Midsummer Magic (Magic Trilogy 1)

“No? Well, I am and you are. The first thing we must do is secure the return of Mr. Belvis. His experience, I understand from my father-in-law, is most impressive, and he knows the Desborough stock.”

“That is true.” Marcus lowered his eyes a moment. “There is something I should tell you, Lady Frances. His lordship mentioned to me that he’d an offer for the entire Desborough stock—racing stock, stud stock, the Barbs and Arabs you mentioned—everything, all the prize mares as well. None of our mares have even been bred,” he added.

Frances sucked in her breath. “What? He would consider destroying a tradition all because he doesn’t wish to be saddled with the responsibility? Oh, I could kill him!”

“His lordship, ah, told me he was just thinking about it. He has not made a decision, my lady.”

Frances bounded out of her chair and began pacing about the drawing room, her steps a stride, not ladylike and mincing. Marcus watched her perambulations with a good deal of wary interest.

She paused, her hands fisted at her sides, her gray eyes dark with emotion. “I think it is time that I consulted my father-in-law about funds. It will cost a great deal of money to bring the stables back into shape. I do not think I can, myself, authorize such expenditures.”

“No, I am sorry, but you cannot. His lordship said—”

“Oh, bother his lordship!” Frances clasped the bellcord and gave it a vicious tug.

Otis appeared as swiftly and silently as an omnipresent genie.

“Is his lordship about, Otis?” Frances asked.

“I shall endeavor to locate him, my lady.” Otis remarked her flushed face and wondered what she was up to now.

The marquess, refreshed from his nap, strode some minutes later into the drawing room. “Well, my dear, what bee have you in your bonnet now?”

“No bee, sir. Did you know that Hawk is considering selling all the Desborough stock?”

“The devil you say!”

“The devil’s identity is uncertain at this moment. However, I have a proposition for you, sir.”

“I believe I’ll have a brandy first. Carruthers, will you join me?”

“What about me?” Frances demanded. “I am more in need of the brandy than either of you. After all, it appears that I am now responsible for Desborough Hall!” The world is made up for the most part of fools and knaves.

—GEORGE VILLIERS

Edmund Lacy, Viscount Chalmers, calmly regarded his betrothed, Beatrice, Lady Dunsmore.

“Not a single word to me about this!” Beatrice raged, her famed pale complexion now in high color. “It is my father’s doing, you may be certain of that, Edmund. Didn’t you say that my dear brother is here in London, quite alone?”

“Yes, that is what I said,” replied Edmund, gently twirling his looking glass on its velvet ribbon. “He is enjoying himself most thoroughly, I should add.”

“Back to his mistress?”

“Indeed, it would seem so.”

“He could have had the decency to call upon me.” Edmund shrugged, and she added, her eyes glittering, “I wonder what Constance has to say to all this nonsense?”

“The lady is ... perturbed, I gather. I saw her but yesterday, out with her damned Pekingese and her cowering maid. She was most vocal in her dissatisfaction.”

Beatrice didn’t really care a snap about Lady Constance, the eldest daughter of the Earl of Lumley. The girl was something of a bore, really, at least in the company of ladies. But for Hawk to get himself married, and to a stranger none of them knew anything about! And they were so close, so very close to gaining her heart’s desire. She wondered if the new bride had any power over her husband and if she did, what she thought about Desborough. Beatrice shook her head. No, indeed, if this ramshackle marriage had been her sire’s idea, then Hawk’s presence without his bride was explained: he couldn’t bear the sight of her.

“Have you asked him again about Desborough stock, Edmund?”

“One does not press like a tradesman, my dear,” Edmund said gently. He saw her flush and smiled. “Soon, Beatrice. Hawk can be stubborn. I will not push him unduly.”

“Oh, if only I’d been born a male! ‘Tis not fair, Edmund! It would be mine now, all of it. And Hawk doesn’t care a penny for the stud or the racing stables!”

“But then, my dear, we would not be betrothed—if you were a male, that is.”