The Bewitching Hour

by Diana Douglas

  Cecelia grinned. “She would, wouldn’t she? I thought she would swoon when she learned Mrs. Danfield is planning to introduce me to both Lady Jersey and Lady Pembroke at her ball.”

  “Are you nervous?” He knew how arbitrary the patronesses of Almack’s could be and though he had no doubt Cecelia would be accepted, being denied a subscription to the assemblies at Almack’s could be disastrous.

  “Yes,” she admitted.

  “You don’t have a thing to worry about.” As long as Aunt Mirabella behaves.

  A knock sounded at the door and Aunt Mirabella swept in. Stratton rose and pulled up a chair for her.

  “Hello, dears,” she said. “You must come see my little darlings. They’ve all had baths and they’re done up in blue and pink ribbons. It’s quite adorable. I was thinking, wouldn’t it be delightful to have their portrait painted? Though, I don’t know if it would be best to have them all together or have them done individually.” She noted Stratton’s scowl. “Oh, don’t frown so, Eugie.”

  As much as he wanted to avoid the subject of his aunt’s dogs he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “They are in perpetual motion, Aunt. How in the devil would you get them to hold still long enough to have their portraits painted?”

  She pursed her lips disapprovingly. “You simply must stop swearing. We can talk about the portraits later, but I must warn you that I’m quite determined. Now, what is it that you need? I’m hoping you want to discuss Cecelia’s ball. We really must get started on this.”

  “I hired an agency to take care of the majority of it," he said. "Most of the details have been decided.”

  “But it’s never too late to make improvements and I have some splendid ideas," she said with enthusiasm. "Of course they are a little expensive, but we shouldn’t trifle over money where Cecelia’s come out is concerned. I was thinking about the menu. I’ve found a book with recipes for all types of Indian dishes." Her voice rose an octave. "Did you know that they refuse to eat beef? But the curried goat sounded delicious. And we could decorate with an Indian theme, though I don’t have that quite worked out.”

  “Indian food is hot as Hades,” Stratton said between clenched teeth. “Not everyone will enjoy it. We should stay with what has been planned.”

  “But it’s important that Cecelia’s ball stand out from all the others. I’ve also considered an African theme, but I don’t know what type of food they eat in Africa. We could swath the ballroom in mosquito netting, though. Doesn’t that sound marvelous?” She smiled brightly as she looked from Stratton to Cecelia back to Stratton again. Cecelia had gone quite pale.

  “Marvelous,” he remarked. “We could import a few monkeys to entertain our guests. And what would you think about elephant rides? That could work with an Indian theme, as well.”

  She lowered her brow as if actually considering the idea. “Dear, that would be terribly impractical.” Then she smiled and wagged her finger at him. “You always were such a tease.”

  Stratton returned the smile, but inside he was groaning. Other than showing up and playing the part of the gracious host, he hadn’t intended to involve himself in Cecelia’s ball, but it was clear that with his aunt’s penchant for the peculiar, he would need to put a stop to her outlandish ideas. “We do need to discuss the ball but that isn’t precisely what I wished to chat about at the moment.”

  He stopped as Reeds carried in a tea tray with a decanter of Ratafia, three glasses and a plate of sliced almond cake and placed it on the desk.

  “Thank you,” he murmured, grateful for the extra few moments in which to compose what he wanted to say.

  Aunt Mirabella beamed at him. “How thoughtful of you. I do adore Ratafia and almond cake. Why, when Lord Fitzberry and I were first married, we went through three cooks before we found one who could make a decent almond cake. It’s fortunate Agnes shared her recipe before the Good Lord took her. Though she didn’t actually share it. I had one of the kitchen girls discretely observe her make it until she knew the recipe by heart. Agnes was an unusual woman. Can’t say she was at all pleasant. She was a bully, really. Terrified most of the servants. In fact, she absolutely terrified Lord Fitzberry. The dear man had no backbone, whatsoever.” She took the glass Stratton handed her. “Thank you, Eugie. But you must have some as well.”

