Moonspun Magic (Magic Trilogy 3)

“I know what happened,” said Lyon. “The jockey had disappeared. No doubt he was once again wearing a lovely gown and flirting with the Earl of Rothermere.”

“Exactly,” said Frances, sitting back and looking quite pleased with herself. “And Flying Davie won.”

“Bravo.” shouted the three ladies.

To Lyon’s delight, strawberry tarts were served for dessert. “Enough whipped cream for you, sweetheart? Perhaps just a little bit more to cover any late-night cravings you just might develop?”

Diana said slowly, “You know, Lyon, even with the whipped cream, it simply doesn’t look appetizing to me anymore.”

Lyon groaned loudly. “Show me the shortest route to your kitchen, Victoria. I shall probably be roaming about during the night.”

The gentlemen didn’t linger over their port, but soon joined the ladies in the drawing room.

Victoria was soon telling them about the very old castle ruins. “We considered naming the manor Wolfeton, after the old castle, but since Rafael wants to begin his own dynasty, we decided Carstairs Manor was more fitting.”

Rafael smiled at her. “Victoria would give about anything to have a medieval ghost lurking about. I’m even willing to build her a fake abbey, blight it enough to give it an eerie look on foggy nights, and then put out an invitation to all monkly ghosts to come for a visit.”

“Your two wonderful little joys would like that, Hawk,” said Frances. “Our children,” she added.

“The little pestilences would probably scare any promising spirit across the Channel.”

“He’s a doting father,” said Frances.

“You have done wonderfully with the house,” said Diana. “Everything is so light and cheerful, even in January.”

“There was enough ivy removed to cover all the colleges at Oxford,” said Rafael. “Next, though, our project is to begin the Carstairs dynasty, as my demanding wife said. She has set her mind on producing enough progeny to outlast the Demoreton line.”

“Do recall,” said Hawk, “that Frances and I have two absolutely wonderful children. Anyone interested in marriage contracts?”

“Hmmm,” said Lyon, eyeing his wife’s belly. “I have my mind made up for a little girl. Is your Charles a promising pestilence, Hawk?”

“He is the very image of me,” said Hawk. “Do you know what my father said? He said I was getting my comeuppance through Charles. He’s right. I found a gray hair just last week.”

“I think we should wait until Diana brings her daughter into the world,” said Frances. “Then we will see. Now, Rafael, please do finish telling us about this Hellfire Club and your twin brother.”

“Well, there’s really not much more after what I’ve already told you. The Ram—Squire Esterbridge, surprisingly enough—left the country. None of us expected him to, for he’d grown really quite unbalanced. But one morning, not even a week later, he was gone, his man Deevers with him. To his son’s fury, he also took every bit of money he could get his hands on.

“As for my identical twin, Damien, well, he isn’t any longer.”

“What do you mean?” Hawk asked.

> Victoria said, “It’s fascinating, really. After Damien recovered from the gunshot wound, a shock of white hair suddenly appeared. Now there is no more confusion, nor,” Victoria said in a lowered voice to her husband, “will you ever again be able to fool me and go off on your own.”

“No more need of that,” said Rafael easily. “Behold a man whose energies all go to his tin mines and to the constant satisfaction of his wife.”

“Rafael.”

“I forgot to add that as of nearly a month ago, I am again an uncle. My brother’s wife gave him his heir. Who knows? Maybe Damien, with his wicked streak of white hair, will become the model father and landlord. Now. Frances, would you please play the piano-forte for us?”

Scottish ballads demanded by everyone, Frances seated herself gracefully at the pianoforte. She played until teatime, to everyone’s delight.

“To think,” said Hawk, shaking his head as he looked at his wife, “that once I believed she played so badly all the crystal would break in self-defense.”

“I think,” Diana announced suddenly, “that I am developing a craving for marrow pudding. Lyon, my dearest sweetheart?”

Lyon shuddered. “That’s disgusting.”

“With perhaps some whipped cream?”