by Kate Pearce
Besides, there were hundreds of unmarried misses in England and his future bride might not even be invited to this set of weddings. He might not even meet her until next spring, or a few years from now, so there was no reason to continue seeking her out, especially while Miss Prescott was staying in a haunted castle. She might not believe the ghosts were a threat, but Anthony knew all too well how dangerous the spirits within these stone walls could be, and he was determined to remain close to protect her.
“I must go. Lady Ivy is motioning for me.”
Anthony glanced over at the lovely redhead. “Until another time.”
Holly looked up, her light eyes boring into his. “I do wish you well, Lord Redgrave.”
If he wasn’t mistaken, there was a hint of sadness in her depths. Had he misread her feelings for Westbury? If that were the case, he’d throw the damned dead mistletoe away and pursue the one miss he had wanted to pursue for the last three years
“Redgrave, I didn’t know you’d be here.”
Anthony turned to find James Bryant, Earl of Somerton coming down the corridor.
“Distant relatives. Required. You?”
“Closer than distant.” He frowned. “Markham decided to attend and insisted the family should be together at Christmas, even if it’s in a damned damp, medieval castle.”
The Duke of Markham was Somerton’s older brother. The two shared the same mother, but different fathers. “Yes, well I spotted your sister taking tea. Would you like to join the ladies?”
“Tea?” Somerton cringed. “In a room full of eligible young ladies? I’d rather walk over hot coals.” He looped his arm around Anthony’s shoulders and turned him toward the back of the castle. “And I know exactly where to find the brandy.”
Somerton hadn’t changed in the fifteen years that Anthony had known him, and even though it was Somerton’s duty to find a bride, it was also his opinion that he had thirteen years, at last count, before he needed to become serious about settling down. If Noah could become a father at the age of five hundred, then I can surely wait to begin producing offspring until age forty, Somerton was fond of saying. At six and twenty, Anthony wasn’t in such a rush either, but he also saw no reason to put off what must be done simply to hold onto a bachelorhood that had become rather dull of late.
Without argument, Anthony allowed Somerton to lead him to the billiards room. It wasn’t quite as overrun with guests as the drawing room, and even better, not a miss in sight, which meant he needn’t concern himself with the dead plant in his pocket. Not in a room full of gentlemen.
“Brandy for Redgrave,” Somerton announced and headed toward the sideboard. Apparently, this wasn’t the first Somerton had partaken in today.
Playing billiards were Westbury and Viscount Blackwater, one of the grooms. Anthony couldn’t stop the grin the pulled at his lips. What would really improve his mood was if Michael was here, but only because his younger brother always got trounced at billiards. Not that Anthony expected to see Michael, unless he decided to make a surprise appearance at Hollybrook for Christmas. After all, the entire family was now there, save Michael, even his youngest brother William, because he was on break from school for the holiday.
Anthony frowned. Why hadn’t Charlotte offered William’s room? He certainly wouldn’t have minded sharing with his youngest brother, especially since they didn’t get an opportunity to spend much time together. Sometimes it felt as if he didn’t know two of his siblings very well. Harry, the second born, had been sent to the navy when he was twelve, and William was twelve years younger than Anthony. No, the only sibling he encountered on a regular basis was Michael who was more interested in wagers and ladies than family ties. If only his younger brother would do something respectable with his life instead of seeking one pleasurable pastime after another, they might share more in common.
Anthony took the offered brandy from Markham and wandered toward the billiards table. As he drew closer, he experienced the slightest movement in his pocket.
Anthony slipped a hand inside the pocket. Much to his alarm, his fingers encountered a cool, smooth leaf.
What the blazes?
Sliding a finger along the stem, he found the berries, which were growing plump.
Anthony’s stomach tightened as he glanced around the room. He was surrounded by gentlemen. This couldn’t be right. Not at all. There was a huge mistake or a mix-up in the spell. There had to be.
