His Candlemas Hope Page 16

  “Hmm…well, maybe you are right. I don’t think that Mr. Lovett would favor the match. Lord Wisdom is far too reckless for the sedate lifestyle Mr. Lovett likes to maintain while in the Country.”

  “Indeed,” Lord Cary murmured, sipping at his champagne.

  Hope was getting a headache. Deep beneath his pleasantly calm exterior, Lord Cary was troubled. She couldn’t quite put her finger on why, but she did suspect that Lord Wisdom was the one who had made Lord Cary uneasy. She watched her sister as she danced a cotillion with Lord Wisdom. It all looked rather lovely. His tall lanky form next to Desi’s much smaller one looked quite agreeable, and yet, he, too, was hiding something. He gave the impression of being a carefree spirit. As she studied him closer, and focused on his eyes, she realized that underneath his charm, and his poised elegance, something sort of dangerous lingered.

  It stood at the ready, waiting for its time to surge forth and bring the world to its knees. Shaken, she looked over at Gilbert, and for one brief moment, she saw Lord Wisdom in Lord Langford. She shook her head, attempting to clear her befogged brain. Gilbert seemed to sense her unease. Striding over to her side, he gave her his arm. “I think I would like to go home now, Gil. Do you think you could arrange for us to have a chaperone so I can leave in a carriage with you?”

  “Have the terms you served me with changed?” he asked softly.

  “I would say…no. I am just confident that after we are married, I will be able to sort you out, and make you see reason. Why don’t we marry right after Saint Valentine’s Day?”

  “So you know that I have the special license in my possession?”

  “I know everything,” she whispered. “There isn’t a thing you can hide from me. The sooner you come to terms with that, the happier we will both be.”

  “Women,” he laughed, and she leaned gratefully against him. She wanted to return to Blessing House, and sleep away her exhaustion. The entire night had worn her right out!

  Chapter Nineteen

  The following evening was spent at Blessing House.

  Gilbert had been invited for a shade party. Some of the guests had also decided to play cards. The night was filled with merriment and only their closest friends had been invited to keep the atmosphere an intimate one. Gilbert had sat patiently while she drew his silhouette. She had done a miniature one so she could wear it in a locket.

  “Have you had your portrait commissioned yet, sir?” she asked softly. He looked at her in the soft light, his dark eyes sparkling.

  “I haven’t had reason to. Once we are married we could have one done.”

  Her heart thrilled. They hadn’t had much time for their courtship. Despite all of that she still felt certain he was the man for her. Her one regret was that he wouldn’t trust her enough to share his bed with her. She would have to find a way around that one somehow. He could think he was a danger to her all that he wanted, and she wouldn’t let him convince her to stay away. She knew he would never physically harm her. Even when his temper was riled up that was something that she never feared—he wasn’t that sort of man.

  “What did your father look like?” he asked softly.

  “Oh, well, Faith favors him quite a bit, although I have his eyes. There is a portrait of him and Mama in the Picture Gallery. It was commissioned right after I was born.”

  “And are you in the portrait as well?”

  She laughed. “Oh, aye, every chubby bit of me. My mother is holding me…and well,” she said sighing, “Why don’t I take you to see it? I don’t think anyone will notice us leave. They all look to be having far too much fun!”

  She and Gil stood up and quietly made their way through the house to the upstairs Picture Gallery. She led him past scads of portraits of past ancestors. Most of them were Blessing ancestors as he recognized the aristocratic bearing, and the hawk nose that seemed to be passed down throughout that family.

  “Here we are,” she said softly, and holding the candle out so he could see the portrait they had stopped in front of. The sconces in the hallway cast a soft romantic glow around them.

  His eyes went right to baby Hope, sitting in her mother’s lap. She was laughing, and her chubby little hands were up in the air, and she looked as if she was reaching toward someone that wasn’t there. She was indeed, a very happy baby.

  “Papa used to say that I was seeing the fairies and that one of them was playing with me.”

