A Christmas Kiss (21 page)

“I see. Very well, you may tell Hutton to announce dinner. I'll inform Lady Steele.”

He returned to the drawing room and told the assemblage that Evalyn had retired early. He informed Clarissa in a low voice that Evalyn was not feeling well. Clarissa shook her head. “I told the girl she was looking fagged. I'm glad she decided to go to bed, though I'm sorry she will miss the Christmas Eve celebrations. Don't look so worried, Philip. I'm sure she'll be right as rain after a good night's sleep.”

After an excellent dinner, the guests gathered in the drawing room for an evening of Christmas games. First they played hunt-the-slipper, as a favor to the twins. Then forfeits, by popular demand, with Marianne unanimously chosen as the crier of the forfeits. She surprised the entire group by devising forfeits of great ingenuity, and announcing them in a voice that could be heard at least by those who were close by or listening with attention. And, at last, Jamie's favorite, snap-dragon, was announced.

Hutton entered with great ceremony, bearing a broad, shallow bowl filled with brandy. He was followed by two footmen, one carrying a tray of raisins and the other a table, which was placed in the middle of the room. The bowl was set on the table, the raisins dropped into the brandy, and then Jamie lit a long stick and ignited the brandy, to a chorus of oohs and aahs. The blue flame jumped merrily. The guests were requested to pull the flaming raisins from the bowl and pop them into their mouths. This was to be done to the accompaniment of the snapdragon song and, if the experience of the past gave any clue, much clapping of hands and derisive laughter.

“Here he comes with flaming bowl,

Don't he mean to take his toll,

Snip! Snap! Dragon!”

they sang as Edward gingerly put his fingers into the flame and hastily withdrew them, empty.

“No, no,” Jamie cautioned him. “You must be very quick about it, like this.” And he thrust his hand into the brandy with a darting motion and had popped three flaming raisins in his mouth in the wink of an eye.

“Doesn't it hurt?” asked Teddy, awed.

“Not a bit, if you're quick. Here, you try.” And he lifted the boy over the bowl.

“With his blue and lapping tongue

Many of you will be stung,

Snip! Snap! Dragon!”

The boys were quick learners and popped the raisins in their mouths with amusing bravado. Sally, graceful and quick, took her turn to prolonged applause. Marianne was too timid to try, so Reggie fed her with the raisins he'd procured. Everyone managed to take a turn before the flame died out, and, to the twins' disappointment, the game ended as they all sang the final stanza:

“Don't 'ee fear him, but be bold,

Out he goes, his flames are cold,

Snip! Snap! Dragon!”

The game was such a success that nobody, not even Sally, noticed that Philip had quietly slipped out of the room. He ran up the stairs and knocked softly at Evalyn's door. A wary, frightened Nancy opened it a crack and peeped out. “Good evenin', ye lordship,” she said in a quivering voice.

“Good evening, Nancy. I've come to see your mistress. May I come in?”

“Oh, no, me lord,” she exclaimed. “She's fast asleep.”

“I see. Is she very ill? What did she say was troubling her?”

“Only a 'eadache, me lord. Nothin' to worry over.”

“But perhaps I should send Clarissa up—just to see if she's feverish …”

“Oh, she ain't feverish, me lord, I promise ye that. There ain't no use disturbin' 'er now.”

Philip scanned the girl's face closely. “Very well. But you will stay with her all night, won't you? And be sure to send for me if she should wake and need anything. Will you do that?”

“Most certainly, me lord. I won't leave this room all night. Ye 'ave me word on it.”

“Yes. Well, goodnight then,” he said, and reluctantly turned away.

Philip found the rest of the evening very nearly unendurable, but he played the part of host so well that nobody suspected it. One thing beyond his control was the weather which, it was soon discovered, had become so bad that the plans for the evening were adversely affected. The snow fell so heavily that attendance at the midnight service was not possible. Instead, Edward was asked to conduct a brief family service, carols were sung with gusto, and the little group gathered for the late supper in a happy Christmas spirit. Philip, however, could not help giving a sigh of relief when the company finally disbanded and headed for their beds.

