The Bewitching Hour

by Diana Douglas

  Priscilla regarded him carefully before she answered. “Lavender, honeysuckle, roses, azaleas and alyssum. What’s amiss?”

  “Have you started your monthly courses?”

  Her face went from concerned to horrified, and then to the bright red of embarrassment. “You shouldn’t ask me that,” she whispered aghast. “We’re not even married, yet. I don’t think you’re supposed to ask that even if we are married.”

  He was surprised. He hadn’t expected embarrassment. “Oh for heaven’s sake, Priscilla, don’t get prudish on me now. We’ve been more intimate than some couples who have been married for years.” He made no attempt to hide the impatience in his voice. “Have you?”

  She shook her head. “No, not yet.”

  “When are you due?” he pressed.

  Bewildered, she stared at him.

  Realizing this would accomplish nothing, he gentled his voice. “When?”

  She lowered her gaze and answered in a small voice, “Not until next week. But I’m not always on time.”

  He reached out and caressed her cheek before resting his hands on the soft curve of her shoulders. “Listen to me, love. There isn’t time to post the banns. I've arranged for a special license. We need to by married by Wednesday or Thursday. Though tomorrow would really be best,” he added quietly.

  “But why?”

  He sighed. “I don’t know the best way to go about telling you this so I suppose I’ll tell you straight out. I let my guard down and Bertram caught up with me. He called me out this morning. I gave him every chance to back out. We’re to meet Saturday at dawn.”

  The color drained from her face as she stared at him. “A duel? Bertie challenged you to a duel?” She shook her head vehemently. “No. Tell him you won’t do it!”

  “I tried to convince him otherwise. I asked him to write Miss Dearborn to attempt to clear this muddle up. I gather he did but she hasn’t responded to his letters.” He grimaced. “The lad just wouldn’t back down. He gave me no choice.”

  “But why? Why couldn’t you just walk away? Why did you have to say anything?”

  “It wasn’t quite that simple. The only other witness was Rand, but Bertram claimed he would call me out in front of a room full of witnesses if I refused and that would be far worse. It would negate any chance I have of avoiding this and I am still trying to come up with a way to accomplish that. But if I can’t, it doesn’t have to be a catastrophe. I will shoot to miss and I seriously doubt his shot will come anywhere close to me.”

  She swayed unsteadily on her feet.

  He caught her by at the waist and steered her in the direction of a bench in the corner of the garden. “You need to sit down. You look as if you are about to swoon.”

  “That’s ridiculous," she said as she angrily swept her skirts aside and sat down on the bench. "I don't swoon.”

  He allowed himself a slight smile as he sat beside her. “I beg your pardon, my love. It wasn’t my intention to imply that you were missish, but these are somewhat unusual circumstances and you do seem a trifle upset.”

  “Of course I am, but what has this to do with our getting married?” she asked. “I don’t understand.”

  "I don't want to wait to marry you. I want you in my house, under my protection, now." He gazed at her a moment and then added softly, “If there’s even the slightest chance that you’re carrying our child, I will not go into a duel with you still unmarried.

  She looked up at him. “But surely you don’t believe he could kill you? He’s a horrid shot. He hates pistols.”

  “Bertram is completely inept and far more apt to shoot himself in the foot than me. The possibility is miniscule but I won’t take the risk of leaving...”

  “But you mustn’t risk it at all! I’m not the one whose life is in danger.” Her eyes blazed with anger. “And I can’t very well be under your protection if you’re dead.”

  He laid his hand over hers. “The risk is next to nothing.”

  She snatched her hand away. “Mary has no idea how much trouble she has caused. I don’t know if there’s time for it to do any good or not but I’m going to write her. It all seemed so ridiculous and I thought you could continue to put him off until Mary returned.” She covered her face with her hands. Then they fell to her lap and she glared at him. “This is idiotic. What does Bertie expect to accomplish? I’ll talk to him. Make him see how ludicrous this is.”

