Bewitched (27 page)

“So,” the admiral said.

Dick gripped the edge of the table and leaned forward. “Do we start? Do we start now?”

Annie sidled up to Amy and gripped her hand. “Fir-ang-bowl.” She beamed up at her.

“For those among you who have never seen a
Feuerzangenbowle
”—Admiral Pickering made a bow in Amy’s direction—“what we need for it is this: dry red wine boiled with orange slices, sticks of cinnamon, and cloves. A pair of tongs”—he picked up the item from the tray—“long enough to be laid across the top of the pot, and a sugarloaf.” He took the white cone and wedged it into the tongs before he put them onto the pot. “And then, the most important ingredient: rum.” He held up the bottle to the children’s excited ahhs and ohhs.

Annie clapped. “And now? And now? And now?”

The admiral threw the little girl a smile, which made her giggle. “We dim the lights.” He nodded at Ramtop, who proceeded to walk around the room and extinguish all candles except for the one still burning on the table.

“And now?” Annie reached for Amy’s hand again, tugged at her fingers. “And now?”

“We dash some rum over the sugar, like this…”

“And now?”

“We
light
the sugar!” the two boys crowed in unison.

“Exactly.” Admiral Pickering chuckled a little as he reached for the rolled paper and lit it on the candle.

“Ooooooh!” Annie breathed and snuggled closer to Amy’s side. Wide-eyed, the girl watched as the admiral set the sugar on fire.

Sizzling, the orange flame sprang from the fidibus to the rum-soaked sugar and turned a light blue. Wherever it touched the surface of the white cone, the sugar became brown until thick drops trickled through the brackets of the tongs.

“Lovely,” the dowager countess said.

“The alcohol will burn away and the liquid sugar will drop into the wine,” the admiral explained while he was critically watching the flame.

“A bit more rum, eh, Admiral?” Lord Rawdon suggested as the flame started to burn lower and lower.

As if on cue, his sons jumped up and down. “Yes! More rum!”

“Yes, definitely more rum.” Smiling, the admiral poured a liberal dose over the sugarloaf. Immediately the blue flame shot up high. Just in time he jerked his head back. Dick and Pip chortled with delight.

“You nearly set your eyebrows on fire, Admiral Pickering!” Dick cried, and his brother giggled.

His giggles intensified as the admiral waggled his brows at him.

“You have to be fast for this.” Admiral Pickering proceeded to show them, and poured more rum over the sugar.

This time the fire snaked into the neck of the bottle and struck a small flame there. Annie squealed. Yet, unperturbed, the admiral blew out the fire in the bottle.

From the corner of her eye, Amy saw Fox stepping behind her. “Well, Miss Bourne,” he murmured. His hand briefly touched her arm. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

She smiled up at him.

He searched her face, then lifted his hand to draw a tendril of her hair back behind her ear. “Oh yes, you are.” His eyes, which were black in the dim light, crinkled.

As it so often did, his tenderness and affection gave her a pang. Her cheerfulness dimmed. Quickly she averted her face so he would not worry about her. She slipped her free hand through his arm and, thus cuddled up to him, watched the rest of the sugar melt.

How could she go on lying to him and keeping him in ignorance of what had happened to them? It seemed selfish despite the possibility that the truth might drive him away. For how could she expect him to accept the existence of magic when the real Fox so adamantly believed in rational thought?

Amy sighed. In the past ten days there had been no further incidents, no further sign that evil was still at work in Rawdon Park. Everybody had been astonished when the ice on the lake suddenly thawed and the gardeners found a most ugly creature on the banks—half fish, half worm, rather dead and giving off a most dreadful odor. With satisfaction Amy had heard that it had been burned straightaway. She was now fairly confident that the threat to the Stapletons had been removed—but still, she could not in good conscience keep quiet any longer. She had reached a decision: she needed to talk to her aunt and uncle, and she would put a plan into motion today.

She swallowed, then glanced up at Fox. Nervousness made her stomach cramp. How would he react when he learned the truth? What would happen when the spell of the potion was broken?

She bit her lip and worried.

When the last of the sugar had melted and dripped into the wine, Ramtop lit the candles again while Admiral Pickering put a spoon into each tumbler and proceeded to hand out the hot punch. A footman brought hot chocolate for the children.

