The Magic of His Touch (May Day Mischief) by Barbara Monajem Page A

about him that is positively strange. He gives me the
shivers.”
    Lucasta set down her pen, raising elegant brows. Everything
about Lucasta was elegant—her face and figure, her graceful carriage, her
confidence and composure. “Surely he’s not that dreadful.”
    “He’s not bad-looking,” Peony said. “In fact, most women find
him attractive. Haven’t you noticed? At each occasion, a different one is seen
hanging on his arm, and more than one poor girl has gone into a decline because
he didn’t return her interest.”
    Those brows became incredulous—almost scornful. “That gives you
the shivers?”
    Peony shook her head. “No, it’s that he doesn’t even try to
attract them. He practically ignores them, and yet they come to him like moths
to a flame. It’s...uncanny.”
    Lucasta’s shrug was so faint as to be almost nonexistent. She
frowned at something on the page and picked up her pen again.
    “The idea of marrying him makes me ill,” Peony said. “I tried
to discuss it with Papa. I told him I disliked the earl and would never consider
marrying him, but he said I must do my duty and obey Aunt Edna, and if the earl
is so kind as to offer for me, I must accept.”
    “Calm down,” Lucasta said. “He won’t offer for you.”
    “I know that!” cried Peony, hurt in spite of herself at
Lucasta’s callous acknowledgment of her lack of feminine charms. “I shall be
shoved forward and scolded and mortified while he’s here, and berated and pitied
when he’s gone.” Peony’s insides churned at the thought of it all. Lucasta meant
well, but the last thing Peony needed was a painful reminder that most likely no
one would offer for her. Ever.
    Unless she called him to her side with magic. “I can’t bear it
anymore. If by rolling in the dew I shall find my true love—”
    “You won’t,” Lucasta said, painstakingly at work on her
folklore research once again. “It’s nothing but a foolish custom. If it ever had
any result, it’s because young men who wanted to gape at silly girls got caught
doing so and were forced into marriage.” She sniffed. “There is no such thing as
magic.”
    Yes , there is . Magic was a great part of the heritage of
Whistleby Priory, which over the centuries had had more than its fair share of
ghosts, hobgoblins, fairy rings and so forth, although not, as far as Peony
knew, that particular May Day custom.
    * * *
    There was always a first time.
    “No modern woman in her right mind would disrobe at dawn on the
first of May—or any day, for that matter—and roll in a meadow,” Lucasta said.
“At best, she will be stared at by curious wildlife and catch cold, and at
worst... I shudder to think.”
    Some cowardly part of Peony shuddered, as well. To be sure,
calling upon magic was a little risky, but she’d had enough of the alternative,
which was much, much worse.
    “I wish I hadn’t told you about it,” Lucasta said.
    “And I’m passionately glad you did.” Peony mustn’t let her
cousin’s worried frown deter her. Tomorrow was the first of May; Sir Alexis and
Lord Elderwood were due to arrive any day now. “I believe it’s meant to be. At
any other time of year, I shouldn’t have had this option. I’d have been obliged
to go through torment while the earl was here and for months afterward. Either
that, or try to change Aunt Edna’s mind.”
    “Now, that really would require magic,” Lucasta said.
    * * *
    In the chill of the next morning, Peony wasn’t so sure
magic was on her side or that it even existed. Lucasta had spent the evening
arguing and cajoling by turns, promising to support Peony through all the social
occasions that loomed ahead. This was noble of her, since she would far rather
concentrate on her research, but it wouldn’t work. Peony would appear more
awkward than ever when contrasted with her cousin’s elegant figure and cool
self-possession. Eventually Peony had pretended to waver, just to get Lucasta to
leave her be.
    She’d