Not that he had any inclination to marry Miss Perkins, but he did wish to know why Ianthe claimed her to be a trickster.
“When she kissed you and made it snow.”
His mother looked to Damon. “She assured me that it was a sign for her kind of a match that is meant to be.”
“She said the same to me,” Damon groaned.
“What did you see her do, Ianthe?” Damon asked because he wanted to make certain trickery had been involved or if his niece had just misinterpreted something innocent.
“This.” Ianthe put her hand up as Miss Perkins had done when she caressed his face. Then Ianthe puckered her lips. However, she put her other hand behind her back, pointed to the ceiling and twirled her finger in circles. Soon there were snow flurries around his niece.
“Miss Perkins is most definitely a trickster, Ianthe.” He then turned to his mother. “I will not marry her.”
“No, of course not.”
“Can we make her leave?” Ianthe begged. “She wants to help me, but I only want Miss Cordelia, but she wouldn’t after she saw the snow.”
His chest tightened in alarm. Damon sat forward. “Miss Cordelia saw the snow?”
“Edward went to get her for me,” Ianthe answered. “Miss Perkins had been trying to get me to do things her way. She made me nervous, her tone was sharp, and I was afraid that I’d forget what Miss Cordelia taught me. But Miss Cordelia didn’t stay to help because she saw the snow. I think she was afraid.”
“I will speak with her,” Damon finally said.
“Don’t tell anyone what you saw,” his mother instructed Ianthe. “Miss Perkins is to leave by the end of the week, and I will not offer to extend her stay.”
Ianthe blew a breath. “Please ask Miss Cordelia to come tomorrow.”
“I will dear,” his mother assured her. “Now run along.”
After Ianthe left and closed the door, his mother turned to Damon. “It wasn’t the snow that upset Miss Cordelia.”
He said nothing, but his mother was correct. Had he come across her kissing someone after they’d waltzed down the road from Bocka Morrow, he’d be crushed and angry.
“She’s not for you, Damon.”
“I know,” he answered quietly. “Please prepare a list of witches who are ready to wed.”
As much asCordelia tried to concentrate on her book, it just wasn’t possible. She’d read the same paragraph at least ten times and still didn’t know what it said. She’d blame it on being inside and not in the garden, but that would be a lie.
She usually enjoyed reading in the garden while hoping to spy a pixie but she feared that Bentford would decide to visit, and she didn’t wish to be caught unawares. If he called as a proper gentleman should, she’d have the option of not being at home.
The events of yesterday still played over in her mind. Had she mistaken his teasing, flirting and dancing as nothing more than being neighborly?
Oh, she wished she never would have met Lord Damon Norcott, Viscount Bentford!
Not only was he a wicked rogue as Benedict had warned, but a libertine, rake, lothario and all manner of ill-repute that could be assigned to bachelors who made misses fall in love then turned their attention elsewhere.
Now she knew what she’d missed and the excitement so many others had experienced when developing tender feelings for another—of falling in love.
But she also now knew how horribly painful it was to have a heart broken and she didn’t wish to experience this ever again.
Nor could she return to Nightshade and hoped that she could manage to avoid Lord Bentford for however long the family was in residence.
She did feel bad for Ianthe, but Cordelia simply couldn’t go to her. And, since the child couldn’t leave the estate, their lessons were now at an end. Cordelia fully acknowledged that it was unfair to the child, who had done nothing wrong, but she’d never be able to concentrate, and might burst into tears if she were there.
This was for the best. At least for her. Ianthe would simply need to learn that she couldn’t have everything. Perhaps she would even learn to like the woman who may be her aunt one day.
“When are you going to help Ianthe today?” Edward asked as he came into the parlor. “I want to go with you.”
