70 A Witch's Spell Read online

  And yet, just as if he had in fact waved a magic wand, the curtain was rising on a future so sparkling and so glorious that she felt as if she was being carried across the sky on a shooting star.

  The only thing that frightened her was what Marilyn would say and whether, when they heard what was happening, her uncle and aunt would be angry.

  Then she thought of the timber yard that had pleased her father so much and knew that the Earl had accepted the Marquis’s suggestion simply because he believed it came from the man he anticipated would be his son-in-law.

  As she thought of it, it was as if a cold hand swept away the shining gossamer veil from her eyes and the stars were no longer shining so brightly.

  Perhaps before he left the Marquis would propose to Marilyn, in which case it would not upset them that he was arranging for his sister to chaperone her.

  ‘He is grateful – of course he is grateful to me,’ Hermia told herself, ‘and, as he says, he wishes to pay his debts.’

  She was working everything out in her mind in a practical manner, but somehow that spoilt the rapture she felt.

  Although it was something she seldom did, she pulled the curtain to and shut out the glory of the night and then climbed into bed in the dark.

  As she lay sleepless, she found herself wondering what the Marquis would say to Marilyn when he asked her to marry him and what she would feel when he kissed her.

  At the thought of it, she could feel his lips hard, demanding and insistent on her own mouth.

  She knew, although he would never kiss her again, that she would never forget he was the first man who had ever done so.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Hermia followed Lady Langdon into the large marble hall and asked a footman,

  “Is his Lordship back yet?”

  “His Lordship came back a few minutes ago, miss, and he’s in the study.”

  Hermia waited until Lady Langdon had set one foot on the stairs before she said,

  “I wanted to speak to your brother, if you don’t need me.”

  “No, we have finished all we had to do this morning, so go and talk to Favian,” Lady Langdon replied with a smile and walked up the exquisitely carved staircase which led to the State rooms on the first floor.

  The Marquis’s house was different from what Hermia had expected. It was one of the largest mansions in Piccadilly and even more magnificent and awe-inspiring than its owner.

  On the ground floor there was the dining room, the library, the breakfast and writing rooms and the study where the Marquis sat when he was alone.

  All the reception rooms were on the first floor and the top of the double staircase seemed to have been designed for a hostess glittering in diamonds to receive her guests.

  There were two drawing rooms adjoining each other which could be converted into a ballroom, large enough to hold at least two hundred guests and beyond that were a card room, a music room and to Hermia’s delight, a picture gallery.

  It was all so well designed and decorated with exquisite taste that it seemed incredible that, accustomed to living in such style, the Marquis had seemed content with the small and shabby Vicarage.

  The disadvantage of living in such a grand house was, as Lady Langdon pointed out, that all the bedrooms were on the second floor and it was a long climb up and down unless one flew on wings, which Hermia felt she did.

  Every day since she had arrived in London she had woken expecting to find herself in her small bedroom at home and could hardly believe that what was happening to her was not just one of her fantasies that was more vivid than usual.

  When the Marquis’s carriage drawn by four horses had arrived at the Vicarage to take her to London, she found that he had also sent his elderly and very respectable housekeeper to look after her during the journey.

  At the last moment she had clung to her mother and said,

  “I do wish you were coming with me, Mama. It would be so much more fun if you were chaperoning me instead of the Marquis’s sister.”

  “I would enjoy it too,” her mother answered, “but you know I could not leave Papa, and I am very very happy that you are having a Season in London, which I always imagined would be impossible.”

  To Hermia it had seemed impossible too! Moreover she was frightened that it would be overwhelming and that she would feel insignificant and make many mistakes in the world she knew nothing about.

  The welcome she received from Lady Langdon, however, warmed her heart.

  “This is very exciting!” she exclaimed, as soon as she and Hermia were alone. “I have been so depressed and so lonely this last year that I could hardly believe it was true when I received an urgent note from my brother telling me what he had planned.”

  She had not waited for Hermia to reply, but continued,

  “The first thing we have to do is to buy you a whole wardrobe of glorious gowns in which I know you will be the belle of every ball.”

  Because she was speaking sincerely and there was no doubt that she was genuinely delighted at the idea, she swept away all Hermia’s nervousness and apprehensions.

  The next morning they started very early to visit the shops in Bond Street.

  Because it was near the end of the Season and the dressmakers were not so busy as they had been, Lady Langdon easily persuaded them to create gowns for Hermia in record time.

  One of the dressmakers actually switched the dresses they had made for a bride so that Hermia could have them at once and they could repeat the model in time for the wedding.

  By the time they had bought gowns, bonnets, shoes, gloves, shawls, pelisses and reticules, Hermia felt as if her head was spinning.

  She could no longer count what had been acquired and was actually, although it seemed ridiculous, feeling tired.

  She found the fittings the following day more exhausting than riding or indeed dancing.

  Yet at her first ball she knew that she was the success her mother had wanted and she had many more partners than there were dances.

