Midsummer Magic (Magic Trilogy 1)

“I don’t know,” Viola admitted. “He is awfully handsome. And just think of all the fun! Parties, routs, balls! Oh dear, I hope I’m not talking you out of your spectacles, Frances!”

“No, Viola, you’re not.” Frances smacked her fist into a feather pillow beside her. “This is awful, all of it! I wish ...”

Both Viola and Clare looked at her patiently.

Frances drew a deep breath. “I wish I could meet a man I could respect and like ... perhaps fall in love with.”

Clare said in a soft, resigned voice, “But then again, maybe the man you wanted wouldn’t feel the same about you.”

“Oh Clare, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“I know. I also know that if the earl selects Viola, I will still get to go to London. Maybe there, I will find a gentleman who will feel properly.”

There was a soft tap at the door and the daughters swiveled about. Adelaide peeked in, took in the scene, and smiled. “How lovely you look, Frances,” she said. “I can hear the earl pacing. This will prove most interesting. Yes, most interesting. Good night, girls. Come along, Clare.”

Clare dutifully slipped off the bed and followed Adelaide from the bedchamber.

“Well,” said Viola, not bothering to stifle her yawn, “I for one don’t want smudges under my eyes. Let’s go to sleep, Frances. And I’ll thank you not to flail about during the night.”

And like the woman-child she was, Viola was breathing evenly within five minutes of dousing the candles. Frances lay awake staring into the darkness. Something more, she thought. There must be something more.

Ruthven reined in his stallion, Sterling, and pointed toward the southern end of Loch Lomond. “A sight I never tire of,” he said to Hawk. “All the small islands—quite uninhabited, you know. But Frances and I have always enjoyed rowing out to them and tromping about.”

“Frances?”

“Yes,” said Ruthven, “Frances.” He eyed Hawk and saw that the younger man looked quite surprised; then he nodded, and Ruthven realized he was thinking that a homely little thing like Frances would like that sort of thing. He said no more.

“I bathed in the loch before I arrived. It was cold, but most invigorating.”

It was on the tip of Ruthven’s tongue to say that Frances loved to swim in the loch, but he didn’t say it. Lord, what to say to him? What gentleman wanted a hoyden for a wife, and that would certainly add to the impression he’d already given the earl. How to describe his daughter? Warm and loving and pigheaded and honorable, and looks like a hag. “Damn,” said Ruthven.

“Pardon?” said Hawk.

“Nothing, my boy. Ah, here comes Alex on his pony. A shaggy little beast, isn’t it? It’s from the Shetland Islands, you know.”

“Papa! Adelaide told me you’d ridden out with his lordship. Good morning, sir,” Alex added, staring up at the English earl.

“Good morning, Alex,” said Hawk. “Are the ladies up and about yet?” He knew he should use all available time to study Viola and Clare.

“Just Frances,” said Alex. “She went off to help Robert.”

Ruthven lurched forward in his saddle at that bit of information. Surely Frances as an animal healer wouldn’t appeal to an English nobleman. “Enough, Alex,” he said sharply. “Hawk and I are riding back soon. You have lessons, do you not? You mustn’t keep Adelaide waiting.”

Alex carped and complained, but nonetheless, from the set expression on his father’s face, knew it was no use. He click-clicked Dancer about and returned to the castle.

Frances wasn’t at the breakfast table, Ruthven saw immediately, and determined to take a strip off her hide. Damned little fool! He’d give her an ultimatum, he’d ...

“Alexander?”

“What m‘dear?” Ruthven said to his wife.

“Viola and Clare are going to take his lordship visiting this afternoon. The Campbells are visiting the Dugals, you know.”

“Excellent,” said Ruthven without much enthusiasm.

“Yes, indeed,” said Hawk. He’d spoken briefly to Ruthven before they’d entered the castle. He would meet briefly with Clare, alone. It was only fair that he meet with the eldest daughter first.

Some thirty minutes later, Hawk was pacing the drawing room waiting for Clare to appear. A damned interview, he thought. It was humiliating for him and for the ladies. But a wife was an immense responsibility, a lifelong responsibility. That brought another shudder. Something deep within him rebelled, but just as quickly, he saw his father’s pale face, heard that deep, hacking cough. He heard a swish of skirts and turned, planting a smile on his lips.