The Bewitching Hour (20 page)

O
nce Priscilla reached the sanctuary of her parlor, she pulled the door shut, pressed her back against it, and closed her eyes. She was in such a fix and hadn’t the vaguest idea how to get out of it. Stratton had made it clear he wouldn't give up until she agreed to marry him, but if she accepted his proposal, and God knows she wanted to, everything would come out and she didn't know if she could live with that.
    None of this made any sense. Why would anyone care if they were together? He was bullheaded and arrogant enough to think he could change her mind and she was afraid that he just might be right.
    She crossed the parlor and sat down. It was impossible to remain in this room without thinking of him. The orchid he sent her bloomed by the window sill, filling the parlor with its light, faintly sweet scent. They had argued here. He had made love to her here. He had left an indelible stamp on her life and there was nothing she could do to change that. And if he had left her with a child, as well... It was too soon to know and she would deal with that when the time came.
    She picked up her needlework basket and fished through its contents, searching for the ring he had given her. She slipped the ring on her finger and held it up to the light. The gems sparkled in the sunlight. It was lovely. But the longer she kept it, the harder it would be to return.
    A knock sounded at the door.
    She quickly shoved the ring back in her basket. “Yes?”
    The door swung open and Beldon stepped inside. He held a letter in his hand. “This came for you earlier, Miss Priscilla. I was told to hand it to you directly.”
    She took it from him and turned it over. The wax seal had no emblem on it and the vellum was the type one would find in any number of stationery shops. Her name was printed in neat block letters at the top. It looked exactly like the missive she had received two days ago. The warmth drained from her face and her hands trembled. She was grateful that she was still sitting down. What more could they possibly want? She looked up at Beldon and took in an uneven breath. “Who delivered this?” By some miracle, her voice didn't shake.
    “A street urchin.”
    She set the letter aside, not wanting to touch it. “Would you recognize him if he returned?”
    Beldon looked puzzled. “I don’t know, miss. I'm afraid I paid little attention other than he was rather dirty and his cap was pulled down low.”
    Of course, he hadn't paid attention. There was nothing out of the ordinary about receiving a message. “If he returns, would you detain him for me, please? It’s quite important.”
    “Of course.” He hesitated. “Miss, might I ask you? I mean to say, are you well? Is there anything I can do for you?”
    She tried to smile, but her face felt frozen in place. “Thank you, but no. I’m quite alright.”
    For a moment, it appeared that he might actually argue with her, but all he said was, “Very well, miss.”
    She was touched that he was worried on her behalf—and sorry for it, as well. He was almost out the door when she called out to him. “Beldon, there is one thing. Would you please not mention this to anyone?”
    Once again, it appeared that he might argue with her. The moment passed and he inclined his head. “Of course.”
    She waited a full minute after he had closed the door before she rose and retrieved a silver letter opener from her writing desk and sliced through the wax seal. As she scanned the contents, the knot in her stomach tightened and her knees grew weak. She lowered herself into a chair and reread it. It was long, very detailed and there was no doubting the writer’s intent. Things had just gotten much, much worse.
    Mr. Andrews, a short man of middle years with a receding hairline and good-sized belly, had ushered Priscilla into his office, offered her a cup of tea and spent a short while politely inquiring into the wellbeing of her family. Then, finally, he had splayed his stubby little fingers on the edge of his desk and asked, “How may I be of service to you, Miss Hawthorn?”
    Believing the sooner she got it out, the sooner it would be over with, she said, “I find I am in need of funds and thought the most practical solution would be for you to release my quarterly allowance a little early.”
    He smiled the type of smile she was certain he reserved for those clients he believed had more money than sense.
    “The trust your father set up is quite generous and should be more than enough to handle your everyday needs. Now, if you are anticipating a large purchase such as a house, or perhaps some type of investment, I will be more than happy to take it into consideration and determine the wisdom of the transaction." He paused and his smile widened slightly. "Women rarely have a head for business and there are many unscrupulous characters out there just waiting to relieve you of your money. I would not like to see that happen. Now, what more can you tell me about the reason for your request?”
