Druid's Daughter (20 page)

Jamie loved being in the country and was a happy little boy.
She made him even happier by starting him on riding lessons. He was
inordinately proud of his progress, asking three times a day when his papa and
new mama would be home so he could show them how good he was. Other than when
he was on his pony, Jamie and Ambrose were inseparable. If the child was
riding, Ambrose sat on his big haunches and waited for him.

Morgan rode every day. Long, hard rides on Lily, her
favorite mare, named for the Eucharis lily, meaning “charming maiden”.

“I’m not good enough to ride Lily, but can’t I go with you
sometime? Foxfire can keep up, I know he can.” Jamie looked so hopeful Morgan
didn’t even think of refusing him.

Luckily Jamie’s pony had been named before Jamie got him. A
good thing, since the
Dictionary of the Language of Flowers
had few
names suitable for little ponies.

“You can go starting tomorrow,” Morgan said and laughed as
delight spread over Jamie’s face. It would slow her down for a while, but those
pleading brown eyes were beyond her refusing.

“As long as you promise to turn back when I say so,” she
added as sternly as she could.

Jamie was fairly dancing in place. “Oh yes, Miss Morgan.
Thank you, Miss Morgan. I love you, Miss Morgan.”

He ran over and knelt down to tell Ambrose the good news.

Jamie stuck to his promise and turned back dutifully with
the groom when Morgan judged the child had had enough. Then she struck out
flying across the fields and down the lanes, trying to work the sorrow out of
her heart.

In addition, she spent fascinated hours with Viviane’s
notebooks. She started making a list of questions to ask her mother on her
return, but mostly she soaked up knowledge. Why hadn’t she tackled this
captivating lore long ago? She knew the answer, she once felt hesitant because
of her lack of magical skills. Now she knew she could work spells and practiced
almost daily. Her confidence grew and so did her wisdom.

She began by trying to think up little things that would
help someone.

First she went to the housekeeper.

“Is there anything I can do to help, Mrs. Hodges? I know
with Jamie and me here you have too much to do and I don’t have enough.”

Mrs. Hodges protested at first and then gave a little sigh.
“My back’s getting old along with me, I’m afraid. If you could see if Mary is
properly dusting the lower rungs of the chairs. Just check on her now and
then.”

“I’d be grateful for the chance to help, Mrs. Hodges.”

She shut her eyes and wished all the dust would disappear on
the instant. When she opened her eyes to no dust she was jubilant. Mrs. Hodges
wrinkled her brow with puzzlement when she found the house spotless, but said
nothing.

Next Morgan tried something harder. The stable master’s
hands were becoming gnarled and would not easily do his bidding. Morgan cast a
spell that all the leather in the tack room would be clean and shining with
polish. She knew old Masterson was completely baffled, but it seemed well worth
it when she saw him rub the leather with glee.

She did wonder once why her very first spell had worked so
well. Surely it was not to the chestnut’s good to have its leaves fall
prematurely. Then she smiled to herself as she thought of how much it was to
her own good! And to her mother’s and all who cherished her. The chestnut
helped them all.

Next she began to utilize her new knowledge of herbs and
their benefits. She tackled the problems she constantly found on her walks and
rides around the estate. She helped an old woman’s eyesight, an old man’s
dreaded headaches, a young baby’s colic. She concocted a salve that relieved
the pain and helped straighten the stable master’s hands. She never dreamed the
country folk were beginning to compare her to her mother and blessing her.

There was so much to learn. The strong link between body and
mind became apparent as she pored over the books. Many times she’d suspected
illness was possibly caused and certainly exacerbated, by anxiety and pain. Her
mother’s notes plainly stated this to be the case. She loved gaining knowledge
and keeping herself productively busy. Her days were full and she could mostly
brush aside the thoughts of Lance picking at her mind.

Nights were the worst and she began to dread bedtime. Every
remembered kiss and caress came rushing back in the dark hours as she reviewed
his brief lovemaking. Try as she would, she couldn’t banish the images of his
beloved face and his skilled hands caressing her eager body.

