Simply Magic

appointed by Peter’s guardians when he was a very young child. The man was organized, efficient, knowledgeable, and experienced and looked upon Peter-or so it seemed-as if he were still a boy whose presence in his domain was a slight nuisance that had to be endured only because he was the official employer.

When he was in the house, his mother hovered over him, worried that he was not eating properly or dressing in a manner appropriate to the weather or giving serious enough thought to his future-to marrying well and setting up his nursery, that was. She was careful to see to it that the servants answered his every summons promptly, that his every whim was catered to, that he was served the very best of everything at mealtimes even if the portion in question had already been set on her plate. She came close to tears if he ever decided to set foot outdoors when it was raining or damp or when the wind was blowing at any force above the merest breeze. She even appeared in the library doorway one night well after midnight when he was reading to ask him if he did not think it was time he went to bed as he knew how easily he got a headache the next day if he stayed up too late at night.

It was all horribly irksome. Perhaps he would have faced it all and dealt with it all if he had not been so mortally depressed. But despite the enthusiasm with which he had jumped from his carriage on his arrival, he could not shake off the gloom he had carried with him from Hareford House.

Everything seemed somehow ruined.

Finally, after a few weeks, he thought to himself-and his reasoning seemed quite sound-that he might as well leave until the new year when he could be present for all the upcoming spring planning. A new year would be a better time-the perfect time-for starting the new life he had promised himself. He might even go back for Christmas. Some of his sisters were sure to be there, and he was fond of them-and of his numerous nieces and nephews.

And so he drifted off back to London, using as an excuse the fact that he needed to visit his tailor and his bootmaker. There he lived a life of increasingly busy idleness as he searched out one diversion after another. It was surprising how many could be found even during such an unseasonable month as October.

There was a comfortable familiarity about such a life.

Except that diversions did not always divert.

Activities that had always amused him well enough before suddenly seemed to have lost their power to distract his mind from his overall dissatisfaction with the way his life was proceeding.

His mother’s letters informed him that the new paintings had arrived for the drawing room, which was now looking so much lovelier than any other room in the house that she was considering making changes to the dining room next.

Good Lord, he was going to have to do something to stop her.

Barbara, his eldest sister, who happened to spend a few days in London with her husband during the autumn, mentioned Christmas.

“You will be at Sidley, I hope,” she said. “Clarence and I will be there with the children, and it will be too, too dreary if you are not also there, Peter. Besides, Mama is inviting other guests, and it is only right that you be there as host.”

“Other guests?” He grimaced. “Who is she this time?”

Barbara clucked her tongue while Clarence waggled his eyebrows at his brother- in-law and held his peace.

“I have no idea,” she said. “But there will be someone, of course. Mama is concerned about you, Peter. She wants to see you well settled. It is foolish of you to be stubborn merely because you did not like Bertha Grantham five years ago and did not admit it until the last possible moment.”

None of his sisters had any idea what had happened on that occasion, and he had no wish to enlighten any of them.

Peter met his brother-in-law’s eyes again and watched one of them depress in a slow wink.

“I’ll choose my own bride in my own good time, Barb,” he said. “I’ll think about Christmas.”

But thinking about brides made him feel more wretched than ever. In the almost two months since he had left Somerset, he had still not recovered from his terrible sense of guilt.

Good Lord, he had debauched an innocent!

There were no excuses. None.

He felt sick whenever he thought of that afternoon on the wilderness walk. And it was almost impossible not to think of it at least a dozen times every day.

It seemed somehow worse to have learned that her father had killed himself. Not that that sad event was in any way his fault or linked to the events of the summer, but even so…He had liked Osbourne. He liked the daughter.

Whenever such thoughts threatened to cause his head to explode, he went out again in search of another entertainment to take his mind off things.

Finally, at the end of October, he decided that a change of scenery might cheer him up and headed off to spend a week or two with his cousin Lauren, Viscountess Ravensberg, at Alvesley Park in Wiltshire, where she lived with Kit, her husband, and their children, and with Kit’s parents, the Earl and Countess of Redfield. He had a standing invitation to go there and always enjoyed himself when he did.

They were fond of each other, he and Lauren, perhaps because they had been kept apart until he reached adulthood and discovered an invitation to her wedding among his pile of mail one day after he returned from one of his walking tours. His mail had never come directly to him until he turned twenty-one, and he had never met Lauren-had hardly even heard of her, in fact, except as the possibly illegitimate daughter of a mother of loose morals: widow of his father’s elder brother, a former Viscount Whitleaf. He had gone to the wedding, though he had arrived only just in time, and discovered that Lauren was lovely and charming and most definitely not illegitimate-her eyes were the exact same unusual color and shade as his own.

He went to Alvesley now to stay and did indeed enjoy himself there-spending hours in company with Lauren and the Countess of Redfield, playing with the three children, riding and discussing farming business and politics with Kit and the earl, visiting neighbors, including the Duke and Duchess of Bewcastle, playing with their baby, much to the amusement of the duchess and her sister, Miss Thompson, who remarked with a laugh that the babe was habitually too cross to be anyone’s favorite except his mama and papa’s. And his grandmama’s, Mrs. Thompson added reproachfully.

Though enjoyment, of course, seemed to be a relative term these days. He still could not shrug off his underlying feeling of restlessness and dissatisfaction with himself.

And then fate took a startlingly strange hand in his destiny.

Perhaps it ought not to have startled him quite as much as it did. Already, soon after his arrival, he had discovered the almost incredibly coincidental fact that he had just missed seeing Sydnam Butler, Lauren’s brother-in-law, who had been home for a week with his new bride, the former Miss Anne Jewell, a teacher at Miss Martin’s School for Girls in Bath-and one of Susanna’s particular friends, Peter remembered. And already, on visiting Bewcastle, he had remembered the connection Susanna had felt existed between the school and Lady Hallmere, Bewcastle’s sister.

But then, almost a week into his stay, he learned that Lauren and the duchess between them had just finalized plans for a surprise wedding breakfast in honor of the newlyweds, who had married quietly and by special license in Bath. Lauren was involved because Sydnam was her brother-in-law, the duchess because he was the steward at Bewcastle’s Welsh estate.

Their plan was to gather as many relatives and friends in Bath as they could muster on short notice, lure the bride and groom there on some pretext, and then surprise them with a grand celebration of their marriage at the Upper Assembly Rooms.

“We are all going from here,” Lauren explained one day during tea. “We would love for you to come with us, Peter, would we not, Kit? But I understand that a journey to Bath and a wedding breakfast may hold out no great allure for you. Perhaps you would prefer to go home, though if you do go, I will feel