Potent Charms (7 page)

A free woman, Dee could have stayed with her husband,
Tobias, but she had chosen to come to England. She'd
watch over Phoebe before she left her charge in the hands
of just anyone. That was that, she'd said, so here she was.

Dee weaved Phoebe's unruly curls into a tidy braid.
"Why was you so late this mornin'?"

Phoebe's eyes locked with Dee's in the mirror. She
remembered the excitement she'd felt when she first saw
the duke in Hyde Park. Her smile broadened. Remember ing their conversation, she frowned. "I saw Lord Badrick
today."

"You mean that duke fellow you talked about the other
night?"

Phoebe nodded, noting Nanny Dee's obvious censure.
She held little regard for the positions men held. She constantly reminded Phoebe to measure a man's worth by his
nature, not his name or some fancy title tucked on the end.
Still, Phoebe had a feeling Nanny Dee would approve of
Stephen Badrick, with or without the title. Well, up until
she learned of his proposal.

"Umm-hmm," murmured Phoebe.

"What's the matter? You look like you did the day your
daddy took away your first pony." Dee crossed to the
armoire, an ornate concoction of wood, gold and glass. She
pulled a peach muslin dress from the cabinet and a pair of
matching stockings from the drawer. "Well, you going to
tell me or you going to make me guess?"

Nibbling on her lower lip, Phoebe hesitated for the
space of a heartbeat. Dee always provided guidance and
direction without recrimination. Besides, Phoebe needed
to talk to someone or go mad. "He asked me to be his mistress."

Dee tucked her tongue in her cheek, obviously chewing
on that bit of information. "I pray to the sweet Lord that
you told him no."

"Of course," said Phoebe, twirling her braid nervously.

"Come here, child. Get this dress on. You can tell me
exactly what this duke fella said to upset you so."

Phoebe related everything except the kiss. All the while,
she pulled and tugged on her fingers.

Dee listened as she fussed with the dress until every
strap and bow fell into its proper place. With a swat to
Phoebe's fanny, Nanny Dee said, "Sit down and put your
stockings on. What ain't you telling me?"

Phoebe sighed. She never could fool this woman. "He
kissed me."

"And what did you do?"

"I kissed him back. It wasn't at all like the time Jimmy
Ray kissed me. I rather enjoyed myself." One stocking
dangled from her hand when she asked, "Does that make
me wanton?"

"That makes you a woman grown, who for the first time
in her life knows what it feels like to have a real man take
her in his arms. Now some men just plain know how to kiss
a woman. And sometimes, it feels so nice because there's
somethin' special goin' on."

"It's just odd. I mean, I only met the man two nights
ago."

"You need a husband. You might as well enjoy his attentions."

Phoebe's laugh, devoid of humor, filled the chamber.
"He made it quite clear, Nanny Dee. He wants a mistress,
not a wife."

Clucking several times, Dee finally said, "Most men
don't know their own minds. It's up to us women-folk to
help them find the right direction. It don't take no big stick
to move a mule. A man's no different. You got a choice to
make. Ifn he's the man you set your sights on, then I
reckon you best make him realize it's you he wants as a
wife, not a mistress. Do I make myself clear about that?
With that stubborn streak of yours, I figure the man don't
have no chance a'tall."

"It's not as simple as that. He's arrogant and domineering. If I married him he would not be content to go his own
way while I tend to my own matters. Besides, I don't think
he needs money."

"I already told you that scheme of yours got holes bigger
than Tobias's dreams."

"I am bound and determined to make the best of this sit nation. Surely if I can't find a man I love, I can find one
who will marry me for my money and leave me be."

"Child, you best be taking a long, hard look at this plan
of yours. You give up your dreams of a family and you'll
be mighty lonely."

She remembered the feeling of contentment she'd felt
within Badrick's arms. His frank rejection of her proposal
and the reality of her situation resurfaced. She was penniless with no real home, relying on the charity of a meanspirited relative, having to rush to choose a stranger for a
husband, never knowing the love she wanted. Suddenly,
the day seemed bleaker. "Oh, whyever couldn't he be the
least bit interested in marriage?"

