The Magic Between Us (Faerie) (14 page)

“I haven’t asked her.” He would do so today. He’d live wherever she chose. Particularly now that he had his father’s blessing to do so.

“Ask lots of questions, Marcus. That’s all.” He grinned at Marcus and said, “And next time, change the damn linens so Claire won’t speculate about who’s been at the hunting lodge.” He laughed as he stood up and quit the room.

Marcus adjusted his jacket and tucked his hair behind his ears. He was dying to see Cecelia, and he didn’t want to wait another moment. If he was any happier, he would have to skip to her house like a child.

***

He knocked on the door to Claire’s house and made a move to step inside when Mr. Pritchens answered it. But Pritchens blocked his way. “Miss Hewitt is not receiving callers today, Mr. Thorne,” he said.

“What?” Certainly Cecelia wanted to see him.

“I believe you heard me.” The butler stood a little taller.

Marcus’s heart clenched in his chest. “Might I ask why?”

“Miss Hewitt is otherwise occupied.” But he didn’t look Marcus in the face when he said it.

“What happened to your jaw, Pritchens?” Marcus asked, running a finger down his own jawline.

“Rotten luck,” Pritchens said blandly.

“Sorry to hear it. Must hurt like the dickens.”

“I’ve had worse.” The man’s voice retained no inflection.

“Step aside, Pritchens,” Marcus said. “I’ll see Cecelia now.”

“No, sir,” Pritchens said, his arms spanning the doorway.

“Is she sick?” Marcus asked.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“She’s otherwise occupied.” Again, the man didn’t look him in the eye.

“Move aside, Pritchens,” Marcus growled.

“No, sir,” Pritchens said again. Marcus knew he could take the old man.

“Did she tell you why she doesn’t want to see anyone?” Marcus asked. His heart was beating like a team of runaway horses. She didn’t want to see him? How could that be?

Marcus heard whistling behind him and turned around to find Ainsley walking up the stone path that led to the front of the house. “Good morning, Marcus,” she said. She had a little skip to her step as well.

“Morning,” he grunted.

Pritchens smiled at Ainsley and stepped to the side, and she slid into the house. When Marcus went to follow, Pritchens stepped back into the doorway. “Why does she get to come in?” Marcus asked.

“Because she’s not you?” Pritchens said very directly.

Marcus’s heart was ready to break into a million pieces. “She doesn’t want to see me. But no one else’s visiting has been limited.”

The butler refused to look Marcus in the eye. “I can’t say, sir,” he said. “Would you like to leave a note?”

Marcus shook his head. “That won’t be necessary.” His heart hurt so badly that he could barely take a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” Pritchens said quietly. “Come back in a few days.”

Days? He wanted him to wait days to see her? Marcus nodded. Where there had been a spring in his step earlier, now there was none. His feet felt like they had lead weights attached to them.

They’d made love, and now she wanted nothing to do with him. It had been perfect, and now she wouldn’t even see him. She wouldn’t come to the door. Had he done something wrong? Had he hurt her without knowing it?

***

Cecelia sat in her window and listened, the sound of voices below like a hatpin stuck through her heart. Marcus’s voice was soft, and he gave up easily. Too easily. But it was for the best. He certainly couldn’t see her looking like this, could he? He would want an explanation. And this one couldn’t be explained away as having hit her eye on the wardrobe door. This one was awful. And it was even worse that her father had been the one to deal the blow. It would be at least a week before the signs of the bruise faded.

Marcus was patient and kind. He turned to look up at her window, and she pulled herself back into the curtains. She couldn’t face him right now. She just couldn’t.

“Good morning,” a voice called from her doorway. She turned around to find Ainsley walking into her room. Cecelia turned back toward the window. She didn’t want Ainsley to see her face either, but she supposed it couldn’t be avoided. At least Ainsley knew what was going on. Cecelia didn’t have to explain.

“Why was Marcus being detained at the door?” Ainsley asked as she untied her bonnet and threw it on Cecelia’s bed.

“I didn’t want to see him,” Cecelia said quietly. “Did he appear angry?”

“He was fit to be tied,” Ainsley said. “I loved it.” She laughed loudly. “I just don’t understand it, since you were together yesterday.” Ainsley’s face turned crimson.

Cecelia slowly turned to face Ainsley. She wanted to wince at the embarrassment of it, but doing so would hurt too much.

Ainsley’s choked gasp was all the proof Cecelia needed that her face looked as bad as she’d assumed. “What the devil happened to you?” Ainsley asked, running to appraise the fresh bruise. She poked at it with her finger, and Cecelia had to brush her hand away.

“That hurts,” she said.

“I’m not surprised,” Ainsley said. “It looks like it hurts terribly.”

What hurt terribly wasn’t her eye. It was the fact that she could finally admit her love for Marcus, but she couldn’t see him. “Ainsley,” she said, her voice cracking.

