“A few,” Celeste said cheerfully. “But you will be offered only good choices, so whatever you wear will look stunning.”
“Indeed, milady has a magnificent figure,” Madame Renault observed. “With your height and natural form, it’s a crime the way you have concealed yourself with plain garments and inferior stays.”
“If magnificent means overblown, you’re right,” Abby said tartly. “Even when I was thirteen, I didn’t have the elegance of figure that the duchess possesses.”
Madame Ravelle shook her head. “There is more than one kind of beauty, Lady Frayne. Her grace is the epitome of ethereal elegance. Men and women gasp when they see her. She is like a fairy queen who is briefly visiting earth to grant mere mortals a glimpse of timeless beauty.”
Celeste laughed. “That is ludicrously overblown flattery, Madame Ravelle.”
“Overblown, perhaps, but essentially accurate,” Abby commented.
Madame Renault turned to her. “Your beauty is of an earthier, more sensual kind, Milady Frayne. When you enter a ballroom, women will see a well-dressed woman and continue what they were doing. Men will stare and yearn and consider challenging your lord husband to a duel to win your favor.”
Abby’s jaw dropped. “I hope your dressmaking skills are equal to your flattery. I am not the sort to arouse jealous, lustful thoughts. I don’t think I would want to be.”
“Wait and see,” Celeste said. “I don’t think you will be displeased by the results.” She lifted a bolt of blue silk and pulled several yards loose, then draped it across Abby. “Look in the mirror. What do you think about this fabric for your ball gown?”
Abby turned to the full-length mirror, then gasped. The silk shimmered a myriad of blues that emphasized her eyes. And the feel! She lifted a fold to rub her cheek. It was the most sensual, luxurious fabric she’d ever touched. “It’s marvelous. Any woman would feel beautiful wearing this.”
“Which is part of the magic of fine clothing, Abby,” Celeste said seriously. “If one feels beautiful, one is beautiful. As a child, I was a scrappy little tomboy who always had twigs in my hair and grass stains on my skirts. I might have been considered a pretty child, but I didn’t become beautiful until I set my mind to it.” Her gaze became distant. “That was when my mother decided it was time to take me in hand. She is the one who taught me that beauty begins in the mind.” She turned to the sisters. “We’re off to a good start, madames. I look forward to what you will create.”
The dressmakers and their assistants swiftly collected their fabrics, pins, measuring tapes, and other paraphernalia and withdrew. One assistant helped Abby don her old morning gown again. Never had it looked so plain.
When Abby was alone with Celeste, she collapsed on the sofa. “I’m exhausted and all I did was stand still while they treated me like a dress doll!”
“Of course you’re tired—over four hours have passed. You’ll feel better after we have a light luncheon.” Celeste pulled the bell rope to summon a servant. “In the meantime, think of your new wardrobe as armor against the claws of society.”
“I just hope I haven’t bankrupted Jack,” Abby muttered.
“You haven’t, quite. Believe me, he’ll think it’s worth every penny.”
Abby allowed herself a brief fantasy of Jack looking at her with dazzled, yearning eyes. She didn’t believe it would really happen. But it was a lovely fantasy.
Afternoon was darkening to evening when Jack returned to Alderton House. After shaking off rain, he ascended to his room and summoned Morris to help him remove his boots. Then he went in search of his wife.
He found Abby napping under a fluffy quilt. He parked his cane, pulled off his coat and shoes, then slid under the quilt beside her.
She was lying on her side, so he curved his body around hers, her back to his front. She murmured drowsily, “You’re cold.”
A sensible woman would retreat from his chilled self, but she reached for his left arm and pulled it around her waist. Muscle by muscle, he began to relax. “I’d forgotten how tiring London is.”
“Now that your magic has been released, it will be even more tiring. Being around so many people drains power like a hole in a barrel leaks ale.”
“It’s always going to be so tiring in town?” he asked with alarm.
