The Bewitching Hour (3 page)

      “I didn’t know.” Bertram sounded apologetic. “As I said, I’ve never done this before. I can see the sense in it, though. One should be sober for a matter of this significance.”
      Rand looked at him seriously. “There’s much to learn about a duel. It’s not as simple as one would think. It’s a very serious matter. We should discuss this further. That is, if you are truly bent on this course of action.”
      “Oh, I am.”
      “Lord Stratton," he said loudly, causing the viscount to start. "Would you care to educate Lord Bertram on etiquette in the art of dueling? Or should I?”
      Stratton took another gulp of his drink and waved his hand in Rand’s direction. “Educate away,” he said with an exaggerated slur. “In my present state, I might forget something.”
      “Of course.” Rand turned to Bertram. “The first thing you must learn is that the challenge should be fair. That is of the utmost importance. How are you with a pistol? Stratton is an excellent marksman. Would you be evenly matched?”
      Bertram flushed. “I’ve not had much practice,” he admitted. “I don’t much care for shooting.”
      “Fencing? Lord Stratton also excels at fencing.”
      The young man shook his head.
      “Lord Stratton would be the one who makes the choice of weapons, as he is the one who has been, or rather, is going to be, challenged.” Rand looked over at his friend. “Which would you prefer, Stratton?”
      Stratton rubbed his face as he considered the matter. “Pistols, I think. I haven’t shot anyone for a while. Only target practice and that isn’t at all the same. Yes, shooting someone sounds quite agreeable.”
      “I wasn’t certain how the decision was made,” Bertram said hesitantly. “As I said, I’ve…”
      “Never done this before,” Stratton said slowly, careful to pronounce every syllable.
      “Exactly.” Bertram nodded.
      “Would you care for instruction?” Rand asked.
      “Instruction?”
      “Lessons. How is your aim? You’ve said you haven’t much experience in shooting. I would assume you lack expertise?”
      The thin face clouded with uneasiness. “I’ve never managed to quite get the hang of it. I could use some practice.”
      “If you would like to meet me at Manton’s tomorrow afternoon around one-thirty--no, best make it the day after for I’m certain to be dreadfully hung over tomorrow--I’ll be more than happy to offer instruction.”
      Bertram lifted his brows in surprise. “Why would you make such an offer? Lord Stratton is your friend.”
      “To make the challenge more evenly matched. Otherwise, you might as well put a bullet in your head and be done with it." He lifted his shoulders in a faint shrug. "What's the point of that? With a little instruction you might have a chance, though I must admit, not much of one. You could at least draw a little blood. There would be no honor in completely missing your target.”
      The young man swallowed nervously. “That’s frightfully decent of you. I never expected you to be so accommodating about this. I’m much obliged.”
      “You will wish to find a sawbones, as well. Just in case you aren’t killed.”
      “I have a physician,” Bertram said. “Dr. Chisholm. He’s been my doctor since I was born.”
      “I doubt the good Dr. Chisholm would be willing to stand around and watch you get shot. You need a less reputable physician for a duel.”
      “I see.” Bertram appeared somber. “Who would you suggest?”
      Rand looked at Stratton who shrugged. “I’ve never made the arrangement for a sawbones at a duel,” he drawled out, neglecting to mention he’d never been foolish enough to participate in a duel. He stopped to hiccup. “Pardon me.”
      “As Lord Stratton's second, I'll take care of that. Now, have you decided on a second?” Rand asked.
      Bertram moistened his lips and swallowed. “Not yet.”
      “You understand, don’t you, that a duel is illegal?” Rand asked. “If you aren’t dead, you could be arrested. There’s much to think about. Perhaps you should consider this more carefully.”
      Bertram’s face lost some of its color, but he said, “A gentleman has a duty to protect the honor of a young lady. As reprehensive as this deed is, I must carry it out." He stared at his tasseled boots a moment. “If you don’t mind letting me off at the next corner, I should be going. It wouldn’t do to be too social at this point, and I’ve taken enough of your time.”
      Stratton held up his flask in a farewell greeting as Rand pulled the Phaeton over to the side of the street. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Lord Bertram,” he slurred. “Have a delightful evening.”
      Bertram jumped down and made a small bow. “Thank you, gentlemen. The pleasure was mine.”
      Stratton and Rand watched as he walked down the street.
