A Victorian Christmas (19 page)

As she stumbled away from him, Grey turned and ran deeper into the twists and turns of the maze.
God
, he cried as his feet beat against the snow.
God, show me the way!

Star’s toes were just beginning to thaw as she hurried into the crowded ballroom. She had jerked on an emerald gown, swept her hair into a rough tumble of curls, and jammed her damp feet into a pair of silk slippers. As she tied a ribbon in her hair, she had prayed she could survive the ordeal of this evening.

Across the room, the countess spotted her immediately. A wave of relief washed over the older woman’s face as she moved toward her guest past the towering Christmas tree with its hundred tiny candles. The cavernous chamber was awash in bright silk gowns, flashing jewels, and fluttering fans. Long tables garlanded in swags of holly, pine, and ivy groaned under the weight of silver trays filled with sweets and chilled meats. A gigantic marzipan cake studded with currants and sultanas towered over bowls of bright red punch.

“Thank goodness you’re here!” the countess said. Fanning her flushed cheeks and sending out a cloud of heliotrope perfume, she took Star’s hand.“You cannot imagine the kerfuffle, my dear! Do you know what my son has gone and done? He’s left us! The viscount has gone back to India this very night. Wouldn’t hear of waiting until the New Year. Wouldn’t wait for Christmas morning. Wouldn’t even stay for the party. And Grey always adored parties!”

Star gave the countess a hug, as much to bolster herself as the other woman. “I know the viscount has a lot of plans for that tea estate in Darjeeling.”

“Where? Oh, you see, I never believed he was serious. I’ve been in such a stew about Rupert’s wedding, and now Grey has gone off to India.”

“Hortense, are you weeping again?” The earl held out a silk handkerchief. “Buck up, darling, we’ve had a jolly good visit with the boy. He quite convinced me of the value of his tea enterprise, and I have great faith it will be good for the earldom.”

“But India! It’s so far away.”

“Don’t look at it like that, my dear.” The earl gave Star a broad smile. “We’ll have a tea plantation in India and a share in a cattle ranch in Texas. What could be better? The earldom on its feet again, the cottagers happy and healthy, everything as it should be. Think of the little ones running through the corridors, Hortense. Grandchildren! A marvelous notion!”

Star tugged her own handkerchief out of her sleeve in fear that she might start sobbing right then and there. The earl adjusted the tails of his frock coat and gave a loud harrumph. “Time for the announcement,” he intoned. “Then we shall have the charity auction. And dinner, charades, and more dancing. Oh my, I do believe I’m having a splendid evening.”

Chuckling, he escorted his wife and their guest to the low dais at one end of the ballroom. Star felt like she was climbing up to a gallows as she lifted her skirts and stepped onto the platform. Rupert gave a wave from the far end of the ballroom, left his bevy of companions, and sprinted up to the dais.

“Time for the announcement, my lord?” he asked. “Righty-ho. Let’s put a good face on it, Miss Ellis.”

He took her hand as Massey squeaked across the dais and signaled the orchestra for silence. Star could almost hear the hands of the clock, ticking away her freedom. Massey presented the family, and then the earl stepped forward.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “a delightful evening. Welcome one and all.”

Amid polite clapping, he gave a little bow and continued. “The countess and I have had the distinct pleasure of an unexpected visit from our elder son, the viscount Stratton. I regret to report that he has been compelled to return to India, where he is establishing a vast tea estate.” More clapping. “Our second unexpected guest arrived a little more than a fortnight ago from Texas, in America. And now, I should be most pleased to announce that this delightful young lady, Miss Star Ellis, is engaged to marry my younger son, Rupert, Lord Cholmondeley.”

Over the round of applause, a shriek of despair arose. The crowd murmured as both the Misses Smythe raced out of the ballroom, followed close behind by a stream of Rupert’s friends and colleagues. Taking no notice, the earl gave his son a firm handshake and welcomed Star into the family with a peck on the cheek.

“Well done, Cholmondeley,” he said. “Do accept my wishes for your continued happiness.”

