A Lady of Many Charms
and Other Stories
~*~
A Collection of Romance
By
Heidi Wessman Kneale
Table of Contents
A Lady of Many Charms
Ellie Loves Josh
The Valentine Raffle
About the Author
Other Great Reads by Heidi Wessman Kneale
Excerpt from “Her Endearing Young Charms”
A Note from the Author
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
A Lady of Many Charms
COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Heidi Wessman Kneale
Ellie Loves Josh
COPYRIGHT © 2003 by Heidi Wessman Kneale
The Valentine Raffle
COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Heidi Wessman Kneale
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Cover Art by Tara Maya
Publishing History
A Lady of Many Charms originally published in Heroes & Heroines, vol 1, Jan 2016
Ellie Loves Josh originally published in Planet Relish, Mar 2003
The Valentine Raffle originally published in Heroes & Heroines, vol 2, Feb 2016
Three tales--one past, one present, one future--explore what it is to love and just how far someone would go for the love of another.
The Past: Lady Daphne Collister is unimpressed with her fellow magic-wielding debutantes. She finds their methods overbearing. Surely there was a better way of finding a noble husband in Regency England?
The Present: Ellie loves Josh. Josh barely knows Ellie exists. For her, it is not enough to sit behind him at school every day. What must Ellie do to get Josh to notice her? How about a love spell? After all, what could go wrong?
The Future: Leo and his co-worker Katerina have fallen in love. Secretly, of course, for office romance is illegal and all marriages are strictly regulated. There’s only one exception: the Valentine Raffle. But to win at love, Leo and Katerina may need to cheat the system...
Dedication:
To Their Ladyships
When I’ve had enough of reality, I open a book.
A Lady of Many Charms
Lady Daphne Collister is unimpressed with the other young ladies in Society. These marriage-minded misses have no qualms over using magic to trap eligible bachelors into marriage. She knows their methods are a recipe for disaster. But will her approach of honesty lead her to a successful marriage?
When Peregrine, Marquess of Lindsey must hide from a mob of magic-wielding debutantes, he encounters guileless Daphne. When this young lady does not attempt to charm him, he realises that he may have found someone he could respect.
But does she feel the same about him?
This had to be the most ridiculous gown ever, thought Lady Daphne Collister. Looking at herself in full court dress in the fitting room mirror was enough to make her cringe. But one does not say such things in front of one’s modiste, especially when Madame Emilie was armed with pins. She moved around Daphne making last-minute adjustments, as if that would improve the hideousness of court dress. This gown was the illegitimate child of an overstuffed pork sausage and a self-important meringue. Whoever thought an Empire waist and hoops would suit each other was either blind, or playing a cruel joke.
Yes, a cruel practical joke on every young lady who wished to be presented at court. She sighed. “Can I take it off yet?”
“Non,” replied Madame Emilie through a mouthful of pins.
Daphne’s mother, Lady Collister, sprang from her chair along the wall of the fitting room. “Absolutely not. This dress must be perfect.” Her hands fluttered. “Oh, you must be the most splendid young lady there.”
Madame Emilie stepped back, satisfied with her pinning. “Quelle charms will ze young lady be wearing?”
Ah. Magic. The one thing that might be able to overcome the terribleness of the court dress. Every young lady had charms and enchantments and the advantages of the ether to aid her in her appeal. Jewellery was the best at holding enchantments, with silver the superior vessel, as was platinum. Gold, for some odd reason, couldn’t keep an enchantment the way a child couldn’t hold a sweet in his hand for more than five minutes.
Lady Collister returned to her chair. Her hand strayed to her throat. “Beauty, of course, and Admiration. Grace and Thoughtfulness.” She touched each earlobe. “Anticipation.”
Madame Emilie made approving noises. “Zat eez une bonne chose.” She helped Daphne out of the monstrosity so she would not disturb the pins.
For most noble families a court dress was a terrible waste of money and taste. Thank the stars she would only have to wear it once. While her heart raced at the thought of being presented to Queen Charlotte, did it have to be in such a silly dress?
Once she was back in decent, fashionable clothing, Daphne was more than ready to quit the modiste’s.
Alas, no sooner had they departed than Lady Collister saw Mrs. Higginsbotham, a woman who could talk until the leaves fell from the trees. Lady Collister was fond of autumn; they would be there all afternoon.
The street was one of the nicer ones in Piccadilly, full of high-end shops and just around the corner from some good addresses. While her mother talked, Daphne watched random quality stroll by on this unusually sunny afternoon. A few dandies in their striped waistcoats passed her by, tipping their hats in greeting. She gave them a bob of a curtsey and let them pass on their way.
A few moments later those same dandies came back, their footsteps determined and urgent as they passed her by. What could have spooked them so?
A group of determined young ladies strode down the street, their eyes darting to and fro. No wonder the dandies ran.
These young ladies were on the prowl. But what, or who, was their quarry? Daphne pitied the poor bachelor who stumbled into their sights.
Mrs. Higginsbotham’s conversation could not hold Daphne’s interest. In boredom, she cast about. One door down, she spied a confectioner--Smith’s Sweet Shop, the sign pronounced. “I’m stepping in to the confectioner’s,” Daphne said to her mother.
“Mm, hmm,” her distracted mother replied. Apparently Mrs. Higginsbotham’s latest on-dit was far more interesting than the desertion of her daughter.
