Stronger than magic, p.20
Stronger Than Magic, page 20
“I do,” Alys countered with quiet sincerity. “I find him exceptional.”
That drew a sharp glance from the other woman. By the wariness in her previously amicable gaze, it was apparent that she’d perceived Alys’s response not as respectful praise from a grateful ward, as she was meant to do, but as the worshipful simpering of a possible rival. “Indeed?” she intoned, a chill icing her voice.
“Oh, yes,” Alys replied, hastily assuming the demeanor of a guileless schoolgirl. “Though I must confess that I did find him rather fierce and frightening at first.” She giggled. “Aren’t I the silliest creature in England?”
Miss Ramsey thawed but only slightly. “His lordship is rather given to barking and brooding, something which a young chit such as yourself might understandably find alarming. But as you have discovered for yourself, he possesses many fine qualities which quite outweigh that unfortunate tendency.”
Nodding, Alys delivered her coup de grace to the other woman’s lingering suspicions. “Yes. Indeed, he’s become so dear to me over the past few weeks that I’ve come to view him as a comfortable surrogate for the brother I lost at Waterloo.”
Like a warm fire chasing away a deep winter chill, her comment melted the remainder of Miss Ramsey’s icy reserve. Her expression softening into one of infinite compassion, she clasped both Alys’s hands in hers, softly exclaiming, “As well you should, Miss Faire. Lottie told me of your brother’s heroic sacrifice, and it’s only right that Luc—um—his lordship should step into your brother’s boots and assume his role to the best of his ability.”
She gave Alys’s hands a gentle squeeze. “I also want you to know that as a long-time friend and neighbor of his lordship that I too stand indebted to you. And if I can ever in any way be of service to you, please feel free to ask me.”
“Perhaps you can help me,” Alys replied, lowering her lashes to hide the cunning she was certain showed in her eyes. “You see, this is my very first party and I’m not quite certain how to go about things. Lottie’s been helping me as best she can, but as you can imagine, she is very busy.”
“But of course, Miss Faire—”
“I would be honored if you would call me Alys.”
“Only if you agree to call me Diana.” She grinned suddenly. “Oh, Alys. I do so hope that we shall be friends.”
“I would like that. Aside from Lottie and Lucian, I have no friends here … or in London.” Alys slanted her a querying look. “You shall be coming to town for the season, shan’t you?”
Diana shrugged. “My father still holds out hope that I might make a match, and therefore wishes me to go. I, however, am not so certain that I wish to endure yet another season of being gaped at and appraised like a horse at Tattersall’s.”
“Oh, but you must!” Alys exclaimed. “Lucian and I shall be attending all the festivities, and it would be so comforting to have a friend from whom I might seek advice. Especially one like you, who is experienced in the ways of the ton.”
The other woman looked positively stunned by her words. “Luc shall be participating in the season? How very irregular of him! I had assumed that he’d cajoled Lottie and Clayton into taking you about, since they are so fond of the parties he loathes.”
Alys shook her head. “My brother left his lordship charged with the duty of finding me a suitable husband, and I must say that he’s taken his duty very much to heart. Indeed, he gave me a list of possible suitors to consider the second day I was under his roof.”
Diana stared at her for several seconds as if utterly shocked, then burst into laughter. “How very like Luc to treat marriage as if it were an agreement to purchase cattle! And what did you say, pray tell?”
Alys gave a nonchalant shrug. “I tore up his silly list, telling him that I was perfectly capable of selecting my own husband and that I wouldn’t marry without love.”
Diana’s mirth escalated to the point of hilarity. “Oh, Alys! I see that we shall be very good friends indeed!” she gasped out between her laughter. “Perhaps I shall come to town for the season after all. How exceedingly diverting to watch Luc muddle about the marriage mart with you foiling him at every turn. Almost as amusing as seeing how he eludes the scores of matchmaking mothers who will no doubt attempt to trap him for their daughters.”
“No doubt,” Alys agreed, well pleased with the turn of conversation. “Though they will probably be wasting their time. Aside from yourself and Lottie, his lordship seems to find women singularly silly creatures.”
