His words unnervingly echoed Mark’s counsel.
“Your aunt was mistaken,” Lord Terrance continued relentlessly. “I love my wife, visions and all. She would not be the same person without them. You, too, will one day find a man who will care for you as I do for her.”
He did not comprehend the weight of her problem. How could he? He was normal. She withdrew from his hold. “I should return home now, my lord. Pray, tell your wife I am sorry I upset her.”
“She is more concerned about you than herself. It is rather late. A room can be readied here and I will send word to Phillip that you plan to remain with us tonight.”
“No, my lord, I have troubled you and your wife enough.”
“I will call for the carriage then. Remain here while I inform Belle of your decision.”
Once he left, Nevara sat and hugged herself. She did not have the energy or will to disobey him. Her mind reeled with what had happened and the news of possible danger across the ocean.
Her chin firmed. If evil awaited her in Spain, she was ready to face it. Indeed, according to her aunt, she faced it every day in her looking glass. She could not live this way any longer. More troubling to her was the fact that another door had closed. She had no one else to turn to. Not Sir Phillip. Not Daniel Trenton. Not the Terrances. Certainly not Mark. So, how was she to get to Spain now?
Nevara returned home tired and despondent. Stony advised her that a Mr. Alvaro had come to call for her and spent an hour visiting with the Joneses.
Nevara digested this startling news as she climbed the back stairs. What could they have talked about for an hour? As she reached her room, the patter of running footsteps alerted her before Hope rounded the corner.
“Miss Wood, you are home.” The child looked sweet in her white linen nightgown covering her from neck to toe.
“Why are you awake?” Nevara smiled to soften the scold.
“I waited for you to finish my story. Had you forgotten? Leron, the scorpion was creeping into town to check on the soft whispers he heard.”
The child’s enthusiasm pleased Nevara. Finishing the story might take her mind off her troubles. She held out her hand. Hope laid her small palm within it and together they walked to the child’s room. Sitting on the edge of the little cot, Nevara tucked Hope under the covers thinking back to where they had left off.
She had crafted this particularly fanciful tale to ease Hope’s fears about her extraordinary talent. The tale she had spun was about a scorpion named Leron who lived in the desert beside the Dead Sea in Judea. After he accidentally killed a man with his stinger, Leron was frightened of being around people. So he spent his time alone and unloved. Then, one day he heard whispers about a boy who could forgive sins. He had followed those reverent whispers to a stable in a town called Bethlehem. There, he found a child lying in a manger, one who looked too tiny to be as powerful as people promised. They had reached the part where Leron crept forward for a closer look.
“I like Leron,” Hope said. “You promised he would be safe.”
Nevara brushed hair off Hope’s forehead. “Life is dangerous, Hope, but we must face it head on if we want to get past it.”
The child’s lips trembled but she lifted her chin and waited for Nevara to continue.
“The whispers grew louder now. Leron was sure he was about to meet the one who could forgive him for killing that man, so people would not be frightened of him anymore.”
“I know how he feels,” Hope whispered.
“Then something stirred beneath the manger.”
Hope sucked in her breath.
“A snake, a deadly horned viper, glided toward the baby.”
“Oh, no!” Hope scrunched underneath her covers.
“Leron watched, wide-eyed. He had not even spoken to the one who might be his savior and the snake was about to kill the boy.”
“I hate snakes.”
“When we started this story, you hated scorpions.”
“That was before I met Leron. Go on.”
“Well, if Leron sneaked up on the snake, it might turn around and eat him. Yet, if he ran in to warn everyone about the snake, the people would probably only see Leron, and kill him. But if he stood there and did nothing, the baby might die and Leron would continue to feel guilty for the rest of his life.”
“I know what I would do if I were Leron.”
“What is that, Hope?”
“I would do as Sir Phillip said and face what frightened me. I would run in and sting that horrible viper!”