  “It does look that way, doesn’t it?” he said slowly. For whatever reason, a shiver went through him at the thought. He could almost see a light haloing her. Her father was looking lovingly down at Hope, and her mother wore that same frosty vacant expression that she always seemed to wear. He didn’t think he had ever seen Elizabeth Fortescue smile—not the real kind of smile that Hope had. What Hope’s father had seen in the woman, he would never know.

  “Where would you like to settle once we are married?” his words were thick with emotion. He no longer seemed distant and aloof to her. He was filled with warmth, and it rolled off him.

  “Where do you want to settle?” she asked softly. “Of course, where we settle is dependent upon how much money you have to…”

  “I have enough,” he said gruffly. “Let us agree not to talk about money anymore. I can buy you a townhouse here in London and we can also repair to the Country to our own Estate.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “I wouldn’t mind returning to Devonshire, but your home is in Nottinghamshire…”

  “No…” he said softly. “It isn’t.”

  “Then…” she said slowly, “You decide. I leave it up to you, sir.”

  His dark eyes narrowed at her. “I suppose we should stay here in London for the foreseeable future, and take our time trying to find a Country residence. We could settle in Devonshire, but Sir Hugo hails from there, doesn’t he?”

  “It’s not a small county,” she laughed, “and I heard that the new Baron of Ashburton was thinking about selling off Ashburton Hall to settle his debts. I doubt he shall be able to hang onto it…my father clung to it until the bitter end, but he isn’t as resourceful as my father was.”

  “You met him?”

  “Oh, gracious, yes. His wife is a bitter little woman. They have one son, and he makes Desi look like an angel. The new Baroness didn’t like Ashburton Hall so if they can sell it and make enough from it, they will probably decide to return to London. That’s where they lived before he inherited. I will be happy wherever you are. We can talk about these matters after we are married. We should talk again about your dreams, Gil,” she said softly.

  “I would rather not,” he said shortly.

  Hope sighed. “You cannot keep me at an arm’s length forever.”

  “I know. But…my dreams aren’t something that you should concern yourself with.”

  “Quite the contrary, as I am a helpless spectator, and I am getting rather sick of that role.”

  He moved toward her, and pulled her against him. She let out a delighted shriek that he smothered by pressing his lips against hers. She struggled for a few moments, and then gave up as she gave in and reveled in the passion he was showing her. She could remain like this forever.

  Gasping raggedly, he looked down at her with fire blazing in his eyes. “I now know that I can fight temptation and win.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because every part of me wants to take you to a nearby bedchamber and make you mine, but I won’t…and do you want to know why?”

  “Why?” she asked breathlessly, her heart pounding.

  “Because I am a gentleman, and a gentleman doesn’t ravish the woman he is affianced to no matter how hard he might want to.” He winked at her, and he turned around on his heel, and marched away from her. Evidently, he looked inclined to make her just as frustrated as he felt. She sighed, and dashed after him.

  *****

  That night was filled once again with Gilbert’s dreams, or rather nightmares.

  Hope could never quite make
herself call them nightmares, as they usually started out serenely enough, and then, in the blink it took to a light a candle, they changed.

  She stood out in a field of battle, the wind buffeting around her. The stench of smoke was in the air, coupled with gunpowder. Her eyes watered. It was an overcast day, and by the position of the sun it had to be early afternoon. She had a feeling that this battle wasn’t one that Gilbert was a veteran of. Could he not recall some of his dreams? If he dreamt about what had happened to Charlie, why hadn’t he told her? There was a possibility he only woke up feeling shaken, unable to remember the nightmares, only knowing that they had been dreadful.

  As a spectator, she could study her surroundings, and as she had no emotional investment in any of it, she just might notice something that Gilbert failed to notice, or couldn’t recall once he woke up.

  She winced as shots rang out around her. Men were dropping around her, as they were locked in battle. It looked as if this had been an ambush. The enemy outnumbered the British, and their plight looked desperate. Looking away from the grisly sight of men using their bayonets to finish off their foes, she looked to where a young man stood. He bent to pick up the fallen colors and held them proudly aloft, it seemed to rally the men, even though they knew they were fighting a losing battle. The only way they could win this was if reinforcements came. She had a sinking feeling in the pit of her gut that that would not happen. This was not a British Victory.