As she entered the door, a little bell tinkled. Once inside, she stopped. Her breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t a mere shop, but an entire dining establishment. Buntings of white gauze about the windows gave a light, airy feel to the place. Little tables with pretty wrought-iron chair filled the shop, cradling the bottoms of their happy patrons. It wasn’t the people inside that drew Daphne’s attention, but the beautiful, creamy ices on the tables in front of them.
Such sweet scents filled her nose--strawberry and vanilla and cream. Daphne inhaled it with deep breaths.
Behind her, the bell above the door tinkled. An arm slipped around her waist.
Daphne let out a little squeak as a man pushed her deeper into the shop, spun her around until she fell into a chair at a vacant table in the far corner. No sooner had her bottom hit the seat than he snatched the bonnet off her head. “I say!” she cried as he put it on his own, before hunkering down in the opposite chair, his back to the door. What was he doing with her bonnet? Where was his own hat?
A few people at nearby tables loo
ked over in their direction. Daphne looked around. Here she was, apparently unescorted, at a table with a strange man wearing her bonnet. There was gossip-fodder.
Before she could hide her face or slink away, the door flew open and a half-dozen young ladies, their cheeks red and their chests heaving with exertion, piled into the shop. The hunting party had arrived. The people at the tables lost interest in Daphne and her companion and looked to the rather intrusive misses.
Her companion slouched down even further. He picked at something on his wrist.
The young ladies’ looked about fruitlessly. One declared, “I told you he came in here.”
“But where’d he go?” another asked. Her eyes met Daphne’s and narrowed. Daphne blinked in confusion. Surely they were not in pursuit of her accidental companion?
Of course they were. How crass. Daphne frowned at the young lady and sniffed. She disapproved of such callow behaviour.
The young lady broke eye contact first.
Declaring defeat, the young ladies left the shop, much to the relief of the shopkeepers.
Daphne leaned over the table. The man remained slouched down. Or rather, should she call him a gentleman? His clothes were of fine cut. His dark coat fit snugly about his form. His waistcoat was a pleasant blue--no stripes there. As for his leg, Daphne could not see them under the table. Were they as shapely as the rest of him?
He still wore her bonnet. She reached for it, but he clapped his hand on the top and leaned back.
“They are gone now,” she told him.
The man, his blue eyes cautious, did not turn around. “Do not let them fool you. Believe me, they are lying in ambush outside.” Could he hunch down any further without falling under the table?
Daphne stretched up to look out the window. Sure enough, a few young ladies loitered about, trying not to look so predatory. Meanwhile, her mother and Mrs. Higginsbotham chatted on, oblivious. “Looks like you’ll be here a while.”
A shopkeeper, his rotund belly covered by a striped apron, stopped by the table. “May I get you some refreshment today, perhaps a wet confect?” He held a silver tray as if expecting to receive something.
Daphne’s companion pulled her bonnet even lower. “No, thank you.”
Oh, no. If this anonymous gentleman was going to drag her in here and use her bonnet and her reputation as a shield against marauding misses, by gum, he could spot her a few refreshments.
She beamed a smile to the shopkeeper. “What flavours do you have today in ices?”
“Aside of the perennial favourite of strawberry, today we have a delicate lemon ice.”
“That sounds lovely. May we have two-- no, wait. Give us one of each.” That way if one of them did not like the lemon, there was the strawberry.
Only then did her gentleman companion look up. His blue eyes, wide in surprise, peered at her. “You’re ordering?”
“It would be odd if I didn’t.” She fixed him with a stare.
He gave in. With a sigh of defeat, he extracted his calling card and placed it on the waiting tray.
The shopkeeper read it and gave a small bow. “Of course, my lord.” He left to fill their order.
So he was a lord. Alas, the shopkeeper whisked away the card before Daphne had an opportunity to read the name.
No matter. He’d forced his company on her. After she’d enjoyed an ice at his expense, he’d slink off when the coast was clear and she’d go back to her life.
She studied him. “Do I get my bonnet back?”
“Not yet.”
“At least sit up. You look like your bones have turned to jelly.”
He complied. He rested his arms on the table, the better to pick at something about his wrist, his movements desperate and ineffective.
“What have you got there?” Daphne asked.
He muttered and gave up. “One of them slipped a ribbon about my hand. Now I can’t get the dratted thing off.”
Daphne held out her hand. “Let me try.”
In frustration, he gave her his wrist. Sure enough, he’d been snagged by an enchanted ribbon. The silver threads shot through would have held enough magic for this to be a most effective tool, if used properly. As she ran her hands over it, Daphne found a poorly-cast Slow Down spell. Had the spell been any stronger, her companion might not have made it to the shop without being caught.
Daphne picked at the knot until it came free. “There” she said, letting the ribbon fall to the floor. “All better now.”
Her companion examined his wrist. “Thank God.” He patted himself down, even checking his back. “They didn’t leave anything else on me, did they?”
Daphne gave him the once-over. “I don’t see anything.” Nor did she feel any aura or presence that would have signalled a spell. He sighed in relief, sat up and gently returned her bonnet. “My heroine.”
Daphne gave him a shy little grin as she re-seated her bonnet. She’d never been called a heroine before. It felt nice. “Glad to rescue a gentleman in distress.” The lemon ice had been placed before her. She picked up the spoon and let the first taste slide onto her tongue. So cold! Its tanginess blended nicely with the sweetness of sugar.
Yes, she’d chosen well. “You must try this one.” Without thinking she offered him a spoonful.
Now that he was hatless, she saw what he truly looked like. His golden curls matched his blue eyes nicely. His aristocratic nose betrayed his blue blood and his high cheekbones balanced out his face. His clean-shaven chin made him look younger at first, but as Daphne looked deeper into his eyes, she saw weariness. Was that age, or was that simply due to outrunning ambitious young ladies?
