A Christmas Kiss (11 page)

“I don't know what you mean,” Clarissa said, puzzled.

“Well, we told them that we'd make no announcement until after the new year. Perhaps they've decided that we wanted them to keep their feelings secret from our guests, and so they pretend not to notice each other.”

“But how foolish! I never intended for them to dissemble in that way. In fact, it is quite the worst way to prepare society for the news of their betrothal.”

“Now I don't know what
you
mean,” Philip said.

“It will be a shock enough when society learns that James Everard is betrothed to some girl unknown to the polite world. If they have been seen together—seen to be taken with each other—there will have been at least some … oh, what shall I call it?… preparatory gossip.”

Philip made an impatient gesture. “I don't care a fig for the gossip of what you call the polite world. It's Miss Pennington I care about.” He suddenly stood stock-still, realizing he had said more than he'd meant to. “Miss Pennington's feelings, I mean,” he added lamely.

“If what you surmise is true—that they are behaving this way to keep their relationship secret—we need not worry about her feelings,” Clarissa said sensibly. “However, I do not credit it. It's too foolish a plan.”

“Then how do you account for Jamie's behavior?”

“I don't know. I only know that I cannot like having poor Evalyn so neglected.”

“Neither can I. You may be sure I shall speak to Jamie at the first opportunity. Meanwhile, one would think that Sally could keep her company.”

“Sally is a—! Never mind. I don't want to tell you what I think of Sally. You will only think me small-minded, and remind me that you told me not to invite her. It's enough to say that I don't think she and Evalyn have quite taken to each other. Besides, she's gone riding with Edward and Gervaise, and I don't expect to see them again until almost tea time.”

“I see. Well, what can we do?”

“I was hoping that you could squire Evalyn about a bit. It would please her, I know, to have Jamie's father's attention and approval.”

Philip was silent. Clarissa looked at him curiously. He was staring out into the middle distance, as if his mind were on something else. “Philip?” she asked, “is there something wrong? It cannot be that—? Don't tell me that you don't
like
Evalyn.”

Philip stared at his sister. “Of course I like her,” he said, “but I … I am rather busy, you know, with our guests and the book, and I've been thinking that I ought to start planning for Boxing Day and the rest.…”

“If I didn't know you better,” said the puzzled Clarissa, “I would take you for the worst of curmudgeons. This rationalization is not at all the sort of thing you have ever before indulged in. What's come over you?”

Philip sighed. “You're right. I
am
behaving like a curmudgeon. Come, let's go into the sitting room. I shall be delighted to rescue Miss Pennington from the boredom and neglect she is no doubt suffering in your company.”

Miss Pennington did not look in the least as if she needed rescuing. She and Martha were seated at a large table which was completely covered with greens and ribbons. There were evergreen branches, shoots of holly boasting bright clumps of red berries, strands of ivy, sprigs of mistletoe, and a profusion of ribbons and candles. The ladies were happily fashioning a number of “kissing boughs.” These were gaily-decorated baskets made by shaping evergreen boughs and tying them in place with ribbons. Within the baskets would be placed a few apples and candles, and each would be hung from a doorway, with the lively, white-berried mistletoe hanging like a tassel underneath. While they worked, Martha and Evalyn were pursuing a lively discussion about the possible dangers to the morals of a young lady like Marianne of reading novels like Miss Burney's
Evalina
. Philip and Clarissa entered the room in time to hear Martha stating earnestly, “I am convinced that such reading weakens a young lady's moral fiber.”

Philip nodded to the ladies and sat down at the table, looking at Evalyn with interest to hear what her response to this would be.

“I don't think so, Martha,” she said in her straightforward, unaffected way. “A young girl has so much to learn about life. The reading of novels provides her with experiences without the necessity of living through these experiences in actuality. Thus she may be spared the dangers and pain of real experiences, while gaining wisdom from the vicarious ones.”

“Is that how
you
became so wise, Miss Pennington?” Philip couldn't resist asking. “Have all your experiences been from books?”

Evalyn blushed and answered laughingly, “What other experiences should a lady in my circumstances have had, my lord?”