  In the last five days she had been to three balls, two receptions and there had been luncheon parties either given by Lady Langdon or to which they had been invited as guests.

  There had also been two dinner parties given by other hostesses and Hermia felt she had lived through a lifetime of experience and yet none of it seemed completely real.

  Now, as she walked down the passage decorated by some very fine pictures and exceptionally beautiful furniture, she thought that since she had arrived in London she had never had a conversation alone with the Marquis.

  When they dined at home, he sat as host at the top of the table, which invariably meant that he had two extremely attractive, sophisticated and distinguished married women on either side of him.

  When he accompanied his sister and Hermia to a ball, he either retired almost immediately into the card room or else, as had happened last night, he left early.

  As Lady Langdon and Hermia drove home alone, she had asked curiously,

  “Where do you think his Lordship has gone?”

  Lady Langdon had given a little laugh.

  “That is the sort of question you must not ask, dear child,” she replied. “As you can imagine, my brother has a great many lovely women praying and hoping that he will spend a little time with them.”

  Then, as if she thought she had been indiscreet, she added quickly,

  “Unfortunately Favian soon becomes bored and he is always looking for somebody new to amuse and entertain him.”

  She spoke lightly, but Hermia thought it was what she might have expected.

  Yet, if the Marquis was not particularly amused at this moment, it was a good thing as far as Marilyn was concerned.

  Marilyn had called to see the Marquis the day before he left the Vicarage and, as soon as she came through the front door, Hermia was aware how angry her cousin was.

  She was looking very attractive in a sprigged muslin that was made in the very latest fashion and her bonnet, trimmed with pink
roses, had a tipped-up brim edged with lace.

  She greeted Hermia in a frozen manner that could not be misunderstood.

  Hermia opened the door of the sitting room where the Marquis, having dressed and come downstairs, was resting in a chair in the window.

  Marilyn had swept past her with a disdainful air, which told her cousin more clearly than words what she thought of the Vicarage. Also how much she commiserated with anybody, especially the Marquis, who had been forced to stay in such a shabby and uncomfortable place.

  Hermia closed the door behind her and then ran upstairs to her own room.

  She wondered if the Marquis would take this opportunity to ask Marilyn to marry him or perhaps make it clear that, when he was in better health, he would return.

  Marilyn was with him for quite a long time and Hermia did not see her go. But the next day after the Marquis had left, she was quite certain from the way he said goodbye to her parents that he intended to come back.

  That undoubtedly meant he wished to marry Marilyn.

  “A nicer more generous gentleman I’ve never known in all me born days!” Nanny said positively after the Marquis had gone.

  Hermia knew that she had received a sum of money for her services that had left her gasping.

  She had learnt too from Nanny that there was still a great deal of wine in the cellar, which had come not from The Hall but from the Marquis’s house.

  It had been brought to the Vicarage by his secretary when he arrived to take instructions about her visit to London.

  “It was very kind of the Marquis to think of it,” she said to Nanny.

  “Very kind,” Nanny agreed, “but there’s no reason for you to go chattering about it to your father. Let him think it was left over from his Lordship’s visit. Them as asks no questions are told no lies!”

  In the days before she departed for London Hermia guessed that the Marquis had made some other arrangements too as the food remained as excellent as it had been when he was staying with them.

  She thought that this was due to some intrigue on the part of Nanny and Hickson.

  But, because she realised how much better her father looked and that the worried lines had disappeared from her mother’s face, she took Nanny’s advice and said nothing.

  Now, as she neared the study door, there was an expression in her eyes that would have told anybody who knew her well that she was feeling nervous and apprehensive.

  She opened the door and saw that the Marquis was sitting at his desk writing.

  “May I – speak to you for a minute? Or are you – too busy?” she asked.

  There was a little tremor in her voice that he did not miss. He put down his pen and rose to his feet saying,

  “How are you, Hermia? I must congratulate you on the gown you are wearing.”

  “I wanted to – ask how you are,” Hermia replied, “and make quite certain that you are not doing too much.”

  “If you fuss over me in the same way that Hickson is doing, I think I shall pack my boxes and leave England!”

  “You cannot expect us – not to worry – about you!” Hermia answered.

  The Marquis walked across the room to stand with his back to the fireplace, which because it was summer was filled with flowers.

  Hermia stood looking at him until he said,

  “I can see you are upset about something. Suppose you sit down and tell me about it?”

  Hernia sat as he told her to do on the edge of a chair, her hands clasped together. She did not look at the Marquis, but at the flowers behind him.

  After a moment he said pointedly,

  “I am waiting!”

  “I-I don’t know how to – put what I – want to say into – words,” Hermia stammered.

  There was a little pause before the Marquis said,

  “In which case I imagine that you are about to tell me you are in love. Who is the lucky man?”

  He was drawling the words. At the same time, there was the dry cynical note in his voice that she had not heard for some time.

  “No – no,” she said quickly, “it is nothing like – that! It does not concern me – at least not in the way you are – suggesting.”

