A Christmas Affair (3 page)

“No.” On this point at least she could reassure him. “But neither have I had any good news. I suppose I was just curious.” Despite her extreme dislike of her aunt, Amanda didn’t wish to discuss their falling out with anyone, especially Mr. Stranton, whom she knew to be an inveterate gossip.

To her surprise the solicitor gave an approving nod. “A wise move, Miss Lawrence, especially in light of your situation. If you like, I can go over your finances with you. I fear they are not as good as one might hope.”

Amanda felt her heart plummet to the soles of her wet pattens. “What do you mean?” she asked, nervously running her tongue over her lips. “I know we are not wealthy, but what of the portion left me by my mother? Surely that is enough to keep us in some comfort?”

“For a while, if you practice every economy,” he agreed, perching his glasses on the edge of his nose as he went over the figures detailed on the papers spread out before him. “Your step-father left a small sum for the care of your half brothers and half sister, but it is not what I would call a large amount. And of course there are the jewels and other items not detailed in your grandfather’s will that will go to you on your brother’s death. But other than that I fear there is nothing else.”

“But how—how shall we live?” Amanda asked fighting against the sudden urge to burst into tears. She was seldom given to such displays of feminine weakness, but the prospect of losing the only home she had ever known was more than she could bear.

“Oh, I am sure you and your aunt will soon come to terms,” he said, peering at her over the edge of his glasses. “Family and all that. And if one of you was to make an advantageous marriage, well, that would be of great help
would it not?”

Amanda could find no breath to answer. The Maxfields, although comfortably situated, were hardly wealthy enough to settle a large portion on Charles once he and Amelia wed. Even if they did, she and the others could hardly descend upon the newlyweds en masse.

And that was another thing, she realized with mounting alarm. What about Amelia’s bridal portion? Her own had gone to purchase Daniel’s commission, lest he enlist as a common foot soldier as he had threatened to do. She didn’t think Charles’ family would cry off when it became known she was virtually destitute, but what if they did? And what of Stephen and the twins? They would soon be old enough to send off to school; however would she pay for their tuition and lodging?

“There, there, Miss Lawrence.” Mr. Stranton was patting her hand again, thoroughly alarmed at the bleak expression on her face. “No need to be looking like that, no need at all. It’ll all come about in the end, you’ll see.”

Amanda stared up at his bland, helpful countenance, wishing he was somebody of strength, someone she could lean upon, if only for a moment. She’d been standing alone for years, and she longed for the comfort of supporting arms. . . .

In the next moment she was shaking off the unfamiliar sensations, her chin coming up with determined pride. “Of course you are right, Mr. Stranton,” she said, infusing more confidence than she felt into her soft voice. She needed no one to help her, she told herself firmly. She had been caring for her large family since she was barely twenty, and she would go on caring for them for as long as necessary.

The next morning found Amanda hard at work poring over the household accounts. In light of her conversation with Mr. Stranton, she decided it was time to make some
more cuts in her already pared-down budget. There would be no more talk of new gowns, of course, and the trip to Bath Amelia had been hinting for would have to be put off. They still employed two footmen and three maids in addition to the butler and cook, but she thought with a little effort they could dispense with the service of at least two of them. But which two, she wondered glumly.

She was no closer to solving this dilemma when the door to her study burst open and twin whirlwinds came rushing in, their voices raised in acrimonious dissent.

“Is not!”

“Is too!”

“Is not!”

“Is too! Even Belinda knows ’tis the grenadiers that wear white plumes in their shakos, cloth head!” Jeremey Blanchford announced in the superior tones that only a twelve-year-old boy could achieve. “The colonel’s in the Light Infantry, I tell you, just like Daniel. Tell him Mandy!” And he turned indignant blue eyes upon his sister, clearly confident of her support.

“I should be more than happy to do so, sir, if you’d only tell me who it is you are discussing in such an unpleasant manner,” she replied with the calm of one accustomed to such displays of sibling disharmony. Usually the twins were the best of friends, but as both were cursed with the same stubborn nature as she, disagreements often arose between them. She’d learned at an early age that if they were left to their own devices they would soon forget the source of contention and return to their play.