The admiral filled the last tumbler for himself. “So—” He looked up and smiled. “Before we drink, let me say a few words. Once again, it has been a delight staying with you, my friends. This year it has been a particular joy to get to know Miss Bourne, who will soon be part of the Stapleton family.” Everybody smiled, but Amy’s heart sank. “And—who knows? Next year there might be yet another addition to the family circle come Christmas.” He gave Amy and Fox a broad wink, to the general amusement of the Stapletons, who all broke into hearty chuckles.

Fox laughed. “Aww, Admiral…”

The earl raised his glass to his brother. “We would certainly be delighted about any new addition to the family.”

Annie looked up from her chocolate. “Which?”

“Shh.” The dowager countess put her hand on her granddaughter’s shoulder. “This is going to be a surprise.” She smiled.

Amy grabbed Fox’s arm.
Don’t let me be sick. Please, don’t let me be sick
. Her fingers dug into his muscles.

Surprised, he looked down. “Amy?” Worry laced his voice.

Luckily, the admiral chose that moment to continue. “And thus I would like to thank you for your hospitality, and here is to all the wonderful changes that will await this family in the coming year. Cheers.”

“Cheers!” The drawing rang with joyful voices; only Amy felt as if her insides had turned to stone.

Hastily she took a sip of the fruity, spicy punch and closed her eyes as it exploded into warmth in her stomach. Would this torment never end?

Eventually, everyone strolled across the room to take seats on the sofas. Amy chose a spot next to Fox and circled the mouth of her glass with her fingers, trying to gather her composure. The voices around her merged into a buzzing noise, which reverberated in her head.

She took a few deep breaths.

Entwining his fingers with hers, Fox leaned toward her. “Are you feeling all right?” he whispered.

Desperately, she tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “Oh… yes.”

He lowered his head to peer into her face. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” Amy finally managed a tight smile. She allowed herself a last look at this face, at the earnest blue-gray eyes framed by pale lashes, at the sweet sprinkle of freckles across his nose. Then she squeezed his fingers, and, “I have thought…” She turned toward the earl. “I need your advice in a certain matter, my lord.”

Fox’s brother raised his brows in silent inquiry.

“You see… when our engagement was announced, I asked Mr. Bentham, who acted as my temporary guardian, as you know, to send a letter to my uncle in Warwickshire.”

“Yes?” The earl took a swallow of his punch.

Fox’s thumb rubbed over the back of her hand. He would never know how much it cost her to force out the next few words. “But because it all happened so fast…” Again, everybody chuckled, making it doubly difficult for her to continue. But ruthlessly overriding her own pain, she went on, “I worry that he might have forgotten. So I was wondering whether you would be so kind… Or perhaps Mr. Stapleton should…”

“What an excellent idea!” Lady Rawdon’s eyes sparkled. “We will let Richard write a letter; the official Rawdon seal looks wonderfully splendid I’ve always thought.”

“Ha!” Fox growled. “He will tell the Bournes the most dastardly things about me—”

His sister-in-law clucked her tongue. “Fiddle-faddle. He will write only the nicest possible things. Won’t you, Richard?” She threw her husband a sharp look. “
Richard
?”

“Oh yes,” Lord Rawdon hurried to say. “You will only need to give me the address, Miss Bourne.”

“It’s…” Amy faltered. One last chance to change her mind. But, no. “It’s Three Elms, near Warwick,” she said, her voice surprisingly firm.

“Wonderful.” The countess beamed at her. “You will write the letter first thing tomorrow morning, won’t you, Richard?”

And so they had passed the point of no return.

Numbly Amy sat, while Lady Rawdon detailed exactly what her husband ought to put in the letter, before the conversation eventually moved to another topic. Admiral Pickering entertained the round with the adventures of his travels in Scotland, how one bellwether or other had taken a fancy to his canary yellow curricle and led the whole sheep herd after said curricle. And the faster the admiral had driven, the faster the sheep had trotted until they had dashed after the carriage at full gallop.

Amy blinked.

The story was certainly bizarre enough to fit her state of mind. Indeed, she mused inconsequentially, she probably wouldn’t have been surprised if the admiral’s sheep had suddenly sprouted wings. Or perhaps his horse could have been the one to sprout wings. Like Pegasus.

She frowned.