  “No. You will not talk to him. And you will not write Miss Dearborn,” he said firmly. “Some things are best handled between men.”

  “You talk as if the two of you have done such a marvelous job of it,” she retorted bitterly. “And he isn’t a man. He’s an overgrown boy who doesn’t have a bit of sense. I must convince him this is sheer madness. And if I can’t convince him, maybe Uncle Jack can.”

  “Stay out of it, Priscilla.” His voice grew sharp with exasperation. “You mustn’t speak to either one. Bertram will be humiliated if you interfere and if this nonsense gets out your cousin could be ruined. The ton will think the worst. They’ll never believe that this is all over nothing more than a young woman’s overactive imagination. I could survive the scandal. Miss Dearborn would have a much more difficult time of it. I’m not sure why I even care but I don’t want to see her reputation ruined over this. I wouldn’t have told you but I wanted you to understand why we need to marry quickly. I will not discuss it with you any further. I will handle it.”

  “You are behaving like a tyrant.”

  “Perhaps, but I don’t make a habit of it.” He smiled. “I’m usually fairly easy to live with.”

  She shook her head. “Men are idiots.”

  “On occasion,” he allowed.

  That earned him a glare. “This is illegal. You could be arrested.”

  “Highly unlikely. The magistrates tend to look the other way unless…”

  “Unless someone dies,” she finished.

  “Have a little faith in me.”

  “I don't appear to have a choice,” she said.

  He touched a strand of golden hair that had escaped her bonnet. “Will you marry me tomorrow?”

  She nodded.

  “Good. We’ll be married at noon in a small church just north of Marleybourne. There’s an inn down the street where we can have dinner and stay the night, but we’ll need to come home Wednesday as Cecelia is to be presented that afternoon and her ball is on Friday.”

  Without looking at him, she said, “Life must go on.”

  There was one last unhappy subject to broach. “We can't keep our marriage a secret forever," he said. "There's no way to know how the person blackmailing you will respond. You'll need to be prepared for that.”

  She turned her head quickly and pinned him with a glare. “You can't tell anyone. Not yet. It would completely overshadow Cecelia’s presentation and ball. We can’t do that to her.”

  He hadn't stopped to consider how this might affect his sister. “You’re right. We can’t." He paused. "I’m sorry you’re not having the kind of wedding you wanted, love. But once the season is over, we can have a honeymoon. We’ll go wherever you want.”

  Huffing with frustration, she tossed him an incredulous look. “Do you really think I care about a lavish wedding or a honeymoon right now? Do you really think that’s what’s important to me?”

  “No.” He shook his head slowly. “I don’t.”

  “I would marry you tomorrow with or without this stupid duel. But don’t you dare make me a widow.” The sheen in her eyes became tears that spilled down her cheek. “Don’t you dare leave me.”

  Stratton brushed her tears away with the pad of his thumb and spoke gently, “I don’t plan to, love. But you must promise me something. Promise you won’t speak of my appointment with Bertram to anyone. It will only make things worse.”

  The line of her jaw was rigid. “Appointment? What a genteel way to phrase masculine stupidity.”

  He understood her anger, but it didn't change matters. She had to stay
out of it. “Promise me.”

  “Very well, I promise.”

  “That includes me as well. You and I will no longer discuss this.”

  She stared at him. “But that’s ridiculous.”

  “It won’t accomplish anything and I don’t want to spend the next few days arguing with you.”

  “You’d best leave before I change my mind," she said. "I have things to do and I expect you do as well.” He bent to kiss her lips but she turned her head and offered her cheek. “This is something I must to come to terms with. Just go. Please.”

  Sighing heavily, he rose and headed toward the house.

  Priscilla tried to keep her tone light as she entered the drawing room. There was no need to worry Olivia if she could avoid it. "Olivia, do you have anything planned for this afternoon?”