Surrounded instantly by a cluster of elderly ladies who peered at her through their monocles, Star felt Rupert give her hand a tug. He motioned toward the dance floor as the small orchestra began a waltz. As if in a bad dream, Star drifted out into the sea of partygoers and was caught up by her betrothed.

“Good show, Miss Ellis,” Rupert said, attempting a smile. “It won’t be so bad, this marriage business. I imagine you and I will learn to get along. At any rate, I’m afraid I won’t be about much. I’ve been looking into ventures in both Leeds and London. Traveling, you know.”

Star nodded, fighting the stinging tears that danced before her vision. “I suppose I’ll stay here at the manor.”

“Indeed. Well, I’m sure there’ll be children after a bit. You won’t want to go out much.” He gave her a smile as the music ended. “Buck up, Miss Ellis.”

Giving her a quick pat on the arm, he set off for the double doors through which his friends had exited. Star knotted her hands together and sank back against one of the velvet-flocked walls. Around her, the couples swirled and bowed, pranced and turned. She tried her best to pray, but all she could think about was Grey riding away through the falling snow toward London. As despair threatened to choke her, she turned her thoughts toward the future.

Children. Yes, they would be fulfilling. Star could find joy in children of her own. In the Cholmondeley family, too. The countess was a dear, and perhaps in time she would become a warm companion. Besides that, the village was nearby. There lived the common people who enjoyed simple things. She could help them and maybe even become a friend.

As Star pondered her future, the countess began to announce the charity auction. Displayed across the length of the dais were gold-framed oil paintings, Chinese vases, a new saddle, and several jeweled necklaces. The first item up for bid was the new quilt.

A chorus of gasps greeted the presentation of the large, multicolored spread. To her dismay, Star realized that clusters of the women in the crowd were tittering behind their fans in subtle ridicule of her handiwork. Men stared at the quilt as though examining a painting they couldn’t quite comprehend.

“This is a quilt,” the countess explained. “You will find lengths of quilted fabric here in England, but they are rarely patched in such clever patterns. This one was crafted by our own dear Miss Ellis. Quilts, I am given to understand, are used in America as blankets. Though I have never made a quilt myself, I can see that the needlework in this sample is superb. I have been told that this particular quilt employs more than a thousand pieces of cotton fabric from the city of Calicut, in India.”

Star felt a smile tug at her lips.
Okay, you win, buckaroo,
she thought.
Calicut it is.

“And the name of this quilt,” the countess announced, “is Star of Bethlehem. Such a lovely accessory for the season, don’t you think? On that note, you may begin the bidding.”

Star of Bethlehem.
Star shook her head as memories flooded her thoughts. S
hine, Star. Shine.

How could she shine, when her life had all but ended? No, she realized as the crowd began to grow restless, this must not be an end but a beginning. It was not the life she would have chosen for herself, but it would be a good one all the same. Her future was in the hands of the Father, and she trusted Him to fill her with his abundance.

“Come along,” the countess called into the silence. “Who will cast the first bid?”

After more quiet, awkward seconds, the earl whispered to his wife, “Where is our deuced son? By all rights Cholmondeley should have a go at this. Massey, find him for me, my good man.” He cleared his throat as the butler squeaked off to do his master’s bidding. “Right then, ten pounds for the American quilt.”

“Twenty pounds,” a young man called from the back of the room.

Star peered at the bidder. He was a blond string bean of a fellow, someone she’d never seen before in her life. What would a man like that want with her quilt?

“Mr. Davies bids twenty pounds,” the countess said. “That’s the Christmas spirit. Who will top him?”

The room fell silent.

“Thirty,” the earl shouted.

“Forty,” Mr. Davies countered.

The other guests turned to peer at him. He gave everyone a broad smile. “Come on, blokes. It’s for charity. Have a heart.”

“Right you are,” someone said. “Forty-five pounds.”

“Fifty-five!” Mr. Davies cried.