  The young man holding the regimental colors looked as if he was conscious of what was going on around him. His eyes met hers, and she nearly screamed. He saw her. Tingly sensations swept over her. He narrowed his gaze at her, and was about to walk toward her, when another gunshot went off. The young man dropped to the ground, dead, a victim of a sharpshooter.

  She crossed the short distance and looked down at the lad. His eyes looked lifelessly heavenward. The shot had got him clean through the heart. Sighing, she was about to step away. Suddenly, he blinked. She let out a blood curdling scream. He sat up, and grabbed a hold of the bottom of her dress. “Tell him about…tell him about…” he couldn’t seem to get the next few words out.

  “What do you want me to tell him?” she asked softly. Her heartbeat started to slow down a bit. She shouldn’t have been so surprised. This was a dream after all, and dreams were highly unpredictable.

  “Tell him, that he has to…he has to find his brother…”

  “You are his brother…and…you…are dead. I am so sorry,” she said softly. Sometimes those that had departed the living world, were in a sort of a limbo where they didn’t realize that they were dead. If this was the case with Charlie, she had to ease him through the process, so he would be able to move on eventually.

  He shook his head. “I know,” he seemed to mouth. Desperation glinted in his eyes. He tried to speak again, and no sound came out. And that was when Gilbert woke up, and she was pushed out of his head.

  Shaken, she opened her eyes, and found herself in her dark bedroom. What had Charlie been trying to tell her? She rolled over onto her side, and attempted to calm herself down again so she could fall back asleep. She was still quite bone weary, and she knew she would need more sleep to make it through the next few days.

  Sitting up, she tried to plump up her pillow, gave up, and sank back down again. She let out a low groan of frustration. A dull ache thudded behind her eyeballs. She couldn’t take this much longer. Every dream she witnessed took a bit of a toll on her. If only she were already married to Gilbert, if she were, she could seek his counsel, and ask him the questions that were floating through her mind. She would have to strive for patience. Somehow, she would have to remain calm enough to go back to sleep, and pray, that this time, the only dreams that would trouble her—would be her own.

  *****

  The next few days passed by without incident.

  On numerous occasions, Hope had attempted to get Gilbert alone to ask him once again about Charlie, but the chaperones had been doing their jobs quite nicely, and she didn’t want to put any of what she wanted to ask him in a missive.

  Desi hadn’t dabbled again in weaving any sort of magic. She had even stopped using her glamour to entice men into dancing with her. It was the thirteenth of February, and they had the Duke of Alton’s grand bal masque to look forward to. The fancy dress ball was one of the high points of the Season. Sighing, she reconsidered her decision to go dressed as a fairy.

  She had decided to go for a walk out in the Gardens that Berkeley Square boasted. Faith and Miss Duffy had accompanied her, and they were strolling back to Blessing House, enjoying the unseasonably warm February day. Spring was on its way, and she couldn’t wait.

  She stopped suddenly. Troubling energy crackled through the air. Something felt off. She whirled around in time to see a carriage racing toward them. It halted, a footman jumped down and lowered the steps so the person the carriage carried could step down. Sickening dread enveloped her.

  Sir Hugo stepped down, and the grin he wore made her feel weak in the knees.

  She hadn’t noticed until now how his eyes were dark and soulless. He was sweating profusely, and in the hand that didn’t hold the pistol directed at her, he held a handkerchief. Holding it to his nose, he loudly blew it, and, he sighed. “I…would like your company, Miss Fortescue. Posthaste,” he ordered, directing her to the carriage. He acted as if he hadn’t seen Miss Duffy or Faith. Without uttering a word, she did as he bid. She couldn’t do anything here. The Square was bustling with activity. If they saw her do any sort of magical trick, the damage wouldn’t be able to be undone.

