Fair Maiden

by Cheri Schmidt

  Contessa blinked. “I fear I do not understand, my lady. I trust Christian. He has been such a noble gentleman—”

  After studying her for a moment, Lady Sparks exhaled. Relief lifted her expression and she said, “Then I am not too late.”

  “Too late for what?”

  Christian’s mother chuckled softly. “Oh, you sweet thing. All is well.”

  She gasped then, understanding what Lady Sparks was saying, and appalled she would think her son capable of being so…so lecherous. “No, no…Christian would not. It would not—”

  “I am pleased to hear he has chosen to behave.”

  A maid entered, it was the one called Anna. The blonde girl began arranging logs for a fire.

  Contessa subconsciously rubbed palms over her arms. “Does that mean we are not expected to wed?”

  “Certainly not.” At the stark response the petite maid’s shoulders tensed only marginally. “You must marry my son,” finished the marchioness.

  Contessa’s gaze lifted to Christian’s mother and she felt trapped by the lovely eyes that locked with hers, yet this woman did not portray the trickery so obvious in Dominic’s mother. Queen Renard practically radiated cunningness. That was not so with Lady Sparks, and Contessa understood the reasons behind the required betrothals were quite different. It was not for gain, but for her reputation, for her safety. The reasons were not selfish, but noble and considerate. She could not resent Lady Sparks for their awkward situation. And respectively, within the secret corners of her heart, she had to confess—that she too wanted it so. She would not fight marriage to Christian Henry Sparks, but welcome it…. As long as she was able to remain living this time.

  Dropping into a delicate curtsy, Tessa conceded, “Yes, my lady.” Unfortunately, her fears about the state of her physical body showed through.

  And Lady Sparks was far too sharp-eyed to not notice, even if she would likely misinterpret them. The pretty woman rocked her head sideways to consider Tessa another time. Her ear bobbles wiggled back and forth as the growing fire illuminated the garnet color of them. A ringlet tumbled down her fair cheek, and whilst the lock was laced with gray, the color of it reminded Contessa of Christian, and it whispered a promise of what he might look like with age-frosted waves of brown. The marchioness’s eyes were as bright as Emma’s, even with enough years behind them to be the mother of a grown man. Again she thought of Christian’s future. His eyes would smile, adding handsome crinkles to the beguiling flash of dimple. Internally she sighed, for she so wanted that future—with him.

  “Do you not wish to marry him?”

  “Oh, no, my lady. I do. But I do not wish for him to feel trapped into it.”

  “He should have considered that before he lured you to his bedchamber.”

  Contessa could feel the blush that rushed up her neck and enflamed her cheeks. She wished to defend him, to argue his innocence. But she was unable to escape the truth. He had done just that. Of course she knew his intentions had not been twisted with the same selfish reason the prince had. And she did not blame him, nor did she hold him accountable. In this, she shared the shame, for she had gone willingly with him.

  A soft knock sounded at the door.

  “Enter,” called Lady Sparks.

  The door opened, presenting Tabitha along with Jackson who held a tray, then after offering a curtsy and a bow, they entered.

  “I am Mrs. Tuttlepot, Contessa’s chaperone. I will see to her.” As she spoke, Tabitha smoothed a rebellious ringlet back into her tight chignon. And Tessa understood why the woman normally didn’t bother with any sort of controlled hair styles.

  “And where were you when Christian compromised her?”

  “The foolish lad waited until I had retired to pull this sneaky stunt.”

  “I’ve brought warmed milk and a selection of cakes,” offered Jackson, obviously attempting to divert the criticisms from his master.

  “Warmed milk? And cake?” Contessa asked, edging eagerly closer to the older man.

  He smiled and his eyes crinkled up at the corners. “Yes, dear. Sit down by the fire and I will serve you.”

  “Thank you, Jackson, thank you,” she said, settling into the settee situated upon a rug near the flickering flames which licked their way up and around the fresh log. The maid brushed her palms off onto her apron, curtsied quickly and scurried from the chamber.

