The Bewitching Hour

by Diana Douglas

  “My happiness isn’t certain. I’m wearing her down but she hasn’t agreed to marry me, just yet. I didn’t think tonight was the right time to press.” He stopped to consider Rand’s complaint. “You’ve never wanted to marry. Something you’ve made clear on numerous occasions. How could you be envious of something you’ve never even wanted?”

  Staring straight ahead, Rand took another drink and Stratton wondered if he were well on his way to becoming foxed. Rand enjoyed his drink as much as anyone, but he generally kept his wits about him. It had been years since he’d seen him deep in his cups.

  “My sire was the worst kind of libertine in all Christendom and as they say, the nut doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Rand said finally. “It isn’t wise for me to marry. If I did, chances are very good that I would be the same kind of husband my father was. Recklessly, openly unfaithful until the very end.”

  Stratton nodded knowing that a great deal of emotion lay beneath his friend’s statement. He kept his tone light. “Married men keeping mistresses is common enough. Not one I plan to indulge in, but a common practice nonetheless.”

  Rand looked at him a long moment then snorted. “You’re showing my father far too much kindness. You know as well as I that he was far from discrete with his affairs and my mother was terribly hurt and humiliated by it. No, that’s showing him too much kindness. In addition to his collection of mistresses, he whored around like a madman with every light skirt who crossed his path and didn’t care who knew it,” Rand said bitterly. “I swore I would never hurt anyone the way he hurt my mother.” He shook his head. “If she weren’t so loved by the ton and if we weren’t so damnably wealthy, his behavior would have deemed us outcasts from society long ago. I adore women, Stratton. I can’t keep my hands off them. But I’m afraid I could never be happy with just one. The trouble is I’m beginning to wish I could.” He took in a breath. “I won’t follow in his footsteps. The last person I want to be like is my father.”

  Stratton knew his friend well enough to know this would never happen. “Unless you’ve made a drastic change in your own moral code, you’re nothing like your father. You don’t make a practice of tumbling young innocents who don’t understand what you’re about. You haven’t been unfaithful because there hasn’t been anyone to be unfaithful to. You haven’t sired a passel of by-blows and you generously and discretely provide for the ones your father left behind when you could have easily turned your back on them.”

  “What else could I do? I couldn’t turn out the brats to fend for themselves. It isn’t their fault they were born bastards.” He shook his head. “The old man couldn’t keep his breeches fastened to save his life. Couldn’t take a moment to avoid impregnating some poor girl who had the misfortune to take his fancy. He made certain they were kept hidden away. Couldn’t remember their names. Didn’t even know how many there were when I asked him.”

  “The youngest must be what--around twelve years or so?”

  “Elizabeth’s fourteen.” In spite of his ill humor he chuckled. “She’s a bossy little thing. Planted her fist in Alexander’s face last year. He deserved it, too.”

  Stratton glanced over at him. “But that’s my point. She’s one of a dozen by blows your father sired and you know far more about them than he ever did.”

  “Eleven,” Rand corrected. “Eleven that I know of, anyway.”

  “Eleven,” Stratton amended. “Are they all still in Hampshire?”

  “Samuel is in Sussex, working for Danfield Shipping. Alexander, Michael and Richard are at Eton. The rest are in Hampshire.” He stopped abruptly. “I’m just so bloody sick and tired of pretending they don’t exist. Legitimate or not, they’re a part of my family. It isn’t so bad for the boys. They will learn a trade, have an income, most will probably end up working for me. And the girls will be well provided for but I can’t bring them to London and give them a season. It just seems damnably unfair.”

  “They have a good life,” Stratton pointed out as he turned onto Green Street. “It may not be all that you want for them, but it’s still a good life. Better than most.”

  Rand shrugged. “I suppose. Don’t mind me. As you said, I’m in a sour mood. Nothing April can’t put to right.” He took another pull on his flask.

  “You wouldn’t be foxed, would you?”

  “I’m not quite certain. I suppose I’ll find out when I attempt to find my way to the bedchamber.” A rumble of bitter laughter escaped his chest. “Or after.”