      “Bloody nuisance,” Stratton said evenly without a hint of his previous slur.
      “Quite so,” Rand agreed. “I can’t see the lad as Miss Hawthorn’s beau. She’s far too much sense and I haven’t heard a word about it. What other young lady have you upset recently?”
      “None that I know of. It must be her.” He shook his head. “What an odd fellow. He doesn’t have the slightest idea what this is about yet he’s ready to take a bullet to avenge his sweetheart. Lad’s got more nerve than brains. I can’t let Miss Hawthorn marry him.”
      “I wish you luck in that. Until you can get this ironed out, you’ll have to do whatever you can to avoid the man.”
      Stratton shrugged. “Either that or shoot him.”

“You simply must do something, Eugene,” Cecelia moaned. She had caught her brother in the early afternoon, just as he was unlocking the door to his study.
      Stratton took note of her perturbed expression and the fashion journal she clutched tightly against her chest. Heaving a sigh, he indicated with a nod that she follow him inside.
      “Sit,” he ordered as he closed the door behind him. “Now, let me guess,” he continued. “Aunt Mirabella?”
      She nodded vigorously as he settled into the comfortable leather chair behind his desk. “I can’t spend another day with her at the modiste. I simply can’t do it. Madame Claudette and I are at our wit’s end. She doesn’t know how to handle Aunt Mirabella and neither do I. All we do is argue and that’s getting me nowhere." She set her copy of the
Journal des Luxus und der Moden
on his desk and tapped her finger against the open page on a simple flowing silk gown with tiny pleats beneath the bodice and a narrow, pearl studded shawl. “This is what I want.” She slipped out a loose fashion plate from another magazine. “This is what she’s insisting we have this made up for my coming out ball. Can you believe it? I’d be the laughing stock of the season.”
      Stratton looked down at the fashion plate and winced. The ball gown was truly hideous, embellished with ruffles, ribbons and rosettes and a cumbersome train that could prove perilous on the dance floor. A sequined turban was topped with three very long ostrich plumes. The matching cashmere shawl was trimmed with sequins as well.
      “She wants to have it made up in pale tangerine. And the turban! I won’t be able to get through the doorway with those ridiculous feathers. Madame Claudette told her it wasn’t appropriate for my first season, but she won’t listen.” Cecelia looked at him pleadingly. “Please Eugene, I can’t wear this.”
      “No, you can’t,” he agreed. “As much as I hate the idea of involving myself in your current battles with Aunt Mirabella, I must do something.”
      “But what? The other gowns she has picked out are almost as bad. I wish Mama was here. I know she can be difficult, too, but she has much better taste.”
      Stratton gazed at his sister with sympathy. She had certainly had a time of it with Aunt Mirabella, who seemed determined to see her trussed like a peacock and married off by the end of the season. There was no need for their aunt to fret over Cecelia’s popularity. There would be plenty of suitors. Cecelia was titled, she was rich and though she did not meet the standards of the typical English beauty, she was a striking young woman. Like him, she had inherited their father’s height. Her red hair, brilliant green eyes and fair skin came from their mother’s and Aunt Mirabella’s side of the family.
      Only six months ago, she seemed awkward, a little too tall and a little unsure of herself, but recently she had begun to carry herself with confidence and it made all the difference. But if she wore the atrocities Aunt Mirabella chose, her season would be over before it started. Even the rich and titled couldn’t escape the cruelty of the ton.
      He stood and reached for the bell pull.
      “What are you doing?” Cecelia asked.
      “We’re about to have a talk with Aunt Mirabella. If Aunt won’t listen to reason, I’ll inform Madame Claudette that every one of your gowns must meet with my approval or it won’t be paid for.”
      “Thank you, Eugene.”
      He scowled as he noticed the narrow band of satin that made up most of the bodice of the gown his sister had selected. “Don’t be too quick to offer your gratitude. I intend to make certain you are well covered as well as tastefully dressed. The cut of this first gown is far too revealing.”
      Cecelia made a sound of exasperation. “I’m not twelve years old any longer, Eugene, and the current styles all have a lower cut. And,” she added, “it has a shawl.”
      “This shawl doesn’t cover up a thing and you would positively swelter in one that did,” he said then looked up as their butler knocked and entered the office. “Reeds, please ask Lady Fitzberry to join us.”
      “Of course, my lord.
