  Hildegard had never mentioned her visits, the ghost, nothing. Phoebe shook her head.

  What could she do? She grudgingly admitted she needed Stephen's help, no matter the embarrassment it caused her. He seemed willing enough to help, and only a fool would turn away such an offer. She felt Stephen's breath on her neck and fought the impulse to turn and rest her head on his shoulder. "Fate seems to have placed another hurdle in my path, one I cannot leap without your help."

  "If I give you-"

  "Loan me the money," she interrupted as she turned to face him. "I shall be the collateral."

  He paused and looked at her with intelligent eyes that flashed with speculation. A moment passed before he said, "I doubt any future husband would appreciate the fact that I hold such a promissory note."

  "That is a chance I am willing to take."

  "Why not simply agree to my terms now and end this charade?"

  "Why not agree to marry me and end my worries?"

  He only scowled, the thought obviously so unsettling that he avoided the subject altogether. "I shall draft a note giving you two thousand pounds at your immediate disposal to do with as you wish. No tricks, no ties, no rules. Take as long as need be to repay me."

  "That's too generous."

  "You'll need every pence."

  With her hands behind her back, she leaned her head against the cold windowpane. "Knowing I must marry and knowing you seem decided against such a fate, may I ask why the generosity?"

  He leaned forward, his body flush with hers, and he placed his hands on each side of her face, trapping her within the prison of his arms. "Believe me, I haven't given up hope of changing your mind, but, if you come to my bed, if you allow me to make love with you, it will be because you so choose not because you feel indebted to me, not because you owe me money."

  The heavy beating of her heart and the dampness between her legs was the immediate answer to his touch. How easy it would be to climb the stairs and tumble into his arms, to take what he offered. He took her lips, then, and she returned his kiss with abandon; using her tongue as he had taught her, she tried to show him without the benefit of words the passion, the emotion he stirred within her soul.

  She knew she teetered on the edge of love, feared she might have already fallen. When she withdrew from his embrace, she saw the fire burning in his eyes, the desire and lust. She wanted more. She wanted what he kept locked away. Like a soft breeze, an idea had teased the edges of her mind ever since the morning. Standing here with this man, she knew what she would try to do. She would end this nonsense once and for all.

  If a gypsy had placed a curse on Stephen, couldn't a gypsy remove it?

  "Are you sure this is the right way?" Phoebe studied the narrow serpentine track shadowed by a dense wall of trees on either side.

  "Yes," Elizabeth confidently answered. "At least I believe so," she added. "In fact, it shouldn't be much further." She consulted the scribbled map in her hands then pointed to a wooded slope to the left of the carriage. "There is the stone cross se
t into the rocks. According to that farmer, we have only a mile or so left."

  "We had best continue then." Phoebe kept her voice cheerful. Her idea to seek a band of gypsies had seemed far better when they had been sitting in Elizabeth's salon back in London. Oh, well, too late now. As Phoebe fought to avoid a gaping hole directly in their path, the carriage lurched to the right. Her efforts were rewarded with a jarring thud and a resounding thwack, which left the carriage tilted precariously to the left. "Goodness gracious," she muttered as she peered over the side. "It seems we've cracked a wheel."

  Both ladies stared down the dirt road that suddenly appeared far more uninviting than a moment ago. Determined to follow her course and help Stephen, Phoebe scrambled down to survey the damage. The carriage wasn't going any further. "If we're traveling in the right direction, it shouldn't take us long to find the camp. We'll simply hire one of the men to fix our wheel. Can you walk?"

  "I'm pregnant, not crippled." Elizabeth's shoulders slumped as soon as she spoke. "I'm sorry. That was unbearably rude. It's simply so bothersome, not to mention embarrassing, to be ill in the mornings. And with his questions and constant worry, Winston is driving me to distraction." Climbing down to solid ground as well, she asked, "What of the horse?"

  "He'll be needed to bring the carriage to the camp." Phoebe unhitched Flash from the buggy and led him to the side of the road. She tethered him to a large elm that was already in blossom. To bolster her confidence, she fingered the small pistol tucked in her purse. After all, she had learned how to use a gun at an early age and wasn't above doing so if the need arose.