Chapter 6
“You left here with Oliver, yet you returned with Lord Redgrave?” Ivy lifted her brow curiously. “What, dear Holly, is that about?”
“Oliver remained at the gypsy camp and Lord Redgrave escorted me back to the castle.” Holly held her breath and hoped Ivy wouldn’t ask why she’d gone to see the Gypsies. Either Ivy would comment on Holly’s need to protect her older brother, Westbury, or she’d not believe a talisman could protect him. Or, possibly both.
“Interesting.” Ivy smiled slightly.
“What is?”
“You never seem focused on making the best possible match for yourself. As the sister of a baron, you can do better than Oliver. Since Redgrave will be a marquess someday, I do applaud your sudden initiative.”
It was all Holly could do not to roll her eyes. For the most part, she and Ivy got along well, at least until the subject of potential husbands was broached. For Ivy, only a duke would do. For Holly, only love would do. “Redgrave was only being polite,” Holly assured her, though she wished it were more. “And, as you know, Oliver has no interest in me.”
Frances narrowed her eyes on Holly. “Are you so certain? My brother does seem to spend a good deal of time in your company.”
Only because he’s waiting to swoop in and care for the broken hearts that Ethan leaves in his wake. “He is a friend. Besides, you know as well as I do that Oliver needs an heiress, something I am not.”
“Still, Holly, you shouldn’t spend so much time in Oliver’s company,” Ivy advised.
“Why?”
“Because, others already believe he is smitten with you. How will you ever bring an acceptable gentleman, such as Redgrave, up to scratch if my cousin is always at your side?”
“You mean, how will I ever find love?” Holly countered with a smile.
Ivy simply sighed and lifted her teacup.
Thank goodness they weren’t going to revisit an old and worn out argument.
“My brother is at the gypsy camp?” Frances Dallimore asked after a moment, as if she’d just realized what Holly had said. “He enjoyed them in his youth, but for the most part he thought all that fortune telling was a lark.”
“Why did you go to the gypsy camp?” Lady Faye asked.
Holly’s face began to warm, but she wasn’t about to tell these three what she’d been about. Ivy never understood why Holly was so concerned with Anthony’s happiness, or her devotion to her guardian, and Holly didn’t wish to discuss it now.
“Lady Faye, you look lovely today in the pale rose. You really must wear that color more often,” Holly changed the subject.
Lady Faye blushed slightly. “Thank you, but I do wish you and Lady Ivy would share with me the name of your modiste. No one has been able to match your style.”
Holly shared a look with Ivy, but she knew her secret would be safe. When Holly first began sketching and sewing gowns, it had been for herself, then one day she found the most beautiful pale green with delicate white flowers and knew it would look lovely on Ivy with her porcelain complexion and red hair. At first Ivy hadn’t wanted to wear something that Holly had made, but finally humored her and wore it to a picnic where she received an abundance of compliments. Ever since, Holly had designed and sewn many of Ivy’s gowns without anyone being the wiser, except Westbury of course, since he questioned the cost of the material at one time. When he had realized what is was for and then compared it to the normal cost for outfitting them for a Season, he’d remarked that Holly was saving him money. Though Westbury would never deny Ivy a thing,
nor Holly for that matter, she’d taken the comment to heart and tried to lessen any financial burden that she could by designing and sewing the gowns she and Ivy wore.
“If we tell you, or anyone, then everyone will match our style,” Ivy answered.
At least when Holly returned to her home, she could be assured of at least one customer, unless Ivy found a modiste that she preferred over Holly.
“Is Westbury about?” Holly asked Ivy.
“I believe he’s playing billiards.”
Holly mulled over the idea of going to him, but most likely he’d not be alone and the conversation they needed to have was quite private. The privacy wasn’t for herself as much as it was for Ethan. Or, perhaps it was more for her. She didn’t anticipate Ethan being receptive of the talisman, but hopefully he would understand the necessity.
Oh, there was nothing for it. She’d have to do this sooner or later and it was best to be done quickly. “Excuse me.” She turned from Lady Ivy, Miss Dallimore and Lady Faye and made her way toward the billiards room.
