How to Entice an Enchantress, Page 2

  “Far from it. I always admired her for her ability to speak her mind.”

  “She admired you, too, which is why she named you my godmother.” The humor left his face. “When I came to you some months ago, we spoke of a—”

  The door flew open and Lady Charlotte flew into the room, a book tucked under one arm and one hand on her askew mobcap, the lace edge flapping over her ear.

  The pugs barked hysterically, running toward the door.

  “Hush,” Charlotte scolded as she hurried through the small pack.

  The pugs lowered their barking to an occasional woof and wagged their tails, falling in behind her. “Lud, Margaret, I had just reached the part where Rosaline finally kisses Lord Kestrel and—”

  “Rosaline? Lord Kestrel?” Margaret frowned. “Who on earth are—”

  Margaret held up her book.

  “Ah.”

  “You should read it. It’s vastly entertaining. Anyway, as I was saying, Rosaline was just getting ready to kiss Lord Kestrel when a footman rudely interrupted my reading and practically dragged me into the foyer—which was horrible, for I am quite certain that Lord Kestrel is not the nice man that poor, dear Rosaline thinks him, despite his protestations of holding her in the deepest affection, and— Oh!” Margaret came to an abrupt halt. “Lord Kirk!” She curtsied. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t see you there.”

  Kirk inclined his head, but made no move to stand and welcome Lady Charlotte.

  Margaret had to fight the urge to reach out one of her slippered feet and kick him for his lack of manners. She had to make do with saying in a sharp voice, “Lord Kirk, you remember Lady Charlotte?”

  “Of course.”

  “How do you do?” Charlotte came forward, her hand outstretched in greeting.

  He looked past her hand, his jaw tight. “I’m sorry, but I was in the middle of a private discussion with her grace.”

  Charlotte’s smile never faltered, even as she dropped her hand to her side. “Of course,” she said in a soothing tone. “It must seem impertinent I’m even here.” Smiling sweetly, her soft blue-gray eyes gentle, she ignored Kirk’s outraged look and instead crossed to the chair nearest Margaret and sank into it.

  “Apparently I didn’t make myself plain enough. I’ve private business to discuss with her grace.”

  “Yes, but I already know your personal matters. All of them.”

  Kirk stiffened and Margaret hastily added, “Lady Charlotte is my confidante. Very little happens at Floors Castle without her knowledge.”

  Kirk’s mouth thinned. “I do not like being a topic of discussion.”

  “Oh, none of us do,” Charlotte assured him, her smile sunny. “But how am I to assist her grace if I don’t know what’s what? Consider it ‘gossip by necessity.’ Perhaps that will take some of the sting out of it.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “A pity.” Unfazed by Kirk’s chilliness, Charlotte placed her book on a side table and held a slippered foot toward the fire. “If it helps, you’ll be glad to know that it wasn’t a very long conversation and, to be honest, not particularly interesting, either.”

  For a moment, Margaret thought they might be subjected to an outburst, but instead, a glint of humor warmed his lordship’s fine brown eyes and he gave Charlotte a very reluctant look of approval. “You’re honest, I’ll give you that. Painfully so.”

  “I dislike people who butter their words until they’re too slippery to hold.”

  “That’s understandable.” He leaned back in his chair, seeming a bit more at ease. “I don’t suppose it makes any difference who knows what, so long as it stays inside this room.”

  He turned his gaze back to Margaret. “I shall make this short. Several months ago you offered to assist me in fixing my interest with the lady I’ve an interest in.”

  “Miss Dahlia Balfour, if I remember correctly.”

  “Yes. You offered your help in exchange for a favor, which I found most curious.”

  “Curious, but necessary.”

  “What I did not know was that the task you requested turned out to be much more distasteful than I’d imagined.”

  “Come. I only asked you to request that your neighbor, Sir Balfour, repay a loan you’d so generously made him months before. You did so, and your actions returned very positive results.”

  “For whom?” he asked, looking none too pleased.

  “Why, for Dahlia’s sister. It sent Lily flying to me, her godmother, looking for assistance. And with very happy results.”