No matter. He was here with her and they were enjoying ices.
He looked at the full spoon she proffered him. He took the bowl of the spoon in his mouth and gently pulled the ice off with his lips. He savoured the flavour, giving it much consideration. “You’re right. Delicious.” He looked down at his own strawberry ice with regret.
“I can swap you if you wish.”
He regarded her. “No. You keep that one.” He dug into his own. “So, what is a young miss like you doing out on her own?”
“Oh, I’m not on my own,” Daphne replied. She surreptitiously pointed out the window. “See those ladies conversing there?”
He turned to look briefly. “Your chaperones?”
“My mother and her friend. I dare say they’ll be there all day.”
“So you sought refuge in the confectioners?” His face relaxed in a smile.
What a difference that made! Once free from fear and worry, his handsomeness shone as if illuminated by an inner light. No wonder those young ladies were after him. “Good choice.”
Daphne shrugged. “I only meant to have a look. But since you invited me in, how could I refuse?” She bit her lip to keep her smile from spreading.
Now he had the good manners to look abashed. “Sorry about that. They’re getting positively feral, these young ladies.”
Daphne took another bite of lemon ice. “Can you blame them? They are all brought to Town for the sole purpose of finding a husband. What else is there for them to do?”
He said nothing while he had a few more spoonsful of ice. “What about you? Are you come to Town for the same reason?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “Though I plan on going about my business in a better way. More reasoned. Chasing every bachelor that crosses my path with enchanted ribbons isn’t my idea of how a successful marriage should start.” She frowned. “Must we speak of marriage?”
He smiled. It was as if the sun had risen in his face. “No, I dare say we must not.”
“Good. Let us talk of anything but.”
And so they did, through the rest of their ices and a pot of tea. He talked of politics, of city life versus rustication and even discussed fashion when she shared her dreadful court dress story.
With empty bowls in front of them, Daphne sighed. If she had her druthers, she’d keep him here all day. His conversati
on was the best she’d had in a long time. Still, it wouldn’t be polite to monopolise him all afternoon. “I believe it’s safe now.”
He looked out the window. “I suppose,” he replied, not sounding terribly enthused.
“Best you hurry on before they find you again.”
He looked wistful. “I doubt I shall remain safe.” Before he departed, he lifted her fingers to his lips. “Thank you for saving me. I will always be most grateful.”
They separated outside the confectioners, him going one way and Daphne returning to her mother’s side.
The world outside did not seem as lovely as it had been in the shop. Her mother and Mrs. Higginsbotham had not moved from their spot. Daphne doubted her mother had noticed her gone.
~*~
Peregrine Bertram, the Marquess of Lindsey, hurried home. Having escaped one pack of magicked-up huntresses this afternoon, he had no desire or the energy to deal with another. They were getting more determined, these young ladies. A month into the Season and it seemed he could not leave his townhouse without being assaulted by some marriage-minded miss.
Now they were hunting in packs. This was not how he wished to go about finding a wife and the mother his children.
He thought about his companion at the confectioner’s--she of the coffee hair and chocolate eyes. She who was bold enough to order an ice for him, yet not so overwhelming as to take over the conversation. Her interest in a variety of topics had pleased him. He’d never encountered a young lady with a genuine interest in, well, everything.
Not once did he detect even a whiff of magic about her. How refreshing.
Peregrine sighed. After such a lovely afternoon, he’d not come away with her name.
How would he find her again?
St James and the Queen’s Drawing-room? That was a possibility. The on-dits about town suggested the first Drawing-room in more than a year was a spectacle not to be missed.
He passed a pair of twittering misses out for a walk. As he passed, they giggled again and fluttered their parasols.
He ducked his head and hurried on his way. Any lady who looked at him like that could not be up to any good. He glanced over his shoulder, but they had not pursued him. What a relief.
They were such a contrast to… whatever her name was. A stray thought popped into his head: future Marchioness. He shoved that one out as soon as he could. After all, at four and twenty, wasn’t he too young for marriage?
One thing was certain: she was a young lady whose company he truly enjoyed. No other miss had been able to achieve that.
~*~
A few nights later and Peregrine found himself at the Ravenswoods’ ball. And such a crush it was. In a ballroom more suited to fifty, they managed to press a good two hundred. This meant every time a quadrille or other set was called, everyone who did not dance had to press against the walls.
The heat from dozens of candles contributed to the extra warmth from dancing bodies.
As the stuffy closeness of the bon ton pressed in, he tugged at his cravat. His valet Charles would have a fit if he saw the mess his master made of his painstakingly difficult work.
He had to be extra-careful here. In the closeness of a crowd it was all too easy to be approached by a young lady bent on determining his future. Any ambitious young lady could slip a token in his pocket or pin a small enchanted brooch to the back of his jacket. Peregrine was wise to their tricks. As soon as he felt a strange attraction to any particular chit, he checked his clothes.
He knew magic when it hit him. Its results left a coppery taste in his mouth and a shallow, euphoric feeling as if he’d had too much negus punch. These sweet things with their endearing young charms might appear to be good company for the evening, but what were they like in the cold light of morning?
Peregrine had had enough. After one particularly desperate lass remained clinging to his arm after the post-quadrille promenade, the only way he could disengage was to physically prise her fingers off his sleeve.
He fled the ballroom in hopes of escape. To his relief, the townhouse had a small library. The room was not much bigger than a cloakroom but it had one thing the ballroom did not--silence.