There Ethan was, standing at the billiards table, cue in hand. Near him was Redgrave, hand in his pocket and a confused frown on his lips. Holly thought the mistletoe hadn’t responded earlier, unless that was Redgrave’s concern. Had he hoped he’d find his love immediately?
Holly tried to push the thought from her mind. She didn’t want to think about Redgrave and his destined love, especially since it was not her. Besides, there was a much more pressing matter at hand, and that was to give the pouch to Ethan and pray he’d heed her advice and keep it on his person at all times. With that thought in mind, she took a deep breath and stepped inside what was currently a male domain. The gentlemen turned and looked at her in surprise.
Weren’t women allowed in here? Their reaction was no different from what Holly assumed she’d receive if she entered Whites, which she would never do, of course.
“Might I have a word, Your Grace?”
“Is all well, Miss Prescott?” Westbury asked with concern.
“Yes, I just need a moment of your time.”
He handed his cue off to Viscount Blackwater and came forward before leading her out into the corridor. “What is wrong?”
Again, Holly took a deep breath and pulled the pouch from her pocket. “I visited the Gypsies on your behalf.”
Ethan raised an eyebrow. “My behalf?”
“Yes, well, you know my concerns…”
“Holly, enough. You do not need to protect me.”
“But, I do,” she argued. “You don’t know how conniving the female mind can be.”
He narrowed his eyes on her, and Holly squirmed just a bit. Ethan had told her time and again that having raised three sisters, he was quite aware how Machiavellian the female mind could be. Holly, however, was quite convinced that he was fooling himself. After all, she had witnessed enough over the last few seasons to know that Ethan wasn’t nearly as aware as he should be.
“Anyway, I’ve obtained a talisman to protect you.”
His lips twitched as if he wished to laugh. Odd, that. Ethan rarely laughed, if ever, and he’d certainly not laugh at anyone. Perhaps being with the gentlemen had put him in good humor. “You must promise to keep this with you at all times.”
He took the small brown satchel and studied it. “What’s it supposed to do?”
Ethan was still humoring her, but Holly didn’t care. As long as he kept it, it didn’t matter what he thought of her at the moment.
“Madam Boswell assured me that as long as this is on your person, you will know your love when you meet her.”
“How, exactly?”
If he actually laughed at her, Holly would scream. She was well aware that Ethan barely tolerated her interference, but he’d never laughed at her before. All in all, this was rather frustrating. However, regardless of what he might or might not do, she pushed forward. “Your fingers will tingle when you touch and your heart will race.”
“And if it doesn’t?” He turned the pouch over in his hand as if studying it.
“Then the miss in question is only interested in your title and not you for yourself.”
He nodded. “What of you?”
“What do you mean?” She blinked up at him.
“If I have this, what is to become of you, or will you still watch from the shadows, hoping I don’t succumb to a manipulative lady.”
By the time he was finished, Holly’s face was burning. Ethan had never been unkind to her before, and she wasn’t sure if he was now. Had she really been such a bother? “The Gypsy said that I must stay away. Keep my distance.” She looked away. “I’m the interference that keeps you from your future.”
“Never that, Holly.”
His voice was kind and low, a balm to her embarrassment.
“I only want what is best for you, Ethan,” she said after meeting his eyes.
“I know, and I thank you for your concern.” Then he slid the pouch into his pocket. “I’ll make a bargain with you. I’ll keep the talisman on my person if you promise to enjoy this holiday and not worry about me being ruined.” His blue eyes bore into hers. “Do we have an agreement?”
“Yes.” After all, it was exactly what the old Gypsy had told her to do, and as long as Ethan promised to keep the pouch, she’d need not worry about him any longer.
Anthony glanced up when Westbury returned. Did he now have the pouch on him or had he dismissed Miss Prescott’s concern?