“That's tipping me a leveler for my impertinence!” Philip acknowledged with a grin. “I humbly apologize, Miss Pennington. But if a mere man may give his views on novel reading—”

“By all means, Philip,” Martha urged. “I should love to hear them.”

“You may not, when you learn that I won't give you much support. I don't see any danger to a young woman's morals in such reading. However, I do see a danger in Miss Pennington's view. It would be too bad, Miss Pennington, if a young woman used novels to substitute for life's experiences. Vicarious living is not a proper substitute for reality. Joys can never be as fulfilling in books as they are in life, and even dangers and pains are more meaningful when they are real.”

“I have to agree with you about the joys,” Evalyn admitted, “but I think that life brings enough dangers and pains without our seeking them. Just reading about them would be enough for me.”

Philip's grin widened. “What?
Cowardly
, Miss Pennington?”

“Merely cautious,” she returned promptly.

Clarissa was pleased to see how well they got on. Whatever maggot had got into his head earlier seemed to have disappeared. “Evalyn was asking earlier about the portraits in the gallery, Philip,” she said. “You must take her through one day and tell her about the rogues in our family's past.”

“I'd be delighted,” Philip agreed cheerfully. Turning to Miss Pennington he suggested, “Would you like to go now?”

“If you have the time,” Evalyn said, “and Clarissa can spare me …”

“Of course,” Clarissa agreed. “Go along, both of you.”

Philip rose. “How about joining us, Martha? Or have you already made the acquaintance of our illustrious ancestors?”

“More than I want to, thank you. Clarissa and I will be quite content to stay here and have a good gossip while we finish these wreaths.”

The gallery, which was really a long corridor connecting two wings of the manor house, was designed cleverly. The wall which faced west was lined with windows, thus letting in the very last of the setting sun. The east wall was unbroken by any windows or doorways, and was completely lined with portraits. They were of a wide assortment of sizes and styles, from tiny, gay miniatures to enormous canvasses of gloomy pomposity. Philip pointed out an impressive, though distant, relation who had sailed with Drake; a sweet-faced, grossly overweight matron surrounded by seven children who was his great-grandmother; a slim, dark-eyed beauty who was his great-aunt and who, he said, had openly claimed to have been a mistress of George the Second; and his grandfather, the second Earl of Gyllford, whose grizzled hair and humorous eyes seemed to Evalyn to be very like the man who now stood beside her. “He's quite the handsomest man in the collection,” Evalyn said impulsively.

“Do you think so?” Philip asked. “I'm not surprised, of course. They say that Jamie is very like him.”

“Jamie? Oh, I thought rather that …” She stopped in confusion. “That is … I mean … I hadn't noticed that.”

Philip looked at her curiously. If she and Jamie had agreed to keep their alliance hidden, they surely needn't play the game with
him
! Was she embarrassed to acknowledge to Jamie's own father that she thought Jamie handsome? Blast the pair of them, he thought. They were certainly puzzling.

Evalyn moved quickly to another portrait. “I've been wondering about this gentleman,” she said, pointing to a painting of a thin, sharp-nosed old man with a completely unsuitable, heavily powdered, many-curled wig, and a great number of rings on his fingers.

“Why did you single out Uncle Joshua? You are looking at the late and unlamented Joshua Alexander Sebastian Selkirk Gyllford, known far and wide for taking more than six hours to dress for dinner. Sir Joshua reputedly spent twelve of the sixteen hours of his waking day in his dressing room. I have it on excellent authority that he employed three valets at once, since no one valet could stand the strain.”

Evalyn laughed. “I singled him out because I have the perfect mate for him. She hangs in my bedroom. She has a nose every bit as … er … important as his, a wig as high as an urn and hung with all sorts of pins and jewels and fripperies, and wears at least three rings on each finger.”

“They sound a good match, though I can't say I recall the painting. I wonder if it could be his wife, Aunt Caroline.”

“Would you like to come and see her?” Evalyn asked.

“Yes, indeed. It would be a great joke for the family to know that Uncle Joshua had been so suitably matched. If it is indeed Aunt Caroline, I may hang them side by side.”

