Midsummer Magic (Magic Trilogy 1)

It didn’t occur to him until he was lying in his own bed, the room spinning dizzily when he closed his eyes, that it was indeed probable that she had unwittingly spared him male embarrassment.

He felt dead, all of him. Not even a twinge of life.

Both men left the following morning, each nurturing a hangover that would dog their heels to Nottingham.

Hawk didn’t bid his wife good-bye. She was nowhere to be found.

Frances watched their leave-taking from her post in the sewing room. Good riddance, she thought, twitching the lace curtain back into place. Her father-in-law was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs.

“Good morning, Frances,” he said quite pleasantly.

“Sir,” she said.

“Did you sleep well, Frances, in your hidey-hole?”

How did he know?

She elevated her chin. “Yes, sir, indeed I did.”

“Hawk is gone, Lyonel with him.”

“Yes, I watched them leave.”

“And that is why you finally are showing yourself?”

“I am hungry.”

“And something of a coward also. Come here a moment, my dear. I have something to show you.”

Frances shot him a wary look, but obligingly trailed after him into the library. He quietly closed the door, then turned to face her. “Look at this, Frances.”

She took the small miniature from his outstretched hand. She stared down into her smiling face.

“My father ... Why did he send you this? I assume he did send you this.”

“Yes, he did,” said the marquess. “He hoped I would be seeing a painting of my future daughter-in-law. He devoutly hoped that Hawk would select her.” He pointed at the lovely happy face. “But instead my son selected you. Now, don’t mistake me, Frances, I am not a doddering old fool and I know well enough why Hawk picked you over your sisters. He is incapable of lying to me. His cheek always twitched whenever he tried as a boy. He hasn’t tried as a man. No, my dear, my question is: why your elaborate charade? I gather that Hawk met you as you are now.”

Frances, at the end

of her tether, waved her fist at him and shouted, “It is all your fault! If you hadn’t been so foolish as to get yourself captured by bandits, and rescued by my damnable father, none of of this would have happened! I didn’t want to marry the Earl of Rothermere. I didn’t want to leave Kilbracken or Scotland. I didn’t want your precious son to even look at me!”

“It appears that he hasn‘t—looked at you, that is,” the marquess said mildly, pleased by this very Ruthven show of passion. “I begin to understand you, Frances. But I still wonder why you simply don’t show your true self when he asked you to marry him.”

“He left, curse him! He ran away as quickly as he could for Glasgow. I told my father I wouldn’t have him, but my father said that I had no choice. It was all a matter of money, as you well know, since you’re the one providing that cursed ten thousand pounds!”

The marquess absently rubbed his chin. What an interesting and amusing coil this was. “I gather, then, my dear, that you maintained the facade in order to ... nauseate Hawk enough so that he would leave you quickly.”

“Exactly,” she said in an acid voice. “And it worked.” Suddenly she crumpled, lowered her face in her hands, and began to sob.

“Frances!”

“Oh, be quiet,” she cried, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. “He has indeed left and here I am stuck in a foreign country, surrounded by servants who believe me an utter fool and unworthy of my vaunted new position, and I hate it! There is no beautiful loch, no heather, no ... Oh, I don’t know what to do!”

“Of course you do, my dear,” he said very gently.

Frances pulled off the offending spectacles and glared at him.

“Yes, that is a start.”