The Bewitching Hour (24 page)

    "Did you keep the letters?"
    She shook her head. "I couldn't risk anyone finding them."
    He brought his hand to her face, the skin soft and smooth beneath his fingertips. “This won’t stop, love. Whoever is doing this won’t go away just because you’ve given them a hundred pounds. They’re certain to ask for more.”
    “I can’t let Patrick’s family be destroyed by this." She sniffed. "It isn’t their fault.”
    “It isn’t yours, either,” he reminded her. “The first thing we have to do is determine who’s blackmailing you. Do you have any notion at all who it might be?”
    She shook her head.
    “I know you don’t want to relive the circumstances of that last encounter, but I must ask about the man you found Patrick with. Would you recognize him?”
    “I don't think so. I was so shocked. All I remember was the livery.”
    “What do you know of Patrick’s friends?”
    Priscilla frowned as she thought. “Other than they were constantly borrowing money from him, very little. He had to ask his father for funds to tide him over on more than one occasion.” She paused. “Patrick and I had a terrible row about it. That last year, we were forever arguing over something or another.”
    “Do you remember their names?” he pressed.
    She named a few and shook her head. “I can’t think of anyone else.”
    The young men she listed had done an impressive job of kicking up their heels in the gaming hells and brothels, but Stratton couldn’t remember anything about them that would make them a likely candidate as a blackmailer. “Let me know the moment you receive the next letter.”
    “You’re certain they’ll demand more money?”
    “As long as you meet their demands, there’s no reason to stop.”
    She looked up at him. “The money I can understand, but what was the point of keeping us apart?”
    He gazed at her knowing she would likely not care for his answer. “You have no male figure to look out for you, Priscilla. As your suitor, you would be likely to come to me with your problems. They wouldn’t want me involved because I won’t stop until this matter is resolved and I promise you, it
will be
resolved."
    "But how?"
    "For the moment, we sit tight until you receive another letter. It's important that they believe you're cooperating."
    She thought a moment. “It still isn’t wise for us to see one another.”
    As much as he wanted to argue the point, he couldn’t. “Not as suitors. We’ve been linked together, though not to the extent that it can’t be undone by tossing it about that you’ve decided against a match between us.”
    “I’ve told Lord Mallory as much.”
    "I imagine he will have the news spread throughout London in just a few days time." He scowled. The man was almost as big a nuisance as Lord Bertram. “Unfortunately, that means he’ll be sniffing around your heels again.”
    “No, I told him in no uncertain terms that he and I would not suit either and as he left in a huff. I’m confident he believed me.”
    “I hope so.”
    Priscilla managed to smile. “I would never marry anyone with such outlandish taste in clothing.”
    “You would clash terribly, wouldn’t you?” He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Meet me in the garden tonight?”
    Much of the worry seemed to fall from her expression. "Don't be late."

F
riday afternoon tea with Lady Fitzberry was proving to be more enjoyable than she had expected. Priscilla had discovered, with much relief, that she could quite effectively reduce Lady Fitzberry’s incessant chatter to a low drone. The second floor drawing room of the Stratton household was a very pleasant place to be. While the room was large and elegantly appointed, it was also cheerful. Thick Aubusson rugs covered most of the polished mahogany floor. A pianoforte sat in the center with sitting areas on either side. The delicate Chippendale chairs and settees were upholstered with slightly faded royal blues and burgundy brocades. The blue velvet drapes had been pulled and the room was flooded with sunlight.
    She decided that Lady Stratton must have better taste than her sister, who was presently garbed in bright yellow and black striped satin. Royally presiding before the tea service as she attended to her guests, Priscilla thought she resembled a very large bumble bee. The image was a little more difficult to ignore than the conversation and Priscilla pressed her lips together, squelching laughter.
