The Bewitching Hour (9 page)

By early afternoon, Stratton’s head was swimming with numbers, endless rows of numbers he’d tallied over and over again, each time with a different result. He set down his pen, leaned back in his chair and stretched, trying to work out the tightness in his shoulders. Their holdings had grown over the past few years as had the work load, but that wasn’t the problem. He couldn’t concentrate. He kept thinking about Priscilla; her shimmering blond hair, her lips, her scent, the way she felt in his arms. He rested his forehead against the palms of his hands and groaned. My God, this was becoming unbearable. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.
      “Come in,” he called out hoarsely, not really caring if he was heard or not.
      The door swung open and Reeds, their butler, stood stiffly in the doorway. He cleared his throat and said, “Forgive the interruption, my lord, but it appears we have a slight problem.”
      Stratton motioned for him to come in. “What is it, Reeds?”
      “My lord, it seems that
Madame’s creatures
…” He pronounced the words with distaste.
      Despite the impending knowledge that he was about to be delivered bad news, he laughed. “Madame’s creatures?”
      “Yes. It seems
Madame’s creatures,
have an affinity for tulip bulbs and we weren’t able to stop them before a great deal of damage was done to Lord and Lady Overton’s garden.”
      
Blast!
Annoyed out of his earlier passion, he asked, "How in the blazes did they get into Lord and Lady Overton’s garden? The dogs should have been fenced in.”
      “I believe they dug their way under the fence.”
      “God-dammed dogs.”
      “Lady Overton was quite distraught, my lord. I believe the bulbs had been shipped in from Holland as a gift from Lord Overton.” He cleared his throat again. “Regrettably, Lady Overton has a garden tea planned for Monday. Their gardener can replant, but it will require additional staff to have the garden finished before their guests arrive.”
      “Bloody hell,” Stratton muttered. “Those damned dogs will be the death of me. Send over our gardener. He should be able to help set things right.”
      “My lord, I’m afraid McCoy has broken his leg.”
      Stratton pinched the bridge of his nose trying to keep his temper in check. “When did this happen?”
      “Just this morning. He was helping to catch the um--creatures and tripped and fell into the stone fence.” Reeds cleared his throat again.
      “What in the devil is wrong with your throat, Reeds?” He waved his hand in the air. “Never mind. Does McCoy have any assistants?”
      “He has a helper who is available, but I fear we will need more than that."
      "Then, simply hire some outside help. It can't be that difficult." But as he said the words, he realized how ridiculous they were. Finding additional qualified help during the season was near impossible. "At least, look into it," he added.
      Reeds' expression remained impassive. "I will begin inquiries."
      “Good. What about Biggs and the stable hands? Could they help out somehow?”
      “Biggs and Troy could help, but his youngest hand has a sprained ankle.”
      Stratton groaned. “Did that happen today, as well?”
      “Yes, my lord.”
      “I presume he was chasing one of Madame’s creatures?”
      “Yes, my lord.” He cleared his throat again then promptly apologized.
      “Send over Biggs and whatever hands are available." His mind ran through the list of servants they employed. "What about the kitchen boy? I’m sure he could manage to dig holes or fetch things. Or have “the creatures” injured him as well?”
      “Tommy is in good health. We are short staffed in the kitchen but he can be spared for a short while.”
      "Hopefully, that will be adequate."
      "Very good, my lord."
      Reeds turned to leave but Stratton couldn't stop himself from asking, “I’m sure I’ll live to regret this. When I first arrived, we were fully staffed. Why are we now short staffed in the kitchen?”
      Reeds' shoulders dropped slightly as he faced his employer. “One of the scullery maids found herself in an um--delicate condition and was discharged by Mrs. Simpson. We’ve yet to replace her. It’s difficult this time of year, as you know.”
      Stratton groaned and put his head in his hands. “Was it anyone here?”
      “I believe it was Biggs.”
