The Bewitching Hour Read Free Page A

and sugar and handed it to Priscilla.
      “Would you care for anything else?” he asked her.
      “Arsenic,” she muttered beneath her breath.
      He raised a brow and almost smiled. “I beg your pardon?”
      “No, thank you, Beldon.”
      He bowed and left the room.
      With reluctance, she turned to her cousin. “Now, what could you possibly have done that would ruin you?”
      Lips trembling, Mary looked up at her. “I wrote several letters to a gentleman three years ago. Improper letters.”
      Priscilla drew her brows together. “Improper letters? Mary, you’ve just turned eighteen. What could you have composed at age fifteen that would have been improper?”
      “I thought I was in love. The letters were filled with passion. I’m capable of deep feelings, and I dared to express them on paper. If they surface, I’m ruined." She hauled in a shuddering breath. "Completely ruined.”
      “But why would they surface now?”
      “The man I wrote them to has returned for the season for the first time in three years. Even if he hasn’t shown them to anyone, the fact that I wrote them could slip out. Men so love to brag. This is the only thing I’ve done in my entire life that was wrong. If Bertie’s mama finds out, she’ll never let us marry.” A new crop of tears ran down her cheeks.
      As Priscilla sipped her tea, she tried to find an iota of logic in Mary's fears. Finding none, she asked, “Have you finished weeping for the moment?”
      Mary blew her nose loudly on her handkerchief and nodded.
      “I can’t see where this is a problem. You were very young and I doubt whoever you wrote to will speak of it.
      Mary’s lower lip began to tremble.
      “Listen to me, Mary. If you want my help, you must stop sobbing. Do you understand me?”
      “Yes.” She dashed away her tears with her fingertips.
      “That's better." Priscilla tried to smile. "Now, tell me who you wrote these letters to.”
      “Lord Stratton.”
      A groan escaped Priscilla's lips. Lord Stratton! Blast and double blast. Why does it have to be him? “Perhaps he didn’t receive them,” she said hopefully.
      Mary pursed her lips. “I know that he did. I sent them with a trusted messenger. And they were such that he could not forget. If this gets out, I’ll just die. Lady Bertram has said that if there is anything in my past--anything at all that would reflect poorly on the family she won’t allow the engagement. She’ll never let Bertie marry me if she finds out I wrote those letters.” Mary hiccupped. “She doesn’t like me at all. According to her, my family isn't good enough; I’m too emotional, too childish, too selfish, too everything to be a good viscountess. Why Papa had to increase my dowry to get her to even consider giving her permission for me to marry Bertie. And she treats Bertie as if he were twelve years old instead of a grown man.”
      Priscilla found herself nodding sympathetically. Lady Bertram was both domineering and mean spirited. She couldn’t imagine a worse mother-in-law. But Mary was determined to marry Bertie and Bertie seemed just as determined to marry her.
      “She can be very difficult,” she agreed.
      “You must help me.”
      Priscilla’s patience was wearing thin. “As you just said, Bertie’s a grown man. If he wishes to marry you, I don’t see how she could stop him.”
      “Mama’s taking me to Bath,” Mary continued as if she hadn't heard her. “We leave in a few days. I’ve been terribly despondent and she feels that the healing waters may be beneficial. I don't wish to go but I simply can't stay here." She sniffed. "She assumes my nerves are due to the engagement. I’ve developed spots. I certainly can’t have spots when our engagement is formally announced.”
      Priscilla narrowed