A Christmas Bride (24 page)

“Well, you have Melanda.”

He gave an emoted groan as he drew her out of the ballroom and into the room where the tree glowed with the soft light of candles that had almost burned out. He closed the door behind them. Sitting her on the settee by the window, he filled two cups with the mulled cider sitting on the hearth. The luscious scents of spices and evergreen drifted through the room, flavoring each breath with Christmas.

Serenity took a sip of the cider as Timothy sat on the floor beside the settee, his elbow resting on the cushion beside her skirt. She pulled her gaze from his hungry one to admire how the candles reflected in the windows. “Now I understand why Aunt Ilse was so eager to have this Christmas tree. The candles look like a sky filled with stars, and the one on the very top is the Bethlehem star.”

“You may be right.” He grimaced. “However, I must own that I think it is bizarre to have a dead tree set by the windows in a parlor.”

She slapped his shoulder lightly and laughed. “Mayhap your grandfather was not so wrong when he said you were getting as stuck in your ways as an old donkey.”

“He said that, did he?” He plucked her cup from her fingers.

“What are you doing?”

“This.” He hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her down to sit on his lap. Curling his fingers through her hair, he kissed her.

It was as if one of the candles had exploded within her, melting every bit of her resistance to him. She could not imagine anywhere else she would rather be than in his arms, his lips on hers.

Something clanged from somewhere beyond the walls.

“What is that?” She gasped, jumping up and looking around.

Timothy chuckled as he set himself on his feet. “The bell in the chapel. You will not notice it after the bell rings three or four hundred times.”

“Three hundred times? The bell is going to ring three hundred times?”

“Actually it will ring eighteen hundred and eighteen times, one knell for each year since Christmas was first celebrated. It used to be done in Dewsbury, west of here, but when it was stopped, the tradition somehow came to Cheyney Park. There is talk of returning it to Dewsbury.”

She put her hands over her ears as the clanging's resonance grew in volume until it seemed as if she stood within the bell tower near the back wall. “That poor lad shall be exhausted long before he reaches eighteen hundred and eighteen peals.”

“All the young men in Cheyney Park take their turns. I used to look forward to doing it every year.”

“I am surprised any of you can hear.”

He drew her hands down and laced his fingers through them. “I can hear well enough to hear your heart speaking to mine, Serenity.”

“I have tried to silence it.”

“I am glad you have failed.”

The door opened, and Aunt Ilse smiled. “Timothy, your grandfather wishes to speak with you right away.”

“Certainly.” He motioned toward the tree. “It truly is lovely, Aunt Ilse.”

“I am glad you think so, too.” She whirled away in a cloud of pink and white.

Timothy sighed. “I should go and see what Grandfather needs.”

“I know.”

His fingers swept across her cheek, then tipped her lips toward his mouth. His kiss was swift, but told her how he longed for so much more. When he released her, her knees wobbled, and she took a steadying step.

Her foot hit his cup, and the mulled cider pooled on the carpet. “Go ahead,” she said with a grimace. “I will find someone to clean it up.”

“I shall be waiting for you to dance as the bells end their tolling.”

“Or before.”

He nodded, kissed her again with luscious fire, and went out of the room.

Serenity followed, pausing in the hallway to signal to one of the maids. Telling the young woman what had happened, she grimaced again when she noticed the dampness in her left slipper. The cider must have seeped into it. She should change into other shoes.

She put her hand on the banister to rush up the stairs, not wanting to lose a minute of the evening's excitement. Her name was called.

Turning, she saw a footman. “Yes?” she asked.

“This arrived just now, Miss Adams. The messenger said it was for you, and that it should be delivered without delay.”

“For me?” Her heart thudded with anticipation as she reached out to take the letter he held.

Could her sister and brother have found out where she was? She prayed they would never learn how she had begun to doubt their existence when Timothy's solicitor had visited school after school and found no sign of any children who had an older sister matching her description who might be in service in Yorkshire.

“Thank you,” she managed to say as she went back to the room where the candles on Aunt Ilse's tree were guttering out even as the tolling of the bells became more enthusiastic.

Opening the letter, she realized before she had read more than a few sentences that this letter had not been meant for her, but instead for Timothy. She should find him and give it to him immediately. She knew that, but she could not pull her gaze from the words.

She sat on the settee as she read,
We have had no luck in finding the children you described, Lord Cheyney
. The words pierced right through to her heart. Mayhap Timothy's solicitor had not been able to find them because the children had been turned out already when the money she should have sent for their tuition failed to arrive. She did not want to believe that, but she was no longer certain of anything as she faced the past that she had put out of her mind when she was in Timothy's arms.

Serenity took a deep breath to steady her fingers. She should give this letter to Timothy, but her curiosity kept her reading. Suddenly she gasped and stared at words she could not have guessed would be in this missive.

After investigating the information you sent me, my lord, I must say that I firmly believe your Miss Adams to be, in truth, Miss Helen Loughlin. Miss Loughlin has recently been reported as missing along with two servants. Although they apparently vanished earlier this month, word of that has only recently come to my ears and the ears of her family, for they have been in Town. Only when she did not arrive last week as planned did they learn of her disappearance. Miss Loughlin and her servants were en route to a masquerade rout at Hess Court, not much more than a hard day's ride from Cheyney Park. At the time of her disappearance, it is believed that Miss Loughlin was dressed in the simple costume of an upper servant
.

Serenity wanted to deny what she was reading, but as the letter went on to describe her in close detail, she knew it must be the truth.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she whispered, “Helen Loughlin? My name is Helen Loughlin. I am Hel—”

Hellie, come in! 'Tis time for your lessons, young lady. Your father will be angry if you do not finish your language studies before tea
.