“H-he’s spoken of me?” Diana stammered, her cheeks growing very pink.
“Oh, yes. He spoke of you on the way here. It appears that he thinks very highly of you. Indeed, he told me that I was to observe you and follow your example.” All right, so it was a lie, but one ground in truth. For according to Lottie, he did admire Diana, though he’d never so much as acknowledged his acquaintance to the woman in her presence.
When Diana seemed at a loss as to how to reply to that flattering bit of news, Alys continued, “He also bid me to be my most charming to the gentlemen, though I must confess that I feel quite at a loss around them. As Lottie might have told you, I spent the last few years at a rather strict boarding school in Bath, and have therefore had little contact with men.”
“They really aren’t such a frightening lot once you get accustomed to them,” Diana assured her, looping her arm around Alys’s waist and turning her from the music room to face the merry assembly behind them. “Just see how easily the other girls are conversing with them.”
And indeed they were. Though most of the younger set had never met before that afternoon, they were chattering away as if they’d all known each other forever. All except for the foppish Lord Drake, that is, who stood before a mirror at the far side of the room, frowning at his immaculately arranged neckcloth.
Alys studied him for a brief instant, vaguely remembering seeing his name on Lucian’s list before she tore it up. Though slightly too modishly dressed for her taste and a bit taken with herself, he wasn’t unpleasant to look at. Indeed, many would call him handsome.
Apparently she was staring more blatantly than she’d imagined, for Diana released a low, throaty chuckle and said, “So it’s Lord Drake, is it?”
“Excuse me?” Alys murmured, pretending not to have understood the other woman’s comment.
Diana inclined her head faintly in the direction of the object of her scrutiny. “Do I detect a glint of interest in the elegant Lord Drake?”
Alys smiled coyly, a new idea striking her. “He was on Lord Thistlewood’s list as a possible suitor.”
“Was he indeed?” Diana paused to regard the young man, then inquired, “And you find him an agreeable candidate?”
Alys bowed her head as if in maidenly reticence. “Well, he is very handsome. And I couldn’t help but to notice what fine brown eyes he has.”
Diana chuckled again. “Not to mention his equally fine brown hair and fashionable wardrobe, eh?”
“Yes. He truly is a splendid man,” she murmured. She counted to three, then heaved a dejected little sigh. “Far too splendid, I fear, to ever take notice of a plain creature such as myself.”
“Plain? You?” Diana softly exclaimed, her voice laced with amazement. “Why, wherever did you get such a bird-witted notion?”
Alys gestured toward where Gemma and Cassandra were still engrossed in their game. “Just look at how pretty the other girls are. I feel quite drab by comparison.” She shook her head mournfully. “However will his lordship see me when I’m in such stunning company?”
“Very easily, I’d guess,” Diana replied. “For not only are you the prettiest girl in the room—no,”—she raised her hand to silence Alys, who’d opened her mouth to protest—“it’s true. Not only are you the prettiest here, you’re a blonde. And it’s widely known that Lord Drake has an eye for pretty, fair-haired misses. I also hear tell that he’s in the market for a wife this season. All things considered, I’d guess that you have an exceedingly good chance at bagging him if you play your cards right.”
“But as I’ve already explained, I don’t know how to play that game,” Alys protested, carefully baiting her hook.
Like a trout tantalized with a fly, Diana immediately snapped. “Then I shall teach you. It isn’t so very hard, and I don’t doubt that you shall be an excellent student. Between the two of us, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you’re at the altar with Lord Drake before summer’s end.”
“Then you shall be coming to town after all?” Alys inquired, hard-pressed to keep the triumph from her voice.
“I suppose I shall,” she replied as if just realizing what all her plan entailed. Then she smiled in a soft, secretive way that left little doubt in Alys’s mind that she was thinking of Lucian and the possibilities of the coming season. “Yes,” she quietly mused. “I do believe I shall be coming to town.”
Alys returned her smile. Someone would be at the altar by the end of the summer, but it wouldn’t be she and Lord Drake.