  “Mmm,” she muttered as the milky warmth filled her mouth and then slid down her throat to settle soothingly into her stomach, heating her from the inside as, at the same time, the fire worked its way through her gown, and chemise, and skin.

  It felt splendid to be alive, and, she thought with a smile, the price she’d paid was quite worth it.

  She had almost forgotten about Tabitha and Lady Sparks until the latter said, “Contessa, dear, at breakfast we will discuss locations for your wedding.” Lady Sparks swept toward her, the satin of her gown swished around her ankles and she bent to kiss the air on either side of Tessa’s face.

  Their gazes held momentarily, and her earlier concerns returned. What was she to do? Another mother-in-law-to-be would plan her nuptials just as in the past. The knowledge niggled at her contentment and she looked down into the milk, noting the way the glass warmed her fingers. Her palms pressed to the heat too, savoring the external sensation. Whilst she did like Christian’s mother, she was disappointed in the repeat of this plot. After swallowing, she said, “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Sleep well, child.” And Lady Sparks brushed a gentle hand along her cheek.

  “Goodnight,” she returned, as the marchioness left.

  A moment of silence lingered, during which Contessa took another sip, and then sampled the cake.

  “Oh, love, how could you?” asked Tabitha.

  Lifting heavy eyelids, any reply fled with the sight that greeted her. Contessa gasped with her cake-laden fork paused between plate and mouth as she watched Tabitha use magic to levitate her trunk into the chamber and begin sending the garments sailing into the wardrobe and dresser as if by their own power.

  Apparently Jackson was equally taken aback, his speech trembled and creaked as he said, “If you need anything else, my lady, you may simply ring for me.” He motioned to a rope dangling near the head of the bed, his face as white as hers had been in ghostly form.

  “Thank you so much for the bedtime indulgence.”

  “My pleasure.” She feared the old fellow might not make it to the door, he was trembling so fiercely. However, upon wobbly limbs he did manage it, and was gone, leaving her alone with a witch and her witchcraft.

  Tabitha really looked the part with her wrinkly hands waving about as she mumbled words of some spell. Wisps of red hair were escaping her bun willy-nilly, and the glitter of magic emanated from her fingertips, creating a purple glow about her face and torso. Oddly enough, however, watching Tabitha work magic seemed familiar enough to make her wonder if perhaps it had been part of her life before.

  Remembering her food, Tessa closed the gap between it and her mouth, watching Tabitha unpack all of her new belongings without touching a single item. Then, “Oh!” when she saw again the reticule that matched her day dress drift toward an open drawer, and remembered what had been inside. “May I have the chocolate in that bag?”

  Halting and turning to face her, Tabitha flicked her wrist and the reticule came sailing toward her, then dropped onto the settee and bounced once before rolling to the edge of the cushion.

  Contessa reached for it, loosened the drawstring and lifted a gold-foil wrapped candy from within.

  As she peeled the foil away, Tabitha again inquired, “Contessa, why did you go to his chamber?”

  The witch had finished unpacking, hit the trunk with a muttered incantation which caused the lid to snap closed and then moved to take up a seat next to her.

  Letting the sweet confection coat her tongue, Tessa fiddled with the wrapping until it tore into strips of thin gold. She stared at the mess momentarily and then drop
ped it piece by piece onto the silver tray upon the table before her. “He asked me to—no, that is not correct—he begged, and I wanted so badly to remain alive that I went.”

  She touched the embellished silk of her wedding gown and added, “It worked. I cannot regret how it turned out.”

  “But now you are forced to wed.”

  Tessa could not help the shrug of her shoulders. “I do not mind.” Remembering something, she turned to face Tabitha. “What did you mean when you said after Christian wedded, he could pay you?”