  “Very happy,” Lady Charlotte said. “The happiest of all.” In case Kirk didn’t understand, she leaned forward and whispered, “Marriage.”

  An impatient look crossed his face. “You are saying that because I pressed for repayment of that loan, Lily Balfour attempted to contract an eligible marriage?”

  “She didn’t ‘attempt’ to contract an eligible marriage; she did so. In fact, she’s blissful.”

  “And wealthy,” Charlotte added. “Why, she’s now a princess!”

  Kirk’s lips thinned. “While the outcome might have been happy for Miss Lily, it was less so for me.”

  Margaret arched a brow. “Oh? Sir Balfour hasn’t repaid you?”

  “Yes, he has. But my issue is not with the funds, which I never needed, but with Miss Dahlia’s opinion of me, which was already shaky at best. Because I pressed her father for the payment of that loan, she now thinks I’m the lowest, vilest, most reprehensible man to walk the earth.”

  Margaret tried to look surprised, but must have failed, for Kirk’s brows lowered to the bridge of his nose. “You knew she’d be angry with me.”

  “I didn’t know. I merely suspected.”

  “And yet you still asked me to pursue that course, even though you knew my feelings for Miss Dahlia.”

  “Oh!” Lady Charlotte clapped her hands together. “You are in love with Dahlia Balfour! How delightful!”

  “Nonsense,” Kirk returned sharply. “I hold Dahlia in the highest regard, which is just as it should be.”

  Charlotte couldn’t have appeared more disappointed. “Just regard? Nothing more?”

  “A sincere regard.”

  “But what about love?”

  He waved his hand impatiently. “Love is a messy, chaotic state suitable for the youthful and silly. Now that I’m older, I’ve no need to bother with it again. I will be more happy—as will Miss Dahlia—if we instead seek compatibility.”

  Charlotte looked astounded. “I beg your pardon, but did you say you’ve no need to ‘bother’ with love again?”

  “I’ve been married before. I’ve tasted the grand passion, as some call it, and I’m done with that chaos. Now, I want peace, quiet, and the enjoyment of a quality companion.”

  Margaret had hoped that Lord Kirk’s feelings might have progressed over the last few months. She now realized that hope had been sadly misplaced. “Lord Kirk, you may see yourself as no longer youthful—which I question—but Miss Dahlia is young. Very young, in fact, and she may feel differently.”

  “I’m sure she does. If there is one failing in Miss Dahlia’s character, it’s an inclination to over-romanticize life.”

  Charlotte blinked. “So you— While she— Oh dear.”

  Margaret shook her head. “Lord Kirk, before we continue, have you ascertained how Miss Balfour feels about you as a suitor?”

  “Oh, I know quite well. She sees me as an older, decrepit neighbor who harshly pressed her father for the repayment of a loan, forcing her sister to sell herself in marriage.”

  “You sound very certain about that.”

  “I am; she told me so in those exact words.”

  Oh dear. This is going to be much more difficult than I imagined. Margaret sighed. “That’s not good news.” She hadn’t expected Dahlia to harbor a grudge once her sister was happily wed. “Surely you’ve seen some softening in her demeanor since her sister’s wedding?”

  “You don’t know Dahlia if you think she will soften
her feelings toward anyone she believes has insulted her family. She’s very protective of them. Ridiculously so.”

  “Surely she knows that Sir Balfour was at fault for asking for such a loan to begin with?”

  Charlotte nodded. “And for pretending he wanted the funds for his daughters, as he told you when he first borrowed the sum?”

  “Which was a lie,” Margaret continued. “For he spent it on expanding his greenhouses and buying more roses.”

  “It doesn’t matter what he did with the funds, or if he lied,” Kirk said firmly. “Dahlia’s protective of her family, right or wrong. Now she won’t speak to me, won’t answer my letters, won’t even look in my direction when we meet. It’s as if I’m dead to her.”

  Charlotte bit her lip and looked at Margaret. “Oh dear.”