“But how will you know? Will you recognize her?”

“I met her only once or twice, when she was quite old, but it is possible that I may recognize her.”

They started back through the gallery. Suddenly Evalyn stopped. “Oh!” she said softly.

“What is it?” Philip asked in concern.

“Something silly. I … I'm afraid you will think me miss-ish.…”

“I already think you miss-ish,” Philip teased, “so don't hold back on that score.”

She laughed. “I'm afraid I am. You see, I'm not always certain about just what is proper in your circles. Is it … perhaps … not the thing for me to take you to my …?”

“Your bedroom?” Philip gave a snort of laughter. “Haven't your novels taught you that? It will be quite proper, my dear, I promise you. We need only leave the door ajar, and you will not be compromised.” And he tucked her arm under his and proceeded down the corridor.

The lady in question hung on the wall opposite Evalyn's bed. Philip needed only a moment to recognize her. “It is Aunt Caroline to the life! I don't remember seeing this painting before, but if I had, I would never have consigned it to hang in a guest room. What a dreadful sight she is, to be sure. When I think of all the guests who have slept in this room, and who must have suffered untold nightmares from the sight of her, I'm quite contrite. I shall have her removed instant—”

At that moment, his lordship was interrupted by the precipitate entrance of a dishevelled, wild-looking Nancy, Evalyn's unconventional abigail, plainly agitated in the extreme. She rushed across the room to the window, the words spilling out of her as she ran. “Oh, thank the good Lord y're here, Miss Evalyn. Only take a look out the window! It's Joseph, the under-footman, got 'isself stuck on the ledge outside, and so terrified that 'e'll not move a 'air to get 'isself off!”

“Nancy, I don't understand a word of what you're saying. Are you telling me there's a
man
out there on the ledge?” Evalyn asked.

“Yes'm,” cried Nancy, almost jumping out of her skin in impatience. “Come, look for yer—” Turning as she spoke, she caught her first glimpse of Lord Gyllford. Her mouth dropped open, and she gasped in horror. “Oh, no!” she groaned.

“Please don't trouble yourself about my presence, girl,” Lord Gyllford assured her, “but I'm sure you must be mistaken. There couldn't be a man out there—we're three stories above ground!”

“B-b-begging your pardon, me lord, but there
is
. It's Joseph, y'see. Standing right out there too scared to move.”

“Then stand aside, please, and let me see to him,” said Philip firmly.

“Oh, no, me lord, not you!” Nancy almost shrieked, and, like the intrepid girl she was, she stretched out her arms across the window to bar the way.

“But, Nancy,” Evalyn said reasonably, “surely his lordship is the only one of us strong enough to handle a fully grown man. Step aside, as he's asked you, and let us have the man in before he falls.”

Nancy, though shaking and tearful, refused to budge. “Ye don't understand. 'e can't move because 'e's so scared. If 'e sees 'is lordship, that'll send 'im over the edge fer sure!”

“The girl may be right,” Evalyn said to Philip. She turned to the window without another word, opened the casement and peered out. When she turned back, her face was pale and her mouth tense. “He's out there, all right,” she told Philip tensely, “frozen to the spot and trembling in every limb.”

“How far from the window?” Philip asked.

“About ten feet, I'd say.”

“Too far to reach. I'd better get some men organized down below, and he can jump into a blanket,” Philip said and started for the door.

“Oh, no, please!” Nancy begged. She ran to Philip, dropped down on her knees in front of him and grasped his hand. “Annette asked me
partic' lar
not to say anything to anyone but Miss Evalyn. It'd be the end of 'er if anyone else learns of this! Oh, please sir! Once ye go out o' this room, there won't be no way to keep it quiet.”

“Don't be a fool, girl,” Philip said, his voice gently at variance with his words as he lifted her to her feet. “You don't want the man to die, do you?”

“There may be another way,” Evalyn ventured.

“I knew ye'd think o' something,” Nancy said, looking at Evalyn with adoration and relief.

“What do you suggest?” Philip asked.