  Together, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, the two women picked their way down the path, doing their best to avoid the holes, ruts and pockets of mud. When they crossed an old gray bridge, Elizabeth tripped over a loose stone, twisting her ankle.

  Guilt pricked Phoebe's conscience. If not for her, Elizabeth wouldn't be here. Once Phoebe had revealed her plan, Elizabeth refused to be left out. Together, they had inquired into the whereabouts of a gypsy camp, informed Elizabeth's maid of their true destination, and then told Dee, Stephen and Winston that they'd be gone shopping for the remainder of the day. Now they were stranded.

  Well, there was nothing for it.

  After resting for a time or two, they reached the crest of another small hill. To their relief, nestled in the valley below was a circle of lavishly decorated wagons with odd rounded tops. Several men tended to horses while three women prepared a meal over a central fire. Two boys and a dog chased a young girl, who squealed in delight as she darted in and out of the wagons, cleverly avoiding her pursuers.

  Elizabeth stared at the scene, her hands tightly wrapped about the parasol she had insisted on bringing. "Are you sure about this, Phoebe? What if they truly hate the English?"

  "Nonsense. Besides, what choice do we have? Even if someone can't fix the carriage, you certainly can't walk back to the village. We must secure a ride." Her chin tipped with determination, Phoebe marched down the hill. Elizabeth limped awkwardly behind. Like the setting for a stilllife tableau, a hush fell over the camp and all activity ceased.

  "Good afternoon," Phoebe called cheerfully. No one uttered a sound. Not even the dog.

  "What if they don't speak English?" Elizabeth whispered.

  Lands alive, Phoebe hadn't considered that. "Of course they do. However could they trade horses?" Beaming her friendliest smile, she turned the gypsies. "Our carriage broke a wheel a ways back and we were wondering if someone would be able to retrieve the carriage and, well, fix it. We'd be happy to pay for the services." She was greeted with blank stares and muted conversations spoken in a language she didn't understand. "Excuse me, does anyone here speak English?"

  Silence.

  Elizabeth lowered herself onto a rock. "What now?"

  The hems of their dresses were covered with leaves and mud, their shoes were completely ruined and Elizabeth's ankle had begun to swell. A precious hour or more had already been wasted. "You can barely walk," Phoebe said. "Even if I thought it best, I refuse to trudge through that muck back to the carriage, then back to the village for help. I came here for answers and I intend to find them."

  A shaggy dog the size of a small pony growled. A burly man with thick eyebrows and a faceful of hair crossed his arms and grunted. The dog scuttled under a nearby wagon and laid his head on his paws. Everyone else just continued to stare. Phoebe thought the dog just might have the right idea. Retreat seemed the better choice, but she'd come all this way for a reason. One grumbling male, an oversized mutt and a little hostility wasn't going to scare her away.

  A rumbling of conversation began as everyone gazed past Phoebe. She spun about and spied a gorgeous woman with midnight hair, who wore a brightly colored skirt and a white blouse that fell sensuously off her left shoulder. The gypsy ambled toward them, her expression a mixture of arrogance and what Phoebe thought might be contempt. Smiling her brightest smile yet, Phoebe said, "Good afternoon."

  The gypsy girl sauntered right past Phoebe and Elizabeth without a backward glance, Flash in tow.

  "Pardon me, but what exactly are doing with my horse?"

  Shrugging her shoulder, the gypsy girl said, "I found him wandering free. He is mine now."

  Phoebe was unsure of what shocked her more: the fact that the girl claimed Flash as her own or that she spoke heavily accented, but otherwise intelligible, English. "I think not. I left my horse tied to a tree beside my carriage."

  "You dare call Ariana a thief?" The girl's eyes heated with anger.

  Given the sudden turn of events, Phoebe decided to give the girl the benefit of the doubt and continued as diplomatically as possible. "Never mind, Ariana. May I call you that? Anyway, if Flash was found loose, then someone else obviously freed him. Thank you for finding him for me."

