Midsummer Magic (Magic Trilogy 1)

He performed the introductions, and Frances, smiling slightly, said, “I shan’t allow either of you to come closer, I fear I am something of a disgrace at the moment.”

“Nothing that a bath and rest won’t cure,” said Edmund kindly.

The marquess had reached them, and Frances was a bit taken aback to see Beatrice give her father a very cool kiss on the cheek.

Beatrice, Frances saw, was more beautiful than her portrait. She looked positively regal in her traveling gown of rich burgundy velvet, but her expression wasn’t particularly warm. Edmund, on the other hand, appeared a most polished gentleman, and quite kind. His eyes sparkled with good humor and he greeted the marquess with charming deference.

“Shall we all adjourn to the breakfast room?” Hawk asked. “I was on the point of forcing Frances to eat a bit before she takes to her bed.”

“I should like some tea,” Beatrice announced, “after, of course, I freshen myself a bit. Gertrude, have a care with my jewel case!”

Frances looked from the older maid to Otis, who stood observing them all from the steps. “Otis,” she called to him. “You will see to Gertrude and Lord Chalmers’ valet, if you please.”

“Certainly, my lady,” Otis said.

“Officious sod,” Beatrice said, her brows lowering a bit.

“Otis?” Frances asked in some astonishment.

Beatrice allowed another glance at her new sister-in-law, and couldn’t suppress a shudder at her disgusting appearance. “Otis always was kind to strays,” she said obliquely, took her fiancé’s arm, and marched up the front steps into the house.

“That is my sister,” Hawk said to Frances. “Ignore her. I’ve always believed she would mellow with age. Perhaps I was wrong.”

“Edmund will keep her in line,” the marquess said.

I certainly wouldn’t want to try, Frances thought. She took herself to her room immediately and ordered a hot bath. It felt good to have Agnes twittering about her, clucking as if she were but a chick. She fell asleep in her bathtub.

“Frances.” “

She felt a hand shaking her shoulder and opened vague eyes. It wasn’t Agnes’ hand on her, it was her husband’s. “You,” she said, and tried to slither away.

“Certainly,” Hawk said. “You will become as wrinkled as a discarded cravat.” He held out a thick towel for her. Frances saw Agnes from the corner of her eye looking at once scandalized and excited. She rose from the tub and felt her husband enclose her in the towel. He picked up another one and began drying her hair.

“What of your sister and Lord Chalmers?” she asked, her voice a bit thin. She was frightfully embarrassed, she couldn’t help it. It was broad daylight and her maid was standing nearby.

“Beatrice is resting and Edmund is looking at the horses.” He was leading her toward her dressing table. She had no choice but to seat herself. “Agnes,” Hawk called, “come and comb out her hair before she falls into another stupor.” He patted her cheek and took himself off.

“Surprised as a toad without a lily pad, I was,” said Agnes as she combed the tangles from her mistress’s long hair. “His lordship entered quiet as could be, saw you in the tub, and ... well—”

“Yes, I know.” Frances said.

“I heard Mrs. Jerkins complaining to Mr. Otis about Lady Beatrice demanding this and that, as if she were mistress here.”

Frances sighed. “It was her home for many years.”

“Still, Mrs. Jerkins is none too pleased,” Agnes said, the bit between her teeth. “And that sour-faced maid of hers—Gertrude, of all silly names—well, she was in the kitchen driving cook distracted, demanding a tisane immediately.”

“Oh dear,” said Frances. “You must dry my hair quickly, Agnes, I must see Mrs. Jerkins and calm Cook down, and—”

“Oh no, my lady. His lordship told me, he did, that you were to be in your bed as soon as may be.”

Frances was too tired to argue with this most recent command from her husband. But sleep eluded her for some minutes. It was Edmund who wanted to buy all the Desborough stock. Was that the reason for his visit? What would Hawk do? She sighed, snuggling down beneath the covers. Obviously he wouldn’t be journeying to London just yet.

Hawk entered her room a while later and smiled down at her sleeping face. He gently lifted a thick curl and rubbed it against his cheek. “What the devil am I going to do with you?” he said very softly.

When Frances awoke late in the afternoon, it was to see Mrs. Jerkins standing beside Agnes, her bosom heaving with indignation.

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