Fair Maiden (22 page)

Dropping into a delicate curtsy, Tessa conceded, “Yes, my
lady.” Unfortunately, her fears about the state of her physical body showed
through.

And Lady Sparks was far too sharp-eyed to not notice, even
if she would likely misinterpret them. The pretty woman rocked her head
sideways to consider Tessa another time. Her ear bobbles wiggled back and forth
as the growing fire illuminated the garnet color of them. A ringlet tumbled
down her fair cheek, and whilst the lock was laced with gray, the color of it
reminded Contessa of Christian, and it whispered a promise of what he might
look like with age-frosted waves of brown. The marchioness’s eyes were as
bright as Emma’s, even with enough years behind them to be the mother of a
grown man. Again she thought of Christian’s future. His eyes would smile,
adding handsome crinkles to the beguiling flash of dimple. Internally she
sighed, for she so wanted that future—with him.

“Do you not wish to marry him?”

“Oh, no, my lady. I do. But I do not wish for him to feel
trapped into it.”

“He should have considered that before he lured you to his
bedchamber.”

Contessa could feel the blush that rushed up her neck and
enflamed her cheeks. She wished to defend him, to argue his innocence. But she
was unable to escape the truth. He had done just that. Of course she knew his
intentions had not been twisted with the same selfish reason the prince had.
And she did not blame him, nor did she hold him accountable. In this, she
shared the shame, for she had gone willingly with him.

A soft knock sounded at the door.

“Enter,” called Lady Sparks.

The door opened, presenting Tabitha along with Jackson who held a tray, then after offering a curtsy and a bow, they entered.

“I am Mrs. Tuttlepot, Contessa’s chaperone. I will see to
her.” As she spoke, Tabitha smoothed a rebellious ringlet back into her tight
chignon. And Tessa understood why the woman normally didn’t bother with any
sort of controlled hair styles.

“And where were you when Christian compromised her?”

“The foolish lad waited until I had retired to pull this
sneaky stunt.”

“I’ve brought warmed milk and a selection of cakes,” offered
Jackson, obviously attempting to divert the criticisms from his master.

“Warmed milk? And cake?” Contessa asked, edging eagerly
closer to the older man.

He smiled and his eyes crinkled up at the corners. “Yes,
dear. Sit down by the fire and I will serve you.”

“Thank you, Jackson, thank you,” she said, settling into the
settee situated upon a rug near the flickering flames which licked their way up
and around the fresh log. The maid brushed her palms off onto her apron,
curtsied quickly and scurried from the chamber.

“Mmm,” she muttered as the milky warmth filled her mouth and
then slid down her throat to settle soothingly into her stomach, heating her
from the inside as, at the same time, the fire worked its way through her gown,
and chemise, and skin.

It felt splendid to be alive, and, she thought with a smile,
the price she’d paid was quite worth it.

She had almost forgotten about Tabitha and Lady Sparks until
the latter said, “Contessa, dear, at breakfast we will discuss locations for
your wedding.” Lady Sparks swept toward her, the satin of her gown swished
around her ankles and she bent to kiss the air on either side of Tessa’s face.

Their gazes held momentarily, and her earlier concerns
returned. What was she to do? Another mother-in-law-to-be would plan her
nuptials just as in the past. The knowledge niggled at her contentment and she
looked down into the milk, noting the way the glass warmed her fingers. Her
palms pressed to the heat too, savoring the external sensation. Whilst she did
like Christian’s mother, she was disappointed in the repeat of this plot. After
swallowing, she said, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Sleep well, child.” And Lady Sparks brushed a gentle hand
along her cheek.

“Goodnight,” she returned, as the marchioness left.

A moment of silence lingered, during which Contessa took
another sip, and then sampled the cake.

“Oh, love, how could you?” asked Tabitha.

Lifting heavy eyelids, any reply fled with the sight that
greeted her. Contessa gasped with her cake-laden fork paused between plate and
mouth as she watched Tabitha use magic to levitate her trunk into the chamber
and begin sending the garments sailing into the wardrobe and dresser as if by
their own power.