  Olivia looked up from her embroidery and smiled. “I was invited to tea at the Elliot’s but I can cancel if there’s something you need me to do.”

  “If you don’t mind.” She looked down at the carpet and began to trace the floral pattern with the toe of her slipper. "I need to find a wedding gown right away.”

  Her companion's only reaction was a barely perceptible lift of her eyebrows. “Am I correct in assuming your bridegroom is Lord Stratton?”

  Priscilla nodded.

  “When will the wedding take place?”

  “Tomorrow at noon.”

  “Then we don’t have much time, do we?” Olivia tucked her embroidery needle into the pillow case she was working on.

  Surprised that the expected questions didn’t come, Priscilla said, “You’re willing to leave it at that?”

  Olivia offered a tranquil smile and slight nod of the head. “Yes, I believe I will. You don’t look as if you’re up to fielding questions.” She paused. “You love one another. You’re both of age. I’m certain you have your reasons.”

  Priscilla slowly let out a sigh of relief. “Do you think Mama will be upset?”

  “You know your mother better than that, dear. She’ll think it’s terribly romantic,” Olivia reflected with humor. “Her only disappointment will be that you didn’t climb out of your window and down a tree in the middle of the night and elope the way she and your father did.”

  “I know.” Priscilla couldn’t help but smile. “She's told me the story often. It was terribly romantic. When I was about eight or nine, I tried to talk Papa into having the gardener plant a tree outside my window. Papa wouldn’t hear of it. I don’t know if he was afraid I’d run off and get married or break my leg.” She shook herself out of her reverie. “You and Mr. Danfield will be the only ones present. We've decided not to tell anyone else of our marriage until Cecelia's ball is over. It didn't seem fair to take the attention away from her.”

  “I understand.” Olivia placed her embroidery in a basket on the floor and rose. “Now, let’s see what we can do about finding you a gown.”

  When Lady Williams swept into the drawing room she found Philip sprawled on the settee nursing a glass of burgundy.

  “Where the devil have you been?” she demanded. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for days.”

  He looked up at her and drawled, “Lovely to see you too, my lady.” His eyes drifted lazily downward taking in the picture she presented in her jade green velvet gown. “Enchanting gown. Very flattering. You look good enough to eat.”

  Hands thrown out in frustration, she shot him a scathing look. “Where have you been? I needed you!”

  “I’ve been remarkably busy. Had my own affairs to tend to and I don’t remember having placed myself at your beck and call.” He took a drink from his glass.

  Her mouth twitched. “And I don’t recall having invited you to help yourself to my liquor.”

  “Had I awaited an invitation to avail myself of your hospitality I would have perished with thirst.” He held up the glass appreciatively before taking another swallow. “You serve an excellent burgundy, my dear. I’ve always been partial to this particular ’89 vintage. Can’t afford it myself.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “If you must drink, drink the port instead. Leave me something decent to serve to my guests.”

  “Your port is bloody awful. Tastes like swill.” He gulped the remainder of his drink and stood. “This meeting was at your request. If I must drink inferior liquor, I’ll do it in less shrewish company.” He sketched a mock bow and started toward the door. “Farewell, my lady.”

  Realizing he was serious about leaving, she sank into a chair and said, “Wait Philip. Please.”

  “Please?” He laughed mockingly. “You actually said please? To me? You are desperate aren’t you? Very well, Allow me to keep the bottle and I’ll stay.”

  Swallowing a retort, she said, “Keep it.”

  “Thank you. You’re most generous.” He sat back down and proceeded to slosh more burgundy into his glass. “Now, what do you want? And don’t say Stratton. I’ve decided I don’t give a damn who you marry.”

  Fists clinched, her cheeks burned with anger. “I’d sooner see him dead than marry him. He mortally offended me and that’s exactly why I want to talk to you. I demand that you do something.”

  He burst into laughter. “Are you bloody insane? What do you want me to do? Put a bullet in his black heart? I’m not willing to swing from the gallows just to satisfy your grudge. He’d probably kill me, anyway. If I’m to die, I’d much rather drink myself to death.”

