Bewitching Season (30 page)

years, and that’s how she says good-bye to us? Of all the ungrateful, unfeeling—”

“Is there a forwarding address on it, Papa?” Pen asked under her mother’s tirade.

“No, there isn’t. Seems a little odd. There’s already quite a pile of her mail stacked in a basket in

the hall—Kenney was just asking yesterday what he should do with it all. It doesn’t sound as though

she intends to call for it, or for her belongings, either. Hmmph.” He frowned and read the note to

himself again.

“—ten years looking after you girls. I would have thought proper feeling would have dictated at

least a brief visit but no, why should she exert herself just to say farewell to people who have given

her their love and trust for such a long …” Mama was in full flow, like an Italian opera.

Persy’s whole body felt numb, as if it were no longer hers. She met Pen’s eyes and saw that she

looked equally shocked. Whatever lay between them had to be put aside while they tried to figure out

what this letter meant. Oh, why did everything have to happen all at once?

She rose and went to Papa, leaning casually over his shoulder. Pen rose as well and went to try to

placate their mother, but her eyes remained on Persy.

“My goodness, Papa, this is dreadful! Might I see it? I just can’t believe …” Persy held her hand

out for the note, and he handed it to her. She took it in both hands and, as she had the other note they’d

received from Ally, read it with more than just her eyes.

And felt nothing. There was no feeling, no sensation, no hint of emotion about this note. Not even a

hint of Ally clung to it, though the word choice and handwriting appeared to be hers. It might have

been written by an automaton or a ghost. The latter thought made her shiver.

She looked up at Pen and shook her head slightly. Pen’s eyes widened, and she motioned Persy to

change places with her. Charles watched them, his face pale and serious as he flexed his wrist and

started tentatively to push his chair back with both hands. On the doctor’s suggestion he had been

leaving the bandage off his arm for short periods each day, to begin rebuilding its strength.

“It’s you girls whom I feel the worst for. After so many years of caring for you, it is positively

unnatural to leave without a word of fondness for either of you … .”

Persy put her arms about Mama’s shoulders, thinking furiously. They would have to go see the

Allardyces once again. But what would poor Mr. and Mrs. Allardyce be able to do? This note would

only worry them further. Could she ask Lochinvar to find a reason to visit the Duke of Sussex’s

library at Kensington Palace again? Perhaps she could borrow Charles’s clothes and go with him as a

page or servant, and have another look around on her own. But after what had happened last night at

the Cheke-Bentincks’, she wasn’t sure that she could look at Lochinvar, much less ask him to smuggle

her anywhere. Oh, Ally …

That night at the Bridgewaters’ ball, the last waltz of the evening was about to begin. Persy was

cooling her warm cheeks against the marble of the window embrasure under pretense of looking out

at Lady Bridgewater’s gardens, hoping she could escape Lord Carharrick. She surreptitiously

wiggled her toes inside her slightly-too-tight slippers. If she were lucky, in another few minutes she

could go home and collapse into bed.

She had done her best to avoid him by forcing herself to be as conspicuous as possible and thereby

attract other dance partners. Freddy Gilley and his friends had taken the bait and filled her dance

card. Unfortunately they had also flooded her with stories from their Cambridge days, most of which

involved the introduction of livestock into places where livestock were not usually welcome.

But Lord Carharrick had proved too tenacious. He managed to claim his two usual waltzes, during

which he gazed down at her with shining, thoughtful eyes as he discussed his embryonic political

ambitions, and had engaged her for a third dance that evening—something he had never done before.

Persy was not sure of the propriety of allowing him to claim the last waltz of the evening as well as

the two he had already taken, but neither was she sure how to refuse him without giving offense.

Perhaps if she were lucky, Lord Carharrick would let this last dance slip his mind. Mama had already

gone to ask Papa to see about the carriage, and perhaps she would—

“May I have this dance, Miss Leland?” said a voice.