It was a charming retreat, with its walls of bookshelves and only a single sofa facing the fireplace. While the fireplace remained thankfully empty, some servant had left a few candles burning. The air felt much cooler in here. Peregrine sank gratefully to the sofa and loosened his cravat. A shame he did not think to bring a drink.
No sooner did he give himself over to the blessed quietude than the door of the library opened and a figure slipped in, letting out a sigh of relief.
Peregrine sat up. Why, it was the young lady from the confectioners shop. He rose to his feet. “Hello again.”
She startled. “Goodness. I thought nobody was in here.” She tendered her curtsey, possibly out of habit more than anything else.
“Nobody is.” He returned her a bow and invited her to sit on the sofa.
She didn’t need asking a second time. He studied her as she settled next to him. This was a young lady with no pretentions, no attitudes or assumed airs. How refreshing to encounter a creature who wasn’t out to band him and brand him as a husband.
“I say,” she began. “The Ravenswoods may think a crush is a mark of success, but I find it tedious. Surely there is a better way to celebrate the Season.”
Her words amused him. “You are weary of the Season?”
“Heavens, no. But some part of the Season have been more amusing than others.”
His forgotten manners tweaked at him. “Forgive me, but we haven’t been introduced yet.”
As he drew enough breath to support his name, she said, “Do we need to be?”
He blinked. Was she turning down a formal acquaintance? “I believe that is the norm.”
Her lips twitched. “If we are formally introduced, that means we must interact in public. Whatever social requirements are made of our names and positions, we will be forced to act upon them.” She put a hand to her forehead. “I’m afraid I am too tired this evening to take on that additional social burden.”
“But what do we call each other?”
She thought on this. “I shall call you Jack and you will call me Martha and nobody but us will know to whom we are referring.”
No, that would not do. “How about you call me Perry?”
Her nose wrinkled at this. “Is that your real name?”
“It is,” he confessed, “But only my mother calls me Perry, so no one else will know to whom you are referring.”
Her lips twitched again before she gave in to her smile. “Call me Daphne.”
Peregrine took her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Daphne.”
“Pleased to meet you, Perry.” She did not relinquish his hand.
He did not want her to. The touch of her skin felt reassuring. No magic, no ulterior motives. So why did he want to pull her closer?
“So,” she said. “You’re in Town for Parliament, are you?”
“Mainly, yes. But also for the Season. It’s is how we escape the pressures of our business.”
Daphne sniffed. “All well and good for you, but for us young ladies, it is our business. What is there for us to escape to?”
Good point. For all of Society’s daughters, the Season had but one goal--marriage. For them, it was the hunting Season. Best to come well-armed.
Several years ago when his father brought him to Town as a lad on the cusp of manhood, Peregrine had known about ladies and their magic, but had not been adequately warned. Suffice it to say, an ambitious young miss who knew her Debrett’s had charmed him so well into a compromising position his father had to buy him out of it in order to avoid both a scandal and a poorly-matched marriage.
Since that day Peregrine had established some very firm rules. He swore he’d never let his head or heart be turned by the magic of a lady, not even for a brief dally, no matter how much he thought he liked the young miss.
&
nbsp; Peregrine inhaled deeply. He detected the particular smell of old books, leather, the faded smokiness of the fireplace and nothing else. He found no magic, no charms or other inducements.
Could it be he liked her for herself? “So you are here to find a husband?”
She nodded.
“Why haven’t you delved into the magical entrapments all the other ladies indulge in?” He didn’t mean to be so bold.
She laughed, a genuine, hearty sound. “Surely you don’t think me as desperate as all that.” She gave his hand an extra squeeze.
“You are the first young lady I’ve met that didn’t reek of desperation, or magic. I like it.”
She scooted closer until her thigh was pressed against his. Even through his trousers, he felt the heat of her body. She leaned over as if to impart a secret. “I confess, while I am interested in marriage, I believe in going about things the best way. Tricking a man into a proposal is not the best way to start.”
Was there another way? “I sense you have a method.”
She inclined her head. “I don’t know if I would call it a method. It’s more a dream.” Her gaze met his. Her eyes were soft and honest. “I am a very silly girl who dreams of a love match. But that can only happen if I am honest.”
“I like that dream,” he murmured. A wisp of hair lay on her forehead. Before he could think, his fingers brushed it back. Honest, she said. That’s what it was. She didn’t hide behind manners and magic. What you saw with Daphne was what you got.
He wanted her very much.
Peregrine leaned in, letting his lips brush gently across hers. Her hands, still wrapped about his, stiffened.
He pulled back. Had he offended her?
Daphne leaned forward and kissed him back. She let go of his hands, to grip the lapels of his jacket. His arms slid about her slim waist, to pull her closer.
He wanted more. His lips parted as he deepened the kiss and she responded. He tasted sweetness, and something else. It reminded him of the lemon ice they’d shared the other day. He’d not thought about it then, but the use of a single spoon between them had been rather intimate.
Before he knew it, she was in his lap, her arms twined about his neck, her mouth playing with his.
Soft. That’s what she was, soft. Yet determined. It was as if she was as hungry as he was. Until she had kissed him, he never realised how hungry he’d been.
Starving. If he had his way, he would spent the rest of the evening--no, the rest of his life--on this sofa with Daphne. One by one he pulled out the hairpins so he could run his fingers through her soft, glossy curls.
Her hands had slid under the lapels of his coat to slide across his shirt. Such an intimate touch awoke something under his skin. His coat had become rather inconvenient. He couldn’t divest himself of it fast enough. After all, wasn’t it getting awfully warm in here?
