“London? I hope you have time to visit some of our family friends as well as the members of the beau monde that are Lord Frayne’s natural circle.” Sir Andrew took a meditative sip of wine. “You may need the company of friends who are comfortable with wizardry.”
In other words, her father expected her to run into trouble. Well, she expected that, too. She lifted Cleo onto her lap and encouraged the cat to purr by stroking the soft black fur. Odd how even the guarantee of trouble didn’t make her want to change her mind.
Chapter X
Jack was flying, swooping over the globe, arms stretched before him and the wind tugging his hair. Below were places he knew in England and Scotland, Spain, and Portugal. There was plenty of ocean, too.
His ability to fly suddenly vanished and he fell helplessly from the sky. He eyed the fast-approaching earth with resignation. He’d faced certain death after his hunting accident. Perhaps now he was better prepared.
He crashed into a meadow and bounced without being damaged. Surprised, he glanced around, trying to identify his location, but the meadow was unlike anyplace he’d ever been. The flowers, the birds, even the butterflies were different from those he knew. Brighter and more attractive, but eerie in their differences. Yet at the same time, there was an odd familiarity to the place, as if he’d seen it once long before.
He saw a familiar figure walking away from him. Scrambling to his feet, he ran after it. “Ashby, is that you? Where are we?”
The man turned and showed a face that was both Ashby and not-Ashby, but his voice was familiar when he said, “Jack?”
A hand on Jack’s shoulder jerked him back to wakefulness. He opened his eyes to see Ashby, looking perfectly normal and repeating his name.
“What time is it?” Jack said groggily.
“Early. I came before breakfast to smuggle in the crutches you requested.” His friend held them out proudly. “I had them made specially so they wouldn’t collapse under the weight of a great hulk like you. The carpenter who built them thought to put padding on the tops to make them easier to use.”
Jack came to full wakefulness instantly. “Good! I don’t want to get married in a wheelchair.” He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, keeping the broken leg straight out. The day before, the heavy splints that immobilized his whole leg had been replaced by lighter splints bound with leather straps. It had been ridiculously exciting to be able to bend his right knee again.
He tried to raise himself on the crutches, lost his balance, and ended up sprawled on his back on the bed, swearing. His wary second attempt was more successful, and he managed to stand upright under his own power, though swaying back and forth.
“Any word yet on a wedding date?” his friend asked.
Jack nodded. The crutches were a bit short, but they’d do. Keeping his weight on his left foot, he moved the crutches forward a few inches, stepped out with his left foot, and almost fell. Not a good idea to move his foot beyond the position of the crutches, apparently. Ashby caught and steadied him. Jack was grateful that his friend was there to help, though with Jack’s greater size, he might drag them both to the floor if he fell.
He took another step forward, almost falling again when he didn’t allow for the height of the carpet. Amazing what a difference half an inch made.
Walking took concentration, too. He found he couldn’t walk and talk at the same time. He halted to say, “Sir Andrew Barton returned home last night. For a civil fellow, he’s rather fearsome—it must be the wizard eyes.” Which were pale blue with dark rims, very like Abby’s, now that he thought of it. “Luckily he had no objection to our marriage. The wedding is set for tomorrow in the local parish church. Abby and I will move to my hunting box directly after.”
Lurching but upright, he inched forward another few steps, grimly watching his balance and where he placed the crutches. “I hadn’t realized there’s a knack to this, so it’s good I can practice before the wedding.” This would be easier if he was wearing shoes, or at least a shoe on his left foot. Damned tiring, though. He crisscrossed the room, glad to be upright again.
“How about resting in that chair?” Ashby suggested. “Walking with crutches looks exhausting.”
Privately admitting that he was near collapse, Jack swung over to the wing chair, turned clumsily, and sat, half falling and jarring his leg again. Damn, it was going to be hard to get out of this deeply upholstered chair. He’d worry about that later. For now, he was panting as if he’d been running.
