The Bewitching Hour Read Online Free PDF Page B

Perhaps you should consider this more carefully.”
      Bertram’s face lost some of its color, but he said, “A gentleman has a duty to protect the honor of a young lady. As reprehensive as this deed is, I must carry it out." He stared at his tasseled boots a moment. “If you don’t mind letting me off at the next corner, I should be going. It wouldn’t do to be too social at this point, and I’ve taken enough of your time.”
      Stratton held up his flask in a farewell greeting as Rand pulled the Phaeton over to the side of the street. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Lord Bertram,” he slurred. “Have a delightful evening.”
      Bertram jumped down and made a small bow. “Thank you, gentlemen. The pleasure was mine.”
      Stratton and Rand watched as he walked down the street.
      “Bloody nuisance,” Stratton said evenly without a hint of his previous slur.
      “Quite so,” Rand agreed. “I can’t see the lad as Miss Hawthorn’s beau. She’s far too much sense and I haven’t heard a word about it. What other young lady have you upset recently?”
      “None that I know of. It must be her.” He shook his head. “What an odd fellow. He doesn’t have the slightest idea what this is about yet he’s ready to take a bullet to avenge his sweetheart. Lad’s got more nerve than brains. I can’t let Miss Hawthorn marry him.”
      “I wish you luck in that. Until you can get this ironed out, you’ll have to do whatever you can to avoid the man.”
      Stratton shrugged. “Either that or shoot him.”

    “You simply must do something, Eugene,” Cecelia moaned. She had caught her brother in the early afternoon, just as he was unlocking the door to his study.
      Stratton took note of her perturbed expression and the fashion journal she clutched tightly against her chest. Heaving a sigh, he indicated with a nod that she follow him inside.
      “Sit,” he ordered as he closed the door behind him. “Now, let me guess,” he continued. “Aunt Mirabella?”
      She nodded vigorously as he settled into the comfortable leather chair behind his desk. “I can’t spend another day with her at the modiste. I simply can’t do it. Madame Claudette and I are at our wit’s end. She doesn’t know how to handle Aunt Mirabella and neither do I. All we do is argue and that’s getting me nowhere." She set her copy of the Journal des Luxus und der Moden on his desk and tapped her finger against the open page on a simple flowing silk gown with tiny pleats beneath the bodice and a narrow, pearl studded shawl. “This is what I want.” She slipped out a loose fashion plate from another magazine. “This is what she’s insisting we have this made up for my coming out ball. Can you believe it? I’d be the laughing stock of the season.”
      Stratton looked down at the fashion plate and winced. The ball gown was truly hideous, embellished with ruffles, ribbons and rosettes and a cumbersome train that could prove perilous on the dance floor. A sequined turban was topped with three very long ostrich plumes. The matching cashmere shawl was trimmed with sequins as well.
      “She wants to have it made up in pale tangerine. And the turban! I won’t be able to get through the doorway with those ridiculous feathers. Madame Claudette told her it wasn’t appropriate for my first season, but she won’t listen.” Cecelia looked at him pleadingly. “Please Eugene, I can’t wear this.”
      “No, you can’t,” he agreed. “As much as I hate the idea of involving myself in your current battles with Aunt Mirabella, I must do something.”
      “But what? The other gowns she has picked out are almost as bad. I wish Mama was here. I know she can be difficult, too, but she has much better taste.”
      Stratton gazed at his sister with sympathy. She had certainly had a time of it with Aunt Mirabella, who seemed