Chapter 12
“Then I said, ‘My dear Weston, you really must nip the waist in a fraction more. It is so terribly du vieux temps to wear one’s coat so loose.’ And do you know what he said?” Lord Drake paused to peer at Alys through his ever-present quizzing glass, clearly expecting her to guess.
“I haven’t the slightest notion. Pray do tell,” Alys murmured, struggling hard to repress her yawn. A two-topic man, namely fashion and himself, his lordship had been prattling about his tailor since they had begun their walk a half hour earlier.
It had been six days since the party’s arrival at Thistlewood, and the weather had taken an unseasonal turn for the better. Indeed, today was so fair that the bulk of the guests were outside riding, walking, or simply sitting in the courtyard enjoying the clement temperature.
Diana, who had very much taken to heart her promise to help Alys snare Lord Drake, had used the fine weather as an excuse to invite that same gentleman to accompany them on a stroll around the moat. Alys, in turn, had teased Lucian into joining them, declaring it only proper that each lady have an escort. By the look of keen amusement that passed between him and Diana, it was clear that both thought her ruse one to assure that she’d have Lord Drake all to herself. Accordingly, they now strolled several yards in front of them.
As Drake outlined the challenges of fitting a coat when a man’s shoulders were as wide as his and his waist as trim, Alys let her gaze stray to the couple ahead of her.
Unlike herself, Diana seemed to be enjoying her escort’s company. Filled with wistful envy, Alys watched as Lucian bent his glossy sable head close to Diana’s shiny chestnut one, whispering something into her ear. She laughed, low and husky, then said something in return that made him expel a very unlordly guffaw.
Instead of being thrilled that her matchmaking plans showed such promise, she felt lonely, rather as if she were excluded from a club to which everyone else happily belonged. And perhaps she was, for all the others in their party were free to seek and share love as they pleased, while her curse prohibited her from engaging in such delightful pursuits.
Inwardly sighing her desolation, Alys slanted a glance up at her escort, who had concluded his discourse on the fit of his coat and had launched into an oration on his valet’s miraculous boot polish. While it was true that her curse banned her from participating in love’s sweet games, it didn’t deny her the simple pleasure of a man’s company and conversation; pleasure that was markedly absent at that moment.
Lord Drake, catching her glance and mistaking it for interest in his topic, smiled and pointed to the boots in question. Resolved to play out her game, for Lucian’s sake, she returned his smile and pretended to study the mirrorlike sheen of his Hessians.
Too bad she hadn’t known what an out and out bore he was before she’d contrived this scheme. At least then she’d have had the foresight to feign infatuation for a more amusing gentleman, say, Lord Ardell. Though not as physically prepossessing as Lord Drake, he had a great charm and wit about him that would have at least made him good company. Then again, he wasn’t on the infamous list of suitors, so Lucian might have refused to participate in Diana’s matchmaking machinations had she selected him instead.
Ah, well. Alys expelled a gusty breath as she looked up from Lord Drake’s gleaming boots, nodding her admiration. She’d survived boredom before, she’d undoubtedly do so in this instance as well. After all, it wasn’t as if she were actually required to marry his tedious lordship. No indeed. She had only to tolerate his company until Lucian married Diana, then she’d use her matchmaking skills to find him a woman who would genuinely love him and vice versa. That way, no one would be hurt by her game.
Except herself. She shook her head, pushing away, as she constantly did of late, her ever-encroaching feelings for Lucian. Like her boredom, she’d survive the heartache of seeing him wed to Diana. Besides, she mustn’t forget the positive aspect of all this: she’d regain her humanity, thus acquiring the mortal life she was presently only playing at possessing.
Who knows? Perhaps in time, long after she’d escaped Lucian’s dazzling presence and her heart had healed, she might find a man of her own to love. Not that she expected the grand passion one found with their destined true love. As she knew all too well, a person was granted only one such love per lifetime, and her shallowness had killed hers almost five hundred years earlier.
“I got it! I got the bloody damn ring!”