Ashby took the other chair. “So the wedding is set. You don’t mind having to marry her because that was her price for saving your life?”
“Actually, Abby came by yesterday evening and released me from the bargain. She said she didn’t want to force me, and she’d only made the suggestion in the first place to engage my attention.” Jack placed the crutches together and rested them on the left side of his chair, wondering how to explain his decision to proceed. “Still, I gave my word, and apart from being a wizard, she should make a decent wife. She’s no beauty, but she’s good company. Intelligent. Kind.”
“No, she’s not a beauty,” Ashby said gently. “She’s magnificent, which is something quite different. I’m glad you’re choosing to marry her even though you don’t have to. She has a thousand times the substance of the average marriage mart miss.”
Jack glanced up, startled but pleased by his friend’s approval. “You won’t give me the cut direct for marrying a wizard?”
“That would be rude, given that I’ve been running tame in her house since your accident,” Ashby said dryly. “Can I help in any way with the wedding? Perhaps visit your hunting box and make sure it’s ready for a new mistress? Organize a modest wedding breakfast there?”
Jack thought about what was needed. “Both those things would be much appreciated. Also, I’ll need a ring—perhaps Abby’s maid will lend you a ring for sizing. And if it’s possible, might you find some flowers even though it’s winter?”
“A duke can always find flowers,” Ashby said gravely. “Anything else?”
“Would you stand up with me? Or since Winslow and Ransom are in town, maybe casting dice would be best.” Reading his friend’s expression, he said wryly, “You’re the most likely to approve of this wedding, aren’t you? So the others might prefer not to be asked.”
“Ransom and Winslow both like Abby, but they are somewhat wary about seeing you marry her under these circumstances. Especially Winslow,” the duke said tactfully. “I think they’ll be pleased for you once they realize you’re doing this of your own free will. One might dislike wizards in the abstract and still be fond of them in the particular, and Abby is very likable.”
Jack was glad to hear it, because he wasn’t about to change his mind even if his friends had been horrified. It was surprising, really, just how determined he was to go through with this marriage.
“There!” Judith stepped back and studied the lace veil that fell down her friend’s back. “You look lovely, Abby. Every inch a bride.”
“Including the nervousness?” Abby brushed the pale blue silk of her gown, hoping her hands weren’t visibly trembling.
“Especially the nervousness. That’s absolutely traditional.” Judith’s smile was a little misty. “I’m happy for you, but I’ll miss you, Abby.”
“Yorkshire isn’t so terribly far from Leicestershire,” Abby said. “You can bear me company when Frayne is in London debating the great issues of the day.”
“Won’t you be with him?”
Abby made a face. “I suspect that after this visit, I’ll be content to keep my distance. The times I’ve been to London before, we stayed within the circle of our friends—wizards and those who accept magic. This will be different, and I suspect much more unpleasant than Frayne realizes.”
“London may surprise you,” Judith said. “The prohibition against magic has always been stronger for men than women. From what I’ve heard, a fair number of the ladies of the beau monde have d
abbled with magic themselves, rather like their drawing and music lessons.”
“If some of them are secretly practicing magic, they may be even harder on me to draw attention from their own sins.” Abby lifted her prayer book and the small nosegay of orange blossoms that had been delivered that morning. One of Jack’s friends must have found the flowers at the conservatory of one of the great houses of the area. Barton Grange had a conservatory, but the limited space was used for fruits and vegetables during the winter. It was a luxury to have flowers at this season. “I shall deal with criticism as it comes, and count the days until I leave London.”
Judith fixed her with a stern glance. “Speaking of counting days, when are you going to stop giving your life force to Frayne? You said it was only temporary, but you’re giving more than ever.”
Abby sighed. “I stopped once, and he had a relapse. I decided it was better to restore the flow of energy until he is well enough to manage on his own. Today I’m giving him extra energy so he can get through the wedding and the carriage ride across the valley. I will gradually reduce the flow once he is settled in his own home.”