“Then you and Leron have much in common. Leron glanced at all the people still whispering and looking at the baby, unaware of the danger nearby. Their eyes were hopeful, and he wondered if they, too, felt the need to be saved. And there, right at the front, beside the baby’s parents and three richly dressed old men was the little girl whose father he had accidentally killed. Leron made up his mind.”
“Oh, I pray he will be safe.” Hope scrambled to sit up.
“Leron rushed up to the crib. He heard a scream. Someone had seen him. It would not be long now, and it would all be over, his unhappiness, people’s revulsion of him. But before he died, he would save that baby, for the people with the whispers, and for the little girl who had lost her father. He leaped up and grabbed the viper with his forefeet and stung it with his tail— the hated tail that everyone feared. The snake writhed in pain and swung around to bite Leron, but he let go and scrambled under the manger.”
Nevara paused to take a deep breath.
“Then what happened?
“People shouted, now that they could see the snake. Finally, all was quiet. Someone moved the manger aside and Leron found himself the center of attention.”
“Oh, no!”
“The whispers began again, this time about him.”
“What did they say?”
“People looked at him with wonder in their eyes and they spoke of miracles. They talked of how the viper might have killed the baby if not for the scorpion. The awe in their eyes made him feel re-born. The baby cooed at Leron, and somehow, Leron understood that he had been forgiven. He understood then that his special abilities had been given to him as a blessing.”
“Oh!”
Nevara watched Hope digest this most important bit of the story before continuing.
“Someone brought a cloth bag and scooped Leron into it with a broom and carried him away. Leron rode for a long time inside that bag and when he was released, he found himself in the pasture beside the little girl’s house. Bushes and olive trees surrounded him and nearby, there was a pond by which he could play. From that day on, the little girl came to visit him every morning and they watched the sun come up, together.”
Nevara waited for Hope to say something in response to the end of her tale. The child frowned and then slid back under her covers. She closed her lids, but not before Nevara saw tears gather in her eyes.
Hope turned her back to Nevara. “’Night, Miss Wood.”
“Good night, dear.” The child’s response was a letdown. She had wanted the story to help Hope accept her powerful talent so she would feel like less of an outcast. Instead, she had made Hope cry. It was another disappointment to add to a long day of frustrations. She tucked the sheets around Hope’s shoulders and stood to leave. She had reached the doorway when Hope spoke.
“I liked that story,” the child said in a teary voice. “I liked it very much. Will you tell me another tomorrow?”
“If you wish,” she whispered, inordinately pleased that she had helped after all. “Now go to sleep.”
Her heart warmed to see Hope happy, like comforting a child of her own. That thought made her feel inordinately lonely, as if any chance of having a husband and children had slipped away.
Late into the night, Nevara lay awake in he
r bed. Her room was pitch black but for the dim light from the dying flames in the hearth. Helplessness settled around her as heavy as her covers. Hour upon hour, as her room cooled, she relived the day’s events, beginning with her unexpected meeting with Mark and ending with the disaster at the Terrances’ townhouse. Lord and Lady Terrance had been her last hope of making her way to Spain within the next six months. Now that, too, was gone.
She turned onto her side and chewed on her thumbnail. She lacked the necessary funds to pay for her passage. Sir Phillip would refuse to give her an advance, for he would guess how she intended to spend it.
A month ago, she had written to the captain of a ship called the Magdalena, enquiring about the cost of passage—twenty pounds for her and a maid to reach Cadiz. She would need that much again to return home. She would also need coins to sustain her while she journeyed to Seville and searched for information about the mark of evil laid on her family.
Her savings were closer to seven pounds than seventy. How could she get more? If she failed, would she remain this way forever? Cursed. Unmarried. Childless. Just waiting to receive that fateful letter from Mark’s grandmother, saying she was overjoyed to report that he was finally betrothed to a lovely girl, who was soon to give her many wonderful grandchildren.
