"Lord Lothian," Hippolyta interjected. "You will remove your hand from my niece."
Lothian turned his bleary eyes on her and curled his lip.
"This instant, if you please," she said firmly.
"You meddle at your peril," he spat. "Do not come between Lothian and his quarry." He threw his free arm up in a dramatic gesture, finger pointed toward the sky. A few feeble sparks fell from his fingertip, but that was all. Lothian regarded it with a mystified expression, as if it were a pistol that had misfired.
St. Ives came up behind Hippolyta. "I am afraid we must insist, my lord. Do forgive us, but our peril does not at the moment appear terribly grave."
"You will all suffer for this," Lothian fumed, shaking with anger.
"Very likely," Hippolyta said placatingly, as if to a fretful child. She drew Diana away from his grasp.
"Lady Hippolyta!" Jane stepped into the circle just then, dragging behind her a thoroughly visible and disgracefully untidy Bertie. "Just look whom I have found, sitting on a rock, pretty as you please. The moon come out from behind a cloud and there he was."
At that very moment, the moon peeped out again. It was directly above.
"Heavens preserve a Christian soul!" Jane shrieked, backing away as if from some sudden horror. "Don't look at me like that, you son of Satan!"
Hippolyta gasped as Lothian lurched past her and threw himself before the flabbergasted Jane.
"Bright angel," he cried ecstatically.
"Augh!" Jane backed away as if before a mad dog, her eyes fixed on him in morbid fascination.
"Do not spurn me, Venus!" he begged. "Say you will love me, and I shall give you gowns of finest spider silk, jewels plucked from the bony dead in their watery graves!"
"Lord help us all!" Jane howled and dashed into the night.
Lothian followed like a hound on the scent. "Nymph! Cruel Siren!" he cried as his voice faded into the distance. "Aphrodite!"
"Just watch now!" Bertie exclaimed. "The fun has begun!" He jumped up and down and clapped his hands.
Hippolyta clapped a repressive hand on his shoulder. "Bertie! What have you been about?"
Bertie laughed all the harder and, wriggling beyond her grasp, threw himself to the ground where he kicked up his feet in merriment.
At the sound of the surrounding commotion, the Honorables turned away from the mesmerizing blaze. At once their eyes clapped on the most perfect, most classic gentleman they had ever seen. True, his hair was thin and white, his legs beneath his quaint robe somewhat spindly, but he was a true Nestor! A venerable Greek hero come to life. Would he allow them to throw their maidenhood at his feet?
When Nigglesby spied the young ladies coming toward him, his first thought was that they intended to send him to fetch something. Then he saw the light in their eyes. It stirred a memory dimmed by fifty years, but still he knew what to do.
He threw his arms wide and cried, "Come, my girls, the night, 'tis young!"
What wayward magic had Bertie worked here tonight? Hippolyta had not time to find out, but she did not in the least wish for Rookeshaven Hall to become a refuge for disgraced ladies of good family—or for Jane and whatever noxious spawn Lothian might get on her. It seemed altogether certain, she realized with a shudder, that he would soon outrun the portly creature and have his way with her. As would the revitalized Nigglesby with his smitten admirers. Not at all a pretty thought!
"Lady Bristlethwaite," she called out. "Look to Maria and Sophia! You must stop them!"
But Lady Bristlethwaite was engaged in her own rapturous embrace with Sir Godfrey.
"St. Ives," she cried. "What must we do?"
"We do seem to be among the few not overcome by passion. That is, I feel no more inclined to kiss you than ever. Why is that?"
"Only spells of great magnitude affect such as we. Had Lothian not mislaid his amulet, I am sure he, too, would have been unscathed. However, we cannot allow the young ladies to disgrace themselves with the butler!"
"I dislike interfering with the magic of Midsummer, but I suppose you are right. With whom," he asked, gesturing toward Edward and Diana who were enjoying their own embrace, "ought we to start?"
"Oh, dear!" she fretted. "I do so hate deciding upon priorities! I suppose it must be guests before family, however. Drat convention!"