The tears threatened. She fought them back. Tears
hadn't helped the day her daddy died, and they certainly
wouldn't help now. She felt Dee's tender grip on her shoulders. Willingly, Phoebe rested her head against the
woman's breasts.

"Go ahead and cry, sweet pea. You got enough right to.
Sometimes it just helps to clear the soul."

Allowing herself the luxury, Phoebe let her emotions
rule for a few minutes, wallowing in self-pity over the
injustice of it all. Hiccuping, her shoulders shuddered as
she gathered her wits. "Enough of this."

Dee gathered Phoebe's chin in her hand. "Listen, child,
life's a funny thing. There's no guarantees, but you is a
beautiful woman with a heart to match. I can't believe God
would grant you a miserable life. It ain't His way. It may
not be easy, but if you try hard enough, I think you'll find
the happiness you deserve. You hold on to those dreams of
yours with both hands. Once we lose sight of them we ain't
got a whole lot left. Now blow your nose and get. I can
almost hear that woman's voice screechin' for you."

Everything Dee said made perfect sense. Phoebe had
been in London for one week and had met only a handful of men. There would be other opportunities. Lord Badrick
would become a distant memory. Feeling better than
before, Phoebe teased, "Want to come along?"

"Serve that woman right if 'n I did. One look at me and
she'd start wheezin' and coughin'."

Phoebe squared her shoulders as if she meant to offer a
stem reprimand. "You have no one to blame but yourself.
Telling her all those stories about the Caribbean and slaves
and voodoo. You managed to convince her quite nicely that
she best leave you alone."

Dee chuckled, her white teeth gleaming against her dark
skin. "Yes, I did. Go on, now."

Reaching the foyer, Phoebe peeked around a plaster urn
that reached her shoulders and into the dining room. Hildegard certainly liked extravagance, a bit too much if anyone
asked Phoebe. Three walls boasted elaborate murals of
gleaming chariots, mythical Gods, and lightning bolts.
Gold plaster trimmed the red ceiling and a floral rug covered most of the marble floor. The chandelier glittered as
morning sunlight filtered through one large window and
reflected on the hundreds of crystal teardrops. The enormous mahogany table, inlaid with ebony and brass,
seemed to consume the entire room.

Hildegard sat at one end, Charity at the other. Neither
female conversed with the other but then again, to do so
they'd probably have to raise their voices, which according
to Hildegard simply wasn't done.

With her brightest smile, Phoebe walked to the center of
the table and sat. "Good morning."

Glancing up from her morning paper, Hildegard peered
at the clock on the wall and pursed her lips. Charity merely
nodded, returning her attention to her eggs and toast. Cook
brought a silver platter filled with assorted meats and
cheese and waited for Phoebe to make her choice. Selecting a bit of ham and a currant scone, Phoebe said, "I'm sur prised to see you awake so early this morning, Aunt Hildegard."

"This entire sordid business is disrupting my routine. I
actually found a post regarding you in the Times society
section. I will have you know I do not like it."

Upon Hildegard's nod, a servant placed the folded newspaper beside Phoebe. She scanned the section and read
aloud, "Who shall be the lucky man to win the prize
offered by the lovely American, Miss
P Lands alive. Had people nothing better to do with their
time than report on the comings and goings of London
society? Frowning, she said, "I fully understand, Aunt
Hildegard. You've made your feelings quite clear. I'm as
unhappy about the situation as you are. Still, I cannot stop
the press from printing what they choose. As to the other, I
have no choice. I could always find work and lodge elsewhere."

"Humph. And add more fat for the gossipmongers to
chew? I think not. I cannot allow your sorry circumstance
to ruin my daughter's chance for a prosperous match."

"Certainly not," agreed Phoebe, knowing Hildegard also
anticipated generous compensation from Phoebe's estate.
She turned toward her cousin. "Have you special plans for
the day, Charity?"

Charity offered a shy smile accompanied by a soft twitter. "I thought I might go to the museum."

Hildegard glared beyond the large bouquet of daisies on
the table to her daughter. "You need improve your feminine skills more than you need fill your head with frivolous
poppycock. You shall stay home and practice your embroidery.,,

"Yes, Mother," murmured Charity as the joy faded from
her face.