That crowing declaration snapped Alys out of her misty-eyed reverie. Blinking twice to clear her vision, she gazed to her left, the direction from which the voice had come. There, balanced on a rough masonry embankment, triumphantly waving a thick gold band, was Hedley.
As she and Lord Drake strolled past, he hopped from his perch to the ground next to her feet. His stumpy legs pumping hard to keep pace, he cantered at her side, grumbling, “Nasty lot, them Nibelungens. Threatened to stake me down with horseshoes in a barn full o’ cats if I dinna leave their fusty old caves immediately.”
It was all Alys could do not to gasp aloud at the horrific nature of that threat. Nothing rendered a hob powerless quicker than a horseshoe, and to be left thus in a den of cats, the fairies greatest nemeses, could have proved disastrous, even fatal to Hedley. And despite his nasty temper and crude ways, she had become rather fond of him.
“Yea. Old Hedley, here, would’ve ended up hob meat if he hadn’t been so bloody damn quick-witted and told ’em that he were a messenger from King Aengus.” He cackled. “Them Nibelungens might be yakkedy-gop Norse trolls, but they’re still under Aengus’s rule. And since they ain’t been in his good graces for nigh on two centuries now, they changed their tune quick ’nough. Got the ring and the spell, but we gotta do the spell tonight, on the first eve of the new moon, or it might not work.”
Spell? Alys ached to inquire, though, of course, it was impossible to speak to Hedley in Lord Drake’s presence. She’d assumed that Charlotte had only to wear the ring during marital relations in order to conceive. Hoping upon hope that her expression would be enough to prompt the hob to elaborate, she furrowed her brow and frowned to convey her mystification.
But he was no longer looking at her. He was skipping backward in front of them, eyeing her escort with the awe of an art student viewing the work of a great master for the very first time. He continued on like that for a long moment, then, in a wickedly faultless imitation of a Bond Street fribble, whom he delighted in studying, he drawled, “’Pon my honor, my dear Miss Faire. He is; a devilishly fine dresser, ain’t he? Charming fig’er, quite the thing. Lord Tight-Arse would do well to follow his example. Dull dresser that Tight-Arse. Could do with a bang-up waistcoat like that.”
Grinning in a way that always boded ill, he hopped like a frog on a hot hearth, then leaped up to dangle from the edge of the scarlet, blue, and gold striped garment in question.
Lord Drake broke off from whatever he was saying to gape down at his waistcoat, where Hedley hung squiggling his fingers against the fabric as if testing its quality. Though he was unable to see the hob, by his faint squirming it was plain he could feel him.
“Cassimere,” Hedley announced with the smug self-assurance of a connoisseur. Indeed, he had become a bit of an expert on such matters, what with all the time he spent reading fashion periodicals and scrutinizing the public at large. “Very expensive cassimere,” he elaborated with the emphasis on expensive. “And ye’ll be buying me one exactly like it if ye want my help in casting that spell tonight. Don’t forget that ye promised me my pick of clothes if I helped ye with this baby-getting business.”
What choice did Alys have but to nod? She certainly couldn’t order him to get down and stop poking at his lordship as she longed to do. Ah well. She smiled wanly up at Lord Drake, who had valiantly resumed his conversation, despite his twitching discomfort. Perhaps the naughty hob would become so enthralled with the notion of his new waistcoat that he would take himself off to plan the remainder of his promised ensemble.
Unfortunately, such was not the case. Upon receiving her surreptitious agreement, he balled up his free hand and punched his victim in the midsection, grimacing as his fist made contact. His poor, beleaguered lordship stopped abruptly in his tracks, convulsively dropping her arm to scratch at his middle.
“Ah-ha. Just as I suspected. He’s wearing a corset,” Hedley crowed, dropping down to swing from Drake’s trouser falls. “Want one of those too.” Having voiced that demand, he turned his attention to testing the fabric beneath his hands.
Alys glared at the hob, only to look away in the next instant, flushing when she realized exactly where she was staring. Mercifully, at least for her, his lordship was too immersed in his own itching misery to notice her unladylike breach; an itch that had no doubt migrated to a lower, more taboo region of his body.
