The Bewitching Hour

by Diana Douglas

  “No, my lord.”

  “Then unless Cecelia has crawled out the window in her night clothes, she’s still in her chambers.” He looked down at the squirming dogs who seemed on the verge of exploding. “Sit,” he ordered. “Reeds, get these bloody animals out of here. I’ll be with Cecelia a few minutes, but I want them gone when I come back.”

  “Of, course, my lord,” Reeds said. “I’ll retrieve the leashes and bring additional servants.” He bowed and hustled down the hall.

  He glanced at his valet. “And I want a bath made ready.”

  Johnson nodded. “I’ll see that hot water is sent up, my lord.”

  “No,” Stratton said sharply. “Not hot water. Cold water. And coffee, toast and the morning paper.”

  The valet looked surprised but went off to do as he was bid.

  Stratton eyes fell on his aunt. Her normal coloring had returned. “Have you recovered, Madame?”

  She nodded slowly and her mouth opened and shut several times before the words came out. “Oh, Eugie,” she said with a soft high trill. “You should have seen yourself. That silly little kitten perched on top of your head. It was so adorable. If only your mother had seen you. I simply must write her.” She broke into peals of hysterical laughter.

  “I’m pleased you find it so amusing,” he muttered. “I would hate to think it was all for naught.” He stuck the kitten in the crook of his arm and headed towards Cecelia’s chamber.

  The frightened kitten mewed as he pounded on Cecelia’s door.

  “Hush,” he ordered. “I’m not hurting you.” Good God, I’m talking to a cat.

  No one answered.

  He pounded again. “I know you’re in there, Cecelia. I’m coming in whether you want me to or not.”

  “I’m resting.” Her voice was tentative.

  “Not anymore.” He tried the knob and the door swung open.

  Cecelia was curled up on a blue and gold chaise lounge. “I should have locked the door.”

  “It would have served no purpose. Mrs. Simpson has a key.” He held out the mewing kitten and walked toward her. “I take it you lost something.”

  “Poor kitty.” She took the kitten from him and rubbed her cheek against its fur. “Those awful dogs scared you to death, didn’t they?” She looked up at her brother. “She got loose.”

  He folded his arms and looked at her. “Obviously.”

  “I thought Melly had taken her outside so I didn’t look for her. Then I heard the dogs and you in the hallway.” She broke off. “You didn’t sound very happy.”

  “Imagine that.”

  “I more or less reasoned out what happened. I thought it best if I stayed in here until you weren’t quite so unhappy.”

  He continued to stare at her. “Coward.”

  She took in a breath. “You have to let me keep her, Eugene. I found her in the middle of the road, yesterday. She was meowing so piteously. I couldn’t leave her there; she would have been run over.”

  “It likely has fleas.”

  “But she doesn’t,” she protested. “Melly checked her over and couldn’t find a single flea.”

  “Even so, it should still stay outside.”

  “But she’s so little and the tom that stays in the stables is very territorial. He won’t want a kitten around.” She set the kitten down beside her and picked up a ball of yarn. ”And it still gets cold at night. I’m afraid she’ll run off if we keep her outside all the time. She can stay in my room.”

  “The cat can’t stay in here, Cecelia. I found out first-hand how sharp those claws are. She’ll ruin your drapes and furnishings.”

  “Could she stay in the kitchen?”

  “No.” He watched as the kitten pawed at the yarn Cecelia dangled in front of her.

  “Please Eugene. Don’t be mean about this.”

  Looking into her pleading eyes he felt his resolve begin to weaken. He sat down on the edge of her chaise and said, “I’m not being mean. I’m being practical. You can’t adopt every stray creature that wanders in your direction. We will soon be overrun.”

  “But she’s the only stray I’ve taken in since we’ve been here,” she protested.

  “We’ve been only been here a few weeks. At this rate we’ll have a menagerie by the end of the season. And that’s not counting Aunt’s mongrels.”

  She frowned. “That’s unfair. I had nothing to do with bringing her dogs here.”

  “True, but it doesn’t change the fact that they are here. They run amuck creating havoc wherever they go. I don’t want it to get any worse.”