  A few minutes later they pulled up in front of the Green Street townhouse. Rand dropped his flask into his pocket and jumped to the ground, stumbling only slightly. “Must be all right,” he muttered as he steadied himself by grasping the door handle of the carriage. “Didn’t fall down.”

  “Shall I wait to see if you can make it to the door?”

  “If I’m to be humiliated by passing out on my doorstep, I would rather there be no witnesses.”

  Even so, Stratton watched as Rand made his way to the front door. Once the door was open, Stratton flicked the ribbons and headed for home.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Carefully holding the rose with one hand, Priscilla placed the pruning shears at an angle above the base of the stem and snipped. She held it up for inspection. The rose was lovely—a deep red bud that had just begun to unfurl its petals—and the scent was heavenly. She only needed a few more to complete the centerpiece Olivia had started. She placed the rose in her basket and moved over to the next bush to continue her search.

  “Miss. Lord Mallory, has come to call.”

  Startled by the butler’s voice, she almost dropped her shears. She turned to see Beldon cautiously avoiding a puddle left from an early morning shower. “Oh bother,” she muttered. Resuming her task, she snipped another rose and laid it in her basket. “Could you simply tell him I’m indisposed?” It wasn’t exactly a lie as she was disinclined to see him.

  “I could, miss, however I fear he has seen you through the window.” His tone was regretful. “He did seem most anxious to see you so I’m afraid I’ve taken the liberty of seating him in the drawing room.”

  The same drawing room that overlooked the garden, There was no chance that he hadn’t seen her. “I’ve only a few more roses to cut. Perhaps Mrs. Hutton could keep him company while I finish up.”

  For a fraction of a second, the butler appeared to smile. “Mrs. Hutton is indisposed.”

  Indisposed? Rubbish. It seemed unfair that Olivia could hide upstairs while she had to waste her time entertaining someone she had no desire to see. She owed him some degree of courtesy but he would have to wait until she finished. Beldon held the basket while she cut six more red roses. With a sigh of irritation, she stripped off her gloves and handed them to the butler. “Very well. I suppose I had best go see what this is about.”

  Without stopping to change her gown or tidy her hair, she entered the drawing room. Mallory was standing by the fireplace with a glass of sherry in his hand. His garb was as garish as always; a yellow and gold patterned vest and bright blue jacket, but she wondered at the serious expression he wore. He set his glass on a table and came toward her.

  She dipped a brief curtsy. “I had not expected you, my lord. I was taking cuttings in the garden and I fear you caught me unaware.”

  His gazed flickered over her. “You are lovely as always. I must apologize for the unannounced visit and also for neglecting you. I hope my absence hasn’t caused you too much difficulty. I’ve just returned from my estate in Kent.”

  Priscilla hadn’t even realized he had been gone. “I hope your trip was pleasant.”

  “Well enough, under the circumstances.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips and it was all she could do to not snatch it away. Instead she gestured to the most uncomfortable chair in the drawing room and indicated that he take a seat.

  “My mother hasn’t been well.” They both sat down and he made a show of straightening the ruffles that circled his wrists.

  “I’m
sorry to hear that,” she murmured, knowing that Lady Mallory’s ailments were nothing but a ploy to get her son to visit. “Please, give her my highest regards the next time you see her.”

  “I was hoping that the next time I visited her, you might be with me.”

  She stifled a groan. This was not going well, at all. She might as well get it over with. “You obviously have something on your mind. What may I do for you, my lord?”

  “I do have something on my mind. Something rather important.” He cleared his throat. “I understand that a young lady might not wish to appear over eager and that courting couples often resort to little games. I have on several occasions asked if you would do me the honor of accepting my proposal of marriage. You have not accepted my offer, yet, your refusal has not been outright. I want to assure you that my fondness for you is most sincere.” He held up a hand as she opened her mouth to protest. “Please, hear me out. There are a dozen young ladies who would be overjoyed to wear my betrothal ring, but I find my heart belongs to you.”

