The Bewitching Hour

by Diana Douglas

  Lord Mallory pulled out his watch, stared at its face and dropped it back in his pocket. He shifted in his seat and glanced up at Lady Williams who was sitting at her writing desk, sipping sherry. Her expression was remarkably tranquil. “Are you certain this lad is reliable?”

  “Yes, of course I am. Please do relax, my lord. He hasn’t had time to walk there and back, much less wait for her to pen a response.”

  He shifted again. “And you believe she will agree to see you?

  Lady Williams mentally counted to ten before she dared answer. “We’ve been over this. Miss Hawthorn is not the type to ignore an invitation.”

  “She is very gracious,” he said. “I’ve never seen her behave with anything but decorum. It’s deplorable that Stratton would put such a lovely lady in this situation.” He pulled a folded sheet of vellum from the pocket of his lavender jacket. “It’s fortunate that your cousin retrieved this before anyone else did.” Unfolding the vellum, he read it over as he had countless times that morning. I, Eugene Terrance Rutherford, Lord Stratton, wager Mr. Thomas Randolph Danfield one-thousand pounds that I will bed Miss Priscilla Hawthorn before the month is passed. It was dated and two signatures were scrawled at the bottom.

  Mallory’s normally pale skin grew even paler. “If they hadn’t been too deep in their cups to realize they left this behind, no one would have seen it and poor Miss Hawthorn…” He shook his head, seemingly unable to finish the sentence. A moment later, he added, “This is so crude, so distasteful. I can only hope she will believe me.”

  Lady Williams set her glass on the table and smiled at him. He was working out beautifully. She couldn't have chosen better. “Of course, she will. You hold the proof in your hands, my lord. How could she question it? I swear, she will be eternally grateful to you.”

  “Milady.”

  Lady Williams looked up and scowled when she saw her young butler with the silver tray that held calling cards. “What is it, Newman?”

  “You have a caller.”

  She waved him away. “I don't have time for a caller. I’m not receiving until the boy returns with my message.”

  “He's back, milady. He arrived with your caller.” He handed her Priscilla’s calling card.

  A curse nearly escaped her lips before she remembered Lord Mallory. She looked at him and smiled tightly. “It seems our guest has arrived a bit early.”

  “Miss Hawthorn? Are you certain?”

  Her smile stretched a little tighter. “So it seems.”

  He rose from his chair. “I must go to her,” he said as he crossed the room. “This isn’t at all like her. She must be terribly confused to have come without an appointment.”

  “Lord Mallory.” The sharp edge in her voice brought him to a stop. “Please, sit down. I know you’re distressed, but you mustn’t go off willy-nilly. We’ve decided on a plan. If you wish to help Miss Hawthorn, you must stick to it.”

  With obvious reluctance, he returned to his seat and waited while she gave Newman instructions. Once the butler left, she turned to Mallory. “Try not to worry. I’ll come and get you when the time is right.”

  By the time Priscilla was seated in Lady Williams’ drawing room, she was beginning to question the wisdom of her decision. Coming here without her maid and without telling anyone had been an impulsive thing to do. Something she never would have considered doing were she not so rattled. However, she was here and she did want to hear what Lady Williams’ had to say. She would ignore the little prickling of unease and wait. Perhaps, there would be one less thing to worry about after this meeting.

  Only a short time passed, before her hostess swept in followed by her young butler pushing a cart loaded down with a tea service, a crystal decanter and plate of iced scones. Lady Williams held out her hands in welcome. “Miss Hawthorn, how good of you to come so promptly. I hadn’t expected you until later.”

  Priscilla wondered if she were being taken to task and decided she didn't care. “I hope it wasn’t an inconvenience, but your message made it sound rather urgent," she said as she rose for a perfunctory curtsy. "I thought it best to come right away.”

  “So you did.” Lady Williams’ green velvet gown swished as she seated herself behind the tea service. “That will be all, Newman. You are free to leave.” She smiled brightly at Priscilla. “Now, how do you take your tea?”

