THE MAGIC TOUCH (Historical Romance)

by KEYSON, PATRICIA

  “With pleasure, sir,” Hope replied dutifully, handing over her card for him to inscribe his name.

  As James stepped away Beaumont arrived.

  “Good evening, Constance, Hope.” He inclined his head slightly to each of them in turn. “Would you dance with me?”

  Hope could barely speak. How she wished she could have his name on her card for all the dances. “I regret I am engaged for the next dance, sir, but the one after that… well…” She was lost for words.

  “Hope! Here, Beaumont take her card and put your name down. She is inclined to giddiness. Not one of her best traits. But she is young, far younger than I and quite a few years younger than you.”

  Beaumont raised his eyebrows. “I believe Eustace was somewhat older than you, Constance. I am quite sure your love for each other was as strong as if you had been of similar ages.”

  Love! How had love come into the conversation? Hope looked from her aunt to Beaumont and back to her aunt again.

  “Indeed Beaumont. This is quite the most inappropriate conversation for the occasion. Thankfully here comes James.”

  James led Hope onto the dance floor and the quadrille began. Hope liked dancing and was soon enjoying herself, but was aware of Beaumont standing watching her, his eyes on her every move. It was quite disconcerting. When the dance ended James led her back to the seat next to her aunt, thanked her, bowed politely and left. Beaumont was soon back, a grin on his face. “My turn I believe.”

  “Really Beaumont, your manners are...”

  “I apologise, but this young lady dances like an angel and I can’t wait to whisk her round the ballroom.”

  “Be warned. I will be watching, along with all the other mothers and aunts in the room.” Hope couldn’t be sure, but there seemed to be a twinkle in her aunt’s eye.

  All other thoughts soon disappeared from Hope’s mind as Beaumont’s arm encircled her waist and she felt the warmth of his hand through the light material of her gown. When their hands met, she feared she’d have the vapours and she had to hang on tightly to him. Secretly, she was pleased to have the excuse to do so. Not that he was a stabilising influence on her at all. The jaunty polka music had its effect and Beaumont skilfully whisked her across the ballroom; it was as if they were the only two in the whole room. Risking a glance at him as they twirled around, Hope’s eyes met his and he tightened his hold on her, pulling her closer to him. If only this could go on forever. But then the music stopped and partners separated.

  Beaumont escorted Hope to Aunt Constance who was in conversation with Isabella Padstock. Could it be possible that Beaumont would ask her for another dance, pondered Hope. She willed him to read her mind. He leant towards her and she was sure he had. “Thank you, Hope. You’re a splendid dancer as I said. I would ask you for the next dance, but I am promised to another.”

  Hope wondered if he would be dancing with Isabella. Lady Padstock wouldn’t be pleased, she reflected. But after acknowledging Isabella, Beaumont extended his hand towards her aunt. “Our dance I think, Constance. I’m looking forward to it. The young people quite tire me.” He inclined his head to Hope and winked. As Beaumont led Constance away, Hope heard him saying, “I’m pleased you feel able to take a stage out of mourning. What a very pretty sash that is.”

  To Hope’s surprise, she saw that her aunt was a more than capable dancer. She watched as Beaumont expertly guided his partner around to the waltz music.

  “I see you danced with James.” Isabella’s voice took Hope by surprise; she’d forgotten she was there.

  “Yes,” she said, dragging her eyes from the dance floor. “He’s a competent partner.” It was all she could think of to say about him.

  “He’s divine,” breathed Isabella. “He’s written his name in for the maximum number of allowed dances.”

  Hope was relieved that Isabella and The Honourable James Henderson were getting on well together. “It’s a wonderful evening, Isabella. I’m especially pleased to see Aunt Constance enjoying herself as much as she is.”

  A queue of young gentlemen approached the two women and asked for their dance cards. Hope’s was filling rapidly and she wanted there to be room for Beaumont’s name. How many dances were they allowed together? She couldn’t remember, but she knew her aunt would and she would also check to make sure etiquette prevailed.