  “Then I must apologise. I thought perhaps you wished me to give you my permission, in your father’s absence, to marry one of the young men who were making love to you so ardently last night.”

  Because he was mocking her and because it hurt her in a way she could not understand, Hermia clasped her fingers even tighter and said in a voice that he could hardly hear,

  “P-please – you are making it – very difficult for me – to say what I want to – say.”

  “Again my apologies, Hermia, I will listen without guessing what it is you want to tell me.

  “I am sure that you will think it – terrible of me – ” Hermia faltered, “and therefore – I am – afraid.”

  “It is unlike you to be afraid of anything,” the Marquis replied. “In fact I have always thought you exceptionally brave.”

  He gave one of his twisted smiles before he added,

  “After all, if Witches, Devils and Things that go bump in the night do not scare you, I cannot believe that you are afraid of me!”

  “I-I am afraid of what you will – think.”

  “Why should that be so terrible?” the Marquis enquired.

  She did not answer him and after a moment he said in a softer and quieter voice,

  “I hoped you would be happy here, not worried and frightened as you are now.”

  “I am happy!” Hermia said. “It has been so marvellous, so glorious to be able to dance at the balls with new and fascinating people and to have such beautiful gowns!”

  “Then what is wrong?”

  “Your – sister, who has been – kindness itself – has just said to me that she wants to buy me two more ball gowns to wear at the end of next week.”

  As she finished speaking, Hermia seemed to draw in her breath before she added,

  “Please – please – don’t think it – ungrateful of me – but could you – instead of spending any more money on gowns for me give – Peter some new c-clothes?”

  She did not dare to look at the Marquis in case he was scowling.

  Instead she said pleadingly,

  “It would not cost you any more and I – can manage perfectly with the gowns I already have – but Peter would give – anything to be dressed like – you.”

  Still the Marquis did not reply and now Hermia raised her eyes and he could see how desperately she was beseeching him to understand.

  There was also the flicker of fear in their depths in case he should think her ungrateful and importunate.

  “And you have been worrying about asking me this?” the Marquis enquired.

  “Of course – I have,” Hermia replied. “It – seems so greedy and ungrateful when you have done so much – but I don’t wish Peter to feel – left out and as it is a terrible struggle for Papa to send him to Oxford – he can never afford any of the things his friends take for granted.”

  “I too was at Oxford,” the Marquis remarked, “and I understand. You can leave Peter to me.”

  Hermia gave a little cry and jumped to her feet.

  “You mean that – you really mean it?” she cried. “Oh – thank you – thank you!”

  She paused before she asked in a very small voice,

  “You – you don’t think I am – imposing on you?”

  “Shall I tell you,” the Marquis replied, “that I am still deeply in your debt and, of course your mother’s? The doctor has told me this morning that there is nothing wrong with me, except that it would be a mistake for me to be hit in the same place again.”

  “Then you must be careful!” Hermia said quickly. “Promise me that you will take care of yourself.”

  “First Hickson and now you!” the Marquis remarked, but he was smiling.

  “I keep thinking,” Hermia said in a worried voice, “that you could be attacked perhaps in the
Park when you are out riding or when you come home late at night.”

  “I shall be all right,” the Marquis said, “and all you have to do, Hermia, is to enjoy yourself and look as beautiful as you do now.”

  Hermia looked at him wondering whether he meant it or was just flattering her.

  As if he read her thoughts he exclaimed,

  “Good Heavens! You must be aware that you have been an overnight sensation in the Beau Monde and my sister is delighted!”

  “She has been so very kind, but you will not forget to tell her I don’t – require any more – gowns?”

  “I doubt if she would listen to me,” the Marquis replied, “and I have already told you that I will look after Peter.”

  “But – I don’t mean it like that,” Hermia cried. “He is not to be – an extra expense.”

  “I seem to remember your telling me,” the Marquis said, “that money does not buy happiness and material things are not important.”

  “Now you are quoting my own words at me in a different sense from what I meant them,” Hermia replied. “When you have done so much for me and my family I feel – ashamed of taking – anything more and I know Papa and Mama would feel the same.”

  “I suppose what you are telling me is that you feel too proud, but I have my pride too and I refuse to value my life at the cost of a few gowns and a ball that I might have given anyway had I thought about it.”

  Hermia did not speak. She merely looked up at him and the Marquis said sharply,

  “Stop trying to interfere! I enjoy making plans and I cannot have them disrupted by rebellious young women who have other ideas than mine.”

  Hermia laughed.

  “Now you are trying to scare me again! But I refuse to be frightened! I was thinking last night that the Devil was originally an archangel who fell from Heaven and now quite obviously he is climbing up Jacob’s ladder to be there again.”

  “I am no angel,” the Marquis retorted, “and I am quite content as I am. So stop trying to canonise me!”

  “There is no need for me to do that,” Hermia said. “I have a feeling that without my doing anything about it, there is already a halo firmly round your head and wings sprouting from your shoulders!”