  Margaret thought the same thing, but she wasn’t about to give up before she’d even begun. She absently patted the pug closest to her foot, a thought striking her as she straightened. “Lord Kirk, perhaps I can rectify whatever ill Miss Dahlia thinks by simply telling her the truth—that you pressed for the loan at my request.”

  “You can’t tell her a damn thing.”

  “And why not?”

  “Because then she’d want to know why I agreed in the first place—and you cannot tell her it was because I wished your help in securing her affections. If her guard is high now, imagine what it would be if she knew that?”

  He was right, blast it all.

  He added, “We are stuck, your grace. We cannot admit the truth.”

  Margaret tried not to let her dismay show. “It’s a minor problem. I shall think of something to smooth this over, never fear. Meanwhile, there are other issues to be addressed.”

  “What other issues?” Kirk rubbed his knee and Margaret noticed how long and beautiful his hands were, like those of an artist or a violinist.

  “If you wish to attend my house party, then you need to brush up on your society manners.”

  “On my— No. That’s not necessary.”

  “Oh yes. I promised you a way to win Miss Balfour, and that is part of it; you will learn to be a gentleman.”

  His jaw firmed. “You are making this unnecessarily complicated. What I want is simple: marriage to Miss Dahlia Balfour.”

  “And to get that, you’ll have to relearn all that you’ve forgotten in the way of manners.”

  His mouth was white with fury. “I cannot countenance this.”

  “You’ll have to.”

  “May I remind you that I was married once before? Elspeth never noticed my manners.”

  “Elspeth was not Dahlia Balfour, whom you’ve already said is a romantic.”

  Charlotte leaned forward, her eyes bright with curiosity. “Pardon me, but you’re a widower?”

  “My wife died on our return from India seven years ago,” he said shortly.

  Charlotte clicked her tongue in sympathy. “Did she die from a spider bite? There are over twenty types of spiders in India.”

  Margaret looked at Charlotte. “How would you know about spiders in India?”

  “There was an article about that very thing in The Morning Post last week.”

  “There was no spider.” Kirk’s voice crackled with impatience. “My wife and I were sailing back from India when a fire broke out on the ship. We didn’t realize it, but in addition to our luggage, the ship was carrying kegs of gunpowder.”

  “How dangerous.”

  “And illegal. I found out later that the captain had hidden the kegs on board to make additional money and didn’t wish to pay the port tax. Thus they were not declared on his manifest, damn his greedy black heart.”

  Margaret’s heart tightened at the bleakness in Kirk’s voice. “It should never have happened.”

  “It is history,” he said shortly. And yet he looked furious, as if he’d like to kick history right in the shin. “I’m fine with my life now.”

  “You mean you were until you met Miss Balfour,” Margaret said.

  He started to disagree, but after meeting her gaze for a long moment, he added, “It’s odd, I’ll admit it. I’d met her many times before, you know. She’s my neighbor and we must have ridden past one another a hundred times without really paying each other the slightest heed. But this time—” He shook his head, a faint hint of wonder in his dark eyes.

  Charlotte clasped her hands before her. “Yes?” she encouraged. “This time?”

  “The Balfours have been my neighbors since before I wed at the age of eighteen, but I’d never had much contact with them. The girls were much younger than I, and once I married, I rarely saw them. And after the accident—” He shrugged.

  “You didn’t see anyone after that,” Margaret guessed.

  “Not intentionally. One day my butler was ill, so I took the carriage to pick up some books I’d ordered. As I was coming out of the postal office, I ran into Dahlia. Literally. I was so piled with parcels that I couldn’t see over them, and . . . well. There she was.”

  Margaret and Charlotte exchanged glances. There was a deepening to his lordship’s voice that couldn’t be denied.

  He rubbed his knee absently. “I’d seen her before, of course, but we’d never done more than nod at one another. But when she saw the books in my hands, her eyes lit up like—” He lifted his hands. “I can’t describe it.”

  “That sounds promising.”

  “It sounds romantic,” Charlotte said.