  Suddenly there was a commotion on the dance floor and Hope looked up to see Beaumont with his arm around Aunt Constance. James was on the other side as they half-carried her to the edge of the ballroom and sat her gently into a chair. Lady Padstock attended immediately and directed the dancing to continue.

  A screen was placed strategically to provide her with privacy and Constance put a hand to her head. “Aunt,” whispered Hope, “how can I help? Has your headache returned?” Constance nodded and looked tearful.

  “Drink this,” directed Beaumont, holding out a glass of brandy. “I think you exerted yourself too much.”

  He treated the patient with such kindness Hope was near tears. Much as she hated to admit it, she realised her aunt should be taken home without delay. When she voiced her opinion, both Constance and Beaumont agreed. “I’ll get your carriage brought round to the closest entrance,” said Beaumont.

  “Poor Constance,” whispered Lady Padstock. “It was a great pleasure for us that you should come this evening with your dear niece. But now you must return home and rest.”

  Beaumont and Hope helped Constance to the carriage. Beaumont tucked a rug around her. “I wish you a restful night, Constance.” Holding out his hand to aid Hope into the carriage, her heart fluttered as he drew nearer and she was sure he was about to kiss her. If she acted instinctively, she would move forward and instigate an embrace; if she followed the line of propriety, she’d back away that instant. In the event, she did neither. Beaumont raised her hand to his lips and caressed it before letting go. Hope ducked into the carriage, sure her hammering heartbeat must be audible.

  By the time they arrived at the house, Constance appeared a little brighter, but still exhausted.

  With Aunt Constance safely indoors, Hope left her to the ministrations of the servants. Perhaps the doctor should be called in the morning. As Hope readied herself for bed, she was lost in a dream of what might have been if her dance card had been filled with Beaumont’s name and, more excitingly, if she and he had been alone outside the Padstocks’ mansion with the carriage as their refuge.

  CHAPTER 8

  When Edna entered the room the following morning, Hope’s first thoughts were of her aunt. “How is Aunt Constance today, Edna?”

  “She was sitting up in bed and drinking tea. That would seem a good sign.”

  Hope nodded her head. “I’m sure you’re right. Poor Aunt. If she’d stayed at home last evening she could have had the rest she sorely needs. I feel certain she made a special effort on my behalf.”

  Edna’s eyes lit up. “Was it a wonderful evening? Apart from Her Grace being took poorly, I mean.”

  “It was most enjoyable. I managed to have two dances; one with James Henderson and the other with Beaumont.”

  “Hope, I do envy you. The Honourable James is very attractive, even if he isn’t very exciting.”

  “And what about Beaumont? Don’t you find him striking?”

  “For an older man, certainly he is.” Edna darted around the room tidying Hope’s garments which she’d strewn about the previous night. “I’m sorry I wasn’t available to put your clothes away. I did tap on the door after we’d settled your aunt, but there was no reply.”

  “That’s quite all right, Edna. Aunt Constance must come first. And I should have been more careful with my things. The dress is very elegant, isn’t it?” Hope stretched and rolled out of bed. “Now I must get ready for breakfast.”

  * * *

  Just as she was swallowing her last mouthful of devilled kidneys and toast, she was informed a visitor had arrived to enquire after Her Grace. It must be Lady Padstock, surmised Hope. She rose fr
om the table and went to the drawing room. To her shame, she hadn’t seen her aunt since the previous evening.

  When Hope caught sight of the visitor she nearly fainted. It was Beaumont, the last person she expected to see so early in the morning. He came towards her. “Hope, I came to ask how Constance is. I was worried about her yesterday and wanted to reassure myself that she isn’t any worse.”

  “I’m afraid I haven’t visited her yet. I understand she is still in bed and has managed to sip some tea. I thought it best that she have some time to herself to recover. If you wished to see her then I’m sorry your journey here has been wasted.”

  “On the contrary, I would say my journey has been rewarded already.” Beaumont’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled down at her.

