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

slept poorly, waking over and over, and now, in the
darkness before dawn, discouragement pressed about her like a dense gray cloud.
But she mustn’t let fatigue deter her, or, although she would never admit it, a
prickling of fear. Today was the most important day of her life.
    She dressed hurriedly in a shift and an old wool round gown
that had once belonged to her mother, who had died when she was a child. It was
a little too big for her, so getting it on and off would be quick and easy. She
had to do without stays, for she couldn’t lace them without help. For once,
Peony was glad of her small breasts; nevertheless, she felt dreadfully fast
without her stays.
    How could anyone imagine Lord Elderwood would take the
slightest interest in her? A rake such as he wouldn’t think much of her tiny
bosom after bedding buxom women far and wide.
    She tied her hair with a ribbon and, gripping her half boots in
one hand and a candlestick in the other, she tiptoed on stocking feet past
Lucasta’s room, past Papa’s and Aunt Edna’s, and down the staircase to the side
door. She sat on the bottom step, donned her boots and stood. Ready to go.
    She didn’t feel ready. She felt like crawling cravenly back to
her bedchamber. Instead, she shoved up the latch. The thud seemed to echo in the
silent house. She blew out her candle, set it on a nearby shelf and opened the
door.
    She’d never been outdoors alone at night. Dawn couldn’t be too
far away, but the moon had set, and it was very, very dark. She picked her way
along the twisting paths of the herb garden, squeezed through the orchard gate
and ventured between the ranks of Papa’s prize pear trees. A solitary bird burst
into song. Leaves rustled over her head, and something fluttered in the
hedgerow. Behind her, a twig crackled. She whirled...
    No one. It must be some nocturnal animal returning to its
burrow.
    A whisper of light showed in the eastern sky by the time she
reached the ride that circled the wood, and all around her birds greeted the
day. She hurried through the brief stretch of woodland that led to the meadow,
her heart pounding madly now.
    She stood at the edge of the lovely little circle of open land
to catch her breath. No one knew why it was called the Enchanted Meadow, but at
daybreak it certainly felt so. The very air seemed to glow. For a long moment,
she gulped it in and watched.
    Again, no one was about. In this enlightened age, no one rolled
in the dew. She might be a fool, but she was alone and perfectly safe.
    She tossed her shawl over one of the hawthorn bushes that edged
the meadow and sat on the wet grass to remove her boots. She laid her stockings
on top of the shawl, followed by her gown. Morning was breaking; it was now or
never. She pulled her shift over her head, laid it on another bush and waded
naked into the meadow.
    Dew, quivery cold and wet, brushed her legs. She bent and ran
her hands through the fresh green grasses. She raised the dew to her lips and,
in a silent prayer, begged for the boon of love.
    Then she shivered, lay down and rolled.
    * * *
    Sir Alexis Court was already bored with the London
Season when his friend Lord Elderwood came up to him at Tattersall’s one brisk
April day, saying he wanted to visit Whistleby Priory. A journey to Warwickshire
sounded just as tedious as London, and when Alexis demanded to know why,
Elderwood grinned and said, “You don’t want to know.”
    Which meant it had to do with Elderwood’s absurd fascination
with folk magic. Alexis rolled his eyes but agreed to arrange the visit and
accompany him. Alexis’s mother, whose sole aim in life was to see him married,
was once again pestering him to wed Lucasta Barnes and be done with it. As often
happened, he found himself giving thanks for the day Lucasta had come to him in
distress, begging him to pretend to become engaged to her. Lucasta wished to
remain single, but her uncle wanted her married and off his hands. With her
mother only a few months in