A Christmas Kiss (15 page)

Evalyn was also spending the morning in a novel way. She had been trying to find a solution to a problem that had been disturbing her since her arrival at Gyllford; she wanted to express her thanks to her hostess in some sort of tangible way, but she had nothing in her portmanteau that would make a suitable gift. Her Spanish shawl was the only one of her personal effects which might answer, but Clarissa had in her possession several shawls much more beautiful. Yesterday, however, in a chance conversation with Joseph, she had come upon a solution. She'd met the footman in the hallway and had entered into polite conversation with him. During this, she learned that he had once been employed in Birmingham in a factory owned by a Mr. Henry Clay, who had patented a process for making
papier-mâché
. This material had become very popular throughout England, and was used for things as diverse as buttons, paper cases, tea trays, and coach panels.

The material was very easy to make at home, Joseph said in response to her questions, needing only strips of paper soaked in glue or size. The wet paper could then be shaped on a mold or any solid surface. When dry, it had the consistency of thin wood and could be varnished, lacquered, painted, or decorated in any number of ways. Evalyn, who had seen many objects made from this material, immediately decided that she would try to make a button box for Clarissa out of this ingenious material.

This morning she, Nancy, and Joseph had paid a visit to the kitchens, where she had procured some flour, a large bowl of water, and some heavy paper. This they took to Evalyn's room where, under Joseph's supervision, they tore the paper into strips, soaked it in the ready-made glue, and shaped the strips around a porcelain box which Evalyn had found on her dressing table. Joseph assured her that when the paper had dried it could easily be lifted off the porcelain, which could then be returned to its original condition simply by washing it.

When the makeshift mold had been covered, Joseph returned to his duties, and Nancy and Evalyn washed up. Evalyn looked at the morning's work with a pleased smile. The box and the lid had been neatly set to dry on a table before the window. Tomorrow, she would remove the mold and begin the process of varnishing and decorating. It would not be a valuable gift, but it would be delicate and colorful, and she was sure Clarissa would be pleased with something made with such loving care.

This morning was an important one for Gervaise, too. Rather carefully attired in a rose-colored coat with slightly rolled lapels, and a pair of blue pantaloons fitting tightly from waist to ankle in the new Parisian style and trimmed with a row of buttons down the outside of each leg, he entered the library nervously. He looked around with a sigh of relief to see that the large room was unoccupied. He had insisted on a meeting with Clarissa and now was beset with doubts and misgivings. It was not at all his style to force her hand, although he had long felt that his dog-like devotion to her all these years was somewhat demeaning to his sense of his own manhood. Middle-aged and corpulent as he undoubtedly was, he was still a man of some stature and dignity, and to be forever dangling after a woman who could not make up her mind did not seem to him to be appropriate behavior. The time had come to call a halt.

He was sure that his instincts in this matter were sound and rational, yet misgivings crowded in on him. After today's interview with Clarissa, his life would not be the same. If she agreed to marry him, he would, of course, be obliged to give up some of the comforts of a bachelor's existence—the freedom to come and go as he pleased, to run his house to suit himself, to plan his amusements, his meals, and his wardrobe without interference. This he was more than willing to do, to dispel the gloom with which his frequently recurring periods of loneliness enveloped him. If, on the other hand, she refused him, he would be cut off from his hitherto easy access to the one place where he felt at home and happy, Gyllford Manor, and from the sense of exhilaration and contentment which her companionship had provided all these years.

The high, starched points of his shirt collar cut into his full cheeks uncomfortably, and his coat felt annoyingly tight over his abdomen as he walked stiffly to and fro across the Oriental rug covering part of the library floor. Why had he let his man trick him out in so formal a style? His pantaloons, which earlier today had seemed to him the height of fashionable elegance, now seemed singularly inappropriate for country wear. His coat, which Weston had cut himself, and which had fit him quite admirably when he had first tried it on, now seemed positively ill-fitting. And finally, to his chagrin, he discovered that he'd been nervously twisting a waistcoat button and it had come off in his hand.