  “I shall inform my aunt that you were here and I will pass on your best regards for her health.”

  “Please don’t dismiss me now,” pleaded Beaumont. “I have things I wish to discuss with you, Hope.”

  She risked a look at Stevenson who was hovering by the door as if standing guard. She beckoned Beaumont to the far corner of the room, wanting to be out of earshot of the butler. “How may I be of assistance?” she enquired politely, trying to keep the tone of her voice calm, even though her body was trembling at his very nearness. She could smell his fresh manly scent and compared it favourably to the tobacco reek of James Henderson.

  “The magic lantern show for the charity event is on my mind,” began Beaumont. “Often I narrate the stories, but you will be playing the piano for some of them and I should like the audience to be able to know some of the underlying metaphors. Would you assist me in writing a little about them? I remember you confided in me your aims were to teach and write a book. These two ambitions of yours qualify you perfectly for the post. What do you say?”

  The mention of writing ensnared her immediately. “Do you usually provide written matter for your audiences?” asked Hope. On her visit with Edna she hadn’t been aware of anything like that being available. She wanted to know everything about Beaumont and his shows.

  “Sometimes I do, but they are not always well received. I’ve no idea why.” Beaumont’s good looks were momentarily marred as a frown creased his forehead. “I’ve tried to make the information engaging but…” His voice tailed away.

  “Have you tried making it too fascinating, I wonder?” ventured Hope. “I ask because when I was teaching my maid, Ruth, to read and write I found I was trying too hard and complicating things for her unnecessarily. She was unable to follow the words I was choosing.”

  “You see, Hope, you’re an inspiration. I think you’re correct. We need something far simpler. I’ve a feeling a good proportion of the audience are unable to read well or even at all. Probably not at the Female Aid Society performance, but at the shows held at fairs and music halls. There’s more to helping the underprivileged than handing out food parcels, although they are essential of course.”

  Beaumont’s vibrant face delighted Hope. She recognised the enthusiasm they shared.

  “Aunt Constance has continued to donate leftover food since your visit here when you broached the subject, and the clothes belonging to Uncle Eustace which she tired herself so dreadfully in sorting, they are to be given away also. Indeed, I believe they already have been. Most of them.” Hope felt her cheeks grow warm as she added the last sentence.

  “I am pleased. But I think it is down to you being so caring, Hope. I’ve never met a woman like you. Most of the ladies I come across think only of themselves and their looks. You, on the other hand, are a compassionate person as well as a beautiful and intelligent one.”

  Luckily Beaumont had lowered his voice and Hope wished with all her might that Stevenson hadn’t overheard their conversation. She had never had so many compliments heaped upon her and thought she would collapse under the weight of them. In order to maintain her equilibrium she murmured, “Shall we return to the question in hand, Beaumont? Do you think it would be an improvement if I were to sketch replicas of your slides and put one or two apposite words underneath, simple ones which could possibly be understood. Then the audience might take them away and study them at their leisure. That’s what Ruth did and that’s what I want to do with Edna.”

  “You also have extreme vision and patience. The latter is something I am aware I am sadly lacking.”

  In the pause which followed Stevenson coughed discreetly.

  “I think it is time I went, but I will call soon with a selection of slides for you to sketch. I’m looking forward to working with you.” He glanced at Stevenson. “But only if your aunt agrees to our collaboration.”

  “I’m sure she will. She has a very good heart. Do you suppose you could also teach me how to paint the slides? I would like to create my own story.”

  Beaumont nodded thoughtfully. “Of course. Au revoir, Hope.” He smiled, made a little bow, took her hand and kissed it before leaving the room.

  Hope caught her breath and flung herself into the nearest chair. Her feelings were in turmoil. She would go to her rooms and write her journal which always had a soothing effect.

