Midsummer Magic (Magic Trilogy 1)

“But I shall spread the word that you are now receiving. You do not need the cards until you wish to visit.”

“Yes, I know,” said Frances. “I wasn’t raised completely bereft of proper social behavior.”

“No, of course not!”

Frances grinned at her.

It had begun to drizzle by the time Alicia left Desborough Hall, and Frances, concerned, said, “Should you wish to remain to dinner, Alicia? I could send a footman to tell John.”

But Alicia refused. Frances, rather than returning to the drawing room, sought out Otis.

“Tomorrow, Otis, I should like you to accompany me to York. I wish your assistance in choosing new livery for the men.”

Otis was stunned by such an invitation. He felt immensely flattered, and his impassive features showed it. “I should be delighted to assist you, my lady,” he said. His opinion, without his conscious realization, had just shifted markedly.

“Yes,” he said later to Mrs. Jerkins, “her ladyship has asked me to help her. What do you think, Agatha? Shall it be wool or broadcloth? Perhaps both. Her ladyship does not stint. I rather fancy her color selection. The crimson and blue will be most elegant, yes indeed, most elegant.”

Agatha was jealous as could be until Frances summoned her and asked her advice on new linens. “You know, we need to do quite a bit of refurbishing, Mrs. Jerkins. You have done so well all this time, but now it is appropriate to lay out the funds. I trust your experience in this matter.”

Mrs. Jerkins expanded under Frances’ twinkling eyes.

“Ah, another thing. The dishes the staff use—they’re in deplorable shape. You and I shall select a new set. Something that is sturdy and will last awhile, but also something nice. What do you think?”

Tomorrow, Frances thought, I shall beard you, Mr. Carruthers, in your den. She returned her wandering attention to Mrs Jerkins’ excited suggestions. The woman was actually smiling at her, for the first time. Let us have wine and women,

mirth and laughter,

Sermons and soda-water

the day after.

—LORD BYRON

Hawk smiled down at Lady Constance, pulling her just a bit closer as he twirled her about the ballroom. He’d forgotten how lovely she was, how her breasts pushed so seductively against his chest, how her fingers tightened on his shoulder.

But she was in the devil of a snit. He supposed he couldn’t blame her.

“I would speak to you, my lord,” she said in a throbbing voice that gave him pause.

“Continue,” Hawk said. “I am at your service.”

“Apparently not. The question, my lord, is why you are here without your bride.”

“That is not part of the service, Constance. Is there anything else?”

“Well, you know there are the strangest rumors

going about.”

“There always are. Mine aren’t terribly interesting or titillating, I wouldn’t imagine.”

“Sally Jersey doesn’t agree with you.”

“She will grow bored soon enough,” said Hawk, trying out Lyonel’s lazy drawl.

Constance managed to make her chin tremble just a bit. It was, in her experience, a very effective ploy. “I had thought, indeed hoped, my lord ... Hawk, that there were something more between us, something that—”

“Ah,” said Hawk, “the music has come to a halt. Would you like a glass of champagne, Connie? An old married man like myself would be most gratified.”