The voice rang through her head like the echo of the tolling bells. Mimi's voice.
Mimi!
Mimi had been first her governess, then her abigail. Mimi always fretted about the tiniest detail. That was why she had insisted that Miss Loughlin wear her costume on the way to the masquerade party, so she would not arrive late and be shamed not to be in costume.

Serenity pressed her hand to her heart, which seemed unable to beat. Mimi had been in the carriage with her. Mimi and Ralph, the footman who had had a
tendre
for Mimi for as long as Serenity could remember.

Tears burst from her eyes as a cascade of sobs surged into her throat. She dropped the letter to her lap as she wept. Mimi and Ralph were dead, dead and buried in graves with no names to mark them.

She gripped the edge of the cushions while memories trampled her, each one more determined than the last to remind her of the terror of the moment when the carriage had teetered at the edge of the road. The crack of the breaking wheel, the curses from Ralph, the scream of the horses.

Horses
? There had been but one horse attached to the small carriage. If she had heard another, then there must have been another carriage or a rider on the road. Had her carriage swerved to miss it? She could not recall anything but that one moment they were laughing and talking, and the next was filled with horror and pain. After that, there was nothing but waking up in the inn.

And before the journey to the masquerade … No, the memories were still uncertain. Half-remembered snatches of conversation, odd fragments of faces and rooms which made no sense.

“Helen Loughlin,” she whispered. The name, save for that one memory of Mimi's voice, was as unfamiliar as a stranger's. Would she ever remember what had been?

Mayhap something else in the letter would prompt another memory, the very memory that would tell her more about her life before the day the carriage accident had propelled her into this new life as Serenity Adams.

She quickly read the rest of the letter. The paper crinkled in her hands as she stared at the final sentence over the solicitor's signature. She wanted to believe she had misread it, but even after three readings, she could not mistake the words.

It was as you suspected from the onset, and I trust you will tell Miss Loughlin the whole truth if it becomes convenient for you to do so
.

Seventeen

The whole truth? If it becomes convenient
?

Serenity did not want to believe what the words suggested. This was not the first letter Timothy had received from his solicitor on this subject, for he had mentioned at least one other. Only in retrospect did she wonder why she had not asked to see that letter to seek some clue that might bring back her memories. Had she been so caught up in falling in love that she had not wanted to know the truth? Had he been so caught up in falling in love that he had not told her the truth?

She lowered the letter to her lap and drew out a handkerchief to wipe her eyes. Knowing that the letter should have been delivered to Timothy instead of her changed nothing. The truth could not be hidden any longer. How long had he known—or suspected—that she was of the
ton
? Much longer than he had suggested during their conversation in the chapel earlier in the week. By the date at the top of the page, she knew this letter had been sent from London the day before that conversation.

“What is amiss, Serenity?”

At Lord Brookindale's voice, her head came up at the name that she should not answer to now. She was Helen. Helen Loughlin. How many times must she repeat that to herself before she became comfortable with the name that must have been hers all her life, save for the past few weeks? Odd that she had found it easier to accustom herself to being called Serenity than this name she had possessed all her life.

“I wanted some time by myself,” she said. That was not a lie.

“By yourself? When you should be in the ballroom celebrating my birthday?” He lowered himself into a chair and snatched the letter from her lap.

“That is mine, my lord!”

“My lord?” His brows lowered. Holding up his hand, he ordered, “Do not lather me with any out-and-outers when I suspect this letter will confirm what I have guessed all along.”

“You guessed—” She closed her mouth before she could betray Timothy further.

Wanting to come to her feet, Serenity twisted her handkerchief.
Serenity!
She could not rid herself of this name that did not belong to her.

The earl read the letter once, then a second time. He handed the letter back to her with a sigh. “You should have come to me with the truth right from the beginning, Ser—Miss Loughlin.”

“But I did not know the truth, my lord.”

As she addressed him formally again, he scowled, his bushy brows jutting toward her as fiercely as his chin. “But you knew that the boys were spinning a web of lies in hopes of trapping me in it.”

“Timothy wanted only to avoid disappointing you.” She stood. “He lost himself so much in his factory-building project that he gave no thoughts to his obligations to marry and obtain an heir. I assure you that his thoughts were all for doing nothing to ruin this birthday celebration.”

“You need not defend him to me. I can see the truth quite clearly. My legs may have slowed down with time, but not my wits.”

“I did not mean to suggest that.”

He patted her hand. “I realize that.” His thick brows suddenly rose. “Loughlin, did you say?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“I would like to believe that the fact that your name is Loughlin is only a coincidence, but this is too much of a jumble for me to believe that.” He pointed to the settee where she had been perched. “You should sit, Miss Loughlin.”

She nodded, wondering again why it was taking her longer to become accustomed to her true name than it had to her false one. Although she knew she truly was Helen Loughlin, every fiber told her that her name was Serenity Adams. Lowering herself to the chair, she blinked back the tears that swarmed into her eyes.

“I assume,” the earl said, “that this loss of memory you have suffered is the one facet of truth through the whole of this.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He scowled more fiercely at her formal address, but asked, “Do you recall anything of your family, Miss Loughlin?”

“I recall that my mother died when I was not very old. My brother and sister—”

“You are an only child, my dear.” He took a deep breath and released it through his clenched teeth. “This tale of a brother and a sister that permeates this letter from our solicitors, I own that I do not understand it.”

“There was a letter in my apron when I was rescued from the carriage accident. Felix gave it to me. He said …”

The earl nodded slowly as she gasped in disbelief and dismay. “No, do not lower your eyes. You do not need to hide the truth from me. I believe you were purposely misled, Miss Loughlin. Do you recall anything of your father?”

“Only certain things that he spoke to me about. I cannot recall his face. Is he alive?”