Nevara turned over and a tear slid down her cheek. She thought about the story she had told Hope. Like Leron, Nevara, too, had a part of her that was deadly and frightening, a side of her that so disgusted Mark, he had stayed away from her for three years.
Unlike Leron, she refused to be at peace with the evil within herself. Yet, all paths to its removal seemed thoroughly blocked.
Or were they?
She sat up as a wild idea took hold. One that might, just might, help her pay for her passage to Spain.
Chapter Four
THE NEXT MORNING, Nevara slept late. No one disturbed her rest. When a ray of light struck her face, she was startled awake. A glance out the window suggested it was closer to mid-day than daybreak. She jumped out of bed, shocked by the lateness of the hour.
She washed and changed in a trice and went in search of a quick breakfast. She had much to do. Last night, Nevara had stayed up late to pen the story she had told Hope. Today, she was determined to find a publisher for it, one that would pay her enough to fund a voyage to Spain. Although this was not her day off, she had gone for several weeks without taking her allotted day, and was certain she could persuade Lady Roselyn to give her the rest of the morning.
She entered the breakfast parlor and found the entire family present and chatting in a lively fashion. She paused, surprised. They should have finished their meal by this hour.
What amazed Nevara most was the source of the loudest voice—little Hope Weatheringham. The child, who barely spoke five words while in company, now chattered non-stop.
At Nevara’s entrance, Hope jumped out of her chair with a squeal and ran to give Nevara a heartfelt hug. “I love you, Miss Wood.” Breaking her stranglehold around Nevara’s waist, Hope then dragged her by the hand toward the dining room table. “I have been telling everyone the story of Leron the Scorpion.” She seated Nevara between herself and Lady Roselyn. Across the table, Hope’s grandmother smiled, relief evident in her eyes.
Hope turned to Sir Phillip at the head of the table. “It is the bestest of stories, sir. Leron is a hero in the end. Did you know that? He saves a baby and everything. Everyone loves him even though he could still use his stinger.”
Lady Roselyn whispered. “She has been like this all morning. What have you done, Miss Wood?” She gave Nevara a curious look. “Surely it cannot be this tale? How could one little story make such a difference?”
Joy spread through Nevara at this news. She smoothed the hair on Hope’s head, as the child busily retold Sir Phillip of Leron’s bravery. So, she had indeed helped ease Hope’s troubles. For that, she was thankful. The moment of bliss faded swiftly, however, as she wondered if the story could prove as effective in ending her woes.
The door opened, and Stony announced a visitor.
Mr. Mark Alvaro.
Surprised, Nevara glanced up.
Mark’s powerful frame was perfectly camouflaged beneath the casual grace of a blue morning coat, matching patterned waistcoat, crisply starched cravat and light colored, form-fitting breeches over polished Hessians. His debonair appearance, with his delicious brown hair styled in a roman à la Titus mode, challenged even Sir Phillip’s elegance. Mark bowed and turned his devastating smile on her.
Her heart thumped like a silly school chit, while her mind grappled with her startling change in fortune. Two meetings in two days? After so many years of yearning for this Corinthian’s attention, what had she done to earn it now?
“Good Morning, Miss Wood,” he said.
If she were not sitting down, she might have slid to the floor in a ridiculous puddle of delight. His deep voice sent shivers up her back and she did not even mind that he addressed her so formally. “Good Morning.”
“I trust you are ready for our ride?”
“Ride?” She felt an imbecile, mimicking him.
Lady Roselyn came to her rescue. “You must accept our apologies, sir. We were distracted this morning and forgot to inform Miss Wood of your offer to take her up in your curricle.”
“Mr. Alvaro visited us last evening,” Sir Phillip said.
Stony had said something similar last night, about how Mark had stayed to speak to the Joneses for a lengthy time. Hopefully their talk had not included anything about Nevara’s past. Nobody knew of her difficult childhood and she hoped to keep it that way.