“After a few days, one adapts.” She yawned. “I always need to nap the first day or two in the city. Luckily Celeste doesn’t want me to be seen in society until the ball.”
He propped himself on one elbow and studied Abby’s face, noting the dark circles under her eyes. She did look thoroughly drained. “Since she and Alderton are going off to various affairs tonight, she suggested that we could have dinner here in our rooms.”
“What a wonderful idea!” Her eyes opened. “I really like your sister, Jack.”
“So do I.” She had been the most constant, reliable member of his family. The one who was always glad to see him. “I hope you or Judith can do something for her.”
“I wrote Judith this afternoon. I should hear back within the week.” Abby shifted, her delightfully rounded backside pressing against him. “What did you do today that roused you from bed so early? I was so sleepy I forgot to ask.”
“I started with the regimental broker to formally list my commission for sale. Then I visited a tailor who specializes in making official robes of state to get ready for when I take my seat.” He tightened his hold on her waist. “You’ll need a set, too. Never can tell when there will be a royal funeral or some such where peers and peeresses have to parade in full finery.”
“I spent half the day being mauled by your sister’s modistes and their merry crews,” Abby said gloomily. “I’m sure the results will be excellent, but I can’t say that I enjoyed the process.”
He chuckled. “I did the same this afternoon. Ashby came back to town and dragged me to his tailor. He stayed the whole time because he didn’t trust my taste and feared I might bolt.”
Her laughter was soft against him. “You and I have become victims of the more fashionable.”
“To be honest, I was glad to have him there, once he accepted my basic rule: no garments that I can’t put on or take off by myself. What’s the point of a coat that requires assistance? Nothing could make a great ox like me look like a dandy even if I was willing to wear such clothes.”
“Is Ashby a dandy?”
“No, he’s the epitome of gentlemanly elegance. He has the figure for it. I don’t, so it’s best to stick with a plain, well-cut style that calls no attention.”
“I’d like to do the same, being cut on generous lines myself, but I don’t know if I’ll be allowed to look so sensible.” She sighed melodramatically. “I’m not even sure I’ll be able to breathe in my new stays. The corsetiere had a dangerous gleam in her eyes.”
He laughed. “Keep your courage up, my girl. We’ll survive and escape back to the country in a few weeks.” He moved his hand up to circle comfortably around her breast. “But for now, we’ll nap.”
And they did.
Chapter XXI
The Alderton chef did as fine a job on a light supper for two as he would a banquet for the Prince Regent. Abby thought it was almost indecent to enjoy such food in her robe rather than in formal dress. If so, she was in favor of indecency.
After a footman removed the empty trays and plates from their sitting room, Abby asked, “Do you think it would be a breach of wizardly ethics if I ensorcelled your sister’s chef to work for us?”
“Probably, and Celeste would cut my liver out.” His brows drew together. “I know you’re joking, but it makes me realize how compelling temptation can be.”
She made a face. “Every day offers temptations to use magic for personal advantage. It’s lucky that protective charms are so common. They reduce the temptation to try to manipulate others.”
“Manipulation.” Jack grimaced. “I said I’d tell you when I was ready to have my mind cleansed. I’m ready now. I want to find out who I am whe
n no one is trying to shape me to his will.”
“Are you sure?” she asked gravely. “To enter someone’s mind is very intimate. Don’t grant permission unless you trust me fully.”
“I don’t like the idea of you seeing all my most shameful thoughts, but there is no one I would trust more, Abby. Go ahead.”
“I’m only going to look for spells,” she said reassuringly. “Minds are complicated. It’s not as if I can read your thoughts. Entering a mind is more like walking through a crowded attic looking for candles. Any glimmer of light will attract my attention, but everything else is like piles of boxes and trunks. I’ll have no idea what they contain.”
“As long as you don’t open any trunks and look inside! What should I do?”