  Ariana's dark eyes flashed before she simply walked away. She bandied comments back and forth with people in the camp, rousing a few chuckles, as she crossed the clearing. Then she tied Flash beside a magnificent white horse.

  "Goodness gracious," Phoebe muttered.

  "Now what?" Elizabeth whispered.

  "I'm certainly not going to allow that woman to keep my horse." Phoebe marched to Ariana's side and tapped her on the shoulder. "Excuse me. You obviously didn't hear what I said. That horse is mine. If you'll just answer a few questions for me, I'll take Flash and be on my way."

  "Enough, gadjo. I weary of your company. You go now."

  They had been dismissed as regally as Phoebe assumed one might be if dealing with the King of England. Ready, willing, even eager to teach the black-haired witch a wellneeded lesson in manners, Phoebe stepped forward.

  Suddenly the ground shook. Both Elizabeth and Phoebe whirled about to witness a man gallop into camp seated atop a stallion very similar to the one beside Ariana. He rode directly toward them and swung from his horse with the ease of a man long accustomed to riding, his movements lithe and fluid. He glanced beyond Phoebe and Elizabeth to Ariana, then to the assembled group that watched the scene with avid fascination. Grinning in a manner that had likely turned the heads of young girls aplenty, he bowed. "Good afternoon. My name is Rhys. I did not know visitors were coming today. Why are you here?"

  Phoebe was quite weary of explaining herself. However, this man spoke perfect English with only the slightest accent and his bearing clearly demanded she answer. Maybe he could help them. She explained that Ariana had her horse, casting an accusatory glance toward the girl, who merely turned up her nose and continued to groom Flash. Though her cheeks were beginning to tire, she plastered a smile on her face and added, "So, if you'd be kind enough to answer a few questions and convince that woman to give me back my horse, we'll be on our way."

  Crossing his arms, Rhys studied Phoebe intently. He fingered a loose curl lying over her forehead. "I like your courage, little one."

  "You ...I...Of all the..." She sputtered like a dried up fountain. "You may call me Miss Rafferty, and this is Lady Payley." She em
phasized the lady part. "How dare you take such liberties."

  "I dare, because you, a beautiful woman who obviously belongs in one of the finer salons of London, has landed in my camp without the benefit of a chaperone or a man. Since you are here, I will tell you I am accustomed to taking what I desire."

  And she'd thought Stephen was arrogant. His behavior paled by comparison to this libertine. "Well, you can just undesire me. Our companions are overdue. That's all."

  He snorted.

  His voice softened to a caress. "If you were my woman, I would never allow you from my sight."

  "Good thing, that. I'd surely die from boredom, and quick-like."

  He was still chuckling when Ariana flounced for there was no other way to describe the way she walked to Rhys's side. Under Phoebe's watchful eye, the two spoke heatedly to one another until Ariana tossed her hair over her shoulder and advanced on Phoebe.

  Before Phoebe could question Ariana's motives or her intentions, she found herself tumbling to the ground in a heap of green linen to land with an unladylike plop in a puddle of mud. Her screech and Elizabeth's startled cry filled the glen.

  Rhys yanked Ariana to one side and spat a string of notso-subtle threats. She merely crossed her arms beneath her breasts and matched his stare with her own. He took a menacing step forward. "Your jealousy is unfounded and your actions could very well have undesired consequences."

  "Jealous? Hah. I take what is mine. Nothing more, nothing less."

  Shaking his head, he said to Phoebe, "I am most sorry. Ariana's temper often causes poor judgment. Come. We shall find you new clothes."

  "No."

  "Blessed saints" he threw his arms into the air "spare me from stubborn women. Do not argue with me." He extended his hand. "Come."

  Pushing away his hand, Phoebe pressed herself to her feet. She shook the mud from her hands. Enough was enough. She didn't want new clothes. She wanted her questions answered, her horse released and she wanted to leave. In that order. It was apparent that the situation required an entirely different strategy. She reached into her purse and withdrew her pistol, which she leveled at Rhys's head. By God, if anyone made a single solitary move, she'd plant a bullet between his eyes.