Midsummer Magic (Magic Trilogy 1)

Hawk came to an abrupt halt when he entered the breakfast room the following morning. Frances was seated at the table, calmly eating her breakfast, perusing the Gazette.

She looked quite lovely, he thought, eyeing her objectively. She was wearing a muslin gown of pale green with a matching ribbon threaded through her hair. What had he expected? The return of the dowd? No, he thought, frowning a bit, he supposed he really expected that she would hide from him, avoid him at all costs. He felt an appalling surge of lust for her, and was furious with himself. The devil—a husband shouldn’t feel such things for his wife. It was nonsensical, ridiculous ...

“Why, good morning, my lord,” Frances said, smiling at him as she folded the paper.

Smiling as if she hadn’t a bloody care in the world! His eyes narrowed on her guileless face. What game was she playing with him now?

“Good morning, wife,” he said, and seated himself at the head of the table. Rosie, the breakfast maid, quickly began to serve him. When his plate was as he wished, he nodded dismissal. But Rosie didn’t take herself out of the room. Hawk watched with narrowed eyes as she smiled toward Frances and said, “Is there anything else you wish, my lady?”

“No, Rosie, that will be fine. Thank you. You may go now.”

He watched Rosie bob a curtsy and finally remove herself from the breakfast room. It occurred to him then that Frances’ very warm, wifely behavior was due to Rosie’s presence. He soon was disabused of that notion.

“Is the sirloin as you wish it, my lord?”

Lord, she sounded so damned cheerful! “I haven’t even taken a bite yet, so I wouldn’t know.”

“Ah, then I shall hold my tongue.” She picked up the Gazette again and buried herself behind it.

“I am most gratified that the servants treat you as their mistress,” he said after some minutes of grating silence.

“Indeed, most gratifying,” Frances agreed, not emerging from her paper.

“What are you reading that interests you so much?”

She started a moment at that. Actually, she wasn’t reading anything, nothing at all. She was striving with all her effort to maintain her cheerful indifference to him. She would much have preferred to throw the thick sirloin at his head.

She laughed, a charming, soft laugh. “I am reading all the ton gossip, of course! It is so fascinating. Why, it says here that a Lady H was seen conversing in the park with Lord R. And Lady H’s husband was but a short distance away! So very titillating, isn’t it?”

He ground his teeth. “I don’t know any Lady H,” he said.

Frances didn’t either. She had just manufactured the entire tale. “You are acquainted with everyone then, my lord? How very knowledgeable you are, to be sure.”

Hawk set his fork down very slowly and carefully. “Frances,” he said, “you will cease calling me ‘my lord.’ My name is Philip or Hawk. You may take your pick, but no more ‘lording.’ ”

“As you wish,” she said, and shrugged. She set down the paper, glanced at the clock on the sideboard, and said, “Oh dear! How the time gets away from one! ‘Tis nearly eight o’clock! You will excuse me, won’t you?”

“Where are you going?”

“Why, there are so many things to do. Desborough Hall doesn’t run by itself, you know.”

“It did.”

“Oh no,” she said, giving him a patronizing smile, “it merely maintained itself.” With that, she was gone.

He noticed as he left the breakfast room a few minutes later that she hadn’t eaten much of her breakfast.

Hawk found himself at loose ends. He considered riding off his ill humor, then changed his mind. He was here, he might as well see to estate business. He strode to the estate room, saw that the door was open, and stepped inside. He came to an abrupt halt.

There was Frances again, seated at his desk, with Marcus Carruthers seated beside her.

“I don’t know, Marcus,” Frances said, her brow furrowed in thought. “I do agree with you that John’s approach just might work here, but the funds involved in clearing the timber away—”

“What timber?” Hawk said sharply.

Frances froze, but just for an instant. She raised a guilelessly smiling face to her husband. “Hello,” she said kindly. “Marcus and I were just discussing our need for fencing, and the cost of lumber is so very high at present, you know, and we do have an excessive wooded area just to the east of us, and—”

“I do not with any trees to be cut.”