      “Blast the man!” He shook his head in anger. “He’s been warned about this before. He tumbles anything in a skirt. Send Biggs to me. No, wait until the garden repairs have been finished. Then send him to me.” He pulled out a bank book and began writing furiously. “I’ll write out a draft to cover the damages. This should be enough to pay for half the tulips in Holland,” he muttered. “If she can be found, see that the scullery wench is provided for. I’ll not have her tossed out on the street because Biggs can’t keep his breeches fastened. Make that clear to Mrs. Simpson. I’m going to murder Biggs right after I kill those bloody dogs.”
      “Yes, my lord.” The butler hesitated a moment. “Assuming that you don’t cause the demise of Madame’s creatures beforehand, they will need to be let outside later today and are likely try to dig their way out of the garden again. I don’t believe it would be quite the thing to have them escape.”
      “No, it wouldn’t.” Stratton ran his fingers through his hair. “The next time those dogs go outside they are to be secured on leashes. I know Lady Fitzberry won’t like it, but I have no desire to replant every garden in the locality. Do I make myself clear?”
      “Yes, my lord. Completely.” The butler bowed then went off to do as bid, leaving the viscount to his thoughts.

P
riscilla twisted her handkerchief as she glanced at the mantle clock in the sun-filled drawing room. Two-thirty. Not that it mattered. Lord Stratton might not come. It made no difference to her. In fact, it would be far better if he didn't show up.
      “Oh, do quit fidgeting, Priscilla,” her companion said. “This isn’t like you at all.”
      “I’m not fidgeting,” she protested. “I don’t fidget.”
      “How silly of me, dear. I’d forgotten that you tie your handkerchief into knots every afternoon. Would you like another one, or are you quite through for the day?”
      Priscilla looked down at her lap and saw that she had tied her handkerchief into knots; three to be exact. She smiled sheepishly. “I have gotten myself into a tizzy, haven’t I?”
      Olivia returned her smile. “I believe you have. You’ve seemed somewhat distracted all day. Is something amiss?”
      Priscilla shook her head. “I’m a bit overtired.”
      Olivia’s face remained bland. “You were unusually quiet with our guests this morning.”
      Their guests... Good grief. She couldn't even remember who had come by for morning tea. “Oh, dear. Was I rude?”
      Olivia laughed. “You’re never rude, my dear. You did manage to completely put off Lord Mallory, but I believe we should consider that to be a good thing. He was dreadfully full of himself, wasn’t he?”
      “I would assume that was the case,” Priscilla said in a dry tone. “I didn’t hear a word he had to say this morning.”
      Olivia looked up from her embroidery. “Not a word? However did you manage that? He doesn’t seem to be able to keep his mouth shut for more than thirty seconds.”
      “I must admit it can be difficult with Lord Mallory. He’s so tedious about demanding an audience. But I usually just smile and nod and pretend that whatever was said was vastly interesting. It’s not as if I would be quizzed afterward." She began to tease apart one of the knots. "Men don’t expect women to be interesting conversationalists so most of the time it’s really quite easy. It sometimes takes an effort to keep my eyes from glazing over, though.” She sighed as the first knot came undone. “And I do tire of pretending I haven’t a thought in my head.”
      Olivia eyes sparkled. “How fascinating. Who else do you turn a deaf ear to? No, let me guess. Lord Jennings?”
      Priscilla nodded.
      “I would think so. Drones on and on about his wretched livestock. On sleepless nights I’ve often wished I could hear his voice.” She blushed slightly. “To put me to sleep, dear,” she clarified. “What about Lord Harrison?”
      “Definitely. And Lady Harrison as well.”
      “She is rather cruel, isn’t she? I don’t know why she finds it necessary to malign half the ton. It’s best to not listen to anything she says." Olivia pulled her needle though the taut linen. "Can you do this with everyone? Is there anyone you can’t block out at all?”
      Priscilla nodded. “Cousin Mary. And believe me, I’ve tried.”
      Olivia smiled knowingly. “I’m sure you have, dear.”