    Bristling at the insult, she pinned him with a hard stare.“I would prefer to keep my reasons private.”
    His smile faltered. It was no secret that he didn’t approve of the way Priscilla’s father had set up her trust. Once she reached the age of twenty, she received a sum of money every three months, to spend as she saw fit. “Your father placed me in charge of your financial well-being.”
    She pulled her shoulders back and sat up as tall as she was able. “My father gave you the responsibility of releasing my allowance on a quarterly basis. He did not give you the responsibility of deciding how I was to spend it.”
    Placing his finger tips beneath a double chin, he pursed his lips together and said, “I would be remiss in my duties if I did not attempt to determine the wisdom of your financial decisions.”
    The patronizing lull in his voice was enough to set her teeth on edge. “Have I ever given you reason to think that my financial decisions are unsound?”
    “Well, no,” he admitted, “but it’s something that I can’t allow to get out of hand. My only concern is for your well-being”
    This was proving to be much more difficult than she had hoped. She struggled to keep her tone even. “I’m not asking for additional funds. I’m simply asking that you release my allowance three weeks early. I don’t plan to make a habit of it.”
    “There’s no need to get overset, my dear. If you’ve exceeded your allowance and run up a bill at the modiste or milliners, have them send it to me and I’ll take care of it. In fact, it would be much easier to have all your bills sent here.” He cocked his head, making both chins wobble. “Then, you needn’t worry about a thing.”
    
And pay you to pay my bills? I think not.
His smile was positively ingratiating and Priscilla had the urge to knock him in the head with her reticule. She gripped it tightly and presented what she hoped was a pleasant expression. “I pay my bills promptly, Mr. Andrews. Always.”
    He continued smiling. “Then you must understand my position. I simply can’t advance your allowance without knowing the reason why.”
    They seemed to have reached an impasse fairly quickly and Priscilla realized that she must resort to something that she had never done before, something she had always regarded as ridiculous and demeaning. Mary made it seem easy enough but she wasn’t certain she was a good enough actress to do a plausible job.
    Desperate to change his mind, she bowed her head and sniffed, waited a few seconds and sniffed again, this time lifting her shoulders. She wiped at her eyes with her fingertips, then plucked a handkerchief from her reticule and brought it to her face. Nothing happened.
Drat!
Tears were essential.
    Things were in such a horrible mess, it shouldn’t be that difficult. All she had to do was think of everything that had brought her to this miserable state. She thought of the promise that was ruining her life. She thought about the hateful letters she had received from some soulless, greedy cur. And then she thought about Lord Stratton, with his dark hair and his demanding ways and how he could make her laugh and cry and feel things she didn’t know it was possible to feel. Anger and frustration swept through her and tears spilled down her cheeks as she regarded the impossible situation she found herself in. How perfectly dreadful to love someone and not be able to do anything about it.
    It wasn’t until she felt Mr. Andrews hand patting her shoulder that she realized what a state she had worked herself into. She gazed up at him through her tears and he looked as if he would rather be almost anywhere else in the world.
    “Miss Hawthorn. This is most distressing. Most distressing, indeed. Shall I send for someone? Perhaps, Mrs. Hutton?”
    His suggestion brought her back to her senses and dried up her tears. If he spoke with Olivia, she would have to explain why she was at the solicitors and she couldn’t allow that to happen. She wiped her eyes and shook her head. “No. Please don’t. I do apologize. I don’t quite know what got into me. I’m normally much more sensible than this.”
    He eased himself back into his chair. “I wish there was something I could do. If you would confide in me, perhaps we could arrive at a solution.”
    If only she had paid more attention when Mary had her little tantrums and made her demands she might have a better idea how to proceed. Priscilla stared at her lap. Why did Mr. Andrews need to be so stubborn?
    “My dear,” he continued. “As you insist you pay your bills promptly and you haven’t any intention of buying a home or investing.” He paused and gazed at her with compassion. “Have you lost money at the tables? You don’t strike me as one who plays recklessly, but I know how quickly these games, even those at afternoon card parties, can get out of control. One minute you’ve won a tidy, little sum and the next, you’re signing IOU’s without any idea where the money will come from.”