She took St. Ives by the hand and, lifting her long skirts, ran to the spot where she had last seen Nigglesby. Regardless of the young ladies' enthusiasm, he could not have got far. She listened for a moment and heard a rapturous wheeze.
"This way, St. Ives!"
On the other side of a small rise they found them, dimly lit in the fire's reflected glow. A euphoric Nigglesby sat with an arm around each damsel. Sophia was weaving flowers into Nigglesby's sparse hair while Maria kissed his brow. All three smiled lazily up at the newcomers.
Hippolyta took a deep breath, shut her eyes, and said, "Aroint the spell and all be well."
Immediately the Honorables sat up straight and rubbed their eyes.
"How kind of you," Hippolyta smiled at them, "to look after poor Mr. Nigglesby. Only I am afraid in trying to help him up you have fallen yourselves."
"You do look a bit dazed," St. Ives supplied helpfully. "Come back with us by the fire and watch the dancers for a moment."
He offered each an arm and escorted them away.
"Now then, Lady Polly," Nigglesby fumed, "'twas not kind in you, that. I be giving notice tomorrow, see if I don't."
"Now, Nigglesby," Hippolyta chided him. "You know I cannot have you burdened with byblows. You would not thank me when all was said and done."
"See if I wouldn't've done!" he protested. "Like as not I'll be dead an' gone afore another chance as that comes me way."
"The night is young," Hippolyta laughed. "I promise if you can catch them again, I shall not interfere."
"Just let a fellow get his breath, then," he puffed.
"I shall send someone to help you back and give you another cup of punch."
When Hippolyta returned to the bonfire, St. Ives had gained Lady Bristlethwaite's attention and deposited her daughters with her. It remained for Hippolyta to separate Edward from Diana. Other couples were ardently engaged as well, but Hippolyta saw no call to interfere as there seemed to be at least as many unaffected by the spell—old married couples, most of them—who kept a careful, and sometimes approving, watch on their sons and daughters.
She placed a hand on Diana's arm. "Come, child. The Midsummer moon has gone to your head. Edward. It is time Diana was in bed. I believe she did not sleep well last night."
The pair stepped apart, smiling dreamily. Hippolyta looked about. Now where had Jane and Lothian gone off to? She could see no sign of them.
"St. Ives? What became of Jane?"
"That may be a bit of a problem, Polly. I am told Jane ran in the direction of the wood and disappeared into it with Lothian on her traces."
As he spoke, he noticed the stars had begun to fade and the moon was lower in the sky. Surely it could not be dawn already! Where had the time gone?
"A problem indeed!" Hippolyta exclaimed. "Look! The woods are almost faded."
St. Ives turned toward the wood and saw only the barest trace of leafy haze on the hill. A breeze came up and the faint trees disappeared in the cloudy mist. He released a low whistle.
"I am afraid the wood will not reappear until next Midsummer's Eve," she frowned.
"And consequently?"
She raised her eyebrows in consternation. "Consequently, I do not believe we shall see either Jane or Lothian again until then. What a coil!"
"Surely we shall not miss them," he grinned.
"I do not imagine we shall," she conceded. "Only… I fear the bond between this land and the faerie folk will be severely tried!"
Nineteen
The blessed sleep of Midsummer fell upon the denizens of Rookeshaven almost as soon as the pillows were beneath their heads. When they awoke the next day, the memories of magic
and mischief were as dreams which one relives throughout the morning, but hesitates to recount.
St. Ives and Edward, the first astir, met in the breakfast parlor.
"It looks as if we are about before the servants this morning," Edward said, indicating the unlaid table. "My apologies, St. Ives. It is the aftermath of Midsummer, I am afraid."
"I believe I hear a clatter coming our direction," St. Ives remarked. "Let us adjourn then to the library. I do not like for these good people to be put to the blush by their tardiness. Besides, there is still that little matter…"
"Of course," Edward said a little nervously, and, squaring his shoulders, led the way.
When they were seated, St. Ives began. "It cannot have escaped you, Edward, the esteem in which I hold your stepmother."