“Your father did this.” Ainsley didn’t ask. She just gathered Cecelia in her arms, and Cecelia nodded into her shoulder. “Someone should horsewhip the man every time he picks up a bottle,” she ground out.

“He’s sick. I know he’s sick,” Cecelia explained. “He’s been so sad since Mother died.”

“Has he ever tried to stop drinking?”

“He’s tried more times than I can count. What am I going to do, Ainsley?” she asked.

“You can’t keep this a secret,” Ainsley said.

“I can’t tell anyone,” Cecelia cried. She didn’t want to see the pity on their faces. Nor the sneers. Nor did she want her father to be judged.

Ainsley wrung her hands together. “I can’t, Cece,” she finally said.

“What?” She couldn’t have heard her right.

“I can’t keep your secret. Not this time.”

“I don’t understand.”

Ainsley took Cecelia’s hand in her own and squeezed tightly, so tightly it nearly hurt. “I love you too much to let this continue.” She grabbed her bonnet from the bed and put it on, tying it tightly. “I’m going to talk to Allen. I need some help with this.”

“You can’t, Ainsley.” Cecelia rushed to follow her from the room. “You can’t tell anyone,” Cecelia called to her friend’s retreating back.

Suddenly, Ainsley turned back to her. “I can’t not tell anyone. Don’t ask me to do that.” Her eyes shone with unshed tears.

Then Ainsley turned and fled through the front door.

Cecelia walked downstairs, her feet heavy on the treads, and sank down on the settee. Mr. Pritchens flopped down beside her. “Finally,” he breathed.

She reached out and blindly took his hand, unable to see through her tears. “Finally,” she repeated.

What if Marcus was too hurt by her rejection to come and help her?

“He’ll come,” Mr. Pritchens said. She didn’t even need to explain. “I feel somewhat sorry for your father when he does. But Mr. Thorne will come.”

Marcus spent the day riding the land. He hadn’t checked on his holdings or the spiders that knitted their clothing or the mill or anything else in months. He still had holdings on this land, and he needed to take better care of them. He spoke with his tenants and made a list of things they needed, just as he’d done in the other world.

He’d kept track throughout the day and made a mental list of things he needed to check tomorrow.

By the time he returned home, the sun had set and it was pitch black outside. The moon was hidden behind dark clouds, and the stillness of the night was nearly ominous. Even the crickets had stopped chirping. Something was wrong. A hush in the land of the fae was never a good thing.

Marcus threw his reins to a waiting groom and walked briskly to the front door. He found his family, every last one of his family members, sitting silently in the front room. “Who died?” he asked as he looked from one to the other. None of them jumped up to tell him anything, but they all looked decidedly uncomfortable.

“Someone had better start talking!” he shouted.

His father stepped forward and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Did something happen to Grandmother?” he asked, his chest hurting all of a sudden. He dropped into a chair.

His grandmother bustled around the corner. “I’m here, darling,” she said. “I don’t know why he assumed it would be me,” she said playfully, her eyes sparkling.

“Then what’s wrong?” he asked.

Ainsley sat forward, and she began to speak, her eyes filling with tears. She choked on the words, and Allen pulled her into his chest.

“Is it Cecelia?” he asked.

“Yes,” his father said.

No. It couldn’t be Cecelia. It couldn’t be. “What happened?”

Ainsley composed herself and said, “She didn’t want me to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” Marcus barked. Someone had better come forth with some news soon, or he would go mad.

“She refused to see you this morning,” Ainsley said.

He nodded. “What of it?”

“She didn’t want to see you because her eye is swollen to the size of a turtle’s back and she has a bruise on her cheek.”

Marcus jumped to his feet.

“I had to tell you,” she called to him. He turned around and walked to her, pulling her to him for a quick hug.

“It’s all right. I’ll sort it all out.” He was trying to calm himself just as much as he was trying to calm her.

He said to himself as he walked toward the door, “I shouldn’t have taken no for an answer.”

“Wait, Marcus,” his father said. “I want to go with you.”

“Me, too,” Lord Phineas said, as he got to his feet.

Allen stood up and started for the door, as did Robinsworth.

“That bad, is it?” Marcus asked.

The women in the room looked at one another, and Ainsley was silently weeping.

“I really don’t need help finding the place,” Marcus said.

“I’m not worried that you’ll need help with that,” his father said.

“Who hit her?” Marcus asked, looking toward Ainsley.

“Her father,” she whispered.

Marcus took off at a run toward Cecelia’s house. Every man in the household joined him, as did his mother. “I’m going for Cecelia’s sake,” she explained. “Not for the rest of you.”

Marcus didn’t stop. He ran all the way to the door. When he got there, Mr. Pritchens was already pulling it open. He stepped to the side and Marcus said, “Where is she?”

“I knew you would come,” Pritchens said, his chest swelling.