  “Please, Eugene. You won’t even know she’s here. I promise.”

  “Wipe that pitiful expression off your face, Cecelia." He sighed with resignation. “We’ll do this on a trial basis. If she claws the furniture, she goes. She sleeps in the servant’s quarters, not in here. And you have to keep her away from those damned dogs.”

  “Thank you.” Cecelia crawled up on her knees and gave her brother a hug. “Did you hear that, Ashley? You get to stay with us.” She settled back against the pillows and picked the kitten up again. It began to purr loudly. A small, pink tongue darted out to lick her hand.

  As he watched, some of his ill humor drained away and his expression softened. “You didn’t waste any time in naming her. Why Ashley?”

  “She looks as if she’s been rolling around in ashes.”

  He nodded then did his best to look stern. “There will be no more animals brought into this house.”

  “I promise.”

  “Good.”

  She set the kitten on the floor and laughed with delight as it scampered sideways across the rug in search of some invisible prey.

  “Isn’t she adorable?”

  He thought of Mirabella’s remark and said dryly, “Adorable.”

  “Will I see you at breakfast?”

  “No, I have something else I need to do.” He left her room and headed toward his own chambers where a cold bath awaited him. At this rate, the morning didn’t seem likely to improve.

  Chapter Ten

  Stratton impatiently checked his watch, then grumbled to Cecelia, “What in the blazes is taking Aunt Mirabella so long? We’ve been standing in the foyer for at least fifteen minutes.”

  “I imagine she’s still fussing over the hat she bought yesterday. I swear it looks as if she has a flamingo sitting on her head. It’s enough to make one shudder.” She grimaced. “Sometimes she can be so embarrassing. I can’t help but wonder what people think.”

  He smiled sympathetically. “I know, but you may as well resign yourself to the fact that there’s nothing to be done about it. Most of the ton accepted Aunt’s oddities years ago. Her peculiar sense of style is no reflection on you. Actually,” he stepped back to get a better look as he nodded approvingly at her attire; a pale lavender gown trimmed with white ribbons, a lavender velvet cap and a single strand of pearls, “that gown suites you admirably. You look quite elegant tonight.”

  “Thank you. So do you.” She tilted her head and grinned. “Will you be looking for a bride this evening?”

  “No.” I believe I’ve already found one. “I’ll be far too busy growling at your suitors.”

  “I’m ready, dears.”

  Finally. Stratton glanced up to see his aunt carefully descending the stair case. He blinked in astonishment as all rational thought deserted him. Her stout form was encased in layers of pink and orange taffeta and the ensemble was topped off by an enormous headdress of pink ostrich feathers that clashed horrendously with her flaming red hair. Stratton opened his mouth but nothing came out.

  “I warned you,” Cecelia said beneath her breath. “I wonder how many ostriches had to give up their tail feathers to create that thing?”

  He slowly exhaled and said, “She was supposed to burn it. I told her to burn it.”

  Cecelia looked at him oddly. “Told who to burn what?”

  There was no point in explaining. He simply shook his head. “Never mind. I’ll tell
you later.” Then a little louder he added, “Aunt Mirabella, will I be receiving a bill for that hat?”

  “Well, of course you will, dear. Though it may be a bit of a shock. I’m afraid it cost a fortune. You don’t mind do you? It’s so dramatic. I adore it.”

  Mirabella was far from impoverished but when in town; she managed to divert most of her bills to the Stratton household account.

  “I figured as much,” he muttered. “Were there any others like it?”

  “I was assured there wasn’t another one like it in all of Britain.”

  Thank God.

  “Were you thinking of one for Cecelia?” she continued brightly. “It wouldn’t do for her to wear the same hat. After all, it’s very eye catching and people will remember it. Of course we could have it altered a little. As I said, it was frightfully expensive and it’s a shame to only wear it once. Having it remade would be an excellent idea. What do you think, dear?”

  Cecelia paled. “I look ghastly in pink, Aunt Mirabella,” she said with a touch of desperation in her voice.

  “Yes, that’s right,” Stratton agreed quickly. “She looks wretched in pink. Positively bilious.”