At first her lips were unsure, unskilled. But the more he kissed her, the more responsive she became. His heartbeat quickened and his senses fled.
“I say, what have we here?” someone said. The intrusion of this new voice was like ice water over his ardour. Cold reality descended in the form of light and noise from the open library door. A drunken figure, little more than a silhouette, wavered in that light.
Daphne pulled back in shock. Immediately, she rose from the sofa, her fingers pressed to her lips.
Peregrine followed. He scooped her into his arms and shielded her from the gaze of the stranger.
The man stumbled into the room, a little too foxed to stand straight, but not so foxed he couldn’t see what was going on. “Why, Bertie-boy. Imagine you in here.”
Peregrine groaned. Of all the people to discover him, Viscount Rathbone was the last man he wanted. Old Rathie loved a good story, the more scandalous, the better. He had a way of scooping up the merest whiff of a juicy story and pouring it direct into the ears of Society’s best gossips.
Rathbone leaned on the sofa, whether to remain upright or to get a better look, Peregrine wasn’t sure. “Are you breaking your own rules?”
At that, Daphne looked up, her brown eyes alarmed. He had to get her out of here before Rathbone’s unthinking words did any more damage.
He snatched up his discarded coat. As he draped it over her head, he gave her a reassuring smile. “For you,” he whispered, “I’d do anything.”
The wavering Rathbone stumbled about the sofa. “So, who’s this tempting armful--” He tripped, giving Peregrine the opportunity to hasten a covered Daphne out. “Off you go, Martha.” Take that, Rathbone.
Peregrine shoved Daphne through the library door, shut it gently, and turned to deal with Rathbone so he couldn’t follow her. For the first time in his life, Peregrine had an overwhelming desire to keep a young lady safe. Could it be he had finally found the one he did not need to fear?
~*~
In an obscure hatbox deep in Daphne’s wardrobe sat the carefully folded coat of the man she only knew as Perry. It had been three days since she saw him last. Late at night, with no one else was around, she’d take it out and inhale deeply of his scent. How intoxicating. Or was that the memory of his kiss? Her head still buzzed from the unexpected intimacy they’d shared.
If this was intimacy, no wonder all the other young ladies were desperate for marriage.
But that was the thing. Was it the same with someone you didn’t care about? Daphne had been enjoying the Season since February. She’d met plenty of gentleman--some handsome, some witty, yet none of them excited her heart as her mysterious Perry. That he was a lord, she was certain. That he was considered most eligible had been obvious, with the young ladies insane pursuit last week.
Until she had met him, she’d had no desire to further the acquaintance of any gentleman, much to her parents’ dismay.
Again, she pressed her finger to her lips as if to keep the memory of his kiss alive.
She’d privately scoffed at the hunting parties of desperate misses that made some eligible bachelor’s life a misery. Indeed, some men had become quite notorious for attracting entire mobs of the creatures--Viscount Beauchamp, Honourable Mr. Lygon Valpern, the Marquess of Lindsey, Charles Lord Bridport. Daphne would not have traded places with a single one of the famed Albany Bachelors set.
Was her Perry one of these? She hoped not. Some of them were downright notorious. She had not the foggiest why so many young ladies pursued them.
But then, there was that kiss, that oh-so-delightful kiss.
Unfair.
What if she never saw him again?
That night she snuggled into his jacket. It might not have had magic, but she had been ensnared.
How did that happen?
~*~
Before Daphne knew it, Thursday had arrived and with it, her day of presentation.
Time for that hideous court dress. It took two lady’s maids and a good hour to get her into the contraption. Daphne gave herself over to poking and prodding and pulling as she was imprisoned in the epitome of bad taste. Then she endured the fussing and primping of her hair. It had to be sufficiently secure to sport the white ostrich plumes that Queen Charlotte considered mandatory.
Daphne amused herself by imagining all the poor, naked ostriches running around. Surely someone would have made them an apron or something?
In the end, it was her mother who laid the final touches to her daughter. Lifting each enchanted jewel, her mother paused and smiled with memories.
First the silver diamond necklace. “Your grandmother had great success with Admiration.” She draped it over Daphne’s throat.
Daphne touched the centre stone with reverent fingers. How many generations of women had worked on this necklace? Admiration was a splendid enchantment, far more useful than Notice Me. Too many young ladies focused on gaining a gentleman’s attention without paying sufficient notice to what he would attend.
Her mother held up earrings. “Anticipation.” Of course. Nothing flattered someone more than the thought that you wanted
to know them.
Next came Fidelity and Grace and Popularity and a dozen other qualities, all designed to put Daphne in the best light. “I don’t know why I need all this. Surely Her Majesty would see through the magic.”
“Because,” her mother said as she sorted through the final rings, “This is no ordinary presentation.”
Queen Charlotte had not held her famous Drawing-rooms at all last year in deference to King George’s illness. So after such a social drought, dozens of young ladies had come to be presented and recognised by the queen.
But what she didn’t know, and her mother explained, was the spectacle that came with it. “The whole bon ton will be there outside of St James to see who has been presented. That could very well include a future husband.”
Daphne sighed. So that’s what the enchantments were for. Her mother hoped she would attract a gentleman’s attention. She wanted a gentleman to love her for herself, not her enchantments.
What a quandary.
Her mother continued. “I would not have you relegated to anonymity because you could not keep up with the other young ladies.”
This was true. Still, it irked her that she needed to compete with the marriageable misses today of all days.
