Bewitched

by Sandra Schwab

  Sebastian laughed. “My dear, you are a true nonesuch.” And readily he complied with her request by telling her more about his mother.

  Widowed these past seven years, the dowager countess still lived at Rawdon Park, the house to which she had come as a young bride of seventeen. As part of her eldest son’s household, she enjoyed being surrounded by her grandchildren. “Dickie—Lord Bradenell—is Richard’s heir. We all hope he will reach maturity without breaking his neck first. He likes to climb things.”

  “Don’t all little boys?” Amy cut in.

  Sebastian grimaced. “I can’t remember that I ever liked climbing anything higher than a footstool.”

  “You suffer from vertigo then?”

  “I most assuredly do not!” He sounded indignant. “Really, Miss Bourne, your head is filled with the most extraordinary notions!” Ignoring her giggles, he added in a mock-serious tone, “I am just not a climber. Whereas Dickie certainly is.”

  Amy patted his arm. “I wouldn’t worry too much about young Dickie’s neck, though. All of my cousins were vastly fond of tree climbing. Some of them still are, to be more precise, and so far, their necks have not suffered from it in the least.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” He threw her a suspicious sideways look. “How many of them are there again, exactly?”

  Amy pressed his arm and laughed. “Seven at the last count. Two are older than myself, the rest are younger.”

  “Dear God!”

  “Mmhm.” She gave him a cheeky smile. “And if you don’t treat me well, they will hound you to the ends of the earth,” she warned cheerfully, though she almost pitied him: The poor man looked dumbstruck. To distract him from the unpleasant image of seven angry, strapping young men coming after him—although most of the strapping young men weren’t out of the schoolroom yet—she coaxed, “Tell me more about your nephews.”

  “And niece,” he muttered, then glanced at her. “You are enjoying seeing me squirm. I swear, I will fall flat on my face at your feet in no time at all, bleeding from all those wounds to my heart.”

  “Then pray make sure not to bleed on the hem of my dress.” Amy bit her lip so she wouldn’t grin, and gave him a look of wide-eyed innocence. “Bloodstains are so difficult to remove.”

  “Minx.” He tweaked her nose, obviously not caring that they were standing in one of the busiest streets of London. “I am incredibly glad to hear you care so much for me.”

  “Always. So… your nephews and niece?”

  They walked on to the toy shop, and Sebastian told her more about Dick, the climber, and Pip—Philip—who loved doing finicky things, and about the princess of the family, little Annalea. Amy couldn’t wait to meet them all, to get to know the family of the man she loved—oh, and how she loved him!

  Finally the day came that saw her in the Earl of Rawdon’s chaise-and-four, sent for by Sebastian. The middle seat had been drawn out to seat three—one of the Benthams’ maids was to accompany the girls—while Sebastian himself rode alongside the coach, and a smaller carriage followed with his valet and the bulk of their luggage. Amy sat huddled between Isabella’s writing desk and several small and large parcels that somehow had found their way into the chaise at the very last minute. Unperturbed by the tight squeeze, Amy pressed her nose against the glass to admire the landscape outside, while Isabella sat, looking sour.

  They stopped for the night at an inn in Cambridge. Not even the fact that Amy had to share a bed with Isabella, who was probably pining after Lord Munthorpe and his sheep, could dim her excitement about the following day. For after they had left the inn the next morning, they turned onto the turnpike to King’s Lynn, thus entering the marshes and moors of the Fens. Mist hovered over the flat land, clung to the clusters of trees and bushes, and enshrouded the windmills, which pumped the drainage from the land into larger canals.

  “Dear heavens, what sort of place is this?” Isabella muttered. “I swear it all looks the same. Haven’t we passed this spot before? I daresay, we wouldn’t even know when we were lost!”

  “Nonsense,” Amy, who was enjoying the wide open spaces after the cramped nature of the city, said briskly. “Mr. Stapleton and Lord Rawdon’s driver must know the way perfectly. I am sure we will reach Rawdon Park in no time at all.” And really, how could one get lost on a turnpike anyway, even on a gray and foggy day?

  So shortly after midday, they passed through a gate, rattled down a driveway, and behind a gently curving hill, redbricked Rawdon Park rose out of the mist. Dozens of chimneys emitted puffs of smoke, and several windows glowed with a mellow light and offered a warm welcome.

