A Christmas Kiss (19 page)

“Then it must be something more serious that is troubling you,” Evalyn suggested, not wanting to pry but offering a sympathetic ear.

“Yes, I find it serious, although you may think it foolish in a woman of my years to be troubled by such a thing.”

“I'm sure I couldn't think lightly of anything that troubles you,” Evalyn said earnestly.

“But you will think me foolish when you learn that I'm fretting over a proposal of marriage. Imagine! At my age, to carry on in my head like the veriest schoolgirl!”

“A marriage proposal! But Clarissa, how wonderful! Is it … I hope you'll not think me forward to ask … is it Gervaise?”

Clarissa looked at her in surprise. “However did you guess, Evalyn?”

Evalyn smiled. “It was not at all hard to guess. I've noticed many times that often, even when he is speaking to someone else, his eyes seek you out.”

Clarissa blushed with pleasure. “Do they? I was not aware …”

“Oh, yes. And when you're not in the room, he seems to be watching for you to come in the door.”

“Oh, dear. That
is
touching, when you think how many years we—Evalyn, I almost wish you hadn't told me. How can I face him and tell him I cannot accept him when you have painted this tenderhearted picture of him?”

“But why must you refuse him? It cannot be that you don't care for him.”

Clarissa cocked her head and looked at Evalyn with a twinkle. “Why do you say that with such assurance? Have you caught
my
eyes searching
his
out?”

Evalyn laughed. “Perhaps not. But you tease him so affectionately, and … I don't know. I felt sure—”

Clarissa sighed. “I don't deny you're right. But I cannot marry him. And I cannot bear to tell him so.”

Evalyn's smiled faded. “I'm so sorry, Clarissa,” she said softly. “It is dreadful when ‘impediments' prevent ‘the marriage of true minds.'”

Clarissa's eyes misted over and, to her embarrassment, two tears rolled down her cheeks. She quickly brushed them aside with the back of her hand and laughed tremulously. “Isn't it amazing how Mr. Shakespeare has something appropriate to say for every occasion?”

“Yes, but even his words don't really help,” Evalyn said regretfully. “I wish
someone
could help you, Clarissa.”

“Someone could, if only he realized …” Clarissa began. “But no. I am not being fair. I cannot expect Philip to marry just to please me.”

Evalyn caught her breath. “Philip …? Marry?” she asked.

“Well yes. You see, he's the impediment, the poor dear. I cannot leave him alone in this great house, especially now with Jamie about to set up his own establishment.” And she gave Evalyn an arch smile. “To leave him at this time would be unthinkable.” she went on. “Philip would be in a complete domestic muddle within a month if he were left to manage by himself.”

“Perhaps you underestimate him,” Evalyn ventured.

Clarissa regarded her with some surprise. “That's what Gervaise says, too. But I don't agree. You see, Gervaise has managed his household beautifully all these years and thinks it quite easy. But Philip is the sort of man who is always preoccupied with serious concerns. He wouldn't pay attention to the thousands of domestic details that must be attended to. That's why I cannot marry Gervaise. He doesn't need me as much as Philip does.”

“I see. That's why you hope Philip will marry?”

“Yes. I've been pushing him to do it for years and years! Not only for myself and Gervaise, of course—I'm not as selfish as that—but for Philip's own happiness. The lengths I've gone to to put eligible females in his way! The ruses and excuses I've devised to lure him to social events! I've been positively shameless, but to no avail. The man is quite immune.”

Evalyn, her eyes fastened on the package she was wrapping, said hesitantly, “Perhaps he will surprise you one day … soon …”

Clarissa shook her head. “You are thinking of Sally, are you not? No, there's not a chance of that. Philip dislikes her, I think, even though his attitude did seem to be softening last evening. But I myself don't wish them to make a match of it. I don't like her above half. Evalyn, I'm at my wits' end! He'll soon be too old to attract a proper female—”

“Old?” Evalyn said in genuine surprise. “How can you say so?”

Clarissa smiled at her fondly. “There are not many girls your age who would
not
say so, my dear. Forty-four is a far cry from youth.”

