A Christmas Kiss (7 page)

“I agree,” Gervaise seconded. “I'll wager he's writing a radical tome.”

Martha gasped. “That's not possible! Not Philip!”

“It's a ridiculous idea,” said Sally, laughing.

“But that's it, you know,” Philip admitted. “How did you guess, you rascal?”

“I haven't spent hours conversing with you on Burke and Bentham and the ills of England without guessing what you're up to,” Gervaise chuckled in triumph.

“A radical tome? Really?” asked Jamie in surprise.

“How exciting! About what, Philip? You must tell us,” Sally urged.

“I didn't intend it to be a secret. I just don't like to prose on about my interests and make myself a dead bore.”

“We won't be bored, I promise,” Sally assured him.

“Indeed we won't,” Clarissa agreed. “I, for one, won't rest until I know what you're up to.”

“Well, briefly, I'm writing a response to a view expressed by Burke, who claimed that the British government represents, and
should
represent, the leisured classes who have education and above menial income—which means only about 400,000 of us. I contend—along with many others, like Bentham—that this is a narrow view. I'm attempting to suggest that all adults living in England make up the ‘public' and should be represented.”

“Good God!” exclaimed Edward. “Do you mean
everybody?
”

“Exactly so.”

“I don't understand this at all,” Clarissa sighed. “You mean people who receive wages? And servants and such?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well!” muttered Edward, “I've never heard such nonsense.”

“Don't know but what I don't agree with you either, Philip,” said Gervaise cheerfully, with keen enjoyment of an old, familiar argument. “I'm not at all opposed to the enfranchisement of tradesmen and householders who pay taxes, but—”

“But, indeed!” Edward nodded with conviction, “but the others—servants, indigents, and so on—well, I draw the line, my dear sir, I draw the line!”

Suddenly the whole room was a babble of voices, Sally, Jamie and Clarissa supporting Lord Gyllford, and the others vociferously against. Lord Gyllford turned his amused eyes to Evalyn, who had taken a seat a little apart from the others and was calmly stirring her tea. “You have not ventured to express your view, Miss Pennington,” he said.

The hubbub ceased, and everyone turned to look at Evalyn. “Since I am a member of that class against which Mr. Covington has seen fit to draw the line,” she answered with a calm smile, “I had supposed that my views would be obvious. It seems to me, however, that all classes will be represented by the government before very long, whether Lord Gyllford defends them or not.”

“Hear, hear!” cried Jamie and Reggie in unison, proud of their protégée.

Sally ignored them and looked at Evalyn with a sneer. “Miss Pennington puts me in mind of a job-horse who bites her master's hand because she thinks the oats he brings her are hers by right. You ought to be a little grateful, Miss Pennington, for Lord Gyllford's support for your class.”

Evalyn stared at Sally in surprise and chagrin. How could her simple statement be interpreted as resentment of Lord Gyllford? “I didn't intend—” she began.

“Of course you didn't!” Clarissa defended warmly, and turned to Sally in irritation. “Sally, you are being absurd.”

“It was not a fortuitous analogy, certainly,” Philip said, amused. “I know you meant to defend me, Sally, but Miss Pennington has really got to the truth of it. All classes
will
be represented in time, regardless of my work.”

But Evalyn lowered her eyes, struggling with her feelings of shame, frustration, and resentment. She had not intended to denigrate Lord Gyllford's writing. Yet Miss Trevelyan had deliberately tried to give that impression. What had she done to incur Miss Trevelyan's obvious antagonism? And, of more concern, was Lord Gyllford displeased with what she had said, even though he had spoken up on her behalf? As the conversation picked up around her, she unobtrusively glanced up at Lord Gyllford's face and found, to her surprise, that he was smiling down at her with a look of fond pride. A prickle of unfamiliar excitement ran down her spine, the color rose in her cheeks, and she hastily looked down at her cup. But not before she caught a glimpse—she could not be mistaken—of a barely perceptible flicker of his lordship's right eyelid. Philip Everard, Lord Gyllford, had winked at her!