Edward Covington had had a memorable evening. Not only was he proud of being asked to conduct the service, but he had had a talk with Reggie that had induced in him a most unaccustomed, fatherly glow. A brief talk with Marianne, just before she retired, had increased his sense of exhilaration, and it was with a pleased, self-satisfied smile that he readied himself for bed. His man dismissed, he put on his frogged dressing gown and tapped at the door which connected his bedroom with his wife's.

“Come in,” Martha called. As he entered, Martha's abigail, who had been administering nosedrops to her mistress, glanced at Edward's dressing gown, replaced the bottle of medication, and hastily withdrew.

“What is it, my dear?” asked Edward with a suppressed sigh. “Another cold?”

“Oh, no,” his spouse reassured him, sitting up among the pillows and patting the space beside her invitingly, “it's only a preventive measure. You know how I am in such weather.”

Edward sat down on the bed and took her hand. “Yes, my dear, I know how you are. But I don't know if it's altogether wise to take medication before it is needed.”

“Why would it be unwise?” she asked him reasonably. “If the medicine is beneficial when one is sick, why should it be harmful when one is well?”

Edward opened his mouth to respond, found himself nonplussed, and shut it again. He shrugged. “Never mind that now. I have some news that will surprise you, I think.”

“News? You surprise me already. What news can you possibly have? We left each other scarcely an hour ago.”

“Did you notice tonight that, during the games, Reggie took me aside? He asked me to step into the library to have a word with him.”

“No, I can't say I noticed. What on earth did he want with you?”

“Prepare yourself for a shock, my dear. He asked my permission to pay his addresses to Marianne!”

Martha's mouth dropped open, and she stared at her husband, speechless. She felt for a moment as if she were in a dream. She could not have heard him properly.

“Did you say Marianne? He wants to court
our
Marianne?”

“So it would seem.”

“You cannot have understood him! You've made a mistake. Marianne is only a child! She'll not have her come-out until next year!”

“So I told him,” said her laconic husband with irritating calm.

Martha caught her breath and clutched at his arm. “What did you tell him? Edward!” she almost screamed. “You didn't
refuse
him!”

“Hush, my dear, don't get so excited. One minute you say she's too young, and the next you say you don't want me to refuse him. You must try to be calm and compose your mind.”

“Compose my mind! How can I compose my mind when you tell me you whistled the Farnham fortune down the wind!”

“I didn't do any such thing. Do you take me for a fool?”

“Well, then, what
did
you do? Will you stop talking and tell me what you said?”

“I can scarcely stop talking and tell you anything,” Edward responded with asperity.

“What?” asked Martha. “Sometimes, Edward, I find it extremely difficult to follow you.”

Edward sighed. “Very well, my dear, suppose we start all over again from the beginning.”

“Yes,” agreed his wife, leaning back against the pillows, pressing her hands against her breasts and taking deep breaths to calm herself, “that”—she breathed—“would be a very good”—she breathed again—“idea.”

“Well then, I repeat. I accompanied Reggie to the library where he told me, in an excellent, succinct style, that he had grown attached to our daughter—”

“How remarkable,” exclaimed his wife in gratification. “In less than a week! I must say I would not have believed she had it in her.”

“You are not to interrupt with irrelevancies, ma'am. As I was saying, Reggie said he had grown attached to our daughter and would like my permission to pay his addresses to her.”

“Yes, yes. Well?”

“Whereupon, after I had gotten over my surprise, I pointed out to him that she was only seventeen and had not yet been presented—”

“Very true. Just what you ought to have said.”

“Thank you. Then Reggie said he was aware of that, and that he was willing to give her a chance to have her come-out and see a little more of the world before extracting a firm commitment from her.”

Martha clapped her hands together gleefully. “Did he say that? How considerate of him! I must say, I'm thoroughly delighted with the boy. I think that should serve very well, don't you? It will give me plenty of time to persuade Marianne that putting up with a little lisp is nothing but a trifle when compared with the Farnham fortune and the right to be called a viscountess.”

“I don't think you'll need that time. When I told Marianne what had transpired—”

“You told her?”