  Priscilla wasn’t in the mood for tea, but it seemed that social etiquette would be observed before they could commence with the reason for her visit. “Milk and one sugar”.

  “It’s been forever since I’ve had anyone over for tea.” Lady Williams lifted the china pot and poured. “Thank you for allowing me this little indulgence. I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed entertaining. I’ve only just emerged from half-mourning, you know.”

  Priscilla accepted the cup of tea and cradled it in her hands. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you. Edward--Lord Williams, was a dear man.” Lady Williams placed several scones on a small plate and passed it to Priscilla. “It was to be expected, of course. He was a great deal older than I and his infirmities were beginning to get the better of him, but I do miss him terribly.” She sipped her tea. “I enjoyed myself very much at Lady Fitzberry’s tea the other day. Those little dogs of hers are so lively. One wonders how they can keep up with them all. This is just between you and me, but I believe Lord Stratton must be a very patient man to allow them to roam freely about the house.”

  She set her cup down and blotted her lips with a napkin. “His sister is a lovely girl, don’t you think? A bit tall, but she wears her gowns like a queen. I’ve worn widow’s weeds for so long that choosing colors has been a delight for me this season. I tend to gravitate to burgundy and gold. Color can make such a difference in one’s appearance.” She smiled and poured more milk into her tea. “I’ve noticed you tend to wear blues and silvers. They suit you beautifully. So few women know how to choose flattering colors. Men, too. If they could only see themselves as others see them.”

  Priscilla decided that if she didn’t get a hold on the conversation, she might be here all day. “If you don’t mind, my lady. I don’t mean to be impolite, but I was hoping we could discuss the ‘treacherous situation’ you mentioned in the letter you sent me. I'm at a loss as to why you asked that we meet.”

  A long silence followed before her hostess set down her cup and sighed. “Forgive me. I’m afraid I’m nervous. The subject matter is rather personal and most unpleasant. I suppose I thought if we came to know one another a little better, it would be easier to tell you.” She pressed her lips together. "The best thing to do is to simply show you, then you will understand why I’m so concerned. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be right back.” She rose from her seat. “Do try a bite of the scones while you wait. They are quite marvelous.”

  Bewildered by the woman’s strange behavior, Priscilla could only stare as Lady Williams’ slender, graceful form left the room.

  Just a few minutes later, bewilderment changed to anger when Lord Mallory entered. Thinking she had been lured here to allow the viscount to plead his suit again, she didn’t even attempt to quell the anger in her voice. “What are you doing here?”

  He gazed down on her with a compassionate smile on his lips and that only served to make her blood boil hotter. “Don’t be alarmed, my dear. I know you didn’t expect to see me, but if you’d known I was here, you might not have come and it’s very important that we talk.”

  The muscles of her jaw twitched. What made them think they could get away with this? “I’ve said all I have to say to you. There is no need for additional discussion.” She got to her feet and briskly headed for the door. “Tell Lady Williams I said thank you very much for tea, but I have a pressing engagement.”

  “Please. Wait.” He placed his hand on her shoulder as she tried to pass him. “I must tell you something. It’s an ugly story and I would give anything to avoid hurting you, but it must be said.”

  His touch made her cr
inge and she twisted away. “Uglier than luring me here under false pretenses?”

  “You misunderstand." Concern settled in his expression. "You have been deceived, but the deception isn’t ours." He lifted his hand as if to touch her again, then appeared to think the better of it. "We only wish to help you. There is someone who wishes to do you harm and your reputation will suffer for it. Allow me to explain and then you are free to go if you wish.”

  “How terribly kind of you.” None of this made sense. She didn't know whether to run or allow him to explain. As angry as she was, she was also curious. She eyed the brass clock on the mantle. “You have five minutes. Not one second more.”

  He cleared his throat and smiled. “Fair enough. Would you care for more tea while we talk?”

  “I’ve had all that I want, but if you would care for a cup...” I would be more than happy to throw it in your face.

  “Don’t trouble yourself, my dear. I’ll have a brandy, but I can get it myself.” He glanced at her chair. “It would be best if you were sitting down while you hear what I have to say. I’m afraid this will be somewhat of a shock.”