“Forty-four is a perfect—! I mean, a very good age for a husband,” Evalyn said, her eyes lowered and her cheeks revealing a flush. “There must be hundreds of girls even younger than I am who would think themselves lucky to … to marry a man like Lord Gyllford.”

“You are a darling,” Clarissa said warmly, and patted her hand with affection. “Just talking to you has lifted my spirits immeasurably. You can have no idea how happy I am that Jamie has brought you to us!”

Later that morning, Jamie peered into the breakfast room to find only Marianne present. She looked charming in a morning dress with ruffles of lace at the neck. But she sat stirring her tea in a decidedly listless manner. “Good morning,” Jamie greeted her cheerfully. “Am I the last to come down?”

“No, not quite,” Marianne said in a small voice. “Everyone's been here but … your friend.”

“Reggie? Is he still abed? That's not like him.”

“He has not seemed … that is, does it seem to you that he …?”

“That he what, Marianne?”

“That he has been … avoiding companionship these last few days?”

“Now you mention it, yes, I have,” Jamie answered, his brow wrinkling. “He's been acting dashed queer, as if he's in some sort of hank. Been meaning to look into it. If you'll excuse me, Marianne, I'll do so right now.”

Determined to get to the bottom of the mystery of Reggie's strange behavior, Jamie marched firmly up the stairs and into Reggie's bedroom without so much as a knock on the door. Reggie was sitting up among the pillows, his nose deep in a book he'd evidently more than half finished.

“Good God!” Jamie exclaimed. “Not reading again!”

Reggie started. “Well! of all …! What'th the idea of thneaking up on me like thith? You didn't even knock!”

“You can get down off your high ropes, Reggie Windle, and don't try to tip me a rise. I came in without knocking to catch you unaware. Something has pitched you into a bumble bath, and I mean to find out what it is.”

“Nothing to find out,” Reggie said flatly, sticking his nose back in the book.

“You'll tell me,” Jamie threatened, “or you'll feel my fists. Spending your time reading! Why, it ain't even
healthy
! And you've been avoiding me … don't deny it. Even Marianne noticed it.”

“Oh, she did, did she?” asked the voice behind the book. “Well, it ain't any of her conthern.”

“Stop hiding your face behind that book and look at me,” Jamie demanded. “Something has put you out of frame, and I want to know what it is.” His voice lowered, and he asked in a troubled voice, “Have I said or done anything to offend you, Reg? You know I'd rather cut my tongue out than hurt your feelings.”

“Don't be a beetle-headed flat,” Reggie said, laying the book aside and looking up at Jamie with a troubled frown. “Maybe I'm homethick. I've been thinking that I might go home to Farnham tomorrow …”

“Farnham?” Jamie exclaimed impatiently. “Whatever for? There's no one there except the servants!”

“To my thithter, then. She athked me to come for the holidayth.”

“Yes, I remember. And you said you'd rather spend a month in prison than a week with your sister. Damn it, man, I'm your best friend! Can't you tell me?”

Reggie twisted the edges of his comforter with nervous fingers. “Hard to talk about it,” he said slowly. “Dathed embarrathing.”

Jamie perched at the foot of the bed. “Embarrassing or not, you'd better get to it, because I'm not moving until you do.”

“Damned babblemonger,” Reggie muttered. Then, after a pause, he sighed and plunged in. “It ain't anything you've done. It'th me! I've gone and done the motht addlepated thing. I've been an even greater lobcock than Geoff Carbery.”

“Geoff Carbery?” Jamie asked in complete bewilderment. “Whatever can you …? You don't mean you've done something stupid in the petticoat line?”

Reggie nodded glumly.

“I don't believe it! You?” A thought struck him like a lightning bolt. “You don't mean that
you've
accosted Miss Pennington?”

“No, of courthe not!” said Reggie, outraged.

“Well then, who?”

Reggie glanced at his friend with an expression ridden with guilt. “Marianne,” he said tragically.

Jamie blinked. “Marianne? That child? You couldn't have behaved improperly to such an innocent! I'll not believe it of you.”

“Well, it wouldn't have happened at all, if you hadn't made me remain with her on the road the other day. I mean, what would
you
have done if she'd been crying, and she looked up at you with thothe big eyeth of herth, and thaid that
you
were handthome and kind and …”

Jamie, beginning to understand, felt an irresistible urge to laugh. Struggling to keep his expression serious, he asked, “Said you were handsome and kind, did she?”