When, several hours later, the entire household had retired for the night, three people lay awake. Evalyn didn't want to fall asleep. She wanted to relive every moment since her arrival. She wanted to commit to memory Lord Gyllford's every word, every gesture, every expression that she had noted on his face. She would add these, with the other impressions of the people and events of Gyllford, to her small storehouse of happy recollections, to be pulled out and relived on some future evening when, inevitably, the loneliness and drabness of her next post threatened to depress her spirits. In the meantime, she would live each day of this unexpected holiday to the full. She snuggled contentedly into the soft luxuriousness of the bedclothes and smiled into the darkness. She didn't care if sleep never came.

Sally tossed and turned restlessly. Who was that drab little nobody getting so much of Philip's attention? The woman was not a fool, she admitted, but she was only a governess, with no style, no taste, and no real beauty. Sally supposed that some might find the wench somewhat taking, but not in comparison with herself! What did Philip see in her? Sally could find no satisfactory answers. But she was certain of one thing: the irritating little nobody was interfering with her plans to capture Philip. Something would have to be done to get rid of her. And soon. She had not played her hand well tonight, and time was fleeting. She must think of a plan.…

Philip could not bring himself to lie down. He paced about his room, vaguely troubled. He knew he would not find sleep until he confronted squarely his feelings of disquiet and guilt. He paused at the window and stared out at the lawn below. The moonlight had turned the frosty grass to a silvered sea. Tomorrow would be a perfect day for Gervaise and the others to ride. Does Miss Pennington ride, he wondered? Miss Pennington. There it was. He was drawn to her as he had not been to a woman in years. Good heavens, he was jealous of his own son!

Disgusted with himself, he stalked across the room and got into bed. How amazing, he thought for the hundredth time, that twenty-two-year-old Jamie should have found in that quiet and unobtrusive girl the same gentle and clear-eyed loveliness that he had seen! But thoughts like this simply would not do. His feelings for his future daughter-in-law must be kept sternly in check and must never be permitted to exceed those of fatherly affection. He put her firmly from his mind, and, forcing himself to concentrate on his next day's writing, he at last drifted into an uneasy sleep.

Seven

The sun had not yet made an appearance when the men gathered round the breakfast board, already attired in riding clothes. Their host, Lord Gyllford, was the only one not so attired.

“Never thought to call you a spoilsport,” Gervaise grumbled when Philip had repeated for the third time his intention to remain behind.

Philip laughed. “You may call me anything you please,” he said to his friend, “but I have business that will not wait.”

Gervaise grunted. “Your book is the business, I suppose, and, if you ask me, it can wait for years.”

“Thank you for the compliment,” Philip said drily, “but the business has to do with the comfort of my guests.”

Reggie, standing at the window, remarked amicably, “Too bad, Lord Gyllford. It lookth to be a good day for shooting.”

They all turned to the window to see a faint light lining the horizon to the east. “We'd better get started, then,” said Jamie, downing his last gulp of Jamaica coffee and rising from the table.

Philip walked with them to the stables to make sure they were all suitably mounted and waved goodbye as they rode off noisily. On his return to the house, he was surprised to see young Marianne peeping into the breakfast room. Her hair was already combed and brushed into an entrancing cascade of brown ringlets, and her yellow morning dress was too becoming to have been donned for a solitary breakfast. “Good heavens, Marianne,” he greeted her, “what are you doing up and about at this ungodly hour? None of the ladies will be up for hours yet.”

“I was hoping to have breakfast with … that is, I wanted to see the gentlemen in their riding clothes,” she finished lamely.

“You've just missed them, I'm afraid. Or rather they've missed you. They would have enjoyed seeing your pretty face at breakfast. You're looking quite fetching this morning.”

The shy blue eyes flickered briefly to meet his, and a small smile brightened her face. “Oh, do you really think so?” she murmured. Philip understood that the question was purely rhetorical—merely a group of meaningless sounds she uttered to cover embarrassment or inadequacy with words. Some friend of hers must have suggested it as a useful cover phrase, to be brought out when needed. He suppressed a smile and said politely, “Is there something I can do for you? Can I get you something to … er … help you pass the time?”