  Perched stiffly on the edge of her chair, hands in her lap, she waited.

  He filled a glass from the decanter on the tea cart and sat in the seat Lady Williams had vacated. He took a healthy swallow before he spoke. “You know how fond I am of you and that I have only your best interest at heart. As Lady Williams was the one who brought this to my attention, I had hoped she would help me tell you of this, but she decided it best that you hear it from me as you and I are so well acquainted.” He shuddered. “It’s a horrendously uncomfortable thing to speak of.”

  Priscilla glanced at the clock. “You have four minutes left.”

  He took another long swallow of his brandy. His skin was slightly flushed and he tugged at his cravat. “Lady Williams heard from a reliable source that Lord Stratton and Mr. Danfield have made a wager.” He paused and closed his eyes a moment. “What I mean to say is, Lord Stratton means to compromise you before the month is out.”

  She pressed a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter, but the expression of horror on his face told her she hadn’t succeeded.

  Eyes nearly bulging, he exclaimed, “Miss Hawthorn, this is no laughing matter. It is beyond scandalous. You should be outraged.”

  For a moment she wondered what he would say if she told him the truth. He would learn of their marriage soon enough, but as much as she wanted to tell him, now was not the time. “I’m sorry, but why should I believe you? I think you would do most anything to cause ill feelings between Lord Stratton and myself.”

  A faint sheen of perspiration appeared on his forehead. Using a napkin, he blotted his face then fumbled with his jacket and drew out the folded vellum. “This will be painful, but you must read it.” His hand trembled as he handed it to her.

  She barely glanced at him as she snatched it from his fingers and scanned through it. Her lips twitched slightly. A thousand pounds? At least the sum wasn’t insulting. It was good to know Lady Williams and Lord Mallory thought her virginity was worth a substantial amount. Though the handwriting was very obviously not her husband’s, it was familiar. She dug through her reticule and found the letter Lady Williams had sent her. She put them side by side on her lap. The lettering on the wager was large and bold, but the R’s and L’s were suspiciously alike. The more she studied the penmanship, the more certain she was that it had all written by the same person. It seemed odd that Lady Williams hadn’t taken greater steps to alter the handwriting.

  “The next time you plan such a ruse, my lord, put more thought into it. This,” she waved the forged wager in the air, “would fool no one.” She stuffed both papers in her reticule and stood. “I will see myself out.”

  “Don’t… go…” Lord Mallory’s words slurred.

  She looked at him more closely and saw that his eyes were dilated, his face deeply flushed. “Are you alright, my lord?”

  Instead of answering, he stared past her and slowly slumped in his chair. His breath came in uneven pants. The glass of brandy fell from his hand and spilled across the rug.

  She closed the distance between them in two steps and tried to rouse him by patting his cheek. He didn't respond. Beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead and upper lip. He grimaced, as if in pain. It didn’t seem possible that he could have taken ill so suddenly, yet something was terribly wrong. She rushed to the corridor and called for help. Lady Williams appeared immediately, her heels tapping against the polished floor.

  Displeasure tightened her expression. “Whatever is the matter?”

  As much as Priscilla disliked the man, she didn’t wish him any harm and that took precedence over her need to rail her hostess for her part in this ruse. “Lord Mallory has fallen ill. We must send for a doctor.”

  Lady Williams came into the room and peered at Lord Mallory. "Good heavens." She placed her hand on his shoulder and shook him. “My lord, can you hear me.?” His only reaction was a sharp hitch in his breath.

  She glanced up at Priscilla. “He does look dreadful. I’ll send for a doctor. If you would be so kind as to unbutton his jacket while I do that, it might make it a little easier for him to breathe.” When Priscilla hesitated, she added, “This is no time to be missish, Miss Hawthorn. He needs our help.”

  Priscilla knew she was right. She returned to Lord Mallory and set about her task. The fashionably tight jacket took some effort to unbutton but she managed. Sweat soaked his elaborately tied cravat and she decided he would be more comfortable without it. Just as she unwrapped the final layer of silk, Lady Williams returned to the drawing room.