“The colonel, of course!” Jeremey shot her a look that indicated he considered her sadly backward in the matter. “Joss would have it that he is in the grenadiers because of his epaulets. But I say he is in the Light Infantry. His plume is green and—”

“What colonel are you talking about?” Amanda interrupted, her brow wrinkling in thought. She was well ac
quainted with most of her neighbors, and knew none of them had ever managed to rise above the rank of major. It was conceivable that with Christmas so close at hand an officer might be paying his family a visit, but she felt she would have heard if such were the case. Almost every family in the county had some relation or other in uniform, and any such information was eagerly shared.

“The one in the parlor.” Jocelyn’s impatient look matched that of his twin. “He just arrived and was asking for you, so I told Linsley we’d fetch you. Do hurry!” and he began tugging her to her feet.

“What?”
Amanda collapsed back on her chair staring at the twins in disbelief.

“He’s a bang-up looking fellow,” Jeremey offered. “He limps a bit and has a scar on his left cheek. Do you think he got them in battle?” His eyes began gleaming with incipient hero-worship.

“ ‘Tis possible, I suppose,” Amanda replied smiling at the boy’s enthusiasm. “Now kindly go and tell our guest that I will be with him once I have made myself presentable. I certainly can’t greet him looking like this,” and she cast a rueful look at the rumpled skirts of her gown.

“But what if he leaves?” Jeremey wailed, dancing impatiently from one foot to the other. “Joss and I have dozens of questions we want to ask him!”

“He will wait,” Amanda assured him, ruffling his light brown hair with an affectionate hand. “Now hurry, we wouldn’t want him to think we have abandoned him, would we?”

The twins’ eyes widened in horror at such a possibility, and they dashed from the study, leaving a worried Amanda behind to speculate about their mysterious visitor. If the colonel was in the Light Infantry, then there was every chance he was bringing them news of Daniel. But was it good news or bad? Her heart began pounding with anxious fear, and as she made her way up to her rooms, Amanda
found herself sending a silent prayer winging heavenward. God help them all if anything had happened to Daniel.

In the small parlor to which the aging butler had guided him, Justin waited for his hostess with increasing impatience. He’d finally managed to rid himself of the two younger boys who had been pestering him with questions, and his head was aching almost as much as his shoulder. He’d been travelling almost non-stop since his arrival in Portsmouth some two days earlier, and he was weak with pain and exhaustion. The ship’s surgeon had tried talking him into going directly to London, but he’d curtly refused, determined to fulfill his promise to the dying young officer.

His light brown eyes moved restlessly about the small parlor, taking in its tidy appearance with cool interest. The rug and furnishings were worn with age, and the heavy velvet drapes covering the mullioned windows, once a brilliant blue, had faded from years of exposure to the sun. He ran a hand over the back of a chair, a tanned finger touching the lace doily that had been placed there to hide a stain. Evidently the Lawrences weren’t as wealthy as the large manor house would lead one to believe, he thought, his dark brows gathering in a worried frown. How would Lawrence’s death affect them?

The door to the parlor creaked open, and Justin turned just as a tall woman with bright red hair hurried toward him. “How do you do, sir,” she said, smiling as she held her hand out to him. “I am Miss Amanda Lawrence. My brothers say you wish to speak with me?”

Justin accepted her slender hand, his lips twitching with the need to smile. So this was the martinet in petticoats young Lawrence had warned him of, he thought, his eyes moving over her in discreet perusal. He could well believe it. Despite the demure gown of yellow merino trimmed at the high waist with a dark green riband she was currently
wearing, there was something in the tilt of her small chin and the sparkle in her deep brown eyes that spoke of a fiery temperament held carefully in check. Justin prayed she was every bit as strong as her brother had claimed she was, for she would soon have need of that strength.

“Miss Lawrence,” he murmured, his eyes meeting hers with cool politeness. “I am Colonel Justin Stockton of the 55th Light Infantry. Perhaps you have heard of me?”

Amanda’s heart turned to stone in her chest. That was the name of Daniel’s commanding officer. In his last letter home he had been generous in his praise, describing him as a man as hard as steel and twice as deadly. Gazing up into his hard face, she could well believe that assessment of him, and a fine tremor shook her as she contemplated the reason behind his unexpected appearance.