      “And impress on Lady Fitzberry I would like to see her now. Otherwise, she’ll keep us waiting for hours. And please bring some Ratafia and almond cake. The combination always seems to put her in a good mood.”
      ”Very good, my lord.” Reeds bowed and disappeared.
      Stratton glanced over at Cecelia who was looking very glum.
      “We shouldn’t be too hard on Aunt Mirabella,” he said. “Her heart is in the right place even if her judgment and her taste are flawed. She wants you to have a successful season.”
      Cecelia grimaced. “I know. She’s told me often enough. But a successful season means marriage and I don’t want to get married. And with Mama and Papa in France, Aunt feels it her duty to stay by my side until they return or I’m wed.”
      The prospect of Aunt Mirabella staying in residence any longer than necessary was not something Stratton wanted to think about. If Cecelia wasn’t planning on getting married they could be shackled with their aunt and her dogs for quite some time. He took in a breath as he fought to keep the rising concern out of his voice. “Why don’t you want to get married, Cecelia?”
      In spite of her misery, a glint of humor lit her eyes and she laughed. “You should see the expression on your face. You look positively horrified. I didn’t mean forever. I meant I don’t want to get married
now
. I can’t even imagine it.”
      “But why? Isn’t marriage the point of having a come out?”
      “If someone comes along whom I think will suit, I very well may change my mind. But I wish to enjoy my first season and if I’m required to regard every single man I’m introduced to as a potential husband, I won’t have any fun at all."
      Though he sincerely hoped that Cecelia would quickly find a match, Stratton understood her reasoning. He winked at her as he cautioned, “Don’t tell Aunt Mirabella that. She’s apt to have apoplexy.”
      Cecelia grinned. “She would, wouldn’t she? I thought she would swoon when she learned Mrs. Danfield is planning to introduce me to both Lady Jersey and Lady Pembroke at her ball.”
      “Are you nervous?” He knew how arbitrary the patronesses of Almack’s could be and though he had no doubt Cecelia would be accepted, being denied a subscription to the assemblies at Almack’s could be disastrous.
      “Yes,” she admitted.
      “You don’t have a thing to worry about.”
As long as Aunt Mirabella behaves.
      A knock sounded at the door and Aunt Mirabella swept in. Stratton rose and pulled up a chair for her.
      “Hello, dears,” she said. “You must come see my little darlings. They’ve all had baths and they’re done up in blue and pink ribbons. It’s quite adorable. I was thinking, wouldn’t it be delightful to have their portrait painted? Though, I don’t know if it would be best to have them all together or have them done individually.” She noted Stratton’s scowl. “Oh, don’t frown so, Eugie.”
      As much as he wanted to avoid the subject of his aunt’s dogs he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “They are in perpetual motion, Aunt. How in the devil would you get them to hold still long enough to have their portraits painted?”
      She pursed her lips disapprovingly. “You simply must stop swearing. We can talk about the portraits later, but I must warn you that I’m quite determined. Now, what is it that you need? I’m hoping you want to discuss Cecelia’s ball. We really must get started on this.”
      “I hired an agency to take care of the majority of it," he said. "Most of the details have been decided.”
      “But it’s never too late to make improvements and I have some splendid ideas," she said with enthusiasm. "Of course they are a little expensive, but we shouldn’t trifle over money where Cecelia’s come out is concerned. I was thinking about the menu. I’ve found a book with recipes for all types of Indian dishes." Her voice rose an octave. "Did you know that they refuse to eat beef? But the curried goat sounded delicious. And we could decorate with an Indian theme, though I don’t have that quite worked out.”
      “Indian food is hot as Hades,” Stratton said between clenched teeth. “Not everyone will enjoy it. We should stay with what has been planned.”
      “But it’s important that Cecelia’s ball stand out from all the others. I’ve also considered an African theme, but I don’t know what type of food they eat in Africa. We could swath the ballroom in mosquito netting, though. Doesn’t that sound marvelous?” She smiled brightly as she looked from Stratton to Cecelia back to Stratton again. Cecelia had gone quite pale.
      “Marvelous,” he remarked. “We could import a few monkeys to entertain our guests. And what would you think about elephant rides? That could work with an Indian theme, as well.”
      She lowered her brow as if actually considering the idea. “Dear, that would be terribly impractical.” Then she smiled and wagged her finger at him. “You always were such a tease.”