“Yeth, and … and … that my lithp was lovable …”

“L-lovable? She said your lisp was love—
lovable
…?”

“Yeth, she did! I mean,
any
man would have kithed her …!”

It was too much for Jamie. He put his head back and roared with laughter. The more he thought of Reggie's lovable lisp, the more he laughed. Reggie stared at him in mounting vexation. “I don't thee what there ith to laugh about,” he said coldly. “She ith
your
young lady, after all.”

“Y-you're doing it much t-too brown, Reg,” Jamie gasped, wiping his streaming eyes with his sleeve. “I'll believe the h-handsome and k-kind part, but a l-lovable lisp—!” But Reggie's words reached him at last, and his laughter faded away. “W-what did you say?” he asked.

“I thaid there ith nothing to laugh about,” Reggie repeated rigidly.

“No, no, the other part. About Marianne being my young lady.”

“Well, what about it?”

Jamie stared at Reggie in sudden understanding. “Is that it? Have you been hiding away behind a book because you thought that Marianne and I—?”

Reggie glared at him angrily. “You're not going to pretend that you're not attracted to her, are you? You told me you were, the very firtht night we arrived!”

“Reggie, you gudgeon! You cannot have thought I was serious! I like her, of course, but nothing beyond the ordinary. There aren't any other females here to flirt with, and I wanted to pass the time …”

“Do you mean it, Jamie?” Reggie asked urgently. “You really don't care for her?”

“Of course I mean it. How many times do I have to tell you I ain't in the petticoat line? Besides, now that I think about it, it seems plain that she's liked you better from the first. If you ask me, she's been looking blue-devilled ever since you began avoiding us.”

A gleam of hope lit Reggie's face. “Do you really think tho?” he asked.

Jamie had to laugh again.

“Now what'th tho funny?” Reggie demanded.

“You,” Jamie said between gasps. “The way you said, ‘Do you really think so?'—well, you sounded just like Marianne!” And Jamie roared again. Reggie blinked, tried to look severe, and then slowly collapsed into helpless laughter.

“Of course,” Jamie added, when he could manage to speak, “she doesn't have your l-lovable lisp!”

Reggie's response was a well-aimed barrage of pillows flung at Jamie's head.

The snow had stopped falling and the sky had lightened by the afternoon, and over luncheon several eager voices joined to beg Philip to permit them to accompany him on his rounds of the tenants. Sally, whose vivacious quality was blooming under the warmth of Philip's attention, spoke feelingly of the pleasure of riding through the snow. Reggie, happily restored to the society of his friend and Marianne (the story of
Jonathan Wild
forgotten), seconded Sally's views and immediately claimed two seats in the carriage—one for him and one for Marianne. Jamie promptly demanded a seat next to them.

“Mutht you came along?” Reg had asked,
sotto voce
.

“Yes, I must,” Jamie had answered decidedly. “Just because you've won the fair lady, don't think you'll get
me
to retire with a book!”

The group gathering in the front hallway that afternoon made a gay assemblage. There was much laughter, the clump of heavy boots, the commotion of several footmen helping the men into their greatcoats. Mufflers were wound around throats, muffs and mittens found for eager hands. In the midst of the turmoil, Philip noticed Evalyn walking quietly up the stairs. He nudged his son. “I think you should ask Miss Pennington to join us, Jamie. It seems to me that you've become neglectful of including her in your activities.”

“Oh?” Jamie asked, puzzled. “I didn't realize that I was expected to—of course, I'll ask her.” He ran up a few steps and caught her arm. “Miss Pennington,” he said, “we're all about to go riding in the snow. Why don't you join us?”

“Do come!” called Sally from below. Her watchful eye had missed nothing of this byplay. “It promises to be a most amusing outing.” She took Philip's arm possessively and laughed up at him.

“Thank you,” Evalyn said, “but I prefer the warmth of the indoors.”

“Come now, Miss Pennington,” Philip said in his most avuncular manner, “I heard you say not long ago that you loved new-fallen snow.”