    She felt a slight nudge from Olivia who seemed to be having much the same problem. Priscilla decided that if she didn’t want to make a fool of herself by falling into a fit of laughter, it would be wise to focus on the other guests. Cecelia’s two closest friends, Miss Jennifer Rutledge and Lady Elizabeth Horton were there, accompanied by Elizabeth’s mother, the Countess of Brenton. The three girls had done a fair amount of giggling until a stern look from Elizabeth’s mother settled them down. Lady Fitzberry had invited also Mrs. Gibbons, Lady Murray and Lady Murray’s daughter who much to her mother’s dismay preferred breeding bloodhounds to marriage and had been quite happily residing on the shelf for years.
    The last guest to arrive was Lady Williams, whom Priscilla remembered meeting in the past, largely because she had married a man at least fifty year her senior. Though such a marriage was not unheard of, she couldn’t imagine ever agreeing to such a union. Recently emerged from half-mourning, the countess had donned in a green and gold muslin gown and a gold velvet hat adorned with maroon and brown feathers. Even with her hair looped into a conservative knot at her neck, there was something very seductive about her.
    Though it wasn’t her nature to dislike someone before she got to know them, Priscilla decided she didn’t much care for Lady Williams. There was an odd tension between them that she couldn’t quite explain. Several times that afternoon she had caught Lady Williams looking at her, causing Priscilla to check the front of her gown to see if she had dribbled strawberry preserves. At present, Lady Williams was bemoaning the inadequacies of her servants.
    “I would very much like to dismiss the lot of them, but it’s so difficult to find good replacements during the season. I’ve been dreadfully distressed over the matter. When Lord Williams was alive we had an excellent staff. Why one never even knew that they were about. They knew their place.”
    Lady Murray peered over her wire rimmed spectacles and commented in a conspiratorial fashion, “I heard Lord Sheraton has lost a number of servants to better positions. He’s a terrible skinflint. You might be able to entice a few of them away from him.” She put her fingertips to her mouth and made a halfhearted attempt to look ashamed of herself. “I shouldn’t have said that but I simply can’t imagine facing the season without a competent staff.”
    “It’s very kind of you to bring that to my attention.” Lady Williams gave an elegant shrug of her shoulders and smiled. “I shall consider it, though given the complications of changing staff, it might simply be best if I bear with them for the time being.”
    Lady Fitzberry set down her tea cup and dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “Well, I must say that the servants here are excellent.” She frowned. “Possibly with the exception of Eugie's--I mean--Lord Stratton’s valet who grumbles constantly about my precious little dogs. Of course, my darlings do shed a bit, but that’s to be expected as they have such luxurious coats. We do keep them brushed. One hundred strokes a day. But one would think the man spent all his time brushing my nephew’s jackets the way he carries on.”
    Priscilla heard Cecelia mutter, “He does.”
    Mirabella smiled at her niece. “What was that, dear?”
    Cecelia cleared her throat. “Just a little tickle in my throat.”
    “Are you all right?” A slight frown creased Mirabella forehead. “It wouldn’t be the ah…” She glanced over at Mrs. Gibbons who was sporting several curly red feathers in her hat and then at Lady Williams. “You know.”
    “Oh no,” Cecelia broke in quickly. “It was only a crumb. From the biscuit.” She took a swallow of tea and smiled.
    “Are you certain?” Mirabella persisted. “It would be dreadful if you were coming down with something. Why the season has just begun.”
    “I’m certain, Aunt Mirabella. Really.”
    “It’s only that you young people go at such a pace with the balls and routs and soirees, the social calls and all the other various functions.” Mirabella's hand fluttered as she rambled on. “But then the young have such energy. I was the same way. It’s remarkable, isn’t it, how they manage such hectic schedules." She stopped to take in a breath. "However, my dear nephew is taking no chances. He’s very mindful of Cecelia’s wellbeing. He refuses to let her overdo. No dancing until dawn for this one. Why he rounds us up and has us home by two at the latest. He takes such an interest his sister and even insists on approving all her gowns.” Then she added, “With my help, of course. He relies heavily on my judgment.”
    A slight titter went through the group. Cecelia opened her mouth to say something, but Lady Williams chose that moment to break in. Just as well, Priscilla thought, given the look on Cecelia’s face.