In the end, her mother declared her as ready as she could be. Thus they piled into the carriage to await the long, tedious and extremely slow line carriages leading up to St James Palace. Honestly, it would have been faster to walk, even in this hooped monstrosity of a gown.
As they inched closer, Daphne began to understand why her mother insisted on arming her to her toes; the largest crowd of people Daphne had ever seen thronged the courtyard in front of St James. One by one the young ladies descended awkwardly from their carriages with the help of their sponsor--usually their mothers, and made their careful way into the palace. Every once in a while a young lady’s popularity was marked by cheers from the crowd.
When Daphne’s turn came, she gathered up her hoops and descended with minor incident, though perhaps with too much stocking showing. Outside the carriage, while her mother fussed with Daphne’s plumes and scooped up her train, she had a look around.
It was as if her eye had been drawn to him. There, amid a most elegant-looking set, stood Perry. Their gazes met. He touched the brim of his hat and gave her a secret smile.
Daphne’s heart swelled. Perry had come and he had noticed her. She could not hide her pleasure. She entered the palace with a most brilliant smile.
All the young ladies had been pressed into an over-warm room to await their audience in the Queen’s Drawing-room. Much to everyone’s dismay, no refreshments were served and necessary visits to the ladies’ withdrawing room were kept to a minimum. A full court dress was not the easiest clothing to handle when one needed to relieve oneself.
Daphne’s head spun with the miasma of magic in the room. It was as if every young lady had worn every single piece of enchanted jewellery that the family owned. Beauty, Charm, Attraction--the air swam with competing enchantments. Several young ladies availed themselves of the fans their thoughtful mothers brought. Lady Collister had not been one of them.
Thus Daphne waited her turn amid sweaty petulance. One by one the young ladies and their mothers were called out to be presented. As their numbers dwindled, so the tension rose among those remaining. On the other side of the room a squabble broke out as two misses’ tempers frayed.
While her mother attempted to engage her in conversation, Daphne was not interested. How could she focus when her name could be called any minute?
It was not, and the number of young ladies dwindled. Ah well, thought Daphne. Someone had to be last. As she kicked at her hoops, Daphne heard raised voices somewhere else in the palace. Sounded like a high-spirited party. Her mother had told her down to the finest details what happened during a presentation. However, she’d neglected to mention what happened after. Was it a reception? Would they receive refreshment at last, even if only a glass of water?
When her turn did come, they had only enough time for her mother to dab away the perspiration from Daphne’s complexion before the footman took them to Queen Charlotte’s Drawing-room. “Apologies for the delay,” the footman murmured. “There’s been some excitement outside.”
Excitement? What did that mean?
Before Daphne could ask, the footman opened a pair of double doors and ushered them in. She nearly forgot to breathe.
Queen Charlotte’s Drawing-room was not as large as Daphne expected. A large pianoforte dominated one corner of the room. Opposite this magnificent instrument sat Her Majesty on a sofa of exquisite style. The light from the windows behind her cast Her Majesty’s face in shadow so Daphne could not ascertain the Queen’s expression. The years had turned her hair pale and wrinkles draped her face. Her hands trembled ever so slightly.
Another footman took her mother’s card. “Mary, Lady Collister and her daughter Lady Daphne Collister.”
As she had rehearsed so many, many times. Daphne came in, made her slow, deep curtsey, then rose, to await Queen Charlotte’s pleasure.
Queen Charlotte beckoned her forward. Daphne obeyed and sank down once more into a proper curtsey. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” said Queen Charlotte.
Relief blossomed in her heart. The Queen approved of her. “I thank you, Your Majesty.”
To Daphne’s surprise, the queen’s aged hands cupped Daphne’s face. Startled, she looked up. “I like you,” the Queen confided. She leaned over and pressed a royal kiss to Daphne’s forehead.
Her Majesty had one last word of advice for this newest member of Society. “Be careful when you depart, child. I hear there has been some excitement outside.”
Daphne rose. All too soon, it was over. Before she could think, they had been escorted out of the Queen’s Drawing-room.
Only after they were in the corridor, among the other triumphant young ladies, did her mother unleash her excitement. “Oh, my darling girl! You have the Queen’s favour.”
Did she? She raised curious fingers to her forehead. The Queen had given her a royal kiss. Did she kiss every maiden, or were there only a select few who obtained such personal attention? Her heart thumped as she pondered on the significance of such favour.
At the end of the corridor the doors burst open. Through them strode a rather large and angry man. His shouts rang off the walls.
Daphne’s breath caught in her throat. She’d been about enough in Society to recognise the most powerful man in England--the Prince Regent.
But it was his words that shook her to her very core. “I ought to have you arrested for inciting a riot!”
~*~
Peregrine, like so many other people, had come to see this rare arrival of young ladies to be presented at St James Palace. It had been so long since the Queen’s last Drawing-room, everyone had turned out to view the parade of young lady after young lady.
He’d seen Daphne and she’s seen him. That had been worth waiting for.
After the last noble young lady had entered St James, the crowd, for the most part, dispersed.
As Peregrine enjoyed a high noble rank, he’d been able to procure a good spot close to the front door, as did several other noblemen. Indeed, once the parade had finished, they stood around discussing the various noblemens’ daughters.
“Pon rep,” declared James, Lord Alderman. “With all those eligible young misses gathered together in St James, one could restore order to the streets of London by torching the palace.” He lifted a handkerchief to his rather prominent nose.
“What?” replied Lord Chumley, and leave only the lower ranking gels? I swear, they mob together to bring down the bachelors one man at a time.