  Eyes gleaming with excitement, he added, “Think of it Miss Hawthorn. With you on my arm, we would sweep the ton by storm. Our company would be sought after; our children the most handsome, our entertainments the grandest. It’s time to put an end to this nonsense and move forward.”

  She knew perfectly well what he meant, but asked, “What nonsense would that be?”

  He blinked in surprise. “Why, this pretense that you don’t wish to marry me.”

  “I’m not pretending.” She folded her arms. “I don’t wish to marry you.” She paused. “I don’t wish to marry anyone.”

  He jumped up from his seat and turned away from her. When he turned back around a blotchy flush covered his face. “You take this independence of yours much too far. It’s unthinkable that a young lady would not want to marry. It’s expected. It’s necessary. It’s what a young lady of your station does.”

  Priscilla was so weary of the whole thing she wanted to scream that she loved another and send Mallory on his way. “I value your friendship, my lord. You are a fine man with many admirable qualities. And as you say, there are a number of young ladies who would be thrilled to make a match with you, but I am not one of them. I cannot say this more plainly. We would not suit.”

  His mouth fell open. “Of course we would suit. I am a man. You are a woman. We’re both of good breeding. We’re both pleasing to look at. We’ve shared many enjoyable moments together and there’s no reason why that shouldn’t continue. What more could you wish for? You would enjoy the prestige that comes with the Malory title. My ancestors came to this land…”

  Priscilla couldn’t take it another moment. Her ears snapped shut and though she could see that his mouth was moving, she managed to block out his rambling. God help the poor misguided creature who eventually married this man. She would likely die of monotony at a very young age.

  His voice cracked and he asked in anguish, “Miss Hawthorn, are you even listening? I am pouring my heart out and you appear to be a hundred miles away.”

  Thinking she would dearly love to be a hundred miles away, she said, “Forgive me."

  Hands in his pockets, he stared at her. And she stared back. He wasn't unattractive, but for the first time, she noted a slight puffiness to his jowls, eyes that seemed too small for his face, shoulders that were obviously padded beneath the tight jacket.

  “You must give me an answer.”

  Unless he had asked an additional question, she thought she already had.

  “Tell me there is hope for us.” He took three long steps and stood before her. "Please."

  Knowing she must bring this conversation to an end, she rose. “I don’t want to encourage you when there is no hope of marriage between us. We simply would not suit.” Those words again. How many times would she have to say them?

  A bitter smirk appeared on his face. “Tell me, my dear, do you and Lord Stratton suit?”

  The discomfort of his closeness was almost more than she could bear. She swallowed and gave a slight shake of her head. “No, we do not.”

  His hands lifted, then fell to his side. “You would prefer life as a spinster?”

  “I would prefer life free from a marriage I do not want.” The moment the words left her lips she sensed the hurt she had caused him and was sorry for it. A knot of guilt formed in her stomach.

  His eyes had gone flat. “Say no more, Miss Hawthorn. I bid you good day.” He bowed stiffly and stalked from the room.

  Stratton didn’t believe he could have possibly heard right. “She went where?”

  Rand winced and pressed his fingertips against his temples. “Bloody hell, Stratton, could you lower your voice? I’ve spent the past twenty-six hours trying to find out where my shipment of cotton is and I’ve got a devil of a headache. Bring me some more coffee, would you? I’ve sent most of the help out on errands. I didn’t want anyone to overhear our conversation.”

  Knowing he wasn’t likely to get any satisfactory answers until Rand had ingested a sufficient quantity of coffee, Stratton rose from the dining chair in Rand’s breakfast room and headed to the sideboard. He poured two cups of the steaming black brew and returned to the table.

  “Thank you.” Rand blew on his coffee to cool it, took a healthy swallow and set his cup gently into the saucer. “Miss Hawthorn went into Compton’s Curios. It’s a pawn shop masquerading as a curio shop.”

  “I know what it is. It’s the first place I looked when some of our plate went missing.” Stratton stared at his coffee and tried to compose his thoughts. “What were you doing there? It isn’t one of your usual haunts.”