There was a commotion in the hallway. The next moment the door was flung open, and the butler stumbled into the room, his face paper white. “M-My lord…”

He was thrust aside by a young, blond man, exquisitely groomed. Just inside the room, the stranger stopped. “Ahh,” he said, and a smile that sent shivers down Amy’s spine curled his lips. Heavens, she knew this man! She had seen his face before, she was sure of it!

The men rose. “What—” Lord Rawdon began, but uniformed men were already swarming past the blond stranger, and the light of the candles flickered over the blades of their swords.

As if from a distance, Amy heard the gasps of the people around her, while her heart was hammering against her ribs.
This shouldn’t be happening!
she screamed inside.
I secured the house with protection spells! I used my blood!

But within moments they were surrounded by blinking steel and herded together at one end of the drawing room. Annie started to cry.

“Shh.” The dowager countess quickly drew the little girl to her side to muffle the sobs against her dress. Lady Rawdon slung her arms around the two boys.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lord Rawdon thundered.

With a bang, the glass in the windows exploded and flew out into the snow. Wind swept through the drawing room, making the candles flicker madly. The breaths of the people around Amy quickened, became white clouds in the sudden cold, and she could hear the children weep.

Evil
, she sensed.

“Ahh, my dear Rawdon.” A musical, lilting female voice.

On the arm of another man in uniform, a tall woman entered the room. A dark green dress swirled around her, trimmed with fur on hem and sleeves. Lady Rawdon inhaled sharply. Fox’s breath hissed through his nose.

Amy shot a glance at the earl, whose face had frozen into an inscrutable mask. As she watched, a muscle jumped in his cheek.

The woman smiled. “And so we meet again.” She turned to the blond man at the door. “Have the servants been rounded up in the servants’ quarters?”

He bowed. “Yes, my lady.”

“Perfect.” Once more she focused her attention on the group of people her men were keeping covered. Yet with a clap of her hands, they stepped back and formed something like a guard of honor.

Her smile deepened. A dark eyebrow arched. “Don’t you want to greet me, my lord?”

The earl took a step forward, his face flushed with anger. His mouth opened—

“Do what she says, Richard,” Lady Rawdon hissed from behind him. “For heaven’s sake, do it!”

Another trilling laugh filled the room, an eerie counterpart to the wind that whistled around the empty window frames. “So, the hussy whom you took as your countess has brains? Well done, Rawdon. Well done.”

Lord Rawdon’s color heightened, and a vein pulsed across his forehead. “Welcome to Rawdon Park, Lady Margaret,” he forced out.

Mockingly, the woman tut-tutted. “Temper, temper, dear Rawdon.” She turned her head a little to the side, as if to look at the blond man. “A chair!”

“Immediately, my lady.” At a snap of his fingers, an armchair slithered across the floor and came to stand behind Lady Margaret. Gracefully, she sank down upon it and smiled at the horrified expressions of the people who faced her. It was clear they had never seen such magic.

Amy’s eyebrows rose. It would seem she had found the source of the evil that had invaded Rawdon Park. For surely the Stapletons would not attract the attention of more than one dark wizard.

“What do you want?” the earl growled.

“What do I want?” Lady Margaret repeated and looked him up and down. “What could I possibly want?” She let her gaze glide over the Stapletons. “Did I not tell you when you left me that you would regret your rash decision?”

Lord Rawdon snorted. “That was
ten years
ago, Margaret.”

Her eyes widened. “Exactly. Exactly ten years. To the day.” She raised her hand to her temple. “I never forget anything, Rawdon.”

A cold shiver slithered down Amy’s spine.

“Gracious!” Fox muttered. “That woman is mad.”

His brother took another step forward. “So, you’ve waited ten years,” he sneered. “And for what?”

“Why, revenge, of course. And how much sweeter it will taste after all this time!” She sent him a serene smile. “I will shatter your life, piece by piece. Nobody leaves me, Rawdon.” Her expression shifted, became thin and pinched with anger. “
Nobody
. You were
mine
.” The tip of her tongue showed as she moistened her lips. “Mine. Body and soul.” She let her gaze travel suggestively over his body, undressed him with her eyes. Abruptly she looked away, at Lady Rawdon. “How do you like it, my lady”—a mocking pause, during which her lips curved—“that I had him before you? That I made him feel things you would never be able to make him feel?”