Apparently Jackson was equally taken aback, his speech
trembled and creaked as he said, “If you need anything else, my lady, you may
simply ring for me.” He motioned to a rope dangling near the head of the bed,
his face as white as hers had been in ghostly form.

“Thank you so much for the bedtime indulgence.”

“My pleasure.” She feared the old fellow might not make it
to the door, he was trembling so fiercely. However, upon wobbly limbs he did
manage it, and was gone, leaving her alone with a witch and her witchcraft.

Tabitha really looked the part with her wrinkly hands waving
about as she mumbled words of some spell. Wisps of red hair were escaping her
bun willy-nilly, and the glitter of magic emanated from her fingertips,
creating a purple glow about her face and torso. Oddly enough, however,
watching Tabitha work magic seemed familiar enough to make her wonder if
perhaps it had been part of her life before.

Remembering her food, Tessa closed the gap between it and
her mouth, watching Tabitha unpack all of her new belongings without touching a
single item. Then, “Oh!” when she saw again the reticule that matched her day
dress drift toward an open drawer, and remembered what had been inside. “May I
have the chocolate in that bag?”

Halting and turning to face her, Tabitha flicked her wrist
and the reticule came sailing toward her, then dropped onto the settee and
bounced once before rolling to the edge of the cushion.

Contessa reached for it, loosened the drawstring and lifted
a gold-foil wrapped candy from within.

As she peeled the foil away, Tabitha again inquired,
“Contessa, why did you go to his chamber?”

The witch had finished unpacking, hit the trunk with a
muttered incantation which caused the lid to snap closed and then moved to take
up a seat next to her.

Letting the sweet confection coat her tongue, Tessa fiddled
with the wrapping until it tore into strips of thin gold. She stared at the
mess momentarily and then dropped it piece by piece onto the silver tray upon
the table before her. “He asked me to—no, that is not correct—he begged, and I
wanted so badly to remain alive that I went.”

She touched the embellished silk of her wedding gown and
added, “It worked. I cannot regret how it turned out.”

“But now you are forced to wed.”

Tessa could not help the shrug of her shoulders. “I do not
mind.” Remembering something, she turned to face Tabitha. “What did you mean
when you said after Christian wedded, he could pay you?”

A sudden sheepishness encompassed the witch’s tiny face and
Tessa lost eye contact with the woman. “It was nothing. Simply another one of
my unreliable impressions.”

“Will we truly get married?” She attempted to not sound as
hopeful as she was feeling.

Gathering a chocolate for herself, Tabitha smiled and shook
her head. A couple more of the bound red curls escaped and sprang like coils
around her face. “I never know anything for certain.”

“Hmm.”

Around a mouthful of chocolate, the witch said, “Are you
ready to dress for bed, my lady?”

Finishing off the last of the milk and cake, Tessa nodded
and uncurled from the settee.

Chapter
24

Intentional

At breakfast, Mother prattled on and on about wedding
preparations: the color of the flowers, the flavor of the cake, the location,
and even what Tessa’s gown should look like. Scowling, Christian could not help
but wonder why she thought she had the right when she believed Contessa’s
mother remained amongst the living. Yet he certainly wasn’t about to bring it
up.

“Are you still returning home today, Mother?” he said, truly
attempting to sound dismayed rather than eager, but the look Mother angled his
way showed that he’d failed.

“I think I will stay until noon, now that Lady Contessa is
with us.” The marchioness broke a piece from her hot cross bun, then added, “We
must have a ball to announce your engagement.”

The mention of dancing did cause a smile to touch Tessa’s
mouth, but the fear that clouded her jewel-tone eyes remained. He had the same
concerns. How long would she remain solid? What if, while they danced, or
worse, what if while she danced with his father or his brother she vanished? He
really had to find some way of preventing these scenarios before they actually
happened. He looked to Tabitha, planning to speak with her privately about
trying more spells, but it would have to be discussed later when he was certain
Mother was not anywhere within hearing or eavesdropping distance.