  “I wasn’t. I had Harris keeping an eye on her. And before you decide to rip my head off, let me explain. Neither one of us can watch her twenty-four hours a day.”

  “I thought I told you to stay out of it.”

  Rand held up his hand to stop his friend’s impending rant. “You’re afraid she’s in some sort of trouble and since she won’t tell you what it is, someone needs to find out what she’s up to. It was easy enough to send Harris out. I keep him on retainer. He doesn’t ask questions and he’s good. Miss Hawthorn doesn’t know him and despite his size, he blends in very well with the background when he needs to.”

  “He is good,” Stratton conceded. “What did she do at Compton’s?”

  “She dropped off a parcel and left.”

  Stratton frowned as he thought. “She was at her solicitor’s office the other day. Do you suppose she needs money?”

  Rand shrugged. “She didn’t collect any money while she was there. As I said, she just dropped off a parcel and left.”

  “Did anyone of note go in after her?”

  “I don’t know. Harris had to decide whether to stay and watch the pawnshop or see that she got home safely. He followed her home.”

  “I suppose I can’t argue with that.” Stratton closed his eyes and tried to clear his head. “So what do I do? Confront her? Confront the shop owner? I’m almost afraid of what I’m going to find out though I can’t see her mixed up with anything illegal.”

  “No. I don’t think it’s as bad as all that, but I do think it would be best to keep an eye on her for the moment. Better let me keep Harris on her.”

  Stratton wasn’t so certain that he liked that idea. “I’ll do it.”

  Rand heaved a sigh of frustration. “Use that bloody aristocratic head of yours. It will look like you’re stalking her. Someone’s bound to notice. She's bound to notice.”

  “Very well.” He threw his napkin on the table. “I’m going to see if I can find out what this is all about.” Stratton rose abruptly, tipping his chair over on its side.

  “Christ!” Rand winced as the wood clattered against the floor. “Was that absolutely necessary?”

  “Sorry.” Stratton picked up the overturned chair. “You should get some sleep.”

  Rand waved him away. “No time for that. See what you can learn from your lady-love. I’ll be at my office if you need me
.”

  Beldon eyed him with a dubious expression. “Mrs. Hutton is away from home, my lord. I shall see if Miss Hawthorn is receiving.”

  It seemed that the butler had not forgotten their last encounter—not that Stratton gave a damn what the butler thought. He rested his foot on the door jam. “You must realize, Beldon, whether or not Miss Hawthorn says she’s receiving is of no consequence,” Stratton said. “I’ll scale the wall, if needed, so you may as well let me in.”

  Beldon moved aside and allowed Stratton into the entrance hall. “If you’ll wait just a moment, my lord, I’ll let her know that you’ve come to call.”

  The viscount shook his head. “You will not. You may take me to her now, or I shall find my own way.”

  Beldon sighed deeply. “As you wish. Come this way.”

  Stratton followed Beldon up the stairs and down the same hallway he had traveled the week before. They stopped outside Priscilla’s private parlor and Stratton rapped on the door.

  “Come in.”

  Stratton pushed the door open. Priscilla sat in a chair by the window, with an open book in her lap. If she were surprised to see him it wasn’t apparent. She gazed at him while addressing the butler. “Thank you, Beldon. If we decide we’d like tea, I’ll ring for it, but I don’t believe Lord Stratton has come for tea.”

  “You’re right, Miss Hawthorn. I haven’t come for tea.”

  “And shut the door, please,” she added. “I’ll be quite alright.”

  The door closed and Stratton listened as the butler’s footsteps faded down the corridor.

  He picked up a chair, set it by the window facing Priscilla and sat. “Tell me, Miss Hawthorn, what idiocy persuaded you to go to Compton’s? It’s practically in the stews. God only knows what could have happened while you were there.”

  She looked down at her lap. “So much for pleasantries.”

  “I’m not feeling particularly pleasant at the moment.”

  “That’s obvious.”

  “What do you expect me to do?” He folded his arms across his chest. “Stand back and observe with detachment while you behave in a reckless manner that puts body and soul at risk?”