    “Your nephew is such a gentleman, Lady Fitzberry,” Lady Williams folded her hands in her lap and smiled prettily. “His offer to escort me home the other evening when I was virtually stranded was very chivalrous. I would have been in dire straits had he not done so.”
    Priscilla thought she heard Cecelia smother a snort but she was too annoyed by Lady Williams comment to pay much attention. He took her home? How had that come about? And why hadn’t he mentioned it? Good Lord. She was jealous!
    The other ladies were fascinated by Lady Williams’ remark. “Oh dear,” Mrs. Gibbons exclaimed. “Was there a mishap with your carriage? These modern conveyances can be so unreliable.” She shook her head. “Of course, I don’t really understand such things. Mr. Gibbons pats me on the cheek and tells me so all the time and as it seems to make him feel better, I don’t argue with him. Men can be so silly at times. But I digress. Why were you stranded, my lady?”
    “It was rather difficult.” Lady Williams crinkled her brow and chewed on her lower lip as if trying to find the right words. “I’m afraid my escort for the evening became unpleasant. I’d rather not go into details but I felt it in my best interest not to allow him to see me home from Lady Almont’s ball.”
    “But wasn’t Lord Bennett your escort that evening?” Lady Brenton asked with a shocked look on her face. “Heavens, I can’t imagine him being anything other than a perfect gentleman.”
    Lady Williams looked down at her lap. Her voice quivered slightly. “As I said, it was difficult. I’d really rather not discuss it.”
    A restlessness rippled through the group as they considered this. The idea that someone of Lord Bennett’s position and reputation had done something distasteful enough to upset Lady Williams’ was a morsel of gossip to be savored, even if one didn’t have all the facts.
    “Please don’t be overly concerned on my behalf. The incident is over and done with.” She smiled bravely. “Lord Stratton was so gracious to intercede on my behalf. Is he perchance home today? Or has our little gathering sent him to his club? I know how men can be.”
    “He’s in his office,” Cecelia answered. “With Papa away, he has to spend most of his days on estate matters. Between that and escorting me to various social affairs, he barely has a moment to spare.”
    “He must have some free time.” Lady Murray turned a knowing look on Priscilla. “It’s my understanding that several of his afternoons have been spent in the company of a certain lovely young lady.”
    Mirabella’s face suddenly lit up as if she had realized something wondrous for the first time. “I can well understand why, as Miss Hawthorn is such a charming girl. And Lord Stratton is terribly handsome, don’t you think? Of course all my nieces and nephews are attractive.” She beamed at Priscilla. “The two of you do look so well together.”
    Priscilla flushed as Olivia patted her hand. All eyes were on her and she knew she had to say something. She looked at the expectant faces and said in a light tone, “Lord Stratton and I are friends, but I assure you that there is nothing more to it than that.”
    There were several faint sounds of disappointment.
    “The late Lord Fitzberry and I were friends before our marriage,” Mirabella said. “One never knows where a friendship will lead.”
    Priscilla smiled at her. “I suppose, but at this time, we are simply friends.”
    After several attempts, Olivia managed to steer the conversation to less personal topics. As Priscilla listened to a debate over the wisdom of cutting one’s hair to accommodate the newest styles, she noted the small gray kitten perched on the edge of a Chippendale table, its eyes riveted on Mrs. Gibbon’s bobbing feathers. Cecelia’s newly adopted stray, no doubt. The one, she assumed, that had caused Stratton so much trouble.
    It was thus with only half an ear that Priscilla heard the approaching scuttle accompanied by a cacophony of panting and wheezing and mild sounds of human distress. Small hairy mounds of gray and brown fur studded with black eyes and harnessed to servants by purple leashes, pushed their way through the door.
    “My darlings,” Mirabella cooed as she rose. “You’ve come to greet our guests.”
    “Oh dear,” Olivia whispered to Priscilla. “He wasn’t exaggerating, was he? They do look like rats. I’m surprised no one is standing on the table and screeching.”