Star could have kissed his skinny feet, whoever he was. The string bean kept the bids going up and up until anyone would have thought her quilt was a rare work of art. Delighted, she pictured vials of medicine for Betsy’s sick daughter, stacks of warm blankets, cartloads of potatoes and bread.

“One hundred thirty-five pounds,” the countess said finally. “Sold to Mr. Davies. Good show, young man! You’ve a fine piece of American needlework, and the cottagers will enjoy a more comfortable winter, thanks to your generosity.”

As the string bean strode toward the dais, a wave of astonished gasps rippled suddenly across the crowd. What was it now? Star lifted her focus from her quilt to the double doors beside which Massey stood quaking, his face as pale as the snow outside the window.

Framed like an opulent masterpiece stood Rupert Cholmondeley, his arms wrapped around Polly Smythe as they engaged in a kiss that would have made ice sizzle. Unaware they had become the center of attention, the couple went on kissing— Polly’s fingers exploring Rupert’s hair as his impassioned murmuring drifted across the astonished crowd.

As swiftly as the onlookers assessed the situation, their attention swiveled to Rupert’s bride-to-be. The countess grabbed Star around the shoulders as she took two steps backward. She needed to sit down. Had to have air.

“Rupert!” the earl barked. “What in heaven’s name are you doing?”

The young man jumped as if he’d been jabbed with a cattle prod. His weepy-eyed paramour let out a squeal of horror. “Father . . . sir,” Rupert fumbled. “I was . . . ah . . . receiving congratulations from . . . from Miss Smythe.”

The crowd burst out laughing, and Star sank into a chair at the edge of the dais. Why had she been so blind? She’d known all along that her intended husband was enthralled with the Smythe girls. But she had wanted to believe he would find Star attractive, leave his other female interests, forge a bond with her like the one her own parents had. Foolish dreams! Now, publicly humiliated, she would be forced to marry a man everyone knew intended to be unfaithful.

“Cholmondeley,” the earl said, his flaring nostrils rimmed in white. “Step forward, man, and explain yourself. Brackenhurst has never been home to a coward, and it won’t begin now. What is the meaning of your behavior this evening?”

Rupert ran a finger around the stiff white collar of his shirt and tugged on his coattails as he stepped back into the ballroom. “I thought I might . . . I could . . .” He stopped, breathing hard. After several hard swallows, he lifted his chin. “The truth is, my lord, I love Miss Paulette Smythe.”

With a burst of sobbing, the young woman herself darted forward and clutched Rupert’s arm as though it were a lifeline and she were about to drown. Star groaned, burying her face in her hands. Now what? Would she lose this marriage? the hope and dream of her father? the salvation of the ranch?

“I do love Polly, sir,” Rupert went on, his voice growing stronger by the moment, “and I’d hoped to earn your permission to marry her one day. But then Miss Ellis arrived, and I knew I should make good on my agreement with her father. I’ll do my part in the arrangement, sir, but . . . but Polly . . . Polly is—”

“Cholmondeley!” The earl glared. “Your behavior is entirely unacceptable. You will approach the dais at once and offer Miss Ellis your sincere apologies.”

The crowd swiveled around to ogle Star again. She searched for her quilt, wishing she could throw it over her head and crawl out of the room. The string bean must have gone off with it, she realized as she stood on shaky legs.

“Miss Ellis,” Rupert said, Polly Smythe still firmly attached to his arm. “I apologize for my inappropriate behavior this evening, and I do hope you and I shall be able to—”

“Not on your life, buckaroo,” a male voice called from the hallway outside the ballroom. Grey Cholmondeley, the viscount Stratton, strode through the crowd and approached the dais. Under one arm he carried the multicolored quilt.

“Father, I request your permission to take my brother’s place in the agreement with Mr. Joshua Ellis of the Rocking T Ranch in Texas. Miss Ellis,” he said, taking Star’s hand and drawing her close, “will you marry me?”

“Grey!” Star gasped.

“But she’s—,” the earl began.

“She’s the woman I love,” Grey said, his blue eyes flashing as he looked into Star’s face. “Will you marry me, Miss Ellis?”