She’d not heard from Lance. Now she didn’t expect to. She
was sure she could someday learn to keep him from her thoughts, or limit her
memories to at least only once an hour. In the meantime she lay awake at night
trying not to let sorrow overrule the remembered joy.

When her parents returned she would go back to London.
Although she preferred the country she was determined to allow the newlyweds
their privacy. She’d take Lily with her since she planned a longer stay. Maybe
for a long time indeed.

She was close to learning how to be of true value to those
in pain. The image of the old man’s hands lived on in her mind. She wanted to
actually cure him and felt she soon could.

She would continue her studies at London’s great libraries.
She was quite interested in the ancient Chinese herbal remedies, an area her
mother’s notes treated lightly. Her life could prove of benefit to others and
surely she would find peace, someday, for herself.

A knock on the study door interrupted her musings.

It was Mrs. Hodges, worrying again.

“Miss Morgan, is there anything I can do for you? You get so
little sleep. Some hot milk, maybe. With a fresh scone?”

“I’m fine, Mrs. Hodges. Thank you for the kind thought, but
I’ll be going up now.”

Morgan sighed as she looked at the clock and knew she’d
worry the servants if she stayed up any later. Climbing the stairs slowly, she
wondered if she would ever find a way to banish Lance from her nightly dreams.

What a shame she couldn’t work a spell on herself. A spell
keeping the precious memories, but allowing her peace.

* * * * *

Morgan was satisfied as she twirled in front of her mirror.
Her long dress of aqua chiffon hugged her hips closely and flared in the back
to a small train. Her hair was pulled on top of her head and fell in curls
around her face. Some chestnut ringlets swooped down to her neck. She peered
but couldn’t see the red highlights her new escort enthused about. She was
going out with Lt. Col. Wesley Thorndike, an officer in Her Majesty’s
Coldstream Guards. A handsome blond man, he’d called on her at her new stepfather’s
suggestion and since then escorted her to several dinners and evenings at the
theatre. He was pleasant, courteous and easy to talk to. She wanted no more.

She’d been back in London three months. Lance did not call
and she gave up expecting to ever see him again. Why her heart lurched if she
spotted a tall dark man in the distance, she didn’t want to consider. The
Goddess knew she’d struggled to bury the memory of the haunting Lord Lance.

Col. Thorndike was escorting her to the opera tonight to see
a new production of
Aida
. If her mind kept demanding she reach back to
the night Lance took her to
La Traviata
, she refused to let the memories
in.

The good-looking Col. Thorndike saw her coming down the
stairs and pretended he had to sit down. Holding his head in a mock swoon, he
staggered back against the wall.

“You’re too beautiful to be real. Are you some kind of
fairy, or an angel sent from heaven?”

She laughed at his antics, as she slowly advanced to the
foyer.

“You’re a charming idiot, Colonel. But I love it.”

He draped her opera cape around her shoulders and escorted
her to the carriage. She smiled up at him, but worried she’d soon have to
discourage him. She didn’t want him falling in love with her. It would be
unfair to him.

Their seats were as well-placed as those she and Lance once
had enjoyed. No, she wouldn’t remember that. The seats must have cost the
colonel a good deal, for they were excellent. At intermission she couldn’t stop
her traitorous eyes from looking up at the Dellafield box. To her horror, it
was occupied. The Duke and Duchess of Lambden, a haughty-looking blond woman
and Lance.

Morgan quickly averted her eyes, although she felt her whole
body blush with embarrassment as blood thudded in her ears. She scarcely heard
a note of the last act, although her attention swung back to the stage at the
magnificent Triumphal March. As the horses and chariots proceeded across the
stage in victorious array, she succeeded in concentrating once again on the
opera. She saw Wesley looking at her in puzzlement and as the final scene began
he reached over and took her hand. His grip was warm and comforting and she
smiled at him sincerely. He was a thoroughly nice man.

When she and Wesley left their seats she let him guide her
out of the auditorium with no premonition of disaster. Surely such a
prestigious party as the Duke and Duchess would have a secluded passage to and
from their box. She was not likely to encounter Lance.

She laid her hand lightly on her escort’s arm and chattered
about the dramatic triumphal march.

“I tend to think this March was a trifle overdone. I suppose
they have to be impressive, but it seemed a little ostentatious tonight.”

