Midsummer Magic (Magic Trilogy 1)

“Well, my lord?” Grunyon asked some minutes later in Hawk’s bedchamber.

Hawk sighed. He wanted to say that she would suit him about as well as a six-fingered glove, but he knew he wasn’t being fair. Then again, life had ceased being fair.

“She is lovely and talented. And excessively malleable, I would say.”

“Oh dear,” said Grunyon.

“She told me all about the Elgin Marbles.”

“Gracious, no!”

“Hell and damnation,” said Hawk. “Pour me a glass of something strong, Grunyon, I am due to see Lady Viola in ten minutes.”

Like night and day, Hawk was thinking after five minutes in Viola’s fluttering company.

She was so young and so anxious to please, and she chattered endlessly.

“Please tell me of Almack’s, my lord,” Viola said, her voice a blend of pleading and flirting. “I cannot wait to visit and meet all those marvelous people.”

“It is a boring place,” Hawk said, “and the refreshments are niggardly, to say the least.”

He was not cooperating in the least, Viola thought. “A lady must mind her figure,” she said. “There is dancing, is there not?”

“Oh yes,” said Hawk. Some nasty imp made him add, “I do not like to dance.”

“Even that new German dance I have heard about, my lord? The waltz?”

Hawk felt a stab of guilt at the wistful tone of her voice. He sighed. She was so eager. Lord, he would feel like a rapist taking her to wive. “I enjoy the waltz,” he said finally, “but it is rarely danced in public. The patronesses of Almack’s haven’t approved of it yet, you see.”

Viola beamed at him, and gave him one of her practiced smiles. It worked quite well on Kenard; indeed, it made him blush adorably and stammer.

Hawk arched a dark brow. The little minx was trying her feminine wiles. He wanted to laugh at her budding efforts, but of course he wasn’t completely lost to good breeding. He thought suddenly that within a year, with practice, Viola could flirt with the best of them. It was a chilling thought. “Do you like poetry, Viola?” he asked, clutching at one of Clare’s straws.

“Goodness, no!” Viola exclaimed, her voice so appallingly earnest that he was hard-pressed not to smile. “Well, of course, Adelaide forced all of us to read good works, sermons, and such things.”

“Frances also?” he asked, wondering how she could manage to read with her bad eyesight.

Viola gave him a very fetching grin and a pretty shrug. “Oh, Frances does what she pleases.” And you don’t please her, my lord, but I shan’t tell you that!

“I see,” said Hawk. He slid a look at the clock on the mantel and saw that the time was up. Two down.

After a quiet luncheon with Viola, Clare, and Lady Ruthven, Hawk dutifully arrayed himself in the togs Grunyon set out for him. Thirty minutes later, after Viola had found her missing glove, he found himself sitting between the two sisters in his own carriage.

Frances, seated upon a hill that gave a full view of the castle, watched them leave. She grinned, rose, and shook out her skirts. She kissed her fingers to her lips at the retreating carriage. She had a lot to do before they returned. She’d left Robert’s croft after treating his one swaybacked horse for thrush. “Robert, ye mustn’t let Sally stand about in her own muck,” she said, adapting her speech to the farmer. “I’ve treated her as best I can, but ye must keep her hooves clean. Ye ken?”

Robert kenned, at least she trusted that he did. She returned to the castle, hoping to slip up to her temporary quarters in Viola’s room. One thing Frances could be certain of—neither Viola nor Clare would say a word to the earl about the strange behavior and the equally ugly appearance of their sister.

“Frances!”

It was her father, of course, and he was livid. She felt a strange sort of calm wash over her, and turned to face him.

“Yes, Papa?”

“Don’t you ‘Yes, Papa’ me, my girl! I have endured more than a parent should have to, and this is the end of it, Frances!” He strode toward her.

Frances stood her ground. “Then beat me, Papa,” she said, “for I shall not change. I will not leave Kilbracken and that is that. Do as you wish.”