Mainly because Mother watched every move he made with such
scrutiny he was beginning to feel self-conscious. He cut up Tessa’s food for
her, knowing it was proper for the man to serve his lady in that way while
dining, and he didn’t want to give Mother any reason to chastise him if he did
not act the gentleman

Once he was finished cutting, Contessa said, “Thank you,”
and gathered her fork and knife to begin eating.

He could see how nervous she was, and felt a grin lifting
his mouth as he chewed. Living or dead this girl remained intriguing and
innocently entertaining to watch as she rejoined his world in the flesh.

“The ball must be scheduled very soon,” Mother went on. “We
wouldn’t want any scandal. I think something at the end of the month would be
best.”

With that only being two weeks away, Christian stiffened in
his seat and stole another look at Tabitha. The witch seemed much more
interested in her boiled egg than the sticky situation they were in. “Mrs.
Tuttlepot, will you be able to aid us in preparations for a ball?” The question
was meant to be cryptic enough for the witch to understand he wasn’t talking
about the same preparations his mother was discussing.

Tabitha spared one glance in Contessa’s direction before
meeting his. “I will check my, er, schedule, but I cannot make any
commitments.”

He didn’t like that response at all and bit into a mouthful
of bacon with unnecessary violence.

Without warning, Tessa’s cutleries clanked to the dish,
rolled off and then thumped to the table. His eyes shot to her face and he
choked. Sputtering her name repeatedly in a soft voice, he leaned forward
because even though he could still see her, to his mother’s eyes, she would
have disappeared.

Contessa became opaque and he released the breath he hadn’t
realized he was holding.

“Is everything all right?” asked Mother.

“It was my fault,” Christian lied. “I accidentally bumped
her elbow with mine, and she dropped her fork and knife.”

“Be careful, Son.”

“Yes, Mother.”

His hands trembled as he placed the cutlery back into hers.
He could not disguise his shock at the fact that even though she’d just
transformed into a ghost and back into the living, her attire had also shifted
from the green dress she was wearing to the golden gown and back to the green
dress. In the past, her wedding gown had remained until she’d physically
removed it.

A tremulous breath escaped his mouth and he looked to Tabitha
again.

The witch offered a very subtle shake of her head in reply.

Contessa set the flatware onto the table as though she were
afraid to touch it. “I-I must excuse myself…if you please. I am finished.” Her
voice came out as a weak whisper and he understood she was more terrified of
repeating the incident than wanting to continue eating.

“Yes, of course,” he said, but just as the words left his
lips, she again returned to spirit form.

He needed a diversion, and quick. Scanning the table, his
eyes landed on the sugar dish and he reached for it. Putting a desperate plan
in motion, Christian fumbled intentionally and angled the fall causing crystal
cubes to tumble toward his mother’s plate. While attempting to gather them, he
knocked over his mother’s cup. Tea saturated the tablecloth, a stain of brown
blossomed on the white linen. It seeped toward his mother putting her gown at
risk. Perfect, he thought, watching what didn’t make it to the table puddle
into Mother’s breakfast.

As Mother cursed him for being so clumsy and franticly
struggled to protect her gown he lunged from his seat, praying she was too
distracted to see what was going on, and tugged the chair out for Tessa. Just
as unpredictably as before, she returned to solid form, but this time the medieval
gown of golden silk remained. He swept her into his arms and prayed his mother
would not notice her gown was now gold instead of a soft green.

“Is she ill?” he heard Mother ask. Her voice sounded
muffled, and he hoped that meant she wasn’t watching him as he swept around the
door and out of sight.

“I fear that perhaps the eggs did not sit well with her this
morning,” offered Tabitha.

“Is the girl’s health so fragile? Is she unwell?” his mother
asked as he adjusted his hold on Tessa and moved toward the staircase. Of
course with his continued odd behavior she would begin to think such things. He
had to control this situation better or Mother would think he was wedding an
invalid, and just might add physicians to the fiasco, complicating things worse
than they were already. What would a doctor discover? He looked at her.

She was frowning down at that darn wedding gown. “Ick. I
used to like this dress.”

He chuckled. “Let’s get you changed back into the green one
before Mother comes looking for us.”

“Will it be in my chamber?”