you help us? Can't you turn her into a frog or a mushroom or a cat? Something?"
Matilda laughed. "And here I thought all you wanted was candy."
"You have candy?" Hanson asked, his eyes widening in interest. "What kind did you make today?"
"Toffee," she said with a smile.
Hanson licked his lips.
"Miss Candy," Gretchen said, not as easily distracted as her brother. "Have you ever met our father?"
"No, I haven't." She'd seen Seth Hazelrig around town, but he wasn't one of the many who came to her for cures and lotions. He'd never knocked on her door late at night looking for a clandestine exchange.
"He's very handsome," Gretchen said proudly. "And very nice, too. Or at least he was until he married her. You should come to the house sometime and meet him. I think you'd like him. I think you'd like him a lot."
Oh, dear. She didn't like the sound of this at all. "That's a lovely invitation, but your father is a married man. It wouldn't be proper...."
"But if you turned Stella into a frog, he wouldn't be," Hanson said brightly. "A man can't be married to a frog. And then you could marry Father and make us caramels and toffee and sweet bread every day of the week." He grinned, pleased with this idea.
The children no doubt thought they were being quite devious, when in fact their nefarious plan was so transparent Matilda had to put forth an effort to keep from smiling widely. She wondered how the twins would react if she could, and did, turn their suffering stepmother into an amphibian.
"I'm afraid I like Stella too much to turn her into a frog," she said calmly. "Besides, the only spell I have for such a transformation only works on the very young. It's particularly successful on small, yellow-haired children."
Hanson's eyes got wide, and Gretchen backed up a step.
"Would you like to try the toffee?" she asked, returning to her task. There was no reply, and when she lifted her head the twins were gone.
* * *
It was almost too easy. Declan had arrived at the Arrington house late in the afternoon, bearing a small gift; a bottle of whiskey to replace what he'd consumed in Warren Arrington's parlor a few nights earlier. Being a gentleman, the planter had naturally invited his guest to stay for dinner.
And then Declan had been seated next to Vanessa. How fortuitous. His plan could not be coming together more wonderfully.
It occurred to him that Arrington would probably be pleased to see his daughter marry the neighboring landowner. At least until he discovered who Declan Harper really was; that "white trash son of a drunkard."
Vanessa was beautiful and charming; he'd expected no less of her. Her gown was the palest pink, the pearls around her throat were the perfect compliment to her creamy skin, and her violet eyes were clear and bright.
Perhaps they were not as hypnotic as some he'd seen, but they were quite beautiful.
Vanessa Arrington was a real lady. Soft-spoken, attentive, demure. She was just what he wanted and needed in a wife.
The vial containing the love potion was in the right-hand pocket of his jacket. While Vanessa answered her father's questions about the meals she'd planned for the week—a blatant attempt on Arrington's part to point out what an efficient housekeeper Vanessa was—Declan reached into his pocket and flipped out the cork. He turned the vial up and poured a small amount of powder into his palm.
And while Vanessa gave her father her attention, Declan sprinkled the powder into her soup. The grains sat on top of the thick liquid for a moment, and then dissolved and sank, disappearing from sight.
"Harper," Arrington barked.
Declan lifted his head; that had been too close. If the old man had shifted his attention a few seconds earlier... but he hadn't. "Yes, sir?"
"You can spend a fortune on that house of yours," Arrington said brusquely, "but it won't be a home until there's a woman living in it."
Apparently Warren Arrington had decided his new and successful neighbor would make a
Matilda laughed. "And here I thought all you wanted was candy."
"You have candy?" Hanson asked, his eyes widening in interest. "What kind did you make today?"
"Toffee," she said with a smile.
Hanson licked his lips.
"Miss Candy," Gretchen said, not as easily distracted as her brother. "Have you ever met our father?"
"No, I haven't." She'd seen Seth Hazelrig around town, but he wasn't one of the many who came to her for cures and lotions. He'd never knocked on her door late at night looking for a clandestine exchange.
"He's very handsome," Gretchen said proudly. "And very nice, too. Or at least he was until he married her. You should come to the house sometime and meet him. I think you'd like him. I think you'd like him a lot."
Oh, dear. She didn't like the sound of this at all. "That's a lovely invitation, but your father is a married man. It wouldn't be proper...."
"But if you turned Stella into a frog, he wouldn't be," Hanson said brightly. "A man can't be married to a frog. And then you could marry Father and make us caramels and toffee and sweet bread every day of the week." He grinned, pleased with this idea.
The children no doubt thought they were being quite devious, when in fact their nefarious plan was so transparent Matilda had to put forth an effort to keep from smiling widely. She wondered how the twins would react if she could, and did, turn their suffering stepmother into an amphibian.
"I'm afraid I like Stella too much to turn her into a frog," she said calmly. "Besides, the only spell I have for such a transformation only works on the very young. It's particularly successful on small, yellow-haired children."
Hanson's eyes got wide, and Gretchen backed up a step.
"Would you like to try the toffee?" she asked, returning to her task. There was no reply, and when she lifted her head the twins were gone.
* * *
It was almost too easy. Declan had arrived at the Arrington house late in the afternoon, bearing a small gift; a bottle of whiskey to replace what he'd consumed in Warren Arrington's parlor a few nights earlier. Being a gentleman, the planter had naturally invited his guest to stay for dinner.
And then Declan had been seated next to Vanessa. How fortuitous. His plan could not be coming together more wonderfully.
It occurred to him that Arrington would probably be pleased to see his daughter marry the neighboring landowner. At least until he discovered who Declan Harper really was; that "white trash son of a drunkard."
Vanessa was beautiful and charming; he'd expected no less of her. Her gown was the palest pink, the pearls around her throat were the perfect compliment to her creamy skin, and her violet eyes were clear and bright.
Perhaps they were not as hypnotic as some he'd seen, but they were quite beautiful.
Vanessa Arrington was a real lady. Soft-spoken, attentive, demure. She was just what he wanted and needed in a wife.
The vial containing the love potion was in the right-hand pocket of his jacket. While Vanessa answered her father's questions about the meals she'd planned for the week—a blatant attempt on Arrington's part to point out what an efficient housekeeper Vanessa was—Declan reached into his pocket and flipped out the cork. He turned the vial up and poured a small amount of powder into his palm.
And while Vanessa gave her father her attention, Declan sprinkled the powder into her soup. The grains sat on top of the thick liquid for a moment, and then dissolved and sank, disappearing from sight.
"Harper," Arrington barked.
Declan lifted his head; that had been too close. If the old man had shifted his attention a few seconds earlier... but he hadn't. "Yes, sir?"
"You can spend a fortune on that house of yours," Arrington said brusquely, "but it won't be a home until there's a woman living in it."
Apparently Warren Arrington had decided his new and successful neighbor would make a
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