    Priscilla barely stopped her mouth from dropping open. Did he really believe she was that stupid? Yet it seemed he not only believed it, he was sympathetic. As humiliating as it was, his sympathy made it a better excuse than anything she could have dreamed up.
    She swallowed her pride and sniffed. “I’ve been terribly foolish. I so seldom play cards. I don’t know quite how it happened. At first, it seemed I couldn’t lose, and then it all went wrong.” Her voice trailed off.
    “It happens often enough." His voice oozed with sympathy and understanding. "I would say you’ve learned a valuable lesson." He shook a finger at her as a nursemaid might when scolding a child. "One I hope you will remember.”
    She nodded quickly. “Oh, I will. I promise. I simply want to pay it off and be done with it." Her hand flew to her chest. "It’s my responsibility. This is why an advance on my allowance is my only choice. I don’t borrow money from others, Mr. Andrews, and I always pay my debts.”
    “I will turn a blind eye this one time, but it mustn’t happen again. If so, I would be compelled to—ah—inform someone.”
    Near giddy with relief, she smiled at him. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Andrews. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”
    “Your funds will be available in three days. I assume that is acceptable.”
    “Perfectly.” She rose from her chair.
    He had no choice but to do the same. “Miss Hawthorn, if you wouldn’t mind my offering a piece of fatherly advice. You need a husband to look after you. You are so young and innocent and as I said, the world can be terribly unkind." He paused. "I’m certain, you’ve had many offers and I know of one young man who fairly worships the ground you walk on.”
    Hoping to discourage him, she gazed at him and said nothing.
    “His father and I were the best of friends. When he passed, it was like losing a brother, so in some ways I regard Lord Mallory as a nephew.”
    “We don’t suit.” The words escaped her lips before she had time to think. It was the second time in two days she had used that excuse. This time it was true.
    He looked at her with unveiled surprise. “I see.” It was quite obvious from the expression on his face that he didn’t.
    
We don’t suit because he’s an overblown bore and I can’t bear to be around him.
“But I do appreciate your concern.” She adjusted the lace on her gloves and took a step toward the door.
    The solicitor scuttled around his desk to open it for her. “It’s been a pleasure, Miss Hawthorn.”
    She inclined her head with all the grace she could manage. “Thank you, Mr. Anderson. I truly have learned from this experience and promise I won’t trouble you again.”
    Her mind reeling with what she had just done, Priscilla swept past Sally who was waiting on a bench in the anteroom of the solicitor’s office. “I’ve finished with my errands,” she told her maid. “Let’s go home.”
    A cart rumbled past as they stepped outside. The air reeked with the acrid smell of burning coal and a gray haze blotted out the rays of the sun. Though the street was teeming with activity, it was far too early in the day for most of her acquaintances to be about. Even so, she kept her head lowered so that her bonnet would shield her reddened eyes and nose from unwanted attention.
    She had taken no more than a dozen steps when her maid spoke. “Miss Priscilla.”
    She glanced over her shoulder at Sally, who wore a faint smile as her eyes focused on a point just beyond her. Priscilla followed her gaze and came to a stop. Stratton was coming their way and she had to fight to prevent the smile that threatened to spread across her face. She lowered her head and dipped a brief curtsy.
    Keeping her head slightly bowed, she said, “I’m quite surprised to see you here, my lord. Is this a coincidence or is it possible that you’re following me?”
    “It’s entirely possible that I’m following you. You need looking after, Miss Hawthorn.”
    If she heard that phrase one more time, she would likely throw a fit that would reach the society papers. With a bold toss of her head, she looked up at him. “I most certainly do not!”
    He tilted his head as his eyes flickered over her face. “You’ve been crying.”
    “I haven’t. It’s nothing more than coal dust stinging my eyes. If you haven’t noticed, there seems to be a great deal of it today.”
    “Then we must get you inside.” He placed his hand against the small of her back and urged her toward a small teashop a few doors down. “The pastries here are excellent.” He motioned for Sally to follow them. “Find yourself a table, Sally, and I’ll have a cup of tea and a bun sent over. I need to speak to your mistress alone for a few minutes.”