Midsummer Magic (Magic Trilogy 1)

“Frances, my dear, a moment, please.”

Frances halted her long stride at Adelaide’s bedchamber door. Her long-time friend, clothed in a voluminous white nightgown, motioned Frances into her room. There was but a single candle burning. Everyone else was long abed. Frances had wanted to walk off her excess of energy before retiring.

“Yes, Adelaide?” Frances said, knowing what was to come.

“My dear child, you’ve been behaving outrageously. You know that, of course, t

here is no need for me to point it out. You’re being dreadfully unfair to your papa, and that, perhaps, you haven’t realized.”

Frances couldn’t quite meet Adelaide’s concerned eyes. She said at last, “Not really, and I know what’s best for Papa. He would miss me dreadfully, Adelaide, you know that.”

“Frances, you know that every young lady must wed. It is a fact of life. The alternatives for ladies aren’t to be considered, at least in your case.”

Frances heard no bitterness in Adelaide’s voice, and she’d never married. She tried to lighten things. “I plan to be the most indulgent aunt imaginable, Adelaide.”

“Don’t be a bore, Frances,” Adelaide said sharply. “You’ve been overly protected, despite all the freedom your father gives you. You must realize that life is waiting outside the confines of Kilbracken. You cannot stay here forever.”

“Perhaps,” Frances said, her voice just above a whisper. She hated to feel guilty, particularly when she deserved to. “But you would say the same things about Viola and Clare. At least one of them is assured of a grand marriage.”

“Neither of them has your ... strength, Frances.”

“So, you’re now telling me that you believe the earl a hard man, a man who will make them miserable?”

Adelaide sighed, realizing her words had come too late, far too late now. “It no longer matters,” she said, wondering if her little sermon would have done any good before. She kissed Frances on her cheek. “Good night, dear. Sleep well.”

“I wish you wouldn’t be so nice,” Frances said. “You make me feel like a selfish wretch.”

“Don’t. As I said, it no longer matters.”

Adelaide stood in the open doorway of her bedchamber watching Frances stride down the corridor to Viola’s room.

Frances was whistling as she made her way down the stairs and across the entrance hall with her long-legged stride. The three days were up today, she thought, grinning at a suit of armor that was sagging against the wall next to the fireplace. Lucky Clare. Or lucky Viola. She cringed just a moment at the memory of her conversation the night before with Adelaide.

“Frances!”

She turned about to see her father beckoning to her. “Yes, Papa?”

“Come here, child.”

She walked toward him, her expression wary, her head cocked to one side in silent question. He looked down at her, a gentle smile curving up the corners of his mouth. Suddenly he drew her into his arms and hugged her to him.

“I am very pleased, Frances. Now, do me proud.”

Confused, Frances said automatically, “Why, of course, Papa. Why ever shouldn’t I do you proud?”

“Go into the gun room.”

“You wish me to repair one of your guns?”

“No, no, I don’t. Do not shame me, Frances. Go now.” He gave her a gentle shove, and Frances, staring back at him, opened the door and slipped inside. Shame him? Why the devil would he say such a thing as that? She would kill for him, she would do anything for him.

“Good morning, Lady Frances.”

Frances jumped at the sound of the earl’s voice. This is most bizarre, she thought as she turned to face the Earl of Rothermere, her expression one of confusion.

“Does one of your guns need repair?” she asked. “Papa sent me in here. Is there some problem?”

“No,” said Hawk. Get it over with, he told himself, before you lose your nerve. His eyes moved from the top of her head downward. The gown she was wearing was frumpy, too big, outmoded, and too short for her. But, he realized, her body wasn’t all that bad. She was slender at least. He would be able to bring himself to bed her.