“He had much to say of interest,” Mrs. Weatheringham added with an inquiring look at Nevara. “When you return, we should discuss that.”
Nevara’s stunned mind began to tick again, like all of Lady Roselyn’s clocks had after the alliance moved into her home last year and worked to bring the place back to life.
She turned to Mark. “I am sorry I missed our appointment.”
“All that matters is that you are here now,” Mark said, “and, dare I hope, available to accompany me to the park?”
About to say a fervent yes, she realized that Mark’s unexpected suggestion of a ride placed her in a terrible dilemma. She had been prepared to beg the morning off and had obviously been given all the time she needed, but he expected her to spend it with him.
Considering Mark’s views on her traveling to Spain, he would be most displeased if she asked him to escort her to various publishing houses so she could try and earn the fare to board a ship bound for the Peninsula.
Also, having missed her evening out with him Nevara so wished to go riding in his curricle.
She still wanted more than one thin slice of his time, but sometimes a piece of pie could be as fulfilling as eating the whole. Indeed, she had dreamed of such a moment for years—Mark calling on her and wishing to spend time with her. Was it so wrong to want this?
“Yes,” Aunt Cora’s voice whipped at her from the grave.
Never! Her heart declared in defiance. How could mere friendship be wrong? And that was all she expected, for it was all Mark could want with her while she remained cursed. Her expectations were safely low. Practically non-existent.
“Nevara,” Mark’s gentle voice prodded, “would you do me the honor of accompanying me to Hyde Park?”
His warm expression loosened her aunt’s fierce hold on Nevara’s fears. “May I, Lady Roselyn?”
“Of course, take as much time as you like.” Lady Roselyn’s approving nod encompassed both Mark and Nevara. “Hannah may accompany you.”
Her mistress’s generosity thrilled Nevara. She had made the right decision and been twice rewarded. She could go with Mark, and likely still have time to search out a publisher afterwards. Saying she would be a moment, Nevara hurried upstairs.
/> MARK WAITED FOR Nevara beside the front door.
Stony gave him his hat and coat, but kept hold of Mark’s staff, observing its odd structure with avid curiosity.
For the past six months, this staff had resided in Mark’s attic, along with the rest of Miguel’s magical tools that his grandmother had shipped to Mark’s home. After learning that the Spanish witch was sniffing in their direction, Mark had a sudden yearning to hold this weapon. It was prudent to be prepared.
So this morning, Mark had fished the staff out from the bottom of a trunk. It had been buried beneath old wigs, cloaks and books. Taller than a regular walking stick, it was carved from ash and was ancient in appearance, with scorch marks attesting to a colorful past. This family heirloom had once belonged to the first Huntsman.
With Miguel gone—he shook off the sorrow that accompanied that thought—Mark was now its rightful wielder.
Having thoroughly examined the gnarled piece of wood, Stony tossed it up in the air, but it descended at an infinitesimally slower pace than gravity warranted, suggesting the footman was capable of magically lowering the staff.
Intrigued, Mark watched the descent to see if he could detect the spell used, but saw nothing he could define. At a guess, he would say that Stony was related to Sir Phillip’s housekeeper, whose magic Mark had witnessed last night when she had brought in the tea service.
Once the staff was again in his grip, Stony gave Mark a look reminiscent of his name. “Miss Wood be a good lass.”
Mark raised his eyebrow. Such a personal remark from a servant? Sir Phillip ran a strange household indeed.
“I would not like it if she were hurt.” Stony inched closer, towering over Mark.
“I have only her best interest at heart,” he said and held out his hand for his power staff.
Stony considered his words, then nodded in satisfaction and handed it over.
The ash tingled in Mark’s grip from Stony’s levitation of it. The harmonious vibration suggested the footman’s magic was not tainted by darkness. To Mark, it was one more confirmation that Nevara was safe within this household. He smiled at Stony in approval just as footsteps on the central stairs alerted him to Nevara’s return.
A Perfect Curse Page 6