  He tried to suppress a shudder as he shook his head. He found the sweet concoction revolting. “No, thank you.” Waiting until she took a sip, he took full advantage of the momentary lapse in conversation and said, “I wanted to talk to you about Cecelia’s wardrobe. She’s a little concerned about the colors and some of the styles you’ve chosen.”

  He looked over at Cecelia who was nodding. “Madame Claudette said I should wear pastels or white my first season and that the styles should be simple.”

  Aunt Mirabella pursed her lips. “Nonsense. It doesn’t hurt to bend the rules a bit. And the colors I chose weren’t overly bright.”

  “Even so, I don’t care for most of the gowns you’ve selected, Aunt Mirabella,” Cecelia said. “I won’t feel comfortable wearing them. Something simpler would be more to my taste. Madame Claudette said she could easily change some of the gowns you’ve chosen for me.”

  “But my dear,” Aunt Mirabella interrupted. “That just wouldn’t do. You must trust my judgment in this. I’ve promised your mother I would do everything I could to make your coming out a success. There are so many young women coming out this year and you need to make an effort to stand out. I don’t mean to be critical, but Cecelia, your taste in clothing is a little plain. I so wish you would listen to me and take my advice. As I said, I did make your dear mother a promise.”

  Stratton saw the muscles in his sister’s face twitch and cursed beneath his breath. It appeared Cecelia had finally had enough. Bloody hell, they’re going to have a go of it.

  But instead, she clamped her jaw shut and looked down at her lap a moment as she obviously struggled to maintain her composure. When she looked back up she wore a strained smile. It was all Stratton could do to keep from applauding her heroic efforts.

  “I have to agree with Cecelia, on this. I’m sending a note to Madame Claudette to inform her that I will not pay for anything I haven’t personally approved. I’m also keeping an eye on the necklines,” he added as he looked pointedly at his sister. “That said, there will be no more discussion of wardrobes, today. I’ve got far too much to do.”

  “Well, if your mind is made up,” Aunt Mirabella said. “I suppose I’ll have to go along with it. I don’t, however, agree.”

  Stratton relaxed, though he knew for certain that the battle wasn’t over. Their aunt was nothing if not resolute. “So noted,” he said.

  “I must get back to my darlings.” She slowly rose from her chair. “The servants haven’t the vaguest idea how to go about properly grooming them. Lorna brushed Ulysses so hard, the poor dear was trembling.”

  Stratton stood and moved over to hold the door for his aunt as she left.

  “Have a pleasant afternoon, Aunt Mirabella.” He bowed gracefully.

  “Thank you, Eugie.” Her tone was frosty. “You do the same.”

  Cecelia waited a few moments before saying, “I believe you’ve just worked a miracle. I didn’t expect her to concede so quickly.”

  He sank back in his chair. “I haven’t worked a miracle, Cecelia. All I’ve accomplished is a brief reprieve. And we still have the ball to contend with. Before she begins her second assault, I suggest that you and Madame Claudette take advantage.”

  She smiled with appreciation. “Thank you. Melly can come with me. I’ll get changed and go pay Madame Claudette a visit.

  Chapter Three

  Three days later, Stratton was beginning to think that shooting young Lord Bertram was a fine idea. Bertram had been dogging his heels for the better part of the morning. Had he not been so disgruntled at the paces he was being put through, he might have admired the young man’s resolve.

  It was an untenable situation. Bertram was
insisting that he inform him of his misdeed and as Stratton had no intention of telling him about his ill thought out flirtation with Miss Hawthorn, he was in a quandary. Avoiding Bertram seemed the only answer and he had spent the past twenty minutes ducking in and out of various shops trying to evade discovery.

  It had begun as a perfectly decent day. He had breakfasted early while Aunt Mirabella and his sister were still in bed asleep. There had been no arguments to mediate and he was able to enjoy his eggs and sirloin in peace. The mongrels were locked up and there were no yapping little creatures nipping at his heels. The weather was sunny with a bit of a chill in the air and a clear blue sky so rarely seen in London. All in all, he was off to a fine start. His plans were to visit his tailor and boot maker and spend a few quiet hours at Whites reading the newspapers. But his plans were thwarted the moment he had spotted Bertram.