Staring down at the irritating button, he came to a decision. He would immediately return to his room and send his man to Clarissa, informing her he was not feeling up to snuff this morning. He started for the door and, true to his luck, came face-to-face with her. “Of course, you would arrive at this moment!” he muttered.

“Oh, dear,” said Clarissa, confused, “have I misunderstood the time?”

“Not at all,” Gervaise answered. “You are as precise and punctual as a tax collector.”

“What a charming simile,” she murmured drily.

“No offense meant, dear lady, I assure you. It's only that I am not quite dressed this morning, it seems.” And he held out the button sheepishly for her inspection. “I was about to leave for repairs.”

Clarissa laughed. “No need to run away,” she assured him. “Often and often I've seen you with a button missing. I'm not at all put off by it.”

Seating herself on a sofa before the fire, she patted the place next to her and urged him to sit down. He shook his head. “I'm afraid to chance it. If I sit, I fear that more of these blasted buttons may come loose.”

“Poor Gervaise. Then why do you choose clothing with such an inordinate number of buttons? Look at those pantaloons! There must be at least sixty buttons on them!”

He looked down at the pantaloons awkwardly, his cheeks reddening in embarrassment. “I thought these pantaloons would make me look quite up to snuff—the complete man of fashion,” he said, crestfallen.

“And so they do. Truly. Even without the button, you look complete to a shade,” she assured him, regretting her hasty criticism.

He cocked a knowing eye at her. “No need to flummer me, my girl. But perhaps this is a good moment to point out that when we are married, you may, if you please, take complete charge of my wardrobe.”

“And thus we come to the point,” she said with a sigh.

“Yes, we do. Clarissa, I can no longer be put off. I cannot stomach this life any longer. I have a big empty house which depresses my spirit every time I set foot in it, because you are not there to greet me. I have a steady stream of invitations which I refuse, because I do not like to go alone. I have a French cook who overfeeds me, because I have no one to supervise and curtail his excesses. I have an overweening valet who dresses me like a counter-coxcomb, because I have no wife to select my wardrobe. I have—”

“Enough, enough!” Clarissa cut in with a voice tinged half with amusement and half with annoyance. “I shall provide you with a housekeeper of taste and character who will be happy to handle most of your problems in return for an extortionate wage, which I know you can well afford, and which shall be much less costly than providing yourself with a wife.”

“That is unworthy of you, Clarissa. I don't think our problem can be solved with levity.”

“Yes, you're right,” she said, chastised. “I'm sorry, my dear.”

“Well, then, what have you to say to me?”

“What can I say, Gervaise? I value your friendship more than I can say.”

“Friendship,
faugh!
”

“Don't sneer at it so unkindly. I will admit to you that your friendship has sustained me through many years that might otherwise have been unbearably lonely.”

“Do you admit that? Then you must know that I feel it, too.” Heedless of his buttons, he sat down beside her and grasped her hands. “But Clarissa, my dear, I've not made a secret of the fact that your friendship has never been enough for me. When you were married to Steele, I had no choice but to keep you my friend. But it was always your love I wanted. After his death, I hoped … But you know all this. Why should you keep me waiting now? We have not so many years ahead—”

She waved him to silence and turned her head away. “Please, no more. I shall weep and disgrace myself. We mustn't talk like this. You know my situation. I cannot marry and ignore my obligations.”

Gervaise sighed and rose awkwardly from his seat. “I can no longer accept that excuse,” he said, leaning against the mantlepiece and staring down into the fire. “It had some validity when Jamie was a child. A woman was badly needed here then, and you were the only one who could fill the void. I understood and accepted it. But Jamie is twenty-two! He'll be married himself before long. There's no reason any longer for you to postpone your own life—your own happiness. Unless—”

“Unless?”

He turned to face her. “Unless you don't believe that marriage to me will make you happy,” he said, looking at her levelly.

