A Stockingful of Joy (16 page)

Anthony was gazing out the window at the afternoon traffic outside, his expression pensive. When she entered the main salon, he turned and became very still. After a long moment, he said softly, "Well, well,
well
."

"It's the stays," Emma blurted out. "I'm not really shaped like this."

He grinned as he circled around her. "My dear, no woman is shaped precisely like that, which is why stays were invented. And believe me, you shape up very well."

She blushed to the roots of her hair. But she was not displeased. She studied herself in the salon mirrors. She was not a delicate fashionable beauty, and she never would be. But she had a kind of forceful splendor that made her a woman who would not be easily overlooked. It was a heady thought.

Emma clung to that satisfaction through a long, tiring afternoon while endless fabrics and patterns were chosen. By the time they left, she was exhausted. In the carriage, she sank back into the velvet squabs of the seat. "What a very unusual wedding day."

Anthony chuckled. "It was time well spent. Tomorrow we'll visit jewelers and find you shoes and stockings and such like. The other important thing is your hair."

He leaned forward and removed her bonnet, then pulled out the pins that secured the knot on her nape. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders. Gently he brushed the dark waves back, the skim of his fingertips on her ear and throat sending sparks through her. She caught her breath, shocked that such a casual touch could stir her so.

Apparently unaffected, he said, "Tomorrow, a hairdresser. Your maid—Becky, I think?—must learn how to do new styles."

It all sounded wonderful, but Emma could not dismiss a flash of concern. "Anthony, can we afford all this?"

He frowned, and for a moment she feared that her question had angered him. But his voice was even when he said, "Your wardrobe will cost a pretty penny, but it's a necessary expenditure, one that I allowed for when estimating our expenses. You must trust me when I say that I have no desire to live in debt again, Emma."

She gazed at him, enchanted by his serious expression, the way his attention was concentrated on her. This glorious male creature was now her husband.
Hers
. "I trust you, Anthony," she said softly. "Never doubt it."

She had never been happier in her life.

The Dowager Duchess of Warrington chose her moment carefully. The Vaughns were just finishing dinner, but it was not yet time to rise. Her gaze went over her beloved family. Her son James, the duke, with his quiet dignity and dry humor. Her daughter-in-law Amelia, a woman of wit and laughing charm. Sarah, her youngest granddaughter, who would be presented to society in the spring.

The dowager's eyes clouded when she looked at her grandson, Brand, who would be the next duke, and his wife, Cecilia. Oh, they'd produced two fine boys dutifully enough, but something was wrong between them, and both were too pigheaded to ask advice from those who were older and wiser.

Concealing her thoughts, the dowager said, "I've received most of the replies for the Christmas gathering. Besides the usual guests, there will be a few who are less expected."

She took a sip of wine as every gaze turned to her. Setting down the crystal goblet, she said, "Verlaine will be coming with his new wife."

Her statement produced absolute silence. The duke and his wife exchanged a swift, startled glance. Brand's face became as expressionless as marble while Cecilia's gaze dropped to the meringue swan on her plate. Only Lady Sarah, too young to remember what had happened, said brightly, "Cousin Anthony? Marvelous! He hasn't come for Christmas in donkeys' years. Whom did he marry?"

"A Vaughn connection, actually." The dowager glanced toward her son. "Emma Stone. The daughter of your second cousin. She used to come with her parents, Jane Vaughn and Sir George Stone. They both died of a fever ten years back. Luckily the girl was at school, or she might have died, too. She has not been here since then."

Amelia pursed her lips. "Jane Stone's daughter. I remember her. A nice child. Quiet, but with very speaking eyes and excellent manners."

James said with a barely discernible hint of irony, "How pleasant it will be to see them both again." He studied his son, who had said nothing. "I didn't realize that you still sent invitations to such distant relatives,
Maman
."

"That is why family gatherings should be left in the hands of the old," she said serenely. "We have the time and memory to maintain the family connections. It wasn't easy keeping track of Emma, but I made sure that she received an invitation every year. She would always return a pretty note, regretting that she could not attend."