“Of course, Colonel Stockton, Daniel has written of you.” She withdrew her hand from his, her legs trembling as she turned toward the armchairs set before the fireplace. “But pray, will you not be seated? I am sure you must be feeling quite exhausted after your long journey. Did you come from London?”

“From Portsmouth,” Justin answered, his eyes never leaving her face. Although she appeared outwardly calm, he could detect the strain about her full mouth, and his heart moved with pity. He’d had to break the news of an officer’s death to an anxious relative before, but never had it seemed more difficult.

“I . . . I see,” Amanda stammered, her heart growing dry at his curt reply. If he had travelled from Portsmouth, then it was likely he had only just returned to England. She clenched her hands together in her lap, knowing she could no longer avoid the inevitable. Steeling herself as best as she could she drew back her shoulders and met his stare.

“What news have you of my brother, sir?” she asked, willing her voice to remain even. “Is he well?”

Justin held her unwavering regard, not knowing that the
compassion gleaming deep in his golden eyes gave her the answer long before he spoke. “I regret to inform you, Miss Lawrence, that your brother is dead. He fell at the Battle of Vitoria six months ago. I am very sorry.”

Chapter Two

“Dead?” Amanda repeated dully, wanting to scream a denial of that awful word. She had thought herself prepared to hear it, but nothing, she realized, could have prepared her for the terrible finality of it all. Daniel was dead. She would never see him again. Never hear him laugh, or watch him grow to manhood and claim his inheritance. . . . She swayed on her chair.

Justin was at her side in a moment, ready to catch her should she swoon. He’d seen her creamy complexion pale to purest ivory and knew she was in shock. He reached out to take her hand in his and was stunned by its iciness.

“Miss Lawrence?” he asked, his tone gentle as he chafed her small hand between his. “Are you all right? Is there someone I can send for? Your maid perhaps, or your sister?” He recalled Lawrence had said something of a younger sister. . . .

Amanda stared at him uncomprehendingly. As if from a great distance, she could hear the ticking of the clock on the mantle and the snap and pop of the fire blazing cheerfully in the hearth. She blinked at the man bending solicitously over her hand and realized he had spoken.

“I . . . I beg your pardon, sir,” she said her voice sounding oddly weak. “What was it you said?”

Justin stared down at her, fully alarmed. This stunned,
helpless creature was hardly the virago of Lawrence’s description, and he wondered if he had erred in coming to her as he had. Perhaps it would have been better to have the news broken to her through the dispatches, rather than personally attending to the matter himself. Then he remembered his promise to the dying officer and mentally steeled himself for the hysterics he was certain were to follow.

“I asked if you wished me to ring for the maid,” he said, his voice brisk. “You are rather faint, and I —”

“I have never fainted in my life, sir.” Amanda was glad she could still feel annoyance, and she seized on to the emotion as if to a lifeline. “I own I am shocked, but you needn’t fear that I will dissolve into a watering pot.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that you would,” he answered, relieved but puzzled by her sudden show of spirit. Perhaps she was growing hysterical after all, he thought, wondering if he’d be required to administer a sharp slap to her cheek to return her to her senses.

“Well, I shan’t,” she declared, her tone sharper than she intended. Now that the initial shock had worn off, she was aware of a devouring pain that was tearing at her soul, and she sternly thrust it aside. Later, she promised herself, she would collapse into hysterics later. In the meanwhile there was much that required her attention, beginning with her brother’s commanding officer.

“It was kind of you to bring me the news yourself, Colonel,” she said, raising her chin with unconscious pride. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome, Miss Lawrence,” he answered, moving slowly away from her. The long carriage ride had irritated the old sword wound in his thigh, and he was grateful to resume his seat again. Lord, but they kept it warm in these rooms, he thought, running a shaking hand across his forehead.

“I — how did it happen?” she asked, her voice trembling despite her resolve. She hated the necessity for such a ques
tion, but knew the others would want to know. Especially the twins; they had been so proud of their older brother. . . .