Wesley smiled down at her and started to speak when Morgan
heard a cultured, sweet, feminine voice.

“My dear Miss McAfee. I was so glad to see you in the
audience tonight. I wanted especially to talk to you.”

She looked up, directly at the face of the Duchess of
Lambden.

She dropped into a hasty curtsey, not realizing that every
move she made was more than graceful. She felt Lance’s eyes fastened upon her
and she rose from her curtsey with, she feared, a well-developed blush.

“Your Grace,” she said. “I thank you for the honor. May I
present Lt. Col. Thorndike to you? He’s currently in Her Majesty’s Coldstream
Guards.”

The Duchess extended her hand to Thorndike, who bowed and
kissed the air above her glove.

“You don’t know my husband, I believe, although you do know
my son.” The Duchess was still smiling warmly. “And this is Lady Belinda
Cartwright.”

The Duke nodded warmly as Morgan dipped in another curtsey
and he gave her his hand to help her rise. Lance nodded stiffly and Lady
Belinda not at all.

Morgan glanced at Lady Belinda’s frozen face and wondered if
she ever smiled at another woman. Maybe it was just Morgan she snubbed. She’d
wager the blonde beauty smiled at Lance often enough. Belinda was tall and
stately, her copious hair drawn sleekly back, formed into a impressive coil at
the base of her swan-like neck. Morgan hated her on sight. In fact, she’d hated
her at that hasty glimpse to the Lambden box.

The Duchess took Morgan’s hand in a startling gesture of
friendship, although it did not seem to surprise the Duke.

“We wanted you to convey our most sincere congratulations to
Commissioner Randall on his marriage to your beautiful mother. Will you please
extend our best wishes to them both?”

Morgan was touched they’d evidence such goodwill to her and
in such public surroundings. She glanced at Lance, who gave a slight smile and
murmured something about hoping her parents were well. Belinda the Beauty still
didn’t smile. She did, however, give a possessive tug to Lance’s sleeve.

“Shall we go, Lance? I’d like to introduce you to a few of
my friends tonight. You have such a wonderful reputation. Too, too impressive
and they’re dying to meet you.”

She smiled up at him, patted his arm and tucked her hand in
the crook of his elbow. Lance stiffened, chagrin at her lack of manners evident
to anyone who knew him well.

Morgan had had enough. If the beauty had nodded even once
she might not be quite so enraged. She consulted furiously with her inner self
and decided a slight spell might teach the blonde beauty compassion for others
and therefore be good for her. She muttered a few words under her breath.

Suddenly every blonde hair seemed to loosen at once from
Lady Belinda’s impressively smooth chignon. Each sleek hair was now kinky and
curled impossibly tight. Each hair seemed to stand by itself, reaching out in a
wild halo from her head.

She was an amazing sight. Even Morgan was surprised, mostly
at how successful she’d been. The Duke and Duchess covered their faces to try
to stifle their laughter, although Lance didn’t even try.

Lady Belinda shrieked, put her hands to her head and
shrieked again. She turned around and saw Morgan standing there, her hands to
her lips, her eyes startled.

“You did this to me,” Lady Belinda shrieked. “It had to be
you. You’re a witch!”

Morgan replied with perfect condescension. “As a matter of
fact, I think I am. However, I’m a good witch. Good people have nothing to fear
from me.”

She turned elegantly to the still amused ducal pair.

“Your graces, it’s a true honor to meet you. You are the
perfect gentlepeople I expected you to be. I’ll be most happy to convey your
greetings to my parents.”

With a curt nod to Lance, who was now snorting into his
handkerchief, she took the Colonel’s arm and swept out.

The Colonel was looking at her with what she thought was a
blend of amusement, much awe and approval.

As they went down the steps outside Covent Garden he asked
her only one question.

“Did you really do that?”

“Yes, I did. And I’m not ashamed yet. Maybe I will be
tomorrow, but not tonight.”

“You shouldn’t be tomorrow either. How you did it, I don’t
know, but she’s an obnoxious woman.”

Morgan gave in to a few giggles and then smiled her glorious
smile at him. A very nice man indeed.