“Get into a comfortable position on the sofa and relax. If you like, I can describe what I find as I go along.”
“That would be good.” Jack moved to the sofa and sat at one end.
Abby doused most of the lights and tossed some coal on the fire to maintain the room’s warmth. Then she placed a chair in front of Jack and sat so close their knees were touching. For a moment she was distracted by their closeness, for the sheer broad masculinity of him made her senses sing.
But tonight’s work was more important than her discreetly lusting after her husband. “Let me know if you feel something strange or upsetting.” She took his hands in hers. “I can stop at any time.”
His steady hazel gaze met hers unflinchingly. “I would rather we stayed with this until you’ve done all that needs doing.”
She closed her eyes and centered in her power before reaching out to Jack. As she had told him, entering another person’s mind was like visiting a strange attic filled with murky, confusing objects. If she stopped to examine a particular structure, she could get a general sense of what it meant, and with time could interpret it rather well.
But her job was to find what didn’t belong—the constraints and compulsions that had been imposed on him by others, not Jack’s private thoughts.
She tuned her magic to seek what was alien. Almost immediately she discovered an angry knot of energy. She hated the idea of going near it, so naturally she made herself look more closely.
“Here’s something,” she murmured. “Definitely a spell that has been in place for years. Let’s see what it’s designed for.” She frowned as she analyzed its nature. “Yes! As we speculated, it’s a repulsion spell that makes you want to avoid a particular place. In this case, Yorkshire.”
“Can you tell who cast it?”
“Perhaps.” She touched the angry knot with her mind and flooded it with neutralizing energy. After years in place, the spell was rigid but also brittle. As she increased the flow of healing magic, the ugly pattern splintered and dissolved.
Jack swore and squeezed Abby’s hands hard.
Her eyes flew open. “You felt that?”
“Yes, and I’m ready to ride to Yorkshire tonight. How could I have stayed away from my home so long?” His voice was anguished. “Underneath that spell, my soul has been hungering for my home for years. I have been like a tree severed from my roots.” He took an unsteady breath. “Did you identify the source of the spell?”
She studied the remnants of energy. “Male and a skilled black magician, but I don’t know the name. We probably wouldn’t recognize it anyhow—black magicians prefer to avoid notice. As for going to Yorkshire—first there is business to finish here in London. But soon we’ll be heading north.”
“I know,” he said grudgingly. “Another few weeks will make no great difference, but it will be hard to wait.” His hands relaxed their grip on hers. “Is there more?”
“I think so.” She closed her eyes and began seeking again. Gradually she became aware of a dark energy that pulsated with surly menace. It was certainly a spell, but not a type she recognized.
She approached the dark energy cautiously, aware that it was possible to create spells that would explode in a blaze of dangerous magic if someone attempted to break them. After careful study she decided this one wasn’t a trap, merely an unusual spell. She touched it with her magic and gave a huff of surprise.
“What have you found?”
“This is really strange. I think it’s a spell to…to make you reckless,” she said slowly. “The effect would be for you to crave thrills even if the danger is overwhelming. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Good God! You mean it’s meant to encourage me into activities where I might die young?” Jack exclaimed. “Like going into the army?”
“Yes, though I don’t know if the spell is old enough to be responsible for that.” Abby poked at it mentally. “I think it was created by the same wizard who cast the spell to keep you away from Yorkshire. Scranton must have wanted you not only distant but dead if possible.” She smiled without humor. “After all, few women love their husbands more than their sons, so you were competition for your mother’s favor.”
Jack’s hands tightened again with painful force. “Could my father have been the object of a similar spell?”
“Impossible to know at this late date. But if Scranton did commission a wizard to cast such a spell on your father, he’s not only a villain but a murderer,” Abby said grimly.
“I acquired the nickname Lucky Jack when I charged into a melee of murderous French soldiers and managed to recover the regimental flag when the bearer was killed and the banner was captured. Everyone said I should have died, but I didn’t.” Jack’s voice was tight. “Was my so-called courage the result of a spell meant to destroy me?”