  Amy clapped her hands together. “How extraordinarily lovely!” As soon as the chaise halted in the forecourt, she scrambled out, almost knocking over the footman who held out his hand to assist her onto the ground. In front of them stood the main building, a clock tower rising over the middle wing like a confectioner’s sugary creation. To the right and left of the forecourt stretched two lower wings—the serving quarters, perhaps.

  “Do you like it?” Sebastian’s breath tickled Amy’s ear.

  With a smile, she turned. “I adore—” Yet before she had the chance to finish her sentence, the front door opened and:

  “UNNNCLE STAAAPLETON!”

  Two blurred, brown shapes hurled themselves at Sebastian and clung to his waist and his arms. Two small boys beamed up at him adoringly, their faces aglow with both joy and cold.

  “We have been waiting for you!”

  “The whole day!”

  “We missed you!”

  “Terribly!”

  A burly, broad-shouldered man appeared in the doorway, holding the hand of a black-haired little girl. When she caught sight of the boys clinging to Sebastian, her small face darkened dramatically and her lips pursed into a pout. “Unco Shtapton.” And, more insistently, “Unco Shtapton!” She stomped her little foot. “My unco.” Then she let go of the man’s hand and ran toward Sebastian as fast as her short legs allowed. “Unco Shtapton!”

  Sebastian smiled down at her and managed to free one of his arms to ruffle her curls. “Hello, Annie.”

  With a happy sigh, she expertly shouldered the smaller of the boys aside to grab hold of Sebastian’s leg. “My unco.”

  His eyes dancing, Sebastian turned to look at Amy. “Miss Bourne, may I introduce my hopeful young nephews and niece?”

  The little girl glanced over her shoulder and glowered at Amy. “My unco,” she repeated.

  One of the boy’s pinched her side. “Our uncle.”

  “My,” the girl insisted. “My, my, my!” She emphasized her point by stomping her foot once more. “My!”

  The little one’s grouchy behavior might be irregular, but it was still adorable. The girl reminded Amy of a furious kitten, hissing and spitting to no great effect. “How do you do?” she said, suppressing a smile. “You must be Annalea—and Richard and Philip."

  The girl eyed her suspiciously, while the boys stared with frank curiosity. “How do you do,” they finally muttered.

  “I hope you will excuse the appalling manners of my brood, Miss Bourne,” a deep male voice said from behind her.

  Amy glanced around and up into the smiling face of the man who had come with the little girl, his brown hair tousled, his boots—she took a quick peek—muddied. She fully turned in order to drop him a curtsy. “How do you do, my lord?”

  “How do you do.” The earl’s voice was warm and welcoming, and Amy liked him instantly. He bowed his head. “I hope you will enjoy your stay at Rawdon Park, Miss Bourne.”

  “I’m sure I will.” She answered his smile with one of her own.

  “Shall I do the introductions?” Sebastian cut in, his voice laced with irony.

  With a laugh, his brother clapped his shoulder. “And thus the prodigal son returns. You wish to stand on ceremony? With three monkeys clinging to you?” With his free hand, he removed one of his sons from Sebastian’s arm. “Off you go, Pip. You must let your uncle move i
f you don’t want him to freeze on the doorstep.” Sighing and muttering, the boys complied. “You, too, brat.” With firm insistence, he caught hold of the little girl and set her down a few feet away. “And now,” he said to Sebastian, “you can do the introductions proper.”

  Afterwards, they were whisked into the entrance hall, decorated in warm, buttery colors, where the two young women were given into the care of the housekeeper, Mrs. Dibbler. She showed them up a wooden staircase, past golden-framed portraits of men in wigs and down a gallery filled with more portraits and bookcases. Persian carpets swallowed the sound of their steps, while to their left and right, upholstered chairs invited them to sit down with a book. Next to bowls with budding cherry tree twigs, more books were piled high on sturdy tables. “This is the Long Gallery,” the housekeeper told Amy and Isabella. “The grandfather of the present earl converted it into a library. And here’s his son, the father of the present earl, standing beside the big oak tree down in the gardens.”