Persy stiffened. No. Not tonight. Not now. She slowly turned to face her interrogator. Lochinvar

stood before her, right hand already extended to take hers.

“But, ah, I don’t think—that is—” she stammered.

“Thank you,” he said, and propelled her out to the middle of the floor.

She caught a glimpse of Lord Carharrick staring at her, looking puzzled. She tried to signal an

apology with her eyes; she didn’t want to dance with him, but it was rude to stand him up like this.

Then she saw Pen behind him, watching her and Lochinvar with a determined look on her face.

Before she could try to decipher Pen’s expression, Lochinvar had already put his hand on her waist

and swept her into the dance.

“Um, I’m afraid I had already promised this waltz to Lord Carharrick,” she said.

Lochinvar’s hand tightened on her waist. His hazel eyes were fierce as he gazed down at her. “To

hell with Carharrick.”

She blinked. How did one reply to such a statement? “Really, I—”

“Isn’t that how you feel, too? That’s what your sister said.”

Persy nearly stopped dancing. Pen had told him that? She was going to have a lot of explaining to

do when they got home. “I’m not sure that it’s any of your business, sir,” she replied as coolly as she

could.

“It sure as hell is. Damn it all, I love you, Persy.”

She was sure the orchestra was still playing, because they and all the other couples in the room

were still dancing. But a sudden roaring in her ears had quite drowned the music out. “What did you

say?” she whispered.

“You ran away the other night before I could say anything to you. After Pen told me you said you

didn’t love Gerald Carharrick, I knew I had to step in right away before anyone else did. And Pen

said she’d flay me alive if I didn’t clear this up tonight. I love you, Persy. You. Persephone.”

Drat it, Andrews must have laced her corset uncommonly tight tonight because she was suddenly

finding it difficult to breathe. But breathe she had to, because she had to put a stop to this once and for

all. Even if it killed her. “Lord Seton, you are either drunk or having a colossal jest at my expense.”

Perhaps if she treated his declaration as a joke …

“I am neither. Are you?”

That stung. “Of course not! What a thing to say!”

“Then why won’t you give me a chance? Look at me, Persy,” he commanded.

His hazel eyes were almost green tonight. She couldn’t look away, caught by the tiny gold flecks in

their centers.

“I’ve always been in love with you. I was the one who insisted we ride over to Mage’s Tutterow

right away when I got back from the continent, because I wanted to see you. I wanted to see if you’d

grown up from that girl who read books bigger than she was. You had, and you were lovelier and

more you than ever. When I walked into that room and saw you with your eyes shut tight and your hair

tumbling over your shoulders and the most comical look of determination on your face, I wanted to

kiss you right then and there.”

“This is a tease, isn’t it? You’ve gone and made a bet with Freddy Gilley or someone that you’ll

convince me that you’re in love with me.”

“Look over there. I think Freddy’s too busy convincing someone else about love to want to enter

into such cruel games.”

He inclined his head toward a nearby pair of dancers, and Persy saw that it was Sally Louder and

Freddy, lost in each other’s eyes. The sight was both touching and painful. Homely little Sally had

found her love. Why couldn’t she? She took a deep breath. It was time she stopped playing games.

“Lord Seton, I—”

“Please call me Lochinvar.”

She shook her head. “Lord Seton, I can’t let you go on thinking that you love me.”

“But I do!”

“No, you don’t. You only think you do.”

“That’s ridiculous. How can you know what I feel?”

“It’s … it’s hard to explain. But I know that you don’t. I’m so sorry that … that this has happened.”

“Persy, you don’t understand. I want you to marry me.”

That did make her stop dancing for just a few seconds because her legs nearly gave way beneath

her. How those words made her breath come short with longing … and with pain.

“I can’t,” she whispered. “For several reasons. Someday you’ll realize that you don’t really love

me, and then what? Do you want to trap yourself in a marriage like that?”