Marcus gathered the lapels of Pritchens’s jacket in his hands and got in his face. “Tell me where she is,” he said quietly.

A thump came from the corridor where Mr. Hewitt’s office was located. Pritchens nodded in that direction.

“Mr. Pritchens!” Cecelia yelled, as she stormed out of her father’s study, but she came to a halt when she saw Marcus running toward her.

She reached up to cover her face. “Marcus,” she said, closing her eyes as he pulled her hands back to look at her.

Her eye was swollen shut, and the skin around it was an alarming shade of purple. He pushed her cheekbone gently with the pad of his thumb. “I’m surprised it’s not broken,” he said.

He drew her into his chest. He would draw her into himself, if he could. But then a crash sounded behind them. “I’ll get that,” Pritchens said.

“Father, will you…” Marcus began. But Lord Ramsdale was already moving in that direction, along with Robinsworth, Allen, and Lord Phineas. They were a force to be reckoned with.

Cecelia grabbed his hands. “Don’t let them hurt him,” she pleaded. “When he’s foxed, he sometimes does things.”

“How long has this been going on?” Marcus asked. He didn’t need an answer to that, since even once was too often.

“Since right after my mother died.” Cecelia’s voice broke, and she buried her face in his chest.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

“You weren’t here to tell,” she said softly.

She may as well have kicked him in the gut. All the breath left his body. She was right, though. He hadn’t been there for her to lean upon. He hadn’t been there because he had been trying to be human. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his own voice breaking as he held her.

Marcus set her back from him, and his mother stepped forward. He said, “Trust me to take care of your father?”

She drew her lower lip between her teeth and said, “Do you promise you won’t hurt him?”

He nodded. He wanted to kill him. But she would never leave if she thought harm would come to her father.

“He doesn’t want to be like this.”

“I’m going to help him, Cece.”

“All right,” she said with a nod.

Marcus leaned forward and kissed her. He kissed her hard, with every bit of the passion in his body. “I love you so much,” he said.

“I love you, too,” she whispered back, smiling through her tears.

“Go home with Mother,” he said. He gave her a gentle push toward the door.

“But…” she began to protest, until his mother drew her into her arms and held her like she was her own daughter.

“We need to go,” his mother urged. “Let Marcus take care of him.”

“He doesn’t want to be like this,” she said again, panic in her voice.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to your bloody father,” Marcus said. Cecelia flinched. “I promise, Cece. But you have to get out of here.”

A crash sounded in the study, but Marcus wouldn’t let her walk back there.

He bent at the waist and hoisted her over his shoulder. She squealed and held tightly to the back of his coat. “Put me down, Marcus,” she said.

“No.” There was no way he would let her stay there. Not right now. He walked out the front door and carried her over his shoulder all the way to his parents’ house, where he walked through the door. She’d just about given up the fight when they arrived, and the ladies all jumped to their feet when he entered the house. His mother clucked a warning behind him.

“Claire,” Marcus said, and she came forward.

“What can I do for you?” she asked. She bent over and looked into Cecelia’s face. “Oh, dear, you do look dreadful,” Claire said.

“Thank you,” Cecelia said, her nose stuffy from being upside down. She sniffled.

“Put her down, Marcus,” Claire said. “The poor thing has had enough.”

“Not until she’s safe,” Marcus said, shaking his head. “Can you take her back through the painting to the human world? I don’t want her father to be able to find her. Not until we get things sorted out.”

***

Marcus had her thrown over his shoulder like a sack of feed, and she hadn’t had enough fight in her to protest.

“You’re certain you want her to go?” Claire asked.

He nodded. “It’s the only way.”

“We’ll all go,” Sophia said.

Claire nodded. “We’ll all go.”

“We have to get the children,” Claire and Sophia said at the same time.

“Do you have the painting, Claire?” he asked, growing impatient.

She reached behind a heavy curtain. “It’s been here all along.”

Marcus took her hand in his and prepared to step into the painting with her. “Me first,” his mother said. “You can’t just thrust her in the human world with no one there.”

She took his hand from Claire’s and replaced it with her own, and then she walked into the painting and was gone. “Your turn,” Claire said. “We’ll follow in a very short time.”

She patted the back of Cecelia’s leg, and Cecelia laughed at the absurdity of it. “I’m glad you find this amusing,” Marcus groused at her.

“I feel like a sack of grain, Marcus,” she said, laughing louder. “I can’t help it.”

“She’s delirious,” Marcus grumbled. But he took Claire’s hand and walked into the painting. When he got to the other side, he dropped Cecelia to her feet. She swayed for a moment as the pinkness receded from her cheeks. “Did I hurt your face?” he asked, taking her face in his gentle hands. Marcus had such gentle hands. He always had.

“I’m fine.” She straightened her skirts. She was still dressed as a faerie. She would have to remedy that.