"I shall be glad to see Emma," Cecilia said with a touch of defiance. "I've wondered what had become of her. She was nice, and so clever. How lovely that she and Anthony have discovered each other after so many years." She cast a wistful glance at her husband, but he would not look at her. A muscle jerked in his jaw as he stared at the tapestry on the opposite wall.

Slowly the dowager drank the last of her wine. Though fireworks were not traditional at Christmas, they would certainly take place at Harley this year. God willing, they'd shed some light on corners too long filled with shadow.

«
^
»

Emma eyed a piece of toast doubtfully. "I don't think I can eat. I'm too excited at the thought that today we're actually going to Harley."

Her husband picked up the toast and put it in her hand. "Eat," he ordered. "You'll make yourself ill if you set off on a long coach trip with an empty stomach."

Pleased by his concern, she obediently spread honey on the toast and took a bite. It did taste good. Her gaze went around the attractive room. In the week of their hotel honeymoon, she'd grown fond of the place. Every morning their breakfast was served on a small table in a corner of the drawing room. Several newspapers arrived at the same time, and she and Anthony had fallen into the habit of sharing a leisurely meal, reading and discussing the news of the day.

Her husband had been surprised the first time she'd offered an opinion, but he'd adjusted very quickly. Now he seemed to enjoy their discussions as much as she did. Later in the day, after they had done the shopping and fittings necessary to her transformation, he would take her to see sights that she'd had no chance to visit when she was working.

Her gaze went to the doors that led to the two bedrooms. In that area their honeymoon was sadly deficient. Anthony was always charming and considerate, but he'd made no attempts to bed his bride. Was he taking her desire to wait too seriously, or was he simply not very interested?

Granted, before their hasty wedding Emma had felt skittish about giving herself to a near stranger, but time was rapidly curing her of that. The yearning she'd felt for Anthony when she was a girl had returned tenfold. She loved every casual touch, even if he was only helping her from the carriage. She loved looking at him, studying the strong planes of his face, his easy, athletic movements. She delighted in small discoveries like the faint scar on his chin, and enjoyed the irrepressible tuft of hair that lived its own life, wild and free, no matter what Anthony did to try to tame it.

Her husband divided the last of the coffee—another taste they shared—between their cups. "Do you know, my worst fear when we married was that we wouldn't have anything to say to each other," he said thoughtfully. "But I've noticed no shortage of conversation."

She gave him a smile of suspicious innocence. "That's because you're so extremely interesting that there is always something to discuss."

"Flatterer," he laughed, his gaze warm. "You have a wicked sense of humor."

She wondered if he was going to lean forward and kiss her. Apart from the briefest of pecks at their wedding ceremony, they hadn't kissed at all.

After a suspended moment he drained his coffee and got to his feet. "I'll go order the carriage and summon porters for the baggage. We must be off soon if we wish to make Harley in one day."

She nodded, suppressing her disappointment. Having asked for time to ease into the intimacy of marriage, she supposed she had no right to complain at receiving more than she'd bargained for.

They made good time, and arrived at Harley just as full dark was settling over the rolling hills. As they rattled up the long driveway, Emma peered out the carriage window. "Look! The Christmas candles are lit. I'd forgotten all about them."

Anthony looked past her and saw a lattice of lights, one candle in every window of the massive building. There was enough moonlight to recognize the pale stone and graceful proportions of one of Britain's grandest homes. It was a palace, really, almost as large as Blenheim or Castle Howard. "I'd half forgotten the candles, too. Yet now that I see them, they remind me of everything I've ever loved about Harley."

"I'd given up believing that I'd ever return," Emma said softly. "Now that I'm here, I'm frightened. I've lived in a different world for the last ten years. I don't belong at Harley anymore. I keep thinking that the dowager only invited me from courtesy, believing I would never accept."

The darkness made it easy for him to reach out and take her gloved hand. It was large and capable and well formed, like the rest of Emma. "Even if that were true, which it isn't, you would still be welcome here as my wife." He stopped, struck by the irony of his words. "That was a silly statement, wasn't it? I'm the one wondering if I'll be thrown out bodily."

Her hand tightened on his. "Of course not. It's been nine years. You say that Brand and Cecilia have two children now. He probably barely remembers your fight."

Anthony wished he believed that. But he didn't.