  Swearing beneath his breath, Stratton realized Bertram was gaining ground. If the lad got much closer, he wouldn’t be able to avoid another altercation. He ducked into the closest establishment, hoping he hadn’t been seen.

  The shop appeared deserted. He crouched behind a shoulder-high wooden partition separating the display window from the shop, his face blocked by a bit of pink fluff. He watched and waited, holding his breath as Bertram passed the shop. The young lord appeared intense, his eyes darting as the scanned the area. Halfway down the block he stopped, threw his hands up in the air, then turned down Brook Street and disappeared. Stratton lingered a few moments longer before he stood up.

  “I quite like the blue one. Could you shorten the netting a bit?”

  The soft feminine lilt was unmistakable. A grin spread across his face. He crept to the rear of the shop where she stood talking with the shop girl. If anything, she was even more appealing than he remembered. Bareheaded, her golden hair was piled on her head with a few loose curls brushing against her face and neck. Her cheeks bloomed with color. The pale blue velvet gown she wore skimmed her breasts and fell gracefully to the top of her ivory kid boots. Her delicate hands were encased in matching kid gloves studded with seed pearls. How wonderfully enticing.

  “Miss Hawthorn.” He bowed gracefully. “How delightful to see you, again.”

  Obviously startled, Priscilla’s hand flew to her breast as she took a step back. She recovered quite quickly and dipped a slight curtsy as she inclined her head. “Lord Stratton.”

  The plump, dark haired shop girl curtsied. “May I help you, my lord?” she asked.

  Stratton looked around and realized that the tiny shop was quite elegant with mirrored walls and carried nothing but hats. Hats trimmed with feathers and flowers, frills and lace.

  “This is a milliner. For ladies,” he said slowly. For some reason, the discovery surprised him.

  “That’s very astute of you, my lord,” Priscilla remarked with a degree of sarcasm. “I must say I’m surprised to see you here. Were you looking for anything in particular?”

  He grinned. “Something quite daring, I suppose.” He glanced around the shop until his eyes rested on the pink feather headdress in the window he had hidden behind. It was particularly atrocious. London should be saved from such a monstrosity. He motioned to the shop girl. “I’ll take that one. The pink one in the window.”

  Eyes wide, she repeated, “The pink one, my lord?”

  “Yes, the pink one. If you would be so kind as to wrap it up, or box it, or whatever it is you do with a lady’s hat.” He pulled a few notes from his pocket. “Will this cover it?”

  “Oh yes, my lord.”

  He watched her remove the hat from the window then scurry to the back of the room before he turned to Priscilla. “You seem quite astonished, Miss Hawthorn. Is there some reason I shouldn’t buy that hat?”

  Recovered from the shock of his unexpected appearance, Priscilla barely refrained from bursting out in laughter. Instead, she pretended to consider his question a moment, then shook her head. “I suppose not. Unless, of course, you plan on wearing it. I don’t believe it would be very flattering.”

  "There’s no chance of that. Pink isn’t my color.” He leaned a little closer. “It’s quite fortunate that I’ve run into you this morning. Several days ago, I became acquainted with your fiancé and he's become quite the nuisance.”

  Certain she must have misunderstood him, she asked, “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’ve been doing my best to avoid your young Lord Bertram. I didn’t realize you were betrothed.”

  Bertie? She stared at him a moment. Judging by his expression, he didn't appear to be joking. “To Bertie?”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “Yes.”

  How utterly absurd. Priscilla’s gloved hand flew to her mouth. “You believe I’m betrothed to Bertie?” she managed to choke out.

  “He’s quite upset with me for upsetting his sweetheart and you were rather disconcerted with me the other day.” He stopped as her words seemed to sink in. “You aren’t betrothed to the lad?”

  “Heavens, no." Her shoulders were quivering with laughter as she shook her head. "He’s betrothed to my cousin, Miss Mary Dearborn. She’s been somewhat indisposed of late and has told Bertie that you’re in some way responsible for her decline. I knew he said he meant to take issue with you about it, but I didn’t really think he would try and find you. I suppose that was wishful thinking on my part.”