He bent his head so that he could look into her downcast eyes. “You’re about to cry.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. There’s a tear at the corner of your eye—both eyes, now—”

She blinked hard. “It’s just the lights. My eyes are tired.”

“You’re not fooling anyone, Persy. Stop this nonsense. All I’ve heard you say is that you think I

don’t love you. What about you? What do you feel?”

This was getting more dangerous by the minute. “I—my feelings are not important at the moment.”

Lochinvar glowered. “They damned well are! All right, then. Tell me that you hate me. Swear by

… by Miss Allardyce that you are completely indifferent to me.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it. “No,” she finally said, defiantly.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t choose to.”

He laughed. “You mean because you’re an honorable person and won’t perjure yourself. I already

knew the answer anyway. When I kissed you last night, I felt it. You don’t hate me. Admit it. Admit it

or I’ll kiss you again, right here in the middle of the ballroom.” He tilted his head and leaned toward

her.

“No!” she squeaked. “All right, I don’t hate you!”

“Ha! So why the charade with Carharrick? Why this ‘you don’t really love me’ nonsense? You

can’t run away from me this time, Persy.”

“I will if I faint,” she managed to whisper.

He looked alarmed for a moment, then shook his head. “No you won’t. You’re not the fainting sort,

Persephone Leland. That’s part of why I love you.”

This wasn’t working. He wouldn’t listen to her. The only thing she could do was somehow put an

end to this conversation, the sooner the better. Oh, why did the orchestra always make the last waltz

of the evening twice as long as the others? As much as she hated it, it was time to act.

“Ow!” she cried, lurching suddenly to one side.

“What is it?” Lochinvar caught her. She couldn’t help noticing he did so much more gracefully than

Lord Carharrick had.

“I … my ankle. I think I twisted it again,” she lied.

Lochinvar stopped dancing at once. “You’re pale as a ghost. Is it the ankle you hurt before? Here,

hold on to me and we’ll get you to a cha—”

“No, I—oh, there’s Mama and Papa. I have to leave now. Good evening.” Without a glance or a

word she turned from him, maintaining just enough presence of mind to limp noticeably as she hurried

to Pen’s side.

“What happened?” Pen asked, glancing back at Lochinvar. “Did he—”

“Hush. Take my arm and pretend to help me out. I’ll tell you later,” Persy replied in an undertone.

Back at the house, she and Pen maintained a studious silence as Andrews helped them with their

dresses and corsets and braided their hair for bed. As soon as the maid had left the room, Pen

pounced. “All right, tell me. What happened? Did he tell you?” she demanded, her voice muffled as

she slid her nightgown over her head. “I told him it was jolly well time he did.”

“Oh, Pen!” Persy collapsed on their bed and burst into tears.

“What is it?” Pen sat down and pulled her against her. It was such a relief to lean against her sister

and have a good hard cry that Persy couldn’t answer for several minutes. Finally, after several frantic

sniffs and a wild groping for a handkerchief, she drew a deep, shuddering breath.

“I can’t. I can’t marry him. He doesn’t really love me.” She sat up and rubbed her eyes. They felt

curiously hot and dry after all those tears.

“What?” Pen’s head snapped back in astonishment. “That’s ridiculous! He adores you! And what

about you? Don’t you like him?”

“I love him,” she said fiercely. “I haven’t thought of anything else since he walked in on us dancing

—”

“Neither has he,” Pen interrupted. “So what’s wrong?”

Persy leaned her forehead on her hands. “Because I’ve been an absolute idiot. I thought … I was

afraid that maybe he was starting to like you.”

“Persy, I have no interest whatsoever in Lochinvar. He’s very nice and all, but …” She shrugged.

Persy nodded miserably. “I know that now. But I was so mixed up and afraid that I …” Slowly,

stumbling over her words, she told Pen about the love spell. “So don’t you see?” she finished. “He

doesn’t love me. It’s the spell.”

Pen was swishing the end of her braid over her cheek. “Why didn’t you tell me all this sooner?”