“Oh, no, thank you,” she said, her face crestfallen. “I suppose I'll look into your library and find a book to read.” The tone of her voice was so unmistakably gloomy that Philip was left in no doubt as to what she thought of that pastime. She turned, and with hanging head and slow step proceeded toward the library. Philip watched her slow passage across the hall, wondering which of the two young men she had risen so early to see. Reggie had shown no noticeable interest in her the night before. Could Jamie's flirtation at the table the night before have encouraged her interest there? He hoped Jamie had better sense than to encourage a young and innocent female's attentions when he was already—even if secretly—attached to another. He sighed, and something of the gloom expressed by Marianne's retreating back entered into him.

Evalyn opened her eyes to find Nancy pulling aside the curtains. A cold December sun barely brightened the room, but the look on Nancy's face seemed to spread light into every corner. She beamed at Evalyn with an eager smile. “Miss Evalyn, I've such news!” she crowed.

“Good morning, Nancy,” Evalyn said sleepily. “What news?”

“Ye'll never credit it, I'm sure, 'is lordship sent fer me this mornin'. Sent fer me in partic'lar!”

Evalyn sat up abruptly. “Do you mean … Lord Gyllford?”

“Yes, Miss. Lord Gyllford 'is very self! Mr. 'utton, 'e took me upstairs—'e's the butler, y'know—an' Lord Gyllford, 'e smiles at me an' says 'e'd like fer me t' be in 'is employ, t' serve as Miss Pennington's personal maid, 'e says. To work fer Miss Pennington
exclusive
! Then 'e asks me, ever so kindly, if I think I'd be 'appy workin' ere. Imagine that! An' I says, oh, yes, yer lordship, I'd be very 'appy. Then 'e says I'm t' take orders on'y from you. Then Mr. 'utton, 'e pokes me an' whispers fer me to close me mouth an' make me curtsey, so I makes me prettiest one, an' I say I'd be 'appy t' stay as long as 'e'd like, an' that I'll try t' give good service. An' then 'utton takes me to the 'ousekeeper, an' she gives me this lady's-maid dress an' this lovely cap! Ain't I fine? Don't I look a proper lady's maid?”

Evalyn's head was whirling. Lord Gyllford had surprised her again. Most other men would have forgotten a promise relating to a domestic, made so casually at the dinner table. His attentions to her were as bewildering as they were pleasing.

She shook her head and tried to concentrate on Nancy, who was gaily pirouetting before her. Nancy did look every inch the lady's maid in her blue bombazine dress, her starched white half-apron and the lace-trimmed mob cap that neatly covered her unruly hair. The cap, threaded through with a blue ribbon that formed a little bow right over her brow, looked charming. “I think you look finer than I do,” Evalyn laughed as she climbed out of bed, “and much too fine to be serving a mere governess like me.”

“You ain't really a governess, are ye?” Nancy asked, peering at her new mistress curiously.

“But I am a governess, truly.”

Nancy's face fell. “But I 'eard 'em whisperin' about ye in the servants' 'all like y' was a fine lady—almos' like ye was one o' the family.”

Evalyn looked at her with amused sympathy. “Do you mind very much that I'm not a real lady?”

Nancy considered the question carefully. Then her face brightened. “Well, I s'pose they wouldn't think much o' me below-stairs if they knew, but I don't care. I ain't a real lady's maid neither, so I got nothin' to complain of.” She smiled her irrepressible smile. “We'll suit each other fine.”

Evalyn hugged the girl warmly. “I think so, too,” she said.

Nancy happily set about her new duties. She bustled round the room collecting various articles of clothing for Evalyn to wear. As she opened drawers and chests, however, the brightness again faded from her face. “I wish ye 'ad more clothes t' wear,” she sighed. “There ain't enough things 'ere t' keep me busy enough t' earn me wages.”

Evalyn shrugged into her least shabby daytime dress and let Nancy struggle with the buttons. “Then perhaps you can help me after breakfast. I mean to see what the twins are up to. If we can keep them quiet and happy, and out of the way of the other guests, we'll have deserved at least some of the unprecedented kindness we've been shown.”

But Lord Gyllford had been ahead of her here too. While she and Martha stood side by side at the breakfast buffet, Evalyn asked where the children were to be found. Martha, more relaxed and at ease than she'd been since her arrival, told Evalyn that Lord Gyllford had arranged for Jamie's old nurse, now living in retirement somewhere on the estate, to take charge of the children for the length of their stay.