  The gray eyes widened. “I don’t even know your cousin. How could I be responsible for her decline?”

  She studied his face, looking for signs of deceit, but all she could focus on was how devilishly handsome he was. With his sun-bronzed complexion, heavy dark brows and beautifully sculpted features, he managed to look both elegant and rugged at the same time. She had the feeling he would be just as comfortable in the wilderness as he would on a ballroom dance floor. Perhaps, even more so.

  "Miss Hawthorne?"

  Startled, she tried to collect her thoughts. Had she been staring? It wouldn't do for him to believe she actually liked him. Because she didn't. Not one bit. She cleared her throat. "Yes?"

  Head tilted, he peered at her with a mixture of confusion and curiosity. “I would appreciate it if you could tell me what this is about. Frankly, he's getting on my nerves.”

  She wasn't looking forward to explaining the muddle Mary had created. Hoping to discourage him, she gave a tiny shrug of her shoulders. "I'm afraid Bertie has that effect on people. He can be terribly intense. He should calm down in another day or so.”

  “I don't share your optimism.” He made no attempt to hide the exasperation in his voice. “I’ve managed to put him off but I don’t want to spend every wretched minute of the season trying to avoid him. He has been chasing me for the past two days, insisting on hearing my misdeed as he doesn’t seem to know what has upset your cousin so. As I don’t know either, I couldn’t enlighten him." His gaze sharpened. "Miss Dearborn has created quite a mess. I suggest you tell me what you know.”

  Priscilla realized she had no choice but to explain. "Very well." She took in a breath. “My cousin said she wrote you several letters about three years ago.” Priscilla glanced over her shoulder at the shop girl who was busy with Stratton’s purchase. She lowered her voice. “Compromising letters that could ruin her reputation. As absurd as it sounds, she's afraid they will come to light.”

  He looked at her in obvious astonishment. “That’s ludicrous!" She shushed him and he brought his voice down to a loud whisper. "I don’t remember receiving any letters, but even if I had, why would I deem it worth my time to ruin her reputation?”

  It was a legitimate question. Priscilla silently vowed that the next time Mary came to visit, she would lock herself in her bed chamber. “I don't know. Unfortunately, she left town and isn't here to help straighten things out, though she would likely only make matters worse. She can be rather difficult, but I suppose you've figured that out by now. I don't understand what she could have been thinking to set all this in motion." She stopped to catch her breath. "I'll talk to
Bertie. I won’t mention the letters, but perhaps I can reason with him. Make him see how foolish his behavior is.”

  “No, that won't do at all." His tone was too firm for her liking. “He doesn’t need a set down by a woman. It would only make things worse.”

  “I’ve known Bertie most of my life," she argued. "He’ll listen to me.”

  He lightly touched her arm, his fingers warm against her skin. “Only another male can comprehend the nature of a young man’s thoughts in a case such as this. If you were to imply you believed he was behaving foolishly, he would only become more determined to prove his gallantry." His hand fell to his side; his smile held a touch of irony. "This is a matter of pride for him. I’ll come up with something.”

  Priscilla regarded him a moment and decided that Bertie was likely foolish enough for this to be true. “Very well.” she relented. “For the moment, I shall stay out of it.” She paused as a thought came to her. “I made a point of not giving you my name. How did you learn who I was?”

  “I described you to Mr. Danfield and he knew who you were immediately.” An unexpected glint of laughter flickered behind his eyes as he spoke.

  Sensing there was more to his answer than she wanted to know, her cheeks warmed. “I don’t see how, but it’s of no matter at this point. I really must leave. More customers will be in soon and I don’t wish to start tongues wagging.” She looked over her shoulder and smiled graciously at the shop girl who was pretending not to notice them.

  Stratton placed his hand on his heart and making no attempt to keep his voice down, said, “How cruel of you to deprive me of your company. I would be more than happy to see you home.”

  Priscilla had no doubt the girl, as well as her maid who was sitting by the back door, had heard every word he said. She lifted her chin a notch. “Thank you for the kind offer, but no, I would prefer to walk.”