    Priscilla leaned over to respond but she was interrupted by a low, hair-raising feline growl as the kitten made an impressive, if ungraceful leap to the mantle. Back arched, fur on end, she hissed and spit at the intruders.
    The ladies watched, some with interest, most with horror as the terriers jumped and scrambled over one another trying to reach the kitten. Four broke free; the remaining managed to effectively twist and tangle their leashes around the legs of their handlers, tripping two footmen and trapping a third. A maid who had entered with a tray of scones, screeched and tottered as she tried to avoid a length of tightly stretched leash until a large pair of male hands gripped her shoulders and the instruction to be quiet was uttered in such a commanding voice that even the ladies didn’t dare say a word.
    Mirabella slowly sank back down into her chair.
    “Sit,” he commanded. The dogs sat, tails wagging, as they adoringly gazed at the tall man in their midst.
    Stratton took in a breath. “Pardon my interruption, ladies,” he said evenly, “but I thought it best that I intercede before anyone was injured. My aunt’s dogs tend to be over excitable.”
    “Now, Eugie,” Mirabella began. “That isn’t really fair.”
    “Reeds.” Ignoring his aunt, he addressed the butler who was cautiously backing away from the dogs. “If you would see that Aunt Mirabella’s pets are returned to their quarters. I believe they need to learn a few more manners before they are ready for company.”
    “Yes, my lord.”
    Knowing better than to protest at this point, Mirabella clucked and cooed as the terriers were reunited with their respective handlers. Priscilla watched as Stratton stood towering over the lot, the fine muscles over his lips twitching ever so slightly and the brightness of his eyes the only indication he was desperately trying not to laugh. It was all so ludicrous that she quickly looked away, knowing if they made eye contact all would be lost.
    Once peace was restored and the dogs had vacated the drawing room, the gray kitten cast a look of contempt at the guests then proceeded to tiptoe delicately back and forth around the Oriental porcelain urn on the mantle. Her loud purring filling the silence. It seemed quite clear that at any moment she would rub her flanks against the urn and send it crashing to the floor. Fascinated by the precarious situation, Priscilla held her breath as she waited to see what happened next.
    “Cecelia,” Stratton said. “It might be best if you took Ashley upstairs.”
    A strangled sound came from Cecelia’s throat as she nodded. Then she rose and cautiously plucked the kitten from the mantle. “Excuse me,” she murmured. “I’ll be right back.”
    Catastrophe averted, Priscilla let out a long, slow breath.
    “Well,” Mirabella said. “Wasn’t that interesting? My little ones can be so entertaining.” She looked at Stratton. “Won’t you have some tea, dear? Hannah made some of her lovely teacakes with lemon icing. I know how much you like them. And I know our guests would enjoy your company.”
    “I’m afraid I must decline, Aunt Mirabella.” His tone was courteous, but firm. “As much as I would love to stay and spend time with such charming company, I’ve far too much work waiting for me. Please excuse me, ladies. Enjoy the remainder of your afternoon.” He executed an elegant bow and left the room.
    The party soon broke up with only Priscilla and Olivia remaining. Mirabella slipped her arm through Olivia’s and said,” Do stay a little longer. We have years to catch up on.”
    “I suppose we could stay for a little while.” She looked hopefully at Priscilla. “Unless, of course, you have something planned for this afternoon?”
    “Please stay,” Cecelia said. “Several of my gowns have arrived and I would love for you to see them.”
    As much as she would have liked to rescue Olivia, Priscilla couldn’t tell Cecelia no. “I’d love to see your gowns.”
    “How marvelous.” Mirabella beamed. “You two take your time. Olivia and I have so much to talk about.
    Priscilla gave Olivia a sympathetic glance as Cecelia took her arm and pulled her from the room.
    “Oh, heavens.” Cecelia giggled. “Wasn’t that the funniest thing? I thought I would nearly burst.”
    After holding back for so long, laughter got the better of Priscilla. “I must confess I thought your brother was exaggerating about the dogs," she choked out. "It seems, I was mistaken.”