Again the Magic (Wallflowers 0.5)(38)

“Not in the least. She told him that if he did not let her enter your room, she would cast a spell on him.”

Aline had grinned at that. “Marcus doesn’t believe in magic or witchcraft—he’s far too practical.”

“Yes, but he’s a man, after all. And it seems the spell she threatened to use would have removed his…his…” Livia had begun to choke with laughter. “His manly potency,” she managed to gasp out. “Well, the very idea was enough to turn Marcus pale, and after some fierce negotiating, he told the witch that she had exactly one hour to spend in your room, and he was going to watch her the entire time.”

Livia had described the scene that had ensued, the blue candles…the circle that had been drawn around her bed with a sage smudge stick…the incense that had saturated the air with a pungent haze while the witch performed her rituals.

To everyone’s amazement, Aline had lived through the night. When the herb-dressed sheets that covered her were removed in the morning, her wounds were no longer putrid, but clean and beginning to heal. Unfortunately, the witch’s remarkable abilities had not been able to prevent the formation of thick, elevated red scars that went from Aline’s ankles to the tops of her thighs. Her legs were hideous…there was no other word for it. Her feet, which had been encased in leather shoes at the time of her accident, had mercifully been spared much of the damage. However, in the areas where large expanses of skin had been destroyed, the scar tissue had pulled tightly at the edges of remaining skin, affecting the movement of muscles and joints beneath. Walking was occasionally difficult and even painful, on the days when she pushed herself too far. She took nightly baths in oily herbal water to soften the scars, and followed them with gentle stretching to keep herself as limber as possible.

“What if you told McKenna about your legs?” Mrs. Faircloth asked, settling a thin white nightgown over Aline’s head. “What do you think his reaction might be?”

The garment settled over her, covering a body that encompassed the incongruous difference of pure white skin and a shapely torso melded to a pair of damaged legs.

“McKenna cannot abide weakness in any form,” Aline said, padding to a chair and sitting heavily. “He would pity me, and that emotion is so close to contempt, it makes me ill to think of it.”

“You can’t be certain of that.”

“Are you saying that McKenna wouldn’t find these scars repellent?” Aline asked, wincing slightly as the housekeeper began to rub her legs with herbal salve that soothed the itching scar tissue. No one else, not even Livia, was ever permitted to touch her that way. “You know he would. Anyone would.”

“Aline,” came her younger sister’s voice from the bed, “If someone loved you, he would be able to look beyond your appearance.”

“That’s all well and good, for a fairy tale,” Aline said. “But I don’t believe in those anymore.”

In the uncomfortable silence that took hold of the room, Livia slipped from the bed and wandered to the vanity, sitting before the square Queen Anne looking glass. She picked up a brush and smoothed the ends of her braid, while making an effort to change the topic of conversation. “You’ll never guess what happened to me tonight, either of you. I went to the garden for a breath of fresh air, and found myself at the mermaid fountain…you know the place, where you can hear the music from the ballroom.”

“You should have been inside the ballroom, dancing,” Aline said, but Livia waved her into silence.

“No, no, this was much better than anything that could have happened in there. I was drinking a glass of wine, and tottering about like a demented ballerina, when all of a sudden I saw someone standing nearby, watching me.”

Aline laughed, diverted by the story. “I would have screamed.”

“I nearly did.”

“Was it a man or a woman?” Mrs. Faircloth asked.

“A man.” Livia turned on the vanity stool to grin at them both. “Tall and ridiculously handsome, with the most wonderful head of golden hair. And before we even got around to introducing ourselves, he took me into his arms, and we danced.”

“You didn’t,” Aline exclaimed in surprised delight.

Livia hugged herself in excitement. “Yes! And it turned out that my waltz partner was none other than that Mr. Shaw, who is the most debonair man I’ve ever met in my life. Oh, I’m certain that he is a terrible rake…but what a dance it was!”

“He drinks,” Mrs. Faircloth said darkly, being privy to the servants’ gossip.

“I don’t doubt it.” Livia shook her head in puzzlement. “There is such a look in his eyes, as if he has seen and done everything a thousand times, and takes no real pleasure or interest in anything.”

“He sounds very different from Amberley,” Aline remarked carefully, concerned by the realization that her sister was quite taken with the American.

“Different in every way,” Livia agreed, setting aside the silver-backed brush. Her tone mellowed as she continued thoughtfully. “I do like him, though. Aline, you must find out everything you can about him, and tell me—”

“No.” Aline tempered her refusal with a teasing smile, and winced as Mrs. Faircloth gently manipulated her ankle, flexing the stiff joint. “If you want to know more about Mr. Shaw, you’ll have to come out of hiding and ask him yourself.”