Peregrine nodded. “I hear they caught poor Teppie. Now he’s destined for the parson’s mousetrap.”
They all nodded in silent commiseration. While Lord Templeton had not been terribly flush in the pocket, his title and tolerable looks had been inducement enough for pursuit and eventual capture
by one lucky lass.
A familiar figure waddled out of the doors of St James, one who could not be ignored. Amid a flurry of bows and curtseys from the remaining crowd, the Prince Regent strode over to Peregrine and the other lords. As one, they all tendered their bow.
Prinny huffed and waved a hand at them. “It’s a bit too much in in there for a man’s comfort. One would positively fall asleep, thinking the palace was a feather bed, there were so many ostrich plumes.”
There had been plenty of feathers, in heads as well as on them.
“I dare say,” he continued, “You must be relieved those marriage hunters are all inside and not out here pursuing you.”
Lord Chumley agreed. “Our respite is but temporary. The moment they return, the streets will not be safe.”
Too true.
All too soon, Lord Chumley’s words came to pass.
Out came the first few young ladies, their eyes bright and their hands all a-flutter as they chattered about their brief audience with the Queen. As they waited for their carriages to come around, the conversation of the young ladies turned to the one topic that occupied them the most--eligible bachelors.
Peregrine’s skill crawled as the young ladies gazes turned his way. “Do you think it’s too late to escape?” he murmured to Lord Chumley, only to turn and discover his friend had escaped while the going was good.
Meanwhile Prinny had slipped a bit further into the crowd, not that he had to worry. His shackles were altogether another story.
Like their arrivals, the departure of the young ladies was a slow and tedious process as carriage after carriage lined up.
This meant the young ladies congregated. Getting them together in a crowd with nothing to do--especially armed with more magic than any of them had ever possessed in their lives--it was disaster waiting to happen.
It started with the matchmaking mamas. Fresh back from official recognition from the queen, each daughter was more than eligible for such a fine catch as Peregrine, Marquess of Lindsey.
“Have you met my daughter, Lady Emmeline,” said one bold mother who had cornered him before he could get away.
Peregrine looked at the unfortunate girl with her limp hair and too-red face. “Yes, we have met,” he lied.
Before he could make his excuses and leave, another mother, not wanting to be outdone, came up. Those overpuffed hoopskirts made it impossible for him to leave. “Ah, Lord Lindsey. How good to see you again. You remember my daughter…”
Before he knew it, a circle of overeager and overmagicked ladies surrounded him. One particularly forceful young lady practically pushed her way into his arms. “So good to see you again,” she gushed as the miasma of magic washed over him.
Another young lady, not wanting to lose advantage, shoved the first out of the way. “Hello, Your Honour.”
Nothing drives the passions like a combination of ambition and desperation. The shoved young lady cried out in fury and shoved the second back.
While they squabbled, another slipped up quietly and managed to secure his wrist with a ribbon. As soon as the knot was tied, he looked down and blinked. Light and noise faded away, leaving only a silver ribbon about his wrist. What spell was in that ribbon? He lifted it up and stared at it. It was as if he couldn’t focus. Surely there was something he needed to do? While he was pondering that, someone else took his other hand and led him away.
As he looked at the ribbon, someone else grabbed this hand. With deft skill, she removed the ribbon.
Peregrine’s senses returned to him. He shook the cobwebs from his head as the noise roared around him.
And such a to-do. A good dozen young ladies in ridiculously high-waisted hoop skirts brawled like sailors in front of St James.
The young lady who had released him from her rival’s ribbon attempted to slip a ring on his finger. He struggled against her surprising strength until an angry shout startled them all.
The Prince Regent strode in, waving his hands. “Be gone, the lot of you!”
As one, the young ladies stopped their war and shrank back. The whole crowd retreated, leaving a bemused Peregrine in the middle. He pulled off the ring and threw it away. Who knew what nefariousness it possessed?
Prinny’s gaze narrowed. “Bertram. Why am I not surprised it is you?”
Peregrine’s jaw dropped. What could he say?
Before he could answer his sovereign, Prinny said, “Lindsey, walk with me.”
Oh no. When His Highness went from family name to title, no good would come from this. Peregrine had no choice but to obey.
He followed Prinny into St James. At least if he was to be berated, it would be in private.
Or not. The entrance hall of St James was not empty of spectators. Many ladies had paused there, fresh from their presentations. All were witness to his chastisement. As the angry Prince Regent strode past, they all dipped their curtseys. Their eyes, however, were only for Peregrine.
“I thought you had more sense than that, Lindsey,” shouted Prinny.
His Highness pushed through another set of doors. “I ought to have you arrested for inciting a riot!”
Peregrine stopped short, just inside the door. It closed behind him, blocking his escape. “What?” Did he blame Peregrine? “It wasn’t my fault.”
The Prince Regent spun about and shook a fat finger in his face. “Oh, it is very much your fault. Young ladies of quality should not brawl in public.”
Again, how was that his fault? “Your Highness, I would stop it if I could, but I--”
“Oh, you will stop it.” His Highness stepped back. “Lindsey, you have been a troublesome bachelor for too long. I order you to pick one of these young ladies and marry her.”
Peregrine’s heart sank. Did His Highness just order him to… to marry a stranger? He looked about. A dozen belled ladies and their mothers stood surprised in this corridor. Surely Prinny did not intend--
Then he spied her. Daphne was there, her eyes just as bewildered as the rest. “Her,” Peregrine said, pointing quite clearly. “I choose her.”