  Beaumont, Beaumont, Beaumont. How he affects me. When we danced at the ball it felt as though we belonged in each other’s arms. Given the chance to dance with him all night, I would have done, whatever anyone thought of me. And now, if Aunt agrees, I will be spending time with him as we prepare for the magic lantern show. Aunt does not approve of him still. She made a comment about his age, yet he isn’t so very much older than me, maybe ten years. Au revoir is a common enough phrase, but I wonder why Beaumont chose to say it. Am I reading too much into things?

  “My lady, Hope, Lady Isabella is here to see you.”

  “What does she want? Have you any idea?” Hope was puzzled as she thought Isabella would much have preferred to be shopping or titivating to calling on her.

  “I don’t know. She is in the drawing room.” Edna stood by the door as if expecting Hope to rush down to greet Isabella.

  “Very well.” Hope closed her journal and went to find out the reason for Isabella’s visit.

  As she entered the drawing room Isabella turned from the window.

  “I wanted to ask after the Duchess. How is she?”

  Hope should have known Isabella hadn’t called to see her, but she acknowledged it was thoughtful of her to ask after Aunt Constance.

  “Feeling a little better, thank you. Beaumont came to ask after her.” Hope could feel her cheeks flushing. Even as she said his name, his face materialised before her and she had to blink the image away.

  “Beaumont? I think he has grown fond of you. Love is wonderful, don’t you think? I couldn’t sleep at all after the ball and having spent time with James. So this morning I decided to get up early and then I had a sudden desire to call and see you to talk about the events of last night. I’m afraid I danced with James too many times, almost every dance, and Mama is rather cross with me. He didn’t write them all on my card. Is what I did very wrong?”

  Hope giggled. “No, I do not think so at all, but I am rather surprised you did not adhere to the etiquette. I think you should go and be with your mama and restore yourself to her good graces.”

  * * *

  Hope had a lot to write.

  Isabella has astounded me. I would never have thought she would behave in such a way. I thought the Padstock girls were impeccably brought up and knew the etiquette of every occasion. Will James love her more for her daring acts? Love has a strange way of transcending things. I am sure it is true that one can feel love for someone older or younger and from a different background.

  While I wait for Beaumont to return, and I confess I am counting the minutes, I will concentrate on teaching Edna to read. She has shown she has an interest in fashion so I will draw some pictures and cut some from magazines and write simple words to go with them. Where will I take her lesson? Here in my rooms or below stairs? If the latter what will Stevenson think?

  I have had another ide
a. If I paint some slides to go with a story then maybe Beaumont would arrange for the servants to have their own private magic lantern show. Would that be allowed or will Stevenson put his foot down?

  Hope closed her journal and paced across the room. Now she’d written about the classes she was going to give, she wanted to get started. On a shelf there were some magazines her aunt had let her have. Turning their pages, she found just the things she was looking for: pictures of pretty dresses, accessories and trifles which she felt sure Edna would love. She would cut them out and arrange them before deciding what words were appropriate to write alongside them. At last her discarded embroidery was to come in useful. Quickly she picked up the scissors intended to cut the silks and applied them to the paper. With such a small tool it was painstakingly slow, but Hope didn’t mind. As she performed the task, her thoughts ran ahead to the completed assignment. This wasn’t just for Edna and possibly the other servants, it was for Beaumont also. The more she knew about him, the more he pleased her. He had said he wasn’t patient, but Hope had witnessed him tending her aunt and a more considerate person she could not wish to know. If only her aunt thought more of him. Then she corrected herself; she was sure her aunt regarded him with esteem. Indeed, she’d as much as admitted that, but she did not view him as a proper suitor for Hope. But then again, perhaps Beaumont didn’t harbour such notions himself. Perhaps he had no wish to court her at all and simply wanted her help. Well, for now, that would suffice.

  As Hope would have to ask Edna where she could obtain glue to stick the pictures to the paper, she put them to one side and picked up a pencil to sketch a copy of the fan she’d presented to her maid when they’d been to the dressmaker’s shop. She was pleased with the drawing and underneath she wrote the letters: FAN. Then she turned her attention to the next idea she had for a picture. Before she knew it, the time had passed and Edna was knocking at her door.