  Stepping up into the carriage, she took a chance and glanced back at Faith. Faith looked as if she was going to do something they would both later regret. She shook her head at her, turned back around so she could step into the carriage, and calmly took the seat opposite Hugo.

  The carriage door slammed shut, and with a crack of the coachman’s whip, the carriage was off, riding as if it was in a race. She sighed, and shook her head at Hugo.

  “You are going to regret this, Hugo. This is by far the stupidest thing you have ever done. You do not know what kind of misery you have brought down upon yourself. You shall be very sorry. Release me now, or else risk my wrath.”

  “Oh, yes. Big words, my dear. Brava. What shall you do, make me mess myself again?” he sneered. Her stomach continued lurching, and the carriage was rattling so loudly she feared it would come apart—or worse they would crash and meet their end that way. She had a sense of doom—something terrible was going to happen, if she didn’t find a way to stop it. “That’s what you did at Lady Grafton’s ball, wasn’t it? You worked your little bit of magic on me.”

  Her blood ran cold. Hugo knew her secret. Damn him to hell.

  “I have always known you were a witch, Hope. Doing what you did to me at Lady Grafton’s ball, only confirmed it. You were weak by revealing yourself. I thought you were a cleverer minx, but then, I suppose I can’t always be right.”

  “Oh, I am a witch, am I?” she chuckled, attempting to put on a brave façade, even though she felt panic swelling within her. She felt as if her world was in shambles, crumbling down around her, and no matter how hard she tried to stop it—she would fail. No matter, she had to stay strong. If she let him know he was scaring her, it would make him feel even more powerful, and she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  “There is no point in trying to deny it, my dear. You and your whole blasted family are witches. No doubt that is the reason why the Blessings have always led such a charmed existence, and never had to worry about worldly possessions. They made a pact with the devil, didn’t they? Eh?” he asked, his dark eyes filled with delight. He thought he was such a clever boy, she swallowed with difficulty. Her throat felt swollen and dry. Being around him was making her physically ill.

  “My uncle is not a witch,” she said, leaning forward, not cowed by the pistol he still had pointed at her. She wasn’t afraid for herself, she was afraid for everyone else
that might suffer because of their secrets being exposed. And if he thought she was a witch…he was close enough. Why couldn’t he have been as daft as she had always believed? She should have known to stay away from him. Her powers weren’t everything, and looking at Sir Hugo proved that to her in an extraordinary way. They weren’t always to be depended upon because if they hadn’t warned her about Hugo, what else would they fail to tell her?

  “Oh, indeed. Warlock is what the men are, isn’t it?”

  “The boot is quite on the other leg, Hugo. You are a daft fool. You now outrank the village idiot.” Her fear for her family diminished. Hugo wasn’t as clever as he tried to let on.

  “Don’t call the person who has a pistol leveled at you, a daft fool, dear. Why, if I am so daft, maybe…maybe I could accidentally discharge this pistol, and then where would you be?”

  She sighed. “At least I would be free from you. I grow tired of you. Where are you taking me?”

  “I am taking you to a field of battle.”

  “Do you want to duel with me, Hugo, dear?”

  “Stuff it, you big mouthed little bitch. You know what I seek. I have sent a letter to your darling to come at once and we shall have our duel.”

  “You will be discovered. You have lost what little you had of your wits. You are quite mad.”

  “Mad am I? No. I am quite sane. Dangerously so. We shall meet in a remote location, far from prying eyes. You needn’t worry, Hope.”

  “You begged off as a coward at Lady Grafton’s ball.”

  He snorted loudly. “I had to have the upper hand there. I had to make everyone think I was a lily-livered little coxcomb. I had to combat your little bit of witchery somehow, didn’t I? I now claim the advantageous position. Lord Langford is the one at a loss. He will be so worried about you…his emotions will cloud his judgement, and I shall win the duel. If he is accidentally slain, I have taken the liberty of making certain I can escape the country without being persecuted. Oh, well, let me be quite frank with you, my dear. I intend to make sure that he is ‘accidentally’ slain.”