      The next half-hour was spent in harmless gossip and conversation, discussing everything from the latest fashions to making a decision on what color to paint the breakfast parlor. By the time Beldon announced Lord Stratton’s arrival, Priscilla was no longer anxiously plucking at her handkerchief or wondering why she had consented to let someone who affected her as Lord Stratton did take her in his arms the night before. In fact, she was quite unperturbed up until the moment she looked up and saw his face. It was completely unnerving to see how handsome he was. To realize all over again how much he affected her. Her knees weakened and she was afraid she would wobble when she stood to greet him. Somehow she managed.

Priscilla’s skirts rustled as she rose and came toward him. She looked very appealing in a simple, pale yellow, sprigged muslin trimmed with green satin. Her hair was a mass of curls secured loosely with several pearl studded clips.
      “Lord Stratton,” she murmured as she curtsied.
      He took her hand and brought it almost to his lips. “Miss Hawthorn. You look lovely today.”
      “Thank you, my lord.” She turned to her companion who had also risen. “Olivia, please meet Lord Stratton. Lord Stratton, Mrs. Hutton.”
      Stratton found Olivia to be a pleasant looking woman; short and slender with sparkling blue eyes and cheeks that dimpled when she smiled. Her light brown hair was streaked with gray and pulled into a knot at the nape of her neck. Her round face beamed with pleasure.
      Olivia bobbed a curtsy. “Welcome, my lord. We’re pleased to have you as a guest.”
      Stratton liked her immediately. “Thank you, Mrs. Hutton.”
      “Please make yourself comfortable.”
      He quickly scanned the room and saw that a number of bouquets were placed about, but the orchids he sent were missing. Hiding a frown, he spotted a large green brocade chair next to the fireplace and sat down.
      Once they were all settled, Olivia placed her hands in her lap and smiled. “Are you here for the season, my lord?”
      Normally Stratton disdained this type of polite conversation, but coming from Olivia, her interest seemed genuine. “Yes. I’m escorting my sister this year.”
      “Oh, that’s lovely. Is this her first season? A girl’s first year is so exciting.”
      Stratton nodded. “Yes ma’am, Cecelia’s to turn eighteen in a few weeks. I rarely come into London for the season, but our parents are in France with my other sister. She’s increasing and Mother won’t leave her side.” He smiled as he added, “Cecelia’s not thrilled with the arrangement. She’s afraid I’ll scare off her dance partners.”
      “I’m sure you’re always the perfect gentleman,” Olivia said. “And make a delightful escort.”
      “Harrumph.” Priscilla cleared her throat.
      Assuming she was questioning Olivia’s use of the words
perfect gentleman,
Stratton looked at Priscilla and winked. “My aunt has arrived to help with Cecelia’s come out. They are both quite spirited in nature and I must say it’s been enlightening. I had no idea of the disagreements that could be raised over a debutante’s wardrobe.”
      Olivia chuckled. “And I gather the responsibility of keeping the peace falls on your shoulders?”
      He held back a snort of laughter. “Keeping the peace would be an exaggeration. Containment might be a more accurate term. My experience with feuding tenants has in no way prepared me for this battle of wills. At present, we seem to be in the middle of a truce but I don’t hold out hope that it will be of a long duration.”
      Priscilla glanced up as Beldon brought in the silver tea tray. “If you would bring that over, I believe I’ll serve. Lord Stratton, would you care for tea? Or would brandy be more to your liking?”
      He watched as she busied herself with the tea tray. Her cheeks turned pink as she avoided his gaze. He grinned. “Brandy would excellent. Thank you.”
      “My lord, did you know that your Aunt Mirabella and I are old acquaintances?” Olivia asked. “We’ve known one another since our school days. She was always an interesting personality. Tell me, does she still keep a herd of little dogs at her feet? She talked about them constantly when we were at school. Missed them terribly,” she said in a voice tinged with laughter. “Even wrote them letters, I believe.”
      Stratton thought of the morning fiasco in the Overton’s tulip garden and sighed deeply. “I regret to say that she does. At the moment, I believe there are at least a dozen. It’s difficult to tell when they look so much alike and are in perpetual motion." One side of his mouth quirked with annoyance. "I find it quite objectionable that she’s chosen to name them all after Greek and Roman gods. One might give a mastiff or prime horse flesh the name of a god, but not an annoying bit of fluff. It’s unpardonable.”