No wonder Charity wanted to marry as soon as possible. Hildegard constantly ordered her about like a servant.
Phoebe wanted the girl to stand up, toss her napkin to the
table and demand to go to the museum.

"Phoebe," said Hildegard, her annoyance quite clear.
"Correspondence and invitations have arrived all morning.
I expect you to exercise proper etiquette in all your
responses, unlike your mother who proved herself common and irresponsible, not worthy of a penny of my family's money."

Gritting her teeth, Phoebe squelched her rising temper.
"Obviously, my grandfather thought differently. Otherwise, I would not have the opportunity to inherit Marsden
Manor."

"True enough. A decision he made that I will never
understand. He always held a tendre for your mother, even
though she broke his heart."

"Hmmm." Phoebe stabbed a piece of meat with her fork.
"I think it's going to be a lovely day."

"How would you know? You've barely been out of bed.
Your father always preferred to lay about in the mornings
as well, and see where that landed him. I knew from the
beginning. The man showed absolutely no promise-"

"Aunt Hildegard," Phoebe said, her voice sharper than
she intended.

"What is it?" snapped Hildegard, obviously disgruntled
over the interruption.

Granted, her aunt had been kind enough to offer a roof
over Phoebe's head, but enough was enough. Since her
arrival, all she'd heard, day after day, was the ranting and
raving of a jealous, splenetic woman. Today she was not in
the mood to listen. Phoebe pushed the plate away, her
appetite ruined. She folded her napkin once, twice, then
flattened her palms over the piece of green linen.

"Aunt Hildegard," she began again, much calmer this time, "I appreciate everything you have done for me. Truly
I do. However, I think it best if we avoid any discussions
about my mama and daddy."

"Are you telling me what I can and cannot speak of in
my own home?"

"I wouldn't think of it. I loved my momma and daddy
very much. I'm sorry you feel differently, but nothing you
say will change my mind or my heart. I will not listen to
their good names being trampled. I hope you consider my
feelings in the matter. If not, I will have no choice but to
find lodging elsewhere"

Hildegard squinted as her skin flushed with red blotches.
Her forehead scrunched together to form a patchwork of
wrinkles across her brow. Charity sat perfectly still, her
eyes as wide as Hildegard's were narrow.

Considering the fact that dozens of things remained
unsaid, Phoebe smiled, congratulating herself on her composure. "Now, was there another reason you wished to see
me, Auntie?"

With stilted movements, Hildegard pressed herself from
her chair and away from the table. Her chin angled such
that Phoebe thought it just might snap like a cornstalk. She
said, "You have correspondence. I recommend you give
the invitation from Sir Lemmer some thought. We leave for
the Halsten ball at eight. Come along, Charity."

Phoebe watched her relatives leave, Charity casting a
backward glance as if to reassure herself that she had actually seen what had just transpired. At least her mouth was
closed now. When they reached the door, the two nearly
collided with the butler, Siggers, who held an enormous
bouquet of flowers in a rainbow of colors out beyond his
rounded belly. A small piece of paper dangled from the fingertips of his left hand. He announced, grinning proudly,
"Flowers for Miss Rafferty."

Blatantly ignoring the fact that the envelope was addressed to someone else, Hildegard grabbed the paper
and tore it open. She gasped, then turned a vicious scowl
toward Phoebe.

Before Hildegard uttered one word, Phoebe knew who
had sent the flowers. The cook was in the kettle now. She
stood beside her chair, masked her face with innocence and
waited.

"I knew it all along," railed Hildegard. "You are exactly
like your mother."

"Thank you."

"Humph." Hildegard's hand, the note now dangling
from her fingertips, shook as she approached. "Explain
this."

"May I read it first?" asked Phoebe, wondering what she
would say, depending on what Lord Badrick had written.

Hildegard thrust the note into Phoebe's outstretched hand.

It was simple and to the point. "May the best man, or
woman, win. Until tomorrow morning. Your greatest
admirer." Needing nothing new to fuel Hildegard's foul
temperament, Phoebe's mind raced for a rational explanation. Or a convincing lie. "My greatest admirer?" She
tapped the note against her hand and affected an expression that had fooled her father a number of times. "How
should I know who sent the flowers? He neglected to write
his name."