“I hope that will be soon. You’ve lost weight and there are circles under your eyes. You can’t keep this up much longer, Abby.”
“I won’t. I don’t like being tired all the time.” Nor did she need to look in the mirror to recognize that Judith was right about her losing weight and having tired eyes. Any beauty Abby might have today was because of her happiness, because she did look rather run-down. “It’s time to leave for the church.”
“You’re right.” Judith gave Abby a quick hug. “Be happy, my dear. Frayne is a good man, and you deserve happiness. Think of yourself sometimes, not just others.”
“You give me more credit than I deserve. I’m a selfish woman, or I wouldn’t have snapped up Jack when he was weak and vulnerable.” Abby’s smile was crooked, because she knew there was truth in her halfhearted joke.
“Nonsense. In my experience, men usually do what they want, and he would not have asked for your hand after you released him unless he really wanted you as his wife.”
Hoping Judith was right, Abby left the bedchamber that had been hers since she was a small child. Most of her belongings had already been packed for transport to Jack’s hunting box. She tried not to think of all she was leaving behind. She should be looking to the future, not mourning the past.
Her father waited at the foot of the stairs to escort her and Judith to the church. The ceremony would be small, just a few friends and relatives. Next summer, she and her husband—husband!—would visit Melton Mowbray and her father could host an outdoor reception for the tenants and neighbors.
He looked up and gave her a smile that came close to breaking Abby’s heart. “You look beautiful, my dear girl. I wish your mother was here to see you.”
She swallowed hard. “Don’t get me started crying or I won’t be able to stop, and that won’t be at all flattering to my new husband.”
“Don’t worry, I came prepared.” He handed her a handkerchief.
Abby laughed a little, blotted the incipient moisture from her eyes, and tucked the handkerchief away for future use. Then she donned her cloak, as did Judith, and they left the house for the carriage ride to the church.
Abby no longer looked back. It was her future that intrigued her now. A future with the only man she had ever wanted.
Jack had insisted on getting to the church early. He wanted time to recover from the effort of traveling in a carriage. He’d never fully realized just how much carriages bounced. But at least he was well dressed, thanks to the skills of his valet. Morris had opened the seam of Jack’s best trousers and sewed in an extra panel to accommodate the splint on his right leg.
That leg was aching badly by the time they reached Saint Anselm in the Fields, the pretty stone church that served the Bartons’ parish. Ashby and Ransom helped him from the carriage, Winslow bringing up the rear. The cold winter weather had turned mild today, with more sunshine than cloud. That was a good sign, he thought. He worked out how long it had been since his accident, and realized soon Parliament would be opening in London. He really must take his seat like a proper lord.
“Watch your step,” Ransom said. “The ground is rough here.”
“I’m learning that the world is full of hazards if you’re on crutches.” Jack clambered awkwardly up the three steps to the church and swung through the door that Ashby opened for him.
His shoulders and armpits ached from his stealthy practicing on the crutches the day before, but it would be worth it to surprise Abby. He grinned, wondering if she would smile with pleasure to see him upright or frown with concern that he was pushing himself too hard. Either expression would be charming.
Concentrating hard on the floor, which was flagstone and considerably less than even, he made his way to the front of the church. Beside him, Winslow said, “If you have any doubts, you don’t have to go through with this. No one would blame you for refusing to be coerced into marriage with a wyrdling.”
Jack stopped his slow progress so he could glare at his friend. “I have not been coerced and I have no doubts. If you feel you can’t support me in this, you are free to leave. There’s still time to join today’s hunt if you hurry.”
“I swear the woman has enchanted you, despite your anti-magic charm.” Winslow’s eyes narrowed. “You had to have given her permission to use magic to heal you. Maybe she took advantage of that to ensorcell you at the same time.”