      Olivia raised her eyebrows. “What type of dogs are they?”
      Stratton accepted the brandy that Beldon handed him. “They’re small, brown and gray and quite ugly. She claims they’re some sort of terrier but I don’t believe it for a moment. I fear some unscrupulous dog breeder has sold her a dozen rats.” He glanced at Priscilla who continued to ignore him.
      Olivia’s eyes brightened and her lips twitched. “Why I believe that’s what she had years ago, only there weren’t quite so many back then. Only five or six. It must be very lively in your household with so many, um, little dogs running underfoot.”
      “I believe pandemonium might be a more accurate term,” he said. “I’m surprised that most of the servants haven’t quit, though two did meet with injury after falling over the creatures.”
      “Oh my,” Olivia murmured sympathetically. “How unfortunate.”
      “Thus far, we’ve lost our gardener and a stable boy." He gently swirled the brandy in his glass. "It is early, yet. We’re likely to lose more as time goes on.”
      “Do keep us posted,” Olivia said with a great deal of restraint. “I find this most fascinating.”
      “Of course." He tasted his brandy. It went down smoothly. "Will you be attending the Sutter’s ball this evening?”
      “I’m afraid we had accepted a previous engagement when the invitation came.”
Damn.
      “But we will attend the Morrison’s ball,” Olivia added. “It’s always such a grand affair. It wouldn’t do to miss it.”
      “Of course,” Stratton agreed, having no idea whether they’d accepted that particular invitation or not. He decided he needed to make the effort to pay more attention to the invitations that came in. “We wouldn’t miss it, either.”
      Olivia clapped her hands. “Wonderful. We’ll look forward to seeing you there.”
      “I believe Lord Bertram will be there as well,” Priscilla said.
      Olivia frowned. “Are you sure, dear? I thought with Mary gone, he might not attend.” She looked over at Stratton. “Mary is Priscilla’s cousin on her father’s side. She and Lord Bertram will be announcing their engagement soon.”
      Stratton stared at the brandy in his glass. And smiled. “Miss Dearborn is an unusual young lady, isn’t she? She has quite an imagination. One never knows what she will do. Or say.”
      Eyes sparked with curiosity, Olivia leaned forward. “You’ve met her?’
      Before he could say anything, Priscilla cut in sharply. “My lord, are you certain you wouldn’t care for a teacake? You look famished. Please have something to eat.”
      Stratton thought she looked as if she might stuff the entire plate in his mouth. With an untroubled smile, he said, “No thank you, Miss Hawthorn. I believe the brandy will suffice.”
      “Miss Dearborn is still very young,” Olivia commented. “Perhaps once she and Bertie have married, she’ll settle down. I certainly hope so.”
      
As do I
. Stratton set his glass down and turned his gaze on Priscilla. “Miss Hawthorn, would you be amenable to a stroll in Hyde Park? The weather is exceptional today. We should take advantage.”
      She hesitated. For a moment he thought she would refuse, but Olivia spoke up before she had the chance. “You should go, my dear. A stroll would be lovely.”
      The color on Priscilla's cheeks deepened as she looked at her companion. “You must come with us, Olivia.”
      “Heavens no, dear. You two go on. I’ve a number of things to see to.”
      Priscilla looked as if she wished to argue, but she squared her shoulders and murmured, “Of course. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll find Sally and get ready.”
      Stratton stood as she rose to leave the room, his gaze following her until she turned and left his view.
      Olivia set her tea cup down and began to smooth out imaginary wrinkles in her skirts.
      “You have quite an array of lovely floral arrangements,” Stratton commented as he sat down. “You and Miss Hawthorn must have many admirers.”
      “Oh, good heavens, they aren’t for me. They’re all for Priscilla. She’s quite popular with the young men, though I can’t say she seems too taken with any of them.” Olivia’s cheeks dimpled. “She also received orchids from a mysterious gentleman. They’re positively exquisite. In fact, she took them upstairs to enjoy in her private parlor. I would dearly love to know who sent them.”
      Stratton smiled. “A mystery, indeed.”