She dropped her eyes. “I think … I
do
believe that I would be happy with you, Gervaise.…”

He was beside her in an instant, kissing her hand tenderly. “Oh, my dear!” he said, moved.

“But, dearest, I cannot marry you. Not because of Jamie, but Philip. He is accustomed to my presence. He has never coped with the running of a household, as you have. He would be in a terrible muddle. I could not desert him, I could not!”

Gervaise raised his head, and eyed her with anger. “Nonsense! You don't do the man justice. He is quite capable of looking after himself. He would be the first to tell you not to make such a sacrifice of yourself.”

“Yes, so we must never tell him. Never. I insist upon that, Gervaise.”

He stood up and drew himself up to his full height. “There is no need to tell me that, Clarissa. You know better than to think I would run to him for aid behind your back!”

“I know. I'm sorry to have offended you, my dear.”

“Offended me! What a peagoose you are. You have severed our relationship without a qualm, and you worry about trifles.”

“I have many a qualm, I assure you. Must our relationship be severed?”

“Yes, I've determined on it,” he said stubbornly.

“But why, my dear? Why can't we go on as before?”

“No, I can no longer abide it. I must have a wife. I'm too dashed lonely without one. If it can't be you, then I must cast about for someone else.” He gave her a quick, shrewd look from the corners of his eyes. “I may be a fat old clown, but I'm still able to attract a few good-natured females. One of them will agree to share my life and wealth.”

Clarissa snorted. “Don't be so damned humble with
me
, sir. I'm well aware of the lures that Gussie Monks has been casting in your direction these ten years, and she with a fortune that quite dwarfs yours. She's good-natured enough for anyone, if one doesn't mind the addled brain that goes with it. And you needn't think,” she added, getting up and walking quickly to the door, “that you can weaken my resistance by making me jealous, because it won't wash!” And she slammed the door behind her.

“Is that so?” he shouted at the closed door. “Well, we'll see how you feel when you're a guest at my wedding!”

The door opened, and Clarissa stood on the threshold, looking contrite. “Did you say something?” she asked innocently. She stepped inside and carefully closed the door behind her.

“Never mind. What did you come back for?”

“To ask if you intend to remain or to leave in a huff.”

“Under the circumstances, I certainly can't remain, can I?”

“You certainly can and you certainly should. I'm counting on your support through the Christmas festivities, Boxing Day and the rest. You would be a malignant churl if you deserted me now.”

“A malignant churl?” he repeated, a smile forcing its way to the corners of his mouth. “I scarcely find that an accurate or fair description of my character.”

Clarissa's mouth also showed signs of a smile. “I suppose not. But if you agree to remain, I promise to give some more thought to our … difficulty.”

“More thought? I was under the impression that you'd been doing that these past ten years!”

“So I have,” she answered pertly. “I'm a very slow thinker.”

“Oh, go along, you nodcock, and leave me to my misery.”

“But you will remain, won't you?”

“Yes, fool that I am. That gives you ten days to think. Ten days. Not a moment longer.”

“Good,” she said. She blew him a kiss and left the room. He looked after her with an expression of amusement mixed with disgust. She had deftly managed to keep him dangling by offering him just enough encouragement to keep his hopes alive. Well, he thought as he left the room, she did say she loved me, didn't she? If memory served, she had
almost
said it. Absorbed in interpreting her remembered words, he didn't notice Reggie coming down the hall until they almost collided.

“Sorry,” said Gervaise. “Wasn't looking where I was going.”

“No harm done,” Reggie assured him. “If you're on your way to breakfatht, I'll join you. There wath no one in the breakfatht room a moment ago, and I hate to eat alone.”

“Don't blame you a bit, my boy,” said Gervaise feelingly. “Don't blame you a bit. I hate to eat alone myself. I was going to change my clothes, but I'll keep you company at breakfast first.”

“Much obliged,” Reggie said. “But I would change after breakfatht, if I wath you. Thothe pantaloonth are not at all the thing. However did you perthuade yourthelf to wear them?”

Twelve