  “It was indeed promising, but it was not romantic. All that moment did was show me that here was a person—a woman—who shared my passion for reading. I’d never had that, you know. Elspeth never read.” He shrugged. “Anyway, we started talking about books we liked, and which authors we enjoyed. Odd as it sounds, we stood there in the street for two hours, quoting poetry and discussing stories we’d both read.” He turned a bemused look to Margaret. “It was as if, in opening a book together, we discovered ourselves between the pages.”

  Margaret nodded. Goodness, he is head over heels. And yet he doesn’t realize it.

  “Oh my,” Charlotte said in a breathless voice. “That sounds just like one of my novels.”

  Kirk frowned. “Pray don’t make this into something it’s not. Dahlia and I have a lot in common. We both like to read, we love poetry, and we enjoy the same music, as well. I invited her to borrow whatever books she might wish from my library. I have an extensive collection since books were my only companions for those empty years.”

  “So you share a few common interests. That’s a beginning, I suppose,” Margaret said cautiously. When Charlotte sent her a surprised look, Margaret flashed her a warning look.

  Kirk didn’t seem to notice. “Dahlia was in raptures when she saw my library and she couldn’t stay away. She began to visit weekly and we’d talk about whatever book she’d read. Once, while she was there, I convinced her to play the pianoforte I’d brought from France as a wedding present for Elspeth. Dahlia’s amazingly talented.”

  “She sounds perfect.”

  “She’ll do. She is pleasant to look upon, loves books, dislikes random conversation, and can sit for hours not uttering a word whilst reading.” He nodded, almost to himself. “She will make a suitable bride.”

  “Suitable?” Charlotte almost stuttered over the word. “Is that all you can say?”

  Kirk boldly met her gaze, though his face was slightly flushed. “It’s enough.”

  There was a stubborn note to his voice that said far more than he was able or willing.

  Before Charlotte could answer, Margaret said, “I see.” She rather thought she did, too.

  He raised a brow. “So you’ll assist me as you’d promised when I agreed to press Lord Balfour for that cursed loan?”

  “Of course, but I must be plain. While I will do what I can to assist you in making a case for Miss Dahlia, you must make an effort, as well.”

  “An effort? To do what?”

  “Whatever I say.” She tapped her chin with a finger, her gaze never waverin
g. “Fortunately, you have an amazing amount of potential.”

  Charlotte tilted her head to one side, regarding Kirk from head to toe. “Unrealized potential.”

  Margaret followed Charlotte’s expert gaze. While Kirk didn’t adhere to fashion in any way—his brown coat and trousers were at least a decade old in style—he was very neatly dressed, his neckcloth knotted about his throat, the ends tucked into his brown waistcoat, his boots firmly placed upon the ground. There was a solidness about him that a woman could appreciate. An older woman, yes—but perhaps not a younger one. No, if he wishes to woo Dahlia Balfour, he will have to gain some polish. “We must get him a tailor,” she told Charlotte.

  “New clothes, definitely,” Charlotte murmured. “And some proper boots.”

  “And someone to teach him to tie a neckcloth.”

  “Oh yes.” Charlotte reached down and picked up a pug, then plopped him in her lap, though her gaze never left Lord Kirk. “Can you dance?”

  “With this?” He gestured toward his knee. “No, damn it.”

  Charlotte tsked. “Such language.”

  “He’ll have to work on that, too,” Margaret said thoughtfully, her mind racing as she made a mental list. “And his address, for he’s rude as a—”

  “That’s enough.” Kirk grasped his cane and struggled to his feet, his face set. “I did not come here to be insulted.”

  “No, you came to be transformed into a man worthy of a beautiful woman—one you believe is clearly out of your reach.” Margaret waited until her words had sunk in. “She’s lovely.”

  “Yes.”

  “And lively, as well, if she’s anything like her sisters.”

  “Very much so.”

  “And intelligent—”

  “She’s everything, damn it!”

  “Then you will have to be everything to her.”

  His fingers were white where they gripped the handle of his cane. “What the hell was I thinking, to come here? I should have admitted the truth, that she’s not for me, and just be done with it. But oh no. I hoped.” He laughed bitterly, and then walked toward the door. “I’m a fool.”

  Charlotte exchanged a surprised glance with Margaret.