      Stratton returned the smile, but inside he was groaning. Other than showing up and playing the part of the gracious host, he hadn’t intended to involve himself in Cecelia’s ball, but it was clear that with his aunt’s penchant for the peculiar, he would need to put a stop to her outlandish ideas. “We do need to discuss the ball but that isn’t precisely what I wished to chat about at the moment.”
      He stopped as Reeds carried in a tea tray with a decanter of Ratafia, three glasses and a plate of sliced almond cake and placed it on the desk.
      “Thank you,” he murmured, grateful for the extra few moments in which to compose what he wanted to say.
      Aunt Mirabella beamed at him. “How thoughtful of you. I do adore Ratafia and almond cake. Why, when Lord Fitzberry and I were first married, we went through three cooks before we found one who could make a decent almond cake. It’s fortunate Agnes shared her recipe before the Good Lord took her. Though she didn’t actually share it. I had one of the kitchen girls discretely observe her make it until she knew the recipe by heart. Agnes was an unusual woman. Can’t say she was at all pleasant. She was a bully, really. Terrified most of the servants. In fact, she absolutely terrified Lord Fitzberry. The dear man had no backbone, whatsoever.” She took the glass Stratton handed her. “Thank you, Eugie. But you must have some as well.”
      He tried to suppress a shudder as he shook his head. He found the sweet concoction revolting. “No, thank you.” Waiting until she took a sip, he took full advantage of the momentary lapse in conversation and said, “I wanted to talk to you about Cecelia’s wardrobe. She’s a little concerned about the colors and some of the styles you’ve chosen.”
      He looked over at Cecelia who was nodding. “Madame Claudette said I should wear pastels or white my first season and that the styles should be simple.”
      Aunt Mirabella pursed her lips. “Nonsense. It doesn’t hurt to bend the rules a bit. And the colors I chose weren’t overly bright.”
      “Even so, I don’t care for most of the gowns you’ve selected, Aunt Mirabella,” Cecelia said. “I won’t feel comfortable wearing them. Something simpler would be more to my taste. Madame Claudette said she could easily change some of the gowns you’ve chosen for me.”
      “But my dear,” Aunt Mirabella interrupted. “That just wouldn’t do. You must trust my judgment in this. I’ve promised your mother I would do everything I could to make your coming out a success. There are so many young women coming out this year and you need to make an effort to stand out. I don’t mean to be critical, but Cecelia, your taste in clothing is a little plain. I so wish you would listen to me and take my advice. As I said, I did make your dear mother a promise.”
      Stratton saw the muscles in his sister’s face twitch and cursed beneath his breath. It appeared Cecelia had finally had enough.
Bloody hell, they’re going to have a go of it.
      But instead, she clamped her jaw shut and looked down at her lap a moment as she obviously struggled to maintain her composure. When she looked back up she wore a strained smile. It was all Stratton could do to keep from applauding her heroic efforts.
      “I have to agree with Cecelia, on this. I’m sending a note to Madame Claudette to inform her that I will not pay for anything I haven’t personally approved. I’m also keeping an eye on the necklines,” he added as he looked pointedly at his sister. “That said, there will be no more discussion of wardrobes, today. I’ve got far too much to do.”
      “Well, if your mind is made up,” Aunt Mirabella said. “I suppose I’ll have to go along with it. I don’t, however, agree.”
      Stratton relaxed, though he knew for certain that the battle wasn’t over. Their aunt was nothing if not resolute. “So noted,” he said.
      “I must get back to my darlings.” She slowly rose from her chair. “The servants haven’t the vaguest idea how to go about properly grooming them. Lorna brushed Ulysses so hard, the poor dear was trembling.”
      Stratton stood and moved over to hold the door for his aunt as she left.
      “Have a pleasant afternoon, Aunt Mirabella.” He bowed gracefully.
      “Thank you, Eugie.” Her tone was frosty. “You do the same.”
      Cecelia waited a few moments before saying, “I believe you’ve just worked a miracle. I didn’t expect her to concede so quickly.”
       He sank back in his chair. “I haven’t worked a miracle, Cecelia. All I’ve accomplished is a brief reprieve. And we still have the ball to contend with. Before she begins her second assault, I suggest that you and Madame Claudette take advantage.”
      She smiled with appreciation. “Thank you. Melly can come with me. I’ll get changed and go pay Madame Claudette a visit.