  A sudden sheepishness encompassed the witch’s tiny face and Tessa lost eye contact with the woman. “It was nothing. Simply another one of my unreliable impressions.”

  “Will we truly get married?” She attempted to not sound as hopeful as she was feeling.

  Gathering a chocolate for herself, Tabitha smiled and shook her head. A couple more of the bound red curls escaped and sprang like coils around her face. “I never know anything for certain.”

  “Hmm.”

  Around a mouthful of chocolate, the witch said, “Are you ready to dress for bed, my lady?”

  Finishing off the last of the milk and cake, Tessa nodded and uncurled from the settee.

  Chapter 24

  Intentional

  At breakfast, Mother prattled on and on about wedding preparations: the color of the flowers, the flavor of the cake, the location, and even what Tessa’s gown should look like. Scowling, Christian could not help but wonder why she thought she had the right when she believed Contessa’s mother remained amongst the living. Yet he certainly wasn’t about to bring it up.

  “Are you still returning home today, Mother?” he said, truly attempting to sound dismayed rather than eager, but the look Mother angled his way showed that he’d failed.

  “I think I will stay until noon, now that Lady Contessa is with us.” The marchioness broke a piece from her hot cross bun, then added, “We must have a ball to announce your engagement.”

  The mention of dancing did cause a smile to touch Tessa’s mouth, but the fear that clouded her jewel-tone eyes remained. He had the same concerns. How long would she remain solid? What if, while they danced, or worse, what if while she danced with his father or his brother she vanished? He really had to find some way of preventing these scenarios before they actually happened. He looked to Tabitha, planning to speak with her privately about trying more spells, but it would have to be discussed later when he was certain Mother was not anywhere within hearing or eavesdropping distance.

  Mainly because Mother watched every move he made with such scrutiny he was beginning to feel self-conscious. He cut up Tessa’s food for her, knowing it was proper for the man to serve his lady in that way while dining, and he didn’t want to give Mother any reason to chastise him if he did not act the gentleman

  Once he was finished cutting, Contessa said, “Thank you,” and gathered her fork and knife to begin eating.

  He could see how nervous she was, and felt a grin lifting his mouth as he chewed. Living or dead this girl remained intriguing and innocently entertaining to watch as she rejoined his world in the flesh.

  “The ball must be scheduled very soon,” Mother went on. “We wouldn’t want any scandal. I think something at the end of the month would be best.”

  With that only being two weeks away, Christian stiffened in his seat and stole another look at Tabitha. The witch seemed much more interested in her boiled egg than the sticky situation they were in. “Mrs. Tuttlepot, will you be able to aid us in preparations for a ball?” The question was meant to be cryptic enough for the witch to understand he wasn’t talking about the same preparations his mother was discussing.

  Tabitha spared one glance in Contessa’s direction before meeting his. “I will check my, er, schedule, but I cannot make any commitments.”

  He didn’t like that response at all and bit into a mouthful of bacon with unnecessary violence.

  Without warning, Tessa’s cutleries clanked to the dish, rolled off and then thumped to the table. His eyes shot to her face and he choked. Sputtering her name repeatedly in a soft voice, he leaned forward because even though he could still see her, to his mother’s eyes, she would have disappeared.

  Contessa became opaque and he released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

  “Is everything all right?” asked Mother.

  “It was my fault,” Christian lied. “I accidentally bumped her elbow with mine, and she dropped her fork and knife.”

  “Be careful, Son.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  His hands trembled as he placed the cutlery back into hers. He could not disguise his shock at the fact that even though she’d just transformed into a ghost and back into the living, her attire had also shifted from the green dress she was wearing to the golden gown and back to the green dress. In the past, her wedding gown had remained until she’d physically removed it.

  A tremulous breath escaped his mouth and he looked to Tabitha again.

  The witch offered a very subtle shake of her head in reply.

  Contessa set the flatware onto the table as though she were afraid to touch it. “I-I must excuse myself…if you please. I am finished.” Her voice came out as a weak whisper and he understood she was more terrified of repeating the incident than wanting to continue eating.

