Midsummer Magic (Magic Trilogy 1)

“And so is Stepmama. As for Adelaide, she just sits there and smiles.”

Both Viola and Clare arranged themselves on the bed, something they’d done as children, with cups of hot chocolate and Doris’ broonies.

Now everything was different. Frances sighed.

“Why did you do it, Frances?” Viola asked.

Frances didn’t immediately respond, and Viola said thoughtfully, “I don’t understand you. The earl is very handsome—even with those wretched spectacles you could see that.”

Frances drew her thick braid over her shoulder and began pulling it loose out of habit. “Yes,” she said finally, “He is. But that has nothing to do with anything, Viola.”

Clare sat forward, drawing her dressing gown closer about her. “I know you were appalled when Papa told us about the debt of honor and all that. But I thought you would be reasonable about it.”

“I am being reasonable,” Frances said.

Viola continued in mid-thought, “And he’s rich and titled, everything a girl could want in a husband.”

“He wants nothing to do with us, Viola,” Frances said. “He has to offer for one of us. How could you want to marry a man who didn’t love you or even care about you?”

Viola shrugged. “Ian cared about you, yet you didn’t want to marry him.”

Frances shot a look toward Clare and saw her sister stiffen just a bit at Viola’s thoughtless words. Clare had wanted Ian, but the damned man had been blind. Frances was in the mood to believe that Ian had wanted her simply because she would care for all his wretched animals.

“No,” she said finally, “I didn’t want to marry him. There simply has to be something more, something ...” Her voice dropped off, for she didn’t know what that something more was, she simply knew it had to exist, somewhere.

“You’re being a silly romantic,” Clare said. “Goodness, I am the only one who loves poetry, but I realize that marriage has nothing to do with all those high-flown, lovely sentiments.”

“Papa loved our mother,” said Frances.

“Frances, that has nothing to do with us! Now, I don’t mind that you appear like a witch because it will make the earl’s decision easier. He now has to choose only betweeen Clare and me.”

“He’s awfully large and dark,” said Clare, and she shivered.

“If you would stop giggling long enough, Viola,” Frances said, “you would see that he’s also cold and arrogant.”

“He doesn’t like being here, that’s all,” said Viola, shrugging. “But once married, things would be different. Besides, what choice do we have? None, I tell you. I heard Papa telling Sophia that whichever of us the earl picks, he won’t argue, and neither will we. There’s the ten thousand pounds from the earl’s father that will come to Papa upon the marriage.”

“It’s sordid,” said Frances.

“Well,” Viola said, “I for one don’t wish to talk you out of your marvelous disguise. I want to marry a rich man. I want to be somebody. What else can a woman look forward to anyway?”

That was perfectly true, of course, Frances thought, suddenly depressed, but it wasn’t fair. She repeated her thought aloud. “It’s not fair. We should be able to do anything we wish to do.”

Clare shook her head. “I fill my time with my painting and my poetry. Viola enjoys flirting and her stitchery. You, Frances, you fill your time with animals, and swimming, and wandering about the hills. But it’s not enough. A woman must marry, or she becomes less and less every year. She becomes an object of pity, an embarrassment to her family. I agree with you, Frances, it isn’t particularly fair, but there is nothing else.”

“And the Earl of Rothermere is the grandest gentleman available,” said Viola. “I know Papa doesn’t have enough money to send us to Edinburgh, much less to London, to meet many different men.” Viola giggled suddenly and tossed a pillow at Clare. “We shouldn’t try to talk her out of this. Heavens, the poor man would have a very difficult time if he had three equally beautiful daughters to choose from!”

Frances looked closely at each of her sisters. “You, Clare, you would marry the earl gladly if he chose you?”

“Yes, yes, I would. I would even bear the ... other. Titled gentlemen in particular must have an heir.”

“And what else is a woman good for?” Frances said, her eyes darkening to a cold gray.

Viola said in a reminiscing voice, “I kissed Kenard, and I didn’t mind it at all. With all the earl’s experience, I’ll wager he’s even better at it than Kenard. That’s another thing, you two. Gentlemen husbands are taught to be very sensitive to their wives’ feelings about that sort of thing, at least that’s what Adelaide said. They don’t act like animals with their wives.”

“You’re not making sense, Viola,” Frances said. “Do you want the earl to kiss you passionately or do you want him to be a gentleman husband?” Unbidden, Frances saw the earl striding ou

t of the loch, his beautiful body glistening with water. Stop it, you fool!