  The portrait had been painted when the late earl had been in the prime of his life. It showed a stocky, broad-shouldered man in the casual clothes of a country gentleman, his hair pulled back and laid in the then-fashionable curls above his ears. Yet it was not powdered, and its dark tones were reflected in the colors of the bark of the tree next to him, as if in this way the artist had wanted to show the earl’s love for his lands. At his feet sat a monstrously big black dog, its eyes raised adoringly to gaze at its master, who in turn gazed across the gardens and the hint of a large lake at the house in the distance.

  “Oh,” said Isabella in the most curious voice. “There’s the lake.”

  “Indeed, miss.” Mrs. Dibbler beamed at her. “Right behind the house. Some say that the lake of Rawdon Park is the largest and nicest in all the gardens of England. Of course, there’s not much to see now in late autumn. But you’ll have a right lovely view of it from the South Drawing Room. Will you come this way, now?”

  She led them up another flight of stairs and down a corridor, and showed them to their rooms where they could refresh themselves. This time, Amy was glad to find out, she would not have to share a room with Isabella. Instead, Mrs. Dibbler first opened the door to the room that had been set aside for Mr. Bentham’s daughter. “I hope it will be to your liking, miss.” Then she walked a little farther down the hallway and opened another door. “And this, Miss Bourne, will be your room.” She smiled at Amy. “The countess specifically ordered to have this prepared for you. The Rose Bedroom is the prettiest guest room in Rawdon Park.”

  And pretty it was! It was papered in patterns of rose and darker red, and furnished with delicate cherrywood furniture. Cream-colored drapes framed the window, and the whiteness of the chimneypiece and brass bed lent the room a fresh, friendly note.

  The housekeeper showed Amy the door to the adjoining dressing room, where two maids were busy unpacking her trunks. “Rosie”—one of the girls curtsied—“will be assisting you during your stay. If you tell her which dress you wish to wear for dinner tonight, she will have it ready for you at the end of the afternoon.”

  Amy chose a dress, then went back into the bedroom, where she left her pelisse and bonnet lying on a chair. On the washstand a jug of warm water stood already waiting, and she filled the china bowl to quickly wash her face and hands.

  She brushed over her dress, deemed herself presentable, and went to Isabella’s room. From there a footman took the two young women to the South Drawing Room in the back wing of Rawdon Park, where the family had assembled. The sun fell through the large, high windows and lent the room, done in shades of peach and cream, a warm glow. It sparked a fiery gleam in Sebastian’s hair, who sat on one of the large sofas, his lap a throne for his little niece. Yet as he caught sight of Amy, he stood.

  “Here they are.” A smile lit his face as he spoke, and Amy felt an answering smile lift the corners of her mouth. He held out a hand and, reaching for it, she let him draw her to his side. “My dear.” Tenderness softened the sharp angles of his face as he raised her hand to press a kiss onto her knuckles.

  His warm breath whispering over her skin made her toes curl. Amy lost herself in the stormy blue-gray of his eyes. Her heart was beating madly, so loud he must surely hear it, so strong he must feel it pulsing in her fingertips. Would it always be like this? One look, and she was quivering inside. One touch, and her bones were melting.

  The sound of somebody clearing his throat—noisily—brought her back to her senses. Her cheeks flamed. Heavens! What must his family think? For the first time Amy regretted her unconventional upbringing. She really must remember that she was now staying at the home of an earl, and hence behave with proper decorum! Hastily, she stepped back from Sebastian, but didn’t get very far because he was still holding fast to her hand.

  “Sebastian!” she whispered urgently.

  “My unco!” a little-girlish voice growled beside her, and the next moment the tiny Lady Annalea Stapleton stepped in a rather unladylike manner on Amy’s foot. Hard.

  “Ouch!” Amy winced.

  The little girl glared at her. “My unco!”

  “Annie!” The tender expression was wiped off Sebastian’s face. He glowered at his niece.

  “Annalea!” A slender woman hastened to their side and took the little girl’s hand. “You will apologize to Miss Bourne immediately”

  Mutinously, Annie pressed her lips together and shook her head.

  “Annie!”

  “My unco,” the girl muttered darkly.