  “That’s utter nonsense, Eugie. She looks beautiful in pink. But of course we could always have the feathers dyed.”

  “Feathers make her sneeze,” he said emphatically. “Everyone will think she’s caught the ague if she wears feathers.”

  Cecelia nodded emphatically. “That’s true, Aunt Mirabella. They do make me sneeze terribly; my eyes get all watery and my nose gets stuffy. No one would ask me to dance if they thought I was ill. I’ll never find a husband that way.”

  “Oh, my. I didn’t know. You poor dear. What a dreadful shame. To not be able to wear feathers.” She shook her head. “They add such flair to one’s ensemble.”

  Stratton choked back a retort.

  “Are you alright, Eugie dear?'" She frowned at him. "You look as if you don’t feel well. I thought the ham didn’t look quite the thing at luncheon.”

  “I’m fine,” he assured her as he placed his hand on her shoulder and propelled her toward the door. “But it’s past time to leave. We’ve been late to every event so far. It’s rude and I don’t want to make a habit of it.”

  “Perhaps we should travel in separate carriages. I don’t want to make Cecelia ill. And I certainly can’t change my outfit at this point. It would take far too long.”

  “No, we don’t need separate carriages,” he said firmly as he guided her down the steps. “It won’t take more than twenty minutes to get there. That’s not long enough to make her sick.”

  “I’ll be fine, Aunt Mirabella,” Cecelia assured her as she followed behind. “I promise.

  “But dears, how can you be so certain?”

  “She can stick her head out the window if she needs to,” he said as he helped Mirabella into the carriage. “And I don’t want to hear another bloody word about it.”

  Mirabella pursed her lips as she settled herself in the seat. “You’ve been so irritable lately, Eugie. I’ve half a mind to write your mother.”

  “I’ll wager that it’s pheasant,” Lord Hamilton said to Olivia. “Yes, I’m almost certain it’s pheasant.”

  “Maybe.” Olivia wrinkled her brow as she considered his statement. “But I’m leaning toward squab. I believe Lady Almont is partial to squab. Whatever it is, it smells heavenly and I think it’s quite unfair to let these wonderful smells drift through the house when it’s at least another twenty minutes to dinner. I believe she does it on purpose.”

  “Mmm. I still think it’s pheasant.” Lord Hamilton sniffed the air once more. “With chestnut dressing and something with apples. And lobster.”

  “Yes. I’ll agree with you on the rest, but the pheasant I’m not so certain of.” She turned to Priscilla. “What do you think, Priscilla? Pheasant or squab?”

  Priscilla had been too engrossed in watching the guests arrive for Lady Almont’s dinner party to pay much attention as Lord Hamilton and Olivia speculated as to their dinner menu. It was a sizable gathering for a dinner party. She surmised that the guest list probably totaled fifty and it would be an absolute crush once the ball began. Enough that she and Lord Stratton could steal away for a little bit. Good Lord. The thoughts that man made her think! They were perfectly indecent. She felt a nudge in her side and realized that Olivia was talking to her.

  “I’m sorry, Olivia. I’m afraid I was wool gathering. What did you say?”

  “We were discussing the menu. Lord Hamilton has decided that we’re having pheasant, but I think we’re having squab. Which one of us do you think is correct?”

  Priscilla closed her eyes and gently sniffed the air. “Neither. It’s turkey.”

  “You know, Olivia,” Lord Hamilton said slowly. “She just may be right.”

  Olivia shook her head. “I still say it’s squab.”

  The spirited debate continued but their voices withdrew to the background as Priscilla returned to her own thoughts. Where was Lord Stratton? He had sent over a note stating he wasn’t free for an afternoon visit but would see her at Lady Almont’s dinner party this evening. She hadn’t realized how much she had been looking forward to his visit until she found out he wasn’t able to come. And she was more than a little annoyed that his absence affected her so.

  She turned her back to the door and tried to concentrate on the playful banter between Olivia and Lord Hamilton. But even with her back turned, the moment Stratton guided his aunt and sister into Lady Almont’s drawing room, she knew he was there. It was uncanny. Her pulse quickened and a tremor of expectation coursed through her veins as she turned and watched him greet their hostess.