This startled Daphne. “What?” she cried out. She looked from Prinny to Peregrine. “No,” she declared.
Silence fell throughout the corridor. Now it was Peregrine’s turn to utter, “What?” Did she just refuse him? Or worse--did she just commit treason?
Prinny thought not. “Ah well. Choose another.”
“I will not,” Peregrine replied, risking the wrath of his sovereign. “It’s Daphne or nothing.”
“Daphne, is it?” said Prinny, his voice full of inflection. “So you know the young lady?” He turned to look at her.
In shock and embarrassment, both Daphne and her mother tendered further curtseys. Her mother, for that was who Peregrine presumed her escort to be--said, “If I may have a brief word, Your Highness?”
At his permission, Daphne’s mother hurried up and had a quick, quiet discussion with the Prince Regent.
In the end, Prinny nodded. “The rest of you,” he ordered, “leave.”
All the other young ladies and their mothers departed, the disappointment at missing such drama very evident on their faces, as well as more than one jealous glare in Daphne’s direction.
In the end, only the four of them remained. The Prince spoke first. “Lady Collister. I know of you. This is your daughter?”
Lady Collister gave another brief curtsey. “Yes sir. May I present my daughter Lady Daphne Collister.”
Lady Daphne Collister. So that was who she was. No wonder Peregrine had never met her before. Lord Collister was a backbencher for the other party. While their social circles often crossed, the chances of sufficient acquaintance warranting an introduction were not great.
The Prince Regent looked her up and down. “I must say, Bertram, you can pick them, when pressured.”
Daphne had been staring at him the whole time, wariness in her eyes. “Wait. I know you now. You’re Lord Peregrine Bertram, Marquess of Lindsey.” She drew a breath and step
ped back. “You’re notorious as one of the most eligible bachelors in London.”
“Not for long,” warned the Prince Regent.
Her chest heaved as if she was about to cry. “Do I not get a say in the matter?” Her voice came out small, almost a squeak.
At this, Prinny stopped. “Why would you not want a husband like the Marquess of Lindsey? I dare say he is a prime catch.” To himself he muttered, “I dare say that’s what the female half of the ton believes.”
Kind of His Highness to complement Peregrine, even if it was a bit backhanded.
“It’s not that I object to the choice of groom.” Her hands twisted in her skirt. “But I do not desire an arranged marriage.” Her gaze darted to her mother. “I hoped for a marriage based on respect and love.” Her hand pressed to her chest as if to still her beating heart.
Lady Collister let out small sound. “What are you saying?”
Daphne looked to her. “I have witnessed yours and father’s marriage. I don’t know if I could be as lonely as you two are. Do not think I do not remember your tale of the young man you could have married. I know you regret the choice you made.”
Lady Collister retreated, a hand pressed to her lips as tears welled in her eyes.
Peregrine thought to his own parents’ marriage. There was a kind of respect between the Duke and Duchess. But did his parents truly love each other? Theirs had been an arranged marriage. They had got on well enough.
But not passionately. Peregrine’s heart burned with the memory of Daphne’s kiss. Ever since then, he had wanted to kiss her again, possibly for the rest of her life.
Daphne continued, her hands held out, making her jewels sparkle. “But this? I cannot trust a marriage proposal, even a forced one, when I’m wearing all this magic.” She stripped the rings off her fingers and thrust them at her mother. Lady Collister caught the rings before they fell to the floor. Daphne slid off the bracelets and unhooked the earrings. These she dumped into her mother’s hands.
“What are you doing?” Lady Collister cried.
Daphne’s fingers worked at the necklace’s catch. “I will not be proposed to with all this magic about me. This is not real. How would it be in the cold light of morning to see who I truly am, if this,” off came the necklace, “and these,” out came her jewelled hair pins, sending her feathers fluttering to the floor, “and this.”
To everyone’s surprise, she lifted her hoops and pulled at the silver buckles on her shoes.
Every last bit of magic went into her disappointed mother’s hands.
Finally divested of every last bit of jewellery, Daphne held out her arms. “There,” she said, her hair askew. She stared at Peregrine, a challenge if ever there was one.
As he looked at her, his heart swelled. “Daphne,” he began, even though her mother’s gaze darted disapproval at the intimacy of her Christian name, “I did not choose you because of the magic. I chose you in spite of it. Since the very beginning, I’ve loved your honesty and your agreeableness. I know you would never do anything unless it was on your own terms.”
He knelt down in front of her and took her hands. “I offer you true courtship, free from the coercion of magic so many ladies insist upon. I ask that you consider my proposal of marriage, with as long an engagement as you wish. All I ask is that you give me an opportunity to win your love and respect.”
Conflicting emotions warred in her face. In his heart, he begged her not to reject him. He didn’t think he could bear the humiliation, not when his whole heart was on the line.
After a few breaths for courage, she said, “Your name really is Perry--Peregrine?”
He smiled. “Only my mother calls me that.”
“And me.” Her lips twitched. “If you’ll let me.”
The joy filled his heart until it felt ready to burst. “For the rest of my life.”
Then, to the scandal of her mother and the delight of the Prince Regent, Daphne kissed him, deep and intimate, with the promise of further kisses--and more--ever after.
The End
Ellie Loves Josh
Ellie loved Josh. Josh never gave a second thought to Ellie. To a teenage girl, this imbalance seems rather unfair. After other methods to get his attention failed, she turns to the advice column of Good Witch Glenda.
Could a love spell be just the thing? After all, what could possibly go wrong?