  “But you have to do something,” she demanded furiously. “He insulted me. I won’t tolerate it.”

  Philip shook his head. “My, my, what have you been up to in my absence? Tell me, how did he insult you?”

  “It doesn’t matter how. He just did.”

  “You’ve told me this much. Spit it out, my dear.”

  She set her jaw and looked away.

  He sighed. “Then it’s time for me to leave.”

  “I offered him my companionship and he turned me down,” she said in a heated rush. “He called me a fool. No one calls me a fool.”

  “You propositioned him?” He leaned forward as his brows lifted in astonishment. “Why did you do that? That’s a bit much, my dear; even for you.”

  “I was angry!” Still sitting, she balled her fists until her knuckles whitened and the nails bit into the palms of her hands. “I know I bungled it badly, but that little mouse was sitting so smug in the Stratton drawing room. She claimed they were merely friends, but he came in and the way he looked at her... The chit’s barely a drop of aristocratic blood in her veins. Why can't he see that?”

  “You told him that? What in the devil were you thinking?”

  “I didn’t so much as mention her name! I was more subtle than that.”

  An eyebrow inched up. “It appear you were not subtle enough. I’ll not get involved with this. It’s a lost cause and with the approach you’ve taken I may very well lose my head if I interfere.” She opened her mouth to speak and he quickly added, “And don’t try to convince me. There’s nothing you can do to sweeten the pot.”

  Fury yielded to shock. “Have you forgotten that you need my cooperation as much as I need yours? I’m the only one willing to help you pay off your vowels."

  His lips curved into a derisive flickering smile. “But I don’t need you at all. Percy and I came to an agreement. He paid off my debts with the understanding that I won’t show my face in England for as long as I continue to draw a breath. And I imagine he’s hoping that won’t be for very long as he has agreed to continue my allowance.”

  For a moment, all she could do was stare. “I don’t believe you.”

  “He fears I will become an embarrassment to the family so my absence is required. Fancy that.”

  “Percy’s an idiot if he thinks that will work. You’ll come crawling back before the year is out.” She sniffed with disgust. “You can’t stay away from the tables and your luck is abominable. You’ll be in debt up to your eyeballs.”

  “I may well be in debt again but it’s rather di
fficult to crawl back across several thousand miles of Atlantic Ocean.”

  “You’re traveling to America?”

  “Good God, no.” He snorted. “I’m headed to Barbados, one of those lovely islands in the Indies where a fellow can drink rum punch, sleep on the beach and plow the bellies of plump, brown skinned native girls. Percy knows how to dole out the punishment doesn’t he?” His lips twisted into a sardonic smirk. “He’s purchased a small sugar plantation where I’m to keep residence.”

  “What do you know about running a sugar plantation?”

  “Not a damn thing. I didn’t say I was going to manage it.”

  “Then why does he need you there?”

  “Percy doesn’t need me there. The plantation is currently being managed by a very competent overseer who obviously knows what he’s doing. Percy needs me gone. As far away as possible. But he won’t have it on his conscience that he denied a kinsman food and shelter." He drained what was left in his glass. "I will have a roof over my head and food in my belly, but I’m to have nothing to do with running the place. Hell, I would run it into the ground before the year was out. My only responsibility is to stay out of the overseer’s way and hopefully drink myself to death so Percy won’t have to worry about me any longer." He grinned. "Either that or be murdered in my sleep for some indiscretion or another. Personally, I think it’s a splendid idea.”

  “But what am I to do? You promised to help me.” She heard the edge of desperation in her voice and hated it.

  “You’re far from helpless, my dear. You can fend for yourself. I’ve already given you the names of several potential husbands. You can add Lord Weston and Sir Miles Lawrence to your list. Of the names I’ve given you, surely you can snare one.”

  “But you don’t understand,” she cried. “He insulted me.”