  “Yes, of course,” he said, but just as the words left his lips, she again returned to spirit form.

  He needed a diversion, and quick. Scanning the table, his eyes landed on the sugar dish and he reached for it. Putting a desperate plan in motion, Christian fumbled intentionally and angled the fall causing crystal cubes to tumble toward his mother’s plate. While attempting to gather them, he knocked over his mother’s cup. Tea saturated the tablecloth, a stain of brown blossomed on the white linen. It seeped toward his mother putting her gown at risk. Perfect, he thought, watching what didn’t make it to the table puddle into Mother’s breakfast.

  As Mother cursed him for being so clumsy and franticly struggled to protect her gown he lunged from his seat, praying she was too distracted to see what was going on, and tugged the chair out for Tessa. Just as unpredictably as before, she returned to solid form, but this time the medieval gown of golden silk remained. He swept her into his arms and prayed his mother would not notice her gown was now gold instead of a soft green.

  “Is she ill?” he heard Mother ask. Her voice sounded muffled, and he hoped that meant she wasn’t watching him as he swept around the door and out of sight.

  “I fear that perhaps the eggs did not sit well with her this morning,” offered Tabitha.

  “Is the girl’s health so fragile? Is she unwell?” his mother asked as he adjusted his hold on Tessa and moved toward the staircase. Of course with his continued odd behavior she would begin to think such things. He had to control this situation better or Mother would think he was wedding an invalid, and just might add physicians to the fiasco, complicating things worse than they were already. What would a doctor discover? He looked at her.

  She was frowning down at that darn wedding gown. “Ick. I used to like this dress.”

  He chuckled. “Let’s get you changed back into the green one before Mother comes looking for us.”

  “Will it be in my chamber?”

  “That’s what happened with your other things, did it not?”

  “Yes. But then won’t I need Tabitha’s help?” she queried, just before peering over his shoulder as he climbed the staircase. “Oh, here she comes.”

  He could hear the old woman’s shoes clicking on the stairs behind them. Christian continued upward.

  Once inside the bedchamber, he set Tessa’s feet upon the rug and began, for the third time, removing the bridal veil from her hair. “What are we going to do?” he asked the moment he heard the witch enter behind him.

  “That’s a very good question, my lord.”

  “How can we make her more stable?”

  “I do not know. While the magic is weakening, i
t remains unpredictable. Without knowing the language it was spoken in, I don’t see how I can help you any more than I have. I fear, my lord, that we are exhausting my skills and knowledge in this. This magic may be beyond me.”

  Her words and tone made old worries swell in his heart, and his chest felt tight. But he ruthlessly shoved the concerns aside. Yes, this was a problem, but he wanted to follow through. Muscle ahead…fight for this lady who’d spellbound his soul with her shining spirit.

  Tabitha went to the wardrobe and removed the green gown as if it had not just been worn. She then filled her arms with the many layers needed to clothe Tessa. Besides the overdress, Tabitha gathered the under-dress, the many lacy undergarments, her bonnet, and jewelry.

  His fingers tightened around the lace material in his hand, and he feared that it might rend under his renewed determination. He dropped it onto the table, feeling his mouth tighten into a line. “How are we to attend a ball with everyone’s focus upon us? Such a risk…”

  “You may have to elope—”

  “Mother will still demand the ball.”

  “Then do not attend.”

  How was he supposed to get away with doing that when it would be seen as quite offensive to his parents? Such a slap in the face could jeopardize his entire inheritance.

  Contessa lifted trembling fingers to untie the many ribbons in her honey-colored locks. “Christian,” she muttered in a small voice, “I do not wish to come between you and your family. Perhaps we should not—”

  His fingers landed against her mouth. “Don’t say that.”

  “But—” was her muffled reply. Yet her eyes said much more. She thought to release him from the engagement.