“How is your ward, Westbury, and why haven’t you married her off? She’s what, one-and-twenty?” the Earl of Hayfield asked.
Anthony shot him a look. He’d never much cared for Hayfield, and wondered if the rumors were true that the earl had made the governess of his children his mistress while he sought to marry an heiress.
“Miss Prescott is well, and she will marry in her own time,” Westbury nearly scolded as he took his cue back from Blackwater.
“It must be quite a strain to be guardian to a miss with little to recommend her, at least by way of a dowry. You’re a better man than I.”
Most gentlemen were, Anthony thought to himself and suspected Westbury was having similar thoughts. Tension settled in the duke’s shoulders as he turned his back to the earl without responding.
“It’s a shame that Miss Prescott is in love with you, Westbury.” Somerton lifted his glass. “The rest of us don’t have a chance with her.”
Anthony straightened, as did Westbury, who turned to Somerton before he could take his next shot
“Love?” Westbury questioned. “I can assure you that Miss Prescott only holds a brotherly affection for me.”
Somerton snorted in disbelief as Anthony studied the duke. Was Westbury really so blind?
“What is this?” Oliver Dallimore asked as he entered. “Who is in love with Westbury this time?”
“Miss Prescott,” Somerton announced and Anthony watched Dallimore for any reaction.
The man actually laughed.
Was it possible that she did not love her guardian and truly wished only to protect him?
Westbury frowned. “I agree with you, Oliver, but I see no reason to laugh as if the very idea is an absurdity.”
“My pardon.” Dallimore flourished a mock bow, though the smirk remained on his lips.
“Are you saying that Miss Prescott is not in love with His Grace?” Somerton asked, setting his brandy aside, suddenly interested.
Anthony narrowed his eyes. He knew very well that Somerton didn’t plan on courting any miss for at least thirteen more years. Regardless of their friendship, Anthony wasn’t going to stand by if Somerton intended to play with the girl’s affections.
“Hardly,” Dallimore snorted. “As far as Miss Prescott is concerned, His Grace is much like an older brother, whom she does care deeply about.”
Older brother whom she cares deeply about? Had he so poorly misread the situation for the past three years?
“Then why haven’t you courted her?” Hayfield demanded of Dallim
ore. “You’re practically always in her pocket.”
If Miss Prescott truly didn’t love Westbury, and the mistletoe was truly faulty…
“It isn’t that I don’t wish to court Miss Prescott,” Dallimore answered and Anthony stiffened. “In fact, she has everything I could ever want in a wife, save one thing?”
“That would be?” Somerton asked.
“Wealth!”
Both Somerton and Hayfield sadly nodded. Though Somerton had no need to marry an heiress, Hayfield certainly did. At least Anthony wouldn’t need to worry about the earl. Somerton, on the other hand, was a different concern all together.
Striding across the room, Antony nodded and stepped out into the corridor and almost instantly the plant in is pocket shriveled. He’d forgotten he was even gripping the damn thing.
This couldn’t be right.
Anthony pulled it from his pocket and stared down. It appeared no different than it had at the Gypsy camp. Had he only imagined that it had begun to ripen in the billiards room?
That must be it, but just to be certain, he turned in the direction he had come, walking slowly and watching for any changes in the plant. The moment he crossed the threshold, the tips of the leaves began to turn green as the berries began to plump.
His heart pounded as he stepped further into the room and it came to life.
Anthony looked up, then did a slow turn. He was surrounded by nothing but men. Bloody hell.
Chapter 7
Tension like she’d not experienced in some time gripped Holly and it was all she could do to get though the tea. She wasn’t quite certain why she was on edge, though she did suspect a few causes. The first, her guardian. Since she’d promised not to interfere in any potential courtship, she’d been forced to watch helplessly as ladies attempted to gain his attention. When Ethan caught her watching him, he slipped the pouch from his pocket, tossed it gently in his hand as if it were a small ball then returned it to its resting place. He was doing what she asked, and she needed to trust that the gypsy magic would work.