  “You little idiot. I didn’t tell you to remove his damned cravat. That will pose a problem as I don’t know how to retie it.”

  Shocked, Priscilla turned. For a moment she could not make sense of what she saw. Her hostess held a pistol aimed directly at her. The woman’s eyes had turned cold and calculating, her lips curved into an ugly smile. The white, well-shaped hands were alarmingly steady.

  Nearly paralyzed with terror, her heart hammered against her chest and her legs nearly buckled beneath her. She knew instinctively that she could not let Lady Williams see how frightened she was. She ordered her heart to slow it's pounding, reminded herself to breathe. “I suppose you didn’t actually send anyone for the doctor.” The tremor in her voice was faint, but obvious. She clenched her fist, tried to will it away.

  A finely arched eyebrow lifted. “Clever girl, aren’t you? I’m afraid there isn’t anyone to send. I’ve given all my servants a half day. They won’t be back until this evening.”

  Priscilla looked down at Lord Mallory whose breathing had grown more labored. He might be a fool, but he didn't deserve this. “What have you done to him?”

  Lady Williams smiled. “I put a little bella donna in the brandy.”

  Her throat prickled and her tongue felt twice its size. She swallowed. “I’ve heard it’s rather sweet. I suppose he wouldn’t taste it in the brandy.” An unwelcome thought came to her. “You put bella donna in the icing on the scones, as well, didn’t you?”

  Lady Williams continued to smile. “Once again, you’re a clever girl. Much more so than I gave you credit for. This would have been much easier for me if you had eaten the scones, but I’ll muddle through. I must say I’d expected you would be weeping and begging for your life at this point.”

  That was exactly what Priscilla felt like doing. Steeling herself, she asked, “Would it do any good?”

  Lady Williams shook her head slowly. “No.”

  “Then, I’d rather not waste my time.” A strangled grunt from Lord Mallory drew her attention, once again. His teeth chattered. Sweat trickled down his cheeks. “He’s getting worse. We must do something.”

  The other woman laughed. A defiant glitter sparked in her eyes. “You expect me to help him? Perhaps you’re not as clever as I thought. I plan to shoot him once I’ve finished with you. Why would I care if he’s ge
tting worse?”

  Finished with you. Oh God. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known, but hearing the words made it all the worse. Her legs shook. “May I sit down?”

  Lady Williams shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  Priscilla lowered herself onto the seat. She fisted her hands to stop the trembling and laid them in her lap. “Were you blackmailing me?”

  The deep brown eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re expecting a confession?”

  “I don’t see what difference it makes.” She swallowed against the bitterness that had risen in her throat. “It isn’t as if I will be able to tell anyone. My guess is that you were a part of it, but I’m not certain why. Are you in love with Lord Stratton?”

  “Love.” The countess sniffed with contempt. “That word again. How utterly ridiculous. Love has no significance in an aristocratic marriage. Were your family of higher standing, you would understand this. He is a very good lover, though.” She smiled. “We were lovers once, but I suppose you didn’t know that.”

  The words barely registered. They didn’t seem to matter. “Why involve Lord Mallory?”

  “Because I needed him to make my little plan work.” Her voice brimmed with arrogance. “It’s quite perfect. You’ve turned him down. The poor man is more than merely devastated. He’s mad with heartache and despair and capable of anything. When I invited you over for tea, I had no idea what he was planning.” She placed her left hand against her breast. “Of course, I’ll be horrified. Completely distraught that this man would barge in while you and I are having tea and go into a murderous rage. The notion that he would kill you and then himself is quite believable.” Her head cocked to one side. “Lord Stratton will be heartbroken. You will be dead and I shall go on with my life.”

  The idea of not sharing a life with Stratton, never having his children, of her life ending before it had barely begun was almost more that Priscilla could bear. She could not let this happen. Distract her. Ask her questions. Make her talk. Anything to gain more time. “Do you plan to marry Lord Stratton?”