"No, indeed. She is singular, is she not?"
" 'Singular,' yes, but that scarcely begins to describe her virtues. Since my arrival, I have grown daily in my respect and love for her. I would like your permission to pay my addresses."
Edward released his breath in a slow whistle of relief. "Of course, old fellow!" he exclaimed. "You have my blessings and best wishes. Why, I thought Polly had sent you to read me a scold for my behavior yesterday."
St. Ives chuckled. He had been a trifle worried by Edward's stiff manner.
"Why, this puts quite a different light on things," Edward went on meditatively. "I don't mind telling you, I was fairly blue-deviled at the thought of spending another year at Rookeshaven, but I knew I could not leave Polly alone with that Lothian about to pop out of the mists at any moment. If the two of you were to wed soon, I could go to London…"
"You find the Season an attraction?" St. Ives asked with an indulgent smile.
"I know some do not hold that opinion, but, the fact is, I have never even had the opportunity to become jaded by society—a fellow wants that, you know!"
St. Ives remembered only too well, but he suspected it might take Edward somewhat longer to reach such a state than it had he.
"There is another, somewhat more serious, consideration," St. Ives went on. "Your stepmother has told me of her duty to this library. If marriage with me meant she must neglect it, that I expected her to come to with me Blakensly as its mistress, I am afraid I would be rejected."
"You are quite right, of course," Edward nodded. "But my father was quite clear with me that the library was hers. It is a burden I am happy to be relieved of. But what are you to do?"
"That depends a great deal on you. I have decided that Lady Hippolyta is more important to me than estate or title."
Edward allowed a low whistle to escape his lips. "You are rejecting a barony? Has that been done before this?"
"I do not know, the truth to tell. There is more, however. I have, of late, learned I am a wizard and witnessed some evidence of it. It has helped me to overcome my qualms about my decision, for it seems I have a role to play beyond assuming a title. However, you must know, should I be accepted… Rookeshaven will have gained another permanent guest."
Edward shrugged. "Of course. There is certainly no question it is large enough."
"Perhaps, but you will one day wed, Edward. How would a bride take to such an arrangement? Not only resident stepparents, but sorcerers besides."
"Actually," Edward mused, "this arrangement may solve something of a dilemma for me. Now I know Polly will be well looked after, it occurs to me I need have no misgivings about acquiring another estate. You two might stay here, conduct your studies, entertain itinerant occultists. I have dreamed of a newer home, closer to London—indeed, something a good deal less haunted—but never thought the opportunity might arise for me to consider it!"
At that moment, the door opened, and Hippolyta entered, perusing a book with such rapt interest that she walked right by the gentlemen without even remarking their presence.
"I shall leave you, St. Ives," Edward whispered. He clapped the other gentleman on the shoulder and exited with a far lighter step than he had entered.
St. Ives arose and followed Hippolyta to where she stood by the window. "Polly," he said softly.
She spun around. Her eyes bore the same delightful, startled expression as on the day they first met. He took the book from her and set it upon a table, taking care to mark her page. Then he gathered up her hands in his and kissed them.
"I have come to a decision, Polly."
"Oh. I see." Her voice quavered and two large tears rolled slowly down her cheeks.
He lifted her chin and smiled into her sparkling eyes. "Polly, will you have me?"
She started to protest, but he hushed her.
"A moment. Let me explain. I mean, truly, will you have me? I would come to you here, to live at your side, without title, to learn from you. To love you."
"St. Ives," she faltered, "I cannot think you understand what you are doing."
"Credit me, love," he smiled, taking her in his arms. "I know exactly what I am doing."
As they kissed, a chiming of silver bells filled the air, and a flurry of white blossoms fell upon them.
"It would seem the house approves," St. Ives murmured.
"So it would," she agreed softly.
"Aunt Polly!" Diana stood in the doorway, her eyes large as saucers. How long had the embrace lasted? Hippolyta wondered.
She smiled at Diana, and beckoned to her. The girl came forward hesitantly.