Their carriage pulled up in front of wide, torch-lit steps. Instantly footmen emerged to take their baggage. With a steady stream of Vaughns arriving, the servants had their routine down to a fine art. While two footmen went for the baggage, another opened the carriage door and flipped down the folding step. Anthony climbed out first, then turned to assist Emma. She gave him a tremulous smile as she stepped down.

She looked so vulnerable that he wanted to take her in his arms and murmur comforting words in one elegant ear. In fact, he would like to take her in his arms anyhow. She had blossomed under the ministrations of Madame Chloe, the best hairdresser in London, and sundry jewelers, shoemakers, and others. Under his breath, he whispered, "You look every inch a Vaughn."

Her smile widened and became more confident. Arm in arm, they climbed the steps. A footman opened the massive front door and bowed them in. No sooner had they entered the huge, three-story entry hall when a gaggle of children, aged between about six and twelve, ran shrieking through the far end of the space. By the time Anthony blinked, they'd come and gone.

Emma laughed as her gaze went to the fragrant greenery and bright ribbons that decorated the hall. "Lord, that brings back memories. Remember how exciting it was to arrive here and see all the cousins for the first time in a year?"

"Vividly." On his last visit, the cousin Anthony had longed for most had been Cecilia. Tonight he would see her again. The thought knotted his stomach.

Before Anthony could say more, a relaxed woman of middle years came forward to greet them. It was the Duchess of Warrington herself, Brand's mother. "Anthony, how wonderful to see you again," she said warmly. "And, Emma, how splendid you look. It's hard to believe you're so grown up."

She kissed Emma's cheek, then turned and offered her hand to Anthony. As he bowed over it, she said with a twinkle, "The dowager and Cecilia and I have been taking turns receiving people since yesterday morning. I'm so glad that you two arrived on my shift. Having you both here again is quite the most exciting event this Christmas."

Emma said quietly, "I can't tell you how much it means to be at Harley again."

Anthony added, "How is everyone? The duke, the dowager…" After the faintest of pauses, he added, "Brand. Cecilia. Your daughters."

The duchess's mouth twisted ruefully. "Brand is… stubborn. Cecilia and her boys are very well. Anne and her husband arrived earlier today, and you won't even recognize my Sarah. She's all grown and chafing to be presented."

Three chattering females entered the hall. The oldest called out, "Verlaine, you rascal, what's this about a wife?"

"Aunt Fanny!" Anthony exclaimed, giving her a big hug. Turning to the younger women, he said, "And these dazzling creatures must be my cousins Rebecca and Louisa."

Both girls giggled, and Louisa hugged Anthony. When he emerged from her embrace, he said, "You already know my wife. She was Emma Stone, you know."

His Aunt Fanny, actually a first cousin once removed, said in a booming voice, "Of course I remember little Emma. Not that you're so little now." Her gaze went over the subject of the discussion. "Pure Vaughn," she pronounced. "Has Verlaine got you with child yet, girl?"

As Emma turned scarlet, Anthony recalled that Fanny had always been an earthy sort. Putting one arm around his wife's shoulders, he said firmly, "Behave yourself, Aunt Fanny. We haven't been married even a fortnight yet."

Fanny shook her head with regret. "You should have waited and had the wedding here. Always good to have another reason to celebrate."

The duchess intervened, saying, "We've never lacked for celebration, Fanny. Now, let me take these young people to their room so they can freshen up." She whisked Anthony and Emma up the sweeping stairs.

As they climbed, she said with a mischievous smile, "You're the last to arrive. The house is packed to the rafters. As newlyweds, I'm sure you won't mind sharing a bedroom. I've put you in one of the towers."

Anthony darted a look at Emma. She looked startled, and rather alarmed. That was something they'd both overlooked—with the house full, married couples were required to share quarters. Since many of them were used to having separate rooms, there were always good-natured complaints about the crowding.

They had to climb three flights of steps to reach their room. There were no less than four stops to greet other Vaughns who were coming and going along the halls and stairs. Anthony was better remembered, not only because he'd already reached adulthood on his last visits, but because he'd always been outgoing. But Emma was greeted warmly, too. The exuberant welcomes created the holiday spirit she remembered so well. Though not every member of the family loved every other member, for the next fortnight, there was goodwill enough for all.