“Yes, of course. I stopped in at her bedroom before coming here. She threw her arms about my neck and said she was the happiest girl in the world!”

“Oh, Edward, I can scarcely believe it! Our daughter … to be a viscountess, the lady of a great house in the country, a London residence, all the horses and carriages she could want, the servants, the gowns, the pin-money … Edward, I think I'm going to faint …!”

Edward stood up abruptly and frowned down at her. “If you do,” he said severely, “I'll march out of here and leave you where you fall. It's bad enough to have you fainting when trouble occurs, but if you begin to do it when
good
things happen, you'll get no help from me!”

Philip lay in his bed that night, staring up at the shadows cast on the ceiling by the flickering firelight. For the fourth night in succession, it was Evalyn who had caused his insomnia. Tonight it was an uneasy feeling of guilt that was keeping him awake. He feared that she had taken to her bed because of the treatment she had received at his hands. And at Jamie's hands, too. His irritation at his irresponsible son was chaffing him severely. What sort of man had his son become? The beetlehead had not shown a moment's concern over Evalyn's absence this evening. He had enjoyed his Christmas Eve completely and had indulged in his silly games with the light-hearted enthusiasm of a child without a care in the world.

Two days ago, Philip had promised Clarissa to take Jamie to task, but he'd not yet been able to bring himself to deliver that much-needed lecture on the duties of a prospective bridegroom to his bride. Obviously, he could put it off no longer. Tomorrow he would have it out with Jamie. He went over in his mind the various instances of neglect of which Jamie had been guilty. Yet it would not be advisable to throw a recital of Jamie's thoughtless acts at his head. Perhaps it would be better to encourage Jamie to announce his betrothal immediately, so that he and Evalyn could feel free to exhibit publicly their attachment to each other. But Philip would not neglect to point out to his rackety son the necessity of giving his bride his undivided affection and attention. Philip rehearsed several speeches in his mind and imagined the scene with Jamie in several different ways. Somehow, though, no matter how calmly and reasonably each scene started, Philip found himself concluding each imaginary encounter by firmly wringing his blasted son's neck.

Sixteen

The ten-mile drive to Ashwater took more than two hours, for although the curricle was light, the passage through the snow was difficult. The open carriage did not afford much protection from the elements, and Evalyn and Joseph were chilled to the bone by the time they drove into the inn yard. Joseph shook his head worriedly as he helped Evalyn down from the carriage. “I hope you know what you're about,” he said, voicing his disapproval for the fourth time that hour. “You'll never get a hack on a night like this, and even if you do, you'll not make it to Launceston. And if you do get to Launceston, you'll not see the Exeter stage 'til this snow clears.”

Evalyn looked at the snow swirling about the inn yard. It seemed to be coming down more heavily than before, and the wind was growing stronger. Drifts were beginning to form around the gateposts and along the walls of the inn. “Perhaps you're right, Joseph,” she said, a worried frown creasing her forehead, “but I shall contrive somehow. Meanwhile, come in and get warm before you set off for home.”

The Bull at Ashwater was a small, cheerful inn, with a taproom that was usually filled with lively activity at this time of evening. On this night, however, a solitary drinker sat in one corner, and Mrs. Fern, the landlord's wife, knelt before the fireplace adding wood to an already lively blaze. Otherwise, the place was deserted. Hearing footsteps, Mrs. Fern looked up to see Evalyn and Joseph standing in the doorway. “Bless me,” she exclaimed, “where'd you come from? I ain't heard no carriage.”

She bustled over to Evalyn and took her cloak. “Here now, Missy, sit you down near the fire. You're shivering something fierce.”

“Get the lady something hot to drink,” Joseph said, putting down the portmanteau. “She's chilled to the bone.”

“And you, too, by the look of you.” She hurried off, muttering to herself on the peculiarities of folk who would venture out on a night like this, and Christmas Eve, too. She returned in a moment with a pot of hot tea and two steaming mugs of mulled wine. Joseph took the wine and drank as quickly as he could swallow the hot brew. “I'd best be getting back, Miss Evalyn, before the drifts get too deep,” he said.