"I am sorry for… interrupting you," she said, "only I heard the sweetest bells and thought I must come."
"You must congratulate us, Diana," St. Ives told her. "Your aunt and I are to be married."
"Oh, my!" was her exceedingly eloquent comment.
Edward did somewhat better when he reentered the library, graciously wishing them joy. He took Diana aside and whispered something in her ear that made her blush and smile.
"St. Ives," Hippolyta whispered. "Are you absolutely certain you know what you are doing? You will never be Lord Blakensly."
"Perhaps not, but, on the other hand, the notion of becoming invisible and playing with moon madness has enormously taken my fancy."
"Do be serious, St. Ives!"
"But I haven't the least desire to do so, you must know. I shall write my great-uncle today and inform him of my decision. At least he will no longer be able to accuse me of wishing for his death!' "
Just then Nigglesby tottered toward them, carrying the morning's post on a salver.
" 'Ere's bad news," he told them smugly.
When Hippolyta took it from him, she saw it held two letters, one for her from her brother. The other was for St. Ives. It was edged in black.
"I am sorry, St. Ives," she said, handing the letter to him. "It appears…"
"It appears," he continued for her, "that my great-uncle has no sense of timing! It will not mean a delay of more than a few weeks, Polly, but I must attend the funeral and set inheritance matters to rights."
Hippolyta nodded. Would she ever see him again? she wondered. Once he left the walls of Rookeshaven, would his proposal and renunciation of his title seem foolhardy? Of course it must!
Grimly, St. Ives broke the seal and scanned the letter before him. All at once, he burst out laughing. "Old reprobate! Listen to this, Polly!"
Dear Nevvy, he read.
I hope this black edged letter did not raise your hopes too high nor that you will begrudge an old man his small jest. I am having a good laugh even as I write this. You will recall you left for me some of your receipts to quicken a tired heart. It is entirely due to you, therefore, I have recovered my good health enough to live another forty years or I miss my guess. What's more, I have taken a buxom maid to wife and I shall soon have my own heir. I am enclosing twenty pounds to make it right between us, but if you find you cannot accept this small bounty, you may feel free to return it.
I remain yr. affectionate uncle,
Blakensly
"How exasperating to find one's scruples have come to naught!" he exclaimed.
Hippolyta kisse
d him lightly, her heart at once relieved, and opened her own letter. "Come here, Diana," she called as she took a seat and patted the place next to her. "You will wish to hear your parents' letter."
She scanned the missive and as Diana sat down, she said, "They say all is well. They have seen the Royal Pavilion which your father condemns as excessive. Your mother adds parenthetically that your father was in a bad humor that night and that the palace is exquisite."
"Now here is a bit of sad news for you, my dear. Your father says you will be distressed to hear your friend Miss Varney contracted the chicken pox the day after she arrived. Likewise Lord Dumphrey, her fiancé. Why, you must write to Miss Varney this afternoon, Diana. I am certain your letter will cheer her."
Diana squirmed uncomfortably, but a smile played at the corners of her lips. "Poor dears. I shall write, of course, Aunt Polly."
"Now, what is this?" Hippolyta continued, her brow fur-rowing. "It seems that… it seems they intend to continue in Brighton somewhat longer than they had at first planned. They hope," she added faintly, "I shall not mind your coma while longer."
"I daresay we shan't mind it a bit," Edward interrupted helpfully. "Diana can help you plan the wedding."
"I daresay," Hippolyta echoed. The notion of the three weeks of their stay yet to pass and the proposed addition of another four—during which she must keep this amorous pair from harm—was quite daunting. Her brother, Reginald, she fumed inwardly, must surely be the most thoughtless and selfish of the entire male species. It was not to be borne—but what could she do? If she sent Diana back to Brighton, she could not prevent Edward from following, and, preoccupied though she often was, she was surely a better chaperon than Diana's mother!
And Bertie! She remembered him with a sudden sinking feeling. What other mischief might he find his way into? She shuddered at the thought.
A Midsummer's Magic Page 17