She shook her head. “There is courage to spare in you—I don’t have to look into your mind closely to know that. But the spell probably affected your judgment of the odds for survival, sending you into situations where death would seem almost certain.”
He released his breath roughly. “Why am I still alive, Abby? God knows I’ve had no shortage of opportunities to die from my recklessness.”
“Perhaps your natural defenses were strong enough to counter the spell. Or…wait a moment.” She had continued to study the pulsing energy. “The spell is surrounded by a subtle net of magic bound so closely that it’s almost invisible.”
“Is it more work from the black magician?”
“No, this spell is completely different in nature. It’s all patched out of little fragments of power, as if constructed by an amateur.” Abby probed farther before giving a soft whistle of awe. “The net was created by Celeste, and it largely neutralized the recklessness spell. Not entirely, but mostly.”
“My sister did that?” he said incredulously. “She says she has had no training and little power. How could she identify a dangerous spell cast by a master wizard and know enough to counter it?”
Abby touched one of the patchwork strands. It hummed its nature in her mind. “She didn’t, not deliberately. The net is composed of prayers. There is magic in prayers, you know, for they invoke the divine. For years she has prayed for your safety, and those prayers were drawn to this ugly, dangerous spell. The power of love neutralized the destructiveness. I believe she has saved your life, probably again and again.”
“I had no idea.” He shook his head in amazement. “I owe her more than I can repay.”
Abby drained and neutralized the sullen energy of the recklessness spell, aided by Celeste’s patchwork magic. She was grateful for that extra energy, since her power was flagging. “I’ll look around to see if there are more spells lurking. Are there any areas where you feel your behavior has not been in line with your natural inclinations?”
He thought a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t believe so. But at this point, I’m not sure what my natural inclinations are.”
“I’ll make sure I’m thorough, then.” Abby continued her scanning and found a clumsily made attraction spell. “It looks like a lady in Spain managed to capture your attention with the crudest of aphrodisiac spells.”
Jack blushed. “She was no lady.”
A
bby grinned, able to be amused since the spell indicated only the most casual of connections between Jack and the dubious lady. Nonetheless, she obliterated traces of the spell to reduce the likelihood of him cherishing fond memories of the wench.
“I’ll do one last scan to see if anything else looks out of place.” She changed her mental focus and moved through the complex patterns of Jack’s mind.
Because of the strength of the anti-magic spell he’d carried so many years, there seemed to be none of the minor spell fragments found in most minds. The Spanish attraction spell never would have worked if it hadn’t reinforced an action he was already inclined to. There seemed to be nothing else.
She sensed a quiet pulse of energy that wasn’t Jack. It didn’t seem to be a spell, but there was enough power to influence him. She looked closer and blushed hotly when she saw a ripe, voluptuous image of herself.
When she could bring herself to look more closely, she saw that her image wore only a shift—one that was much too sheer!—and her loose hair tumbled over her shoulders. Her lips were parted slightly in a provocative smile and her eyes were languorous. Good God, were her breasts and hips so lush compared to her waist?
Knowing that he saw her like this was the most embarrassing thing she’d ever seen. And the most gratifying. It wasn’t only her face that felt hot.
Her image winked at her! Even more embarrassed, Abby collected herself and withdrew from Jack’s mind.
Wondering if that image was merely a sign of her fatigue, she released Jack’s hands and flexed her fingers. “Your mind is your own again, Jack. How does it feel?”
After a long moment, he opened his eyes and gave a smile that touched her heart. “It feels good.” He stood and arched his back, stretching his arms like a lion waking from sleep. He made a delicious sight. “Now to find out what it is to have my mind to myself.”
His gaze became unfocused for long moments. Then he snapped back to awareness and said with dangerous fury, “What the hell are you doing to me?”
The Marriage Spell Page 20