  Everything about him bespoke a simple elegance. He was fashionably attired in a dark gray jacket and trousers in lieu of the black evening wear he had worn previously. His white cravat was simply tied and his hair was combed back from his forehead. Though half a head taller than most of the men in the room, the aura of power and strength he possessed had nothing to do with his size. It was a characteristic she found both comforting and a little frightening. He leaned over and spoke to Mirabella who bobbed her head as she spoke, striking him full in the face with an explosion of pink ostrich feathers.

  Priscilla let out an involuntary gasp followed by an inelegant snort of laughter. She had been so engrossed in watching Stratton that she had missed seeing the hat. His intent to save London from the pink feathered headdress had been thwarted. How had Lady Fitzberry managed to get a hold of it?

  Stratton looked up, met her gaze and grinned. Not even a face full of pink fluff seemed to disconcert the man.

  “Oh, my,” Olivia murmured. “Isn’t that an unusual hat Lady Fitzberry’s wearing?”

  Lord Hamilton cleared his throat. “Quite unusual.” He peered over his wire rimmed glasses. “Do you suppose it can fly?”

  “Possibly in a strong wind,” Olivia replied. “It looks terribly ungainly, though. I doubt it would get very far.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “It would be quite an interesting sight, though.”

  Up until this point Priscilla had managed to control her laughter, but the thought of the pink monstrosity taking off in flight and circling the drawing room was more than she could deal with. She burst into a fit of giggles which she quickly tried to hide by coughing.

  Lord Hamilton looked at her with concern. “I say, do you need a slap on the back or a glass of water?”

  She removed her hand from her mouth as she shook her head. “No, my lord. I’m quite recovered.”

  “Is the young lady with Lord Stratton his sister?” Olivia asked. “She’s very striking, isn’t she?”

  Priscilla nodded “Yes. I met her at Mrs. Danbury’s ball. She’s very sweet.”

  “It’s good to see young Lord Stratton back in town,” Hamilton commented. “A bit wild in his youth, but he appears to have settled down. Exceptionally capable. The earl’s left just about everythin
g in his hands from what I’ve heard. An excellent catch, I would think. More than a few young ladies will have their eye on him.”

  “I don’t think they’ll have much of a chance,” Olivia murmured to him as she nodded her head first at Priscilla and then Stratton.

  The attraction between the two was almost palpable. As he herded his aunt and sister toward them they were waylaid by guests every few yards, but Stratton’s eyes rarely left Priscilla. And hers never left his.

  “I believe you have a point,” Hamilton returned. “Has he spoken to you of his intentions?”

  “No, but I expect he will very soon,” she said quietly.

  Once the party reached them, introductions were made and Mirabella, who was agog with excitement over seeing her old school friend, spent a great deal of time nodding her head excitedly as she monopolized the conversation. Her plumes swished this way and that and though Priscilla and Olivia weren’t tall enough to be in danger of having their faces slapped by the bobbing headdress, Cecelia and both men were side-stepping and ducking with every toss of Mirabella’s head. Priscilla watched the scene wondering how much longer she could go before the dam broke and she gave in to hysterical laughter.

  Mirabella appeared not to notice. “You simply must come over for tea,” she said to Olivia. “We’ve years to catch up on. How many years has it been? I’m sure I don’t know. I can’t imagine why we haven’t run into each other. Though, I honestly don’t visit London too frequently. It’s quite an adjustment for my little ones. They’re very sensitive you know. If you and Miss Hawthorn could come for tea, it would be just lovely.”

  “We would be delighted to visit.”

  “Oh, that’s marvelous.”

  After a few more minutes of torture, Cecelia let out a sneeze and Stratton broke into Mirabella’s chatter. “Cecelia, I see that Mary Beth and some of your other friends are here. Why don’t you go say hello to them?”

  Cecelia’s face beamed with gratitude as she curtsied and gratefully excused herself.

  Then he turned to Priscilla. “Might I have a word with you, Miss Hawthorn?”