He turned to go back, but she jerked his arm and pulled him to her. His mother turned her back, thank goodness. Because she planned to kiss this man. And she planned to kiss him thoroughly. Her lips met his, and it wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was a wild clash of teeth and tongues.

“I love you, Marcus,” she said, pressing her forehead against his. His breathing was heavy and thick. Claire’s hand was still extended through the painting, and she snapped her fingers to bring him back.

Ainsley popped her head into the painting next and said, “I’ll be along shortly. I have to notify my father.”

“All right,” Cecelia laughed.

“I’ll see you as soon as I can,” Marcus said, his voice tight.

“Take care of yourself,” Cecelia said.

He hugged her to him, his embrace tight enough to make her squeak. And then he left her standing there in his mother’s entryway. Cecelia turned to Lady Ramsdale, who drew her into her arms.

“I think I forgot my daughters in the land of the fae,” she said with a laugh.

“I’m so sorry to put you through this,” Cecelia said.

Lady Ramsdale squeezed her. “You’re a daughter to me, too,” she said. “I can never take your mother’s place, but I love you just as much as if I’d given birth to you, Cecelia.”

Tears pricked at the backs of Cecelia’s lashes. “I hope you do, because I plan to marry that man.”

The rest of the ladies made it through the painting, all in good time, including Lady Ramsdale’s daughters.

“Let’s have some Madeira in my private sitting room, shall we?” Lady Ramsdale asked all the adults.

Cecelia nodded. If this was to be her new family, she couldn’t have chosen a better one for herself.

***

Marcus let himself back in when he got to Cecelia’s house. He peeked his head into Mr. Hewitt’s study and found all of them, Mr. Hewitt included, playing cards. Mr. Hewitt could barely hold his head up. But he was still drinking.

“What’s going on?” Marcus asked.

“Vingt-et-un,” his father said. “Do you want to play?”

Marcus motioned toward the corridor. His father passed his cards to Mr. Pritchens, who took his place.

“Why are you playing cards?” he asked.

“It was Robinsworth’s idea.” His father shrugged.

“What’s the theory behind it?”

“He’s drunk and belligerent. And he’s not going to get any better. So, it’s best to let him fall asleep in his cups and then talk to him when he’s sober. He’ll be more receptive.”

Marcus nodded. He really wanted to pin Mr. Hewitt to the wall by his throat. But he had promised Cecelia he wouldn’t hurt her father. There would be plenty of time to talk to him tomorrow when he was sober. Then they would figure out what to do next.

***

“I want you to take all the spirits from the house,” Mr. Hewitt said. “I want them removed. Every last drop.”

His eyes shone with unshed tears. But Marcus couldn’t drum up enough sympathy for him. Or any. He’d hit Cecelia. He’d hurt her. More than once.

The only reason he was there trying to help the man was because Cecelia had asked him to. “We won’t return it to you,” Marcus clarified.

“I don’t want you to,” Mr. Hewitt said, shaking his head.

They’d informed him of his misdeeds when he’d woken up that morning, and he’d taken it none too gently. The last thing he remembered when he woke was a rousing game of cards. He didn’t remember going to sleep. Before he’d fallen too deeply into his cups, they had him write a note to himself, just to prove that he did things he didn’t and couldn’t remember when he was foxed.

He didn’t remember writing the note, but the evidence was there in front of him when he woke.

“We won’t allow you to get more,” Marcus said.

“Tie me up and put me in a room,” Mr. Hewitt said. “I’m a danger to myself. And to others. And to my daughter.” His voice cracked. “Bloody hell,” he swore. “How did it come to this?”

Marcus refused to allow Cecelia’s father to justify his actions with his grieving, even though he was. He was a drunkard, plain and simple. He drank too much, and he did stupid things when he drank. Therefore, he must not drink anymore.

“There will be no servants in the house while you get sober,” Marcus warned. “Not even Mr. Pritchens.”

Mr. Pritchens opened his mouth to protest. “But…” he began. Marcus held up a hand, and Mr. Pritchens silenced himself.

“Mr. Pritchens has a fondness for you. And he must leave because he might see your weakness and feel the need to make you happy again when things go poorly. And they will go very poorly.”

“I’ve stopped drinking before,” Mr. Hewitt said. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“You suffered a great loss when Mrs. Hewitt died. And you tried to fill the void. We understand that. But if you want us to help you, we have to do it our way.”

He nodded. “Let’s do it.”

“Get all the spirits, Mr. Pritchens,” Marcus said. They dumped every drop out the window together.

“These next few weeks will be difficult for you,” Marcus warned. “You’ll probably vomit. You’ll perspire. You’ll not be able to sleep. You’ll curse the day we were born.”

Mr. Hewitt looked from one person to another. “You’re all going to stay?” He heaved a sigh. “I feel terrible keeping you all from your families.”