Jack was ready to explode furiously when Ransom’s mild voice intervened. “Careful, Winslow, or you will find out just how formidable a weapon a crutch can be. And I might hold you down so Jack can take a few extra whacks.”
The interruption gave Jack time to recapture his temper. Lowering himself into the front pew, he said, “Lucas, you’re an ass, but I’ll forgive you this time because your intentions are good. Wrong, but good. Abby gave me a chance to withdraw, and I found that I didn’t want to. She didn’t ensorcell me.”
He hesitated before saying with the surprise of discovery, “The plain truth is that I like her. Yes, she’s a wizard, but she doesn’t make me feel clumsy or tongue-tied, like so many grand ladies do. She’s kind and bright and down-to-earth. I think I’m damned lucky to have found her even though I did it the hard way.”
Ashby added, “If you’d seen Abby in action, you would have no doubts, Lucas. She isn’t at all like the bits of fluff that appeal to you, and that’s all to the good.”
Winslow started to snap a reply, then halted. “Very well, I…I apologize for doubting your choice, Jack. I shall attempt to see her as you do. As for my support—you always have that.”
“Thank you.” Jack grimaced. “I’m going to need that support in society, where too many people will assume I’ve gone mad, or that Abby used magic to steal my wits.”
A man entered the sanctuary from a small side door. The vicar, by his dress. As Jack was thinking he looked familiar, Ransom stepped forward, hand extended. “Mr. Wilson. We met at the healing circle, I believe.”
The vicar returned the handshake. “We did indeed. I’m glad we meet again in happier circumstances.” He turned and shook Jack’s hand. “No need to stand, Lord Frayne. You’re looking well. You’re a lucky man in more ways than one.”
“Thank you, sir. I agree.” Jack heard footsteps and swiveled around, wondering if the bridal party had arrived. No Abby, but half a dozen people were taking seats in the rear. A moment later, a family with several children entered and also sat down.
The door hadn’t even closed before three men with similar long noses entered, two carrying fiddles and one a wooden flute. The three walked to the front of the church. While the fiddlers studied Jack with frank curiosity, the flutist said to the vicar, “Sir, they say Miss Abby is getting married today. Do you think she’d like it if we played for her?”
The vicar smiled. “I think she’d be very pleased, as long as you play when she’s coming and going and
not during the actual service.”
The flutist bobbed his head and led his companions off to one side of the church, where they started playing softly. They were quite good, too, though Jack didn’t recognize the music.
In the time that the musicians were getting settled, at least a dozen more people had come into the church. Most seemed like simple villagers and laborers dressed in plain, neat garments. Perplexed, Jack said to the vicar, “Abby and I had planned to have a very small wedding with just a few friends. Who are all these people?”
“They’ve all been helped by Abby and her family at one time or another,” Wilson replied. “Word of the wedding obviously got out and they’ve come to pay their respects. Since the church is open to all, they are welcome to attend. You are a fortunate man to marry a woman who is so loved.”
Even Winslow looked impressed by the vicar’s explanation. With a nod of his head, Wilson moved away to speak with a woman and her daughter at the front of the church. They were placing vases of berried branches, holly leaves, cattails, and other vegetation that could be found at this stark season. The arrangements were quite pretty, too. Jack thought of the parable of the widow’s mite. These were offerings of people with little money but a true-hearted desire to honor Abby.
A voice said excitedly, “The bride has arrived!”
With shuffling feet and rustling clothing, dozens of people rose as the double doors to the church opened. Sunshine illuminated the four figures who stepped inside. Sir Andrew Barton, Judith Wayne, Abby’s maid—but it was only Abby that he really saw. She looked like a goddess. The sun caught golden and auburn highlights in her hair and shimmered on her ripe, womanly form. Judith removed the cloak from Abby’s shoulders and his bride moved forward through the light, music swelling to fill the church with exhilarating melody.
Ashby had been right. Abby wasn’t beautiful—she was magnificent.
The Marriage Spell Page 10