  The newcomer raised her head to give Amy an apologetic look. “I am appalled at my daughter’s behavior. I hope you will forgive this atrocious lack of manners.” Her curly black hair was done in a simple but beautiful Greek style. Her dress was equally simple but elegant, and the green of the material perfectly matched the green of her eyes. The Countess of Rawdon was indeed a striking woman.

  Amy wriggled her foot and tried to ignore the painful throbbing. “It is quite all right.” She forced a smile, then made the mistake of looking down at the belligerent Lady Annalea. The little girl regarded her as if Amy were the spawn of evil.

  Behind Amy, Isabella gave one of her trilling little laughs. “What a… lively child!”

  Annie directed her scowl at Isabella and stuck out her tongue at her.

  Her mother clapped her shoulders in admonishment. “I have seen that, young lady. Barry, would you please escort Lady Annalea back to the nursery?”

  “Nooooooo!”

  “Of course, my lady.” A footman stepped forward to take Lady Annalea out of the room. In the end, though, he had to tuck her under his arm, because not only was she screaming blue murder, but she also tried to wriggle away. The two boys were sent out with her, presumably to take their luncheon in the nursery.

  “Heavens.” Lady Rawdon sighed as the door closed behind the footman and her noisy offspring. She turned to Amy. “I am so terribly sorry, Miss Bourne. I hope Annalea did not cause you great harm.”

  “Not at all, my lady.” Amy opted for a cheerful note, since poor Lady Rawdon was clearly mortified. “I have grown up with seven cousins, so I am quite sturdy, I assure you.”

  Isabella sniffed. Which was only to be expected, of course. Why the Benthams had insisted on sending their daughter to accompany her, or why Sebastian had invited her in the first place, was really quite beyond Amy. He couldn’t possibly think they were fast friends, could he?

  Sebastian touched her arm. “Are you sure you are all right?”

  He looked adoring when he was worried, she found, the sprinkle of freckles on his nose a sweet contrast to his earnest expression. To forgive his lapse of judgment in inviting Isabella was a simple thing, and this time she didn’t have to force the smile that curved her lips. “Quite.”

  He frowned. “I have never seen Annie behave in quite such a fashion.”

  “That, my dear son, is because you have never brought home a fiancée before,” said a dry female voice behind them. “Now, will somebody be s
o good as to do the introductions?”

  “Of course.” Sebastian took Amy’s hand and led her to the second sofa, where an older woman and man sat side by side. “Mother, may I introduce Miss Amelia Bourne? Miss Bourne, my mother, the Dowager Countess of Rawdon.”

  The older Lady Rawdon was surely in her early sixties, yet only few lines showed in her face. Instead of a lacy mob cap or coronet, she wore her dark hair dressed high, with a fillet of twisted satin and pearls wound around her head.

  “How do you do?” Amy made a small curtsy. It was rather intriguing, she mused, that Sebastian should be the only redhead in his family. How could that be? Or had his mother’s hair once been red and she was dying it dark only now? But no, her complexion was much rosier than one was wont to see in red-haired people. A most curious puzzle indeed!

  A smile played around the dowager countess’s lips as she said, “So, this is the young woman who managed to catch my elusive younger son. What a pleasure to meet you at last, my child.” Her eyes sparkled. “We were intrigued, to say the least, when we heard of your engagement.” Her smile became a grin. “You did well, Sebastian.”

  “Mother!” he groaned.

  “Fiddle-faddle, ‘Mother.’ I am only telling the truth.” She looked past Amy. “And who might this young woman be?”

  Sebastian hurried to introduce Isabella, then properly introduced them both to the Countess of Rawdon, and finally to the tall, lean gentleman who had sat next to the dowager countess and had risen upon their entry. Wisps of white hair floated around his head, and his eyes disappeared behind sparkling round spectacles. He looked like a friendly—if nearsighted—elderly lion. One who wore an embroidered waistcoat.

  “Admiral Pickering delighted in terrorizing Bony’s fleet,” Sebastian said. “However, he retired after the war and found himself a snug little house in Brighton, did you not, Admiral?”

  “Indeed, I did.” The other man’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. “After having spent most of my life on the water, I now want to spend the rest of it at least at the water. And enjoying the theatrical performances of the London companies on tour.”