Christmas Carol (41 page)

Carol was not sure whether Nicholas felt the
same breathtaking pleasure in the dance that she did. They moved
perfectly together, as she had known they would, but when the music
stopped, Nicholas dropped his arms at once and stepped away from
her.

“You must excuse me now,” he said. “I have
several hours of work still to do. Thank you for a charming
diversion at the end of a busy day and evening.” He kissed her hand
lightly before he went to the door, to hold it open for her. There
could be no question that Carol was being dismissed—politely and
kindly, but dismissed all the same.

“Good night, Mr. Montfort.” Hiding her hurt
and disappointment, Carol left the library and made her way
upstairs to her own room, there to contemplate a dismaying
question.

What would she do if, in this lifetime,
Nicholas Montfort was not for her? If Penelope-Abigail-Pen was not
with the same man in every period in which she lived, could the
same fate befall Carol?

She knew the answers to those questions as if
they were engraved upon her heart. She would always love Nicholas,
but if he could not love her, then she would work with him for as
long as he allowed her to and she would see to it that they helped
as many people as possible. And she would always try to remember
that in a future world—a
different
future world from the one
she had known—she and the man she loved
would
be together.
If in this lifetime she was not fated to know Nicholas’s passionate
love, then she would earn his respect.

Nor would she be alone. She would have
friends, the Kincaids, Nell and Hettie, Mrs. Marks and Crampton,
the Bascomes if she were lucky—and perhaps even Nicholas’s
friendship, too. It was not all she wanted, but it might have to be
enough. Knowing there was more to come in another lifetime, she
would learn to be content.

“This is the gift that Lady Augusta has given
me,” Carol whispered, “and for it I shall be forever grateful.
Forever
. Thanks to her, I know that this life is not the
end.”

Nicholas’s dinner party for the Kincaids and
the Bascomes was a great success, the three men enjoying themselves
with tales of their school years which Carol suspected were highly
embroidered. While the men talked the women got acquainted, and by
evening’s end Carol was sure they were going to be friends. Which,
from her point of view, was exactly as it should be.

In fact, the evening was similar in spirit to
the ones Carol had enjoyed in the Lond of the future, in the
kitchen of a ruined version of Marlowe House. This time, the
conversation was a good deal more cheerful.

“I have begun inquiries as you wanted,” Will
Bascome said to Nicholas. “I believe it will be possible for us to
acquire the lease on the house next door.”

“Are you planning to rejoin the two halves of
Marlowe House once again?” Carol asked Nicholas.

“It would create too big a house to be
practical, and who knows what the needs of the future will be?” he
answered. “We might want two separate houses. I did think, Will,
that you and Joanna might like to design your own flat on the top
two floors of the building next door, and we could use the lower
levels as offices for the Montfort-Marlowe Charitable Trust.
Perhaps Lucius will have some people among his flock whom we could
hire to do the work. Talk to him, Will, he knows them all and knows
who needs a job.” This last was said with a mischievous grin in
Lucius Kincaid’s direction.

The week following the arrival of Nicholas
Montfort in London was a busier one than Carol had experienced for
some time. She had never realized how much work was involved in
spending large amounts of money. In company with Nicholas she
visited Lady Augusta’s solicitors, where she did not hesitate to
voice her opinions as to what her late employer would have wanted
done with the money she had left behind. It quickly became clear to
her that Nicholas was right when he told her it would take time
before Lady Augusta’s estate could be settled and all the taxes on
it paid.

Thanks to Nicholas’s quick action in regard
to his own fortune, which was entirely within his control, by the
end of the week arrangements were well in hand for continuous
funding of St. Fiacre’s Bountiful Board. When Nicholas approached
Crampton and Mrs. Marks about taking positions at St. Fiacre’s,
their responses were immediate and positive.

“I do not doubt that you would prefer a more
youthful butler and cook if you intend to remain in London,”
Crampton said to Nicholas, “and while Mrs. Marks would never admit
to such a thing, I believe she has found the last few days rather
tiring.”

“Indeed not,” that worthy lady protested. “I
could continue as I am doing for years to come, but I do feel I
could be of more use at St. Fiacre’s. However, neither I nor
Crampton will leave Marlowe House until a new cook and butler have
been installed.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Marks.” Nicholas’s response
to this speech was as serious as the cook could have wished. “I am
grateful to you for your consideration. If either of you should
happen to learn of anyone qualified to join my staff, please let
me, or Miss Simmons, know of it.”

Nell and Hettie were to be kept on at Marlowe
House at increased wages, and Hettie had been signed up for a
course in remedial reading at Nicholas’s expense.

“You are being very generous,” Carol told
him.

“I will be paid back in loyalty and better
service,” he responded. “If those two young women are as
intelligent as you think they are, they won’t remain lower-echelon
servants for long. I take great pleasure in promoting deserving
employees.”

Repairs to Marlowe House were to begin
shortly after the New Year, and Nicholas was discussing with Lucius
Kincaid and Will Bascome just what ought to be done to restore St.
Fiacre’s Church to good condition. A donation would soon be made to
cover most of the restoration bills.

Carol was pleased with all of these changes,
which she believed would have a positive impact on the future. It
was the present that disturbed her, for Nicholas continued to
preserve his cool, professional demeanor with her. Nor had he
played that haunting waltz a second time on Lady Augusta’s old
stereo. It was almost as though he felt no personal connection to
Carol at all. She began to wonder if she would, as she feared, have
to resign herself to being only his business associate in this
present lifetime.

At mid-week a strange little incident
occurred that left Carol perplexed and eager to question Lady
Augusta at their next meeting. Will Bascome announced that he had
obtained four tickets to a popular play for the following night,
which was Thursday. He invited Nicholas and Carol to join himself
and Joanna.

“It’s a wonderful idea, Will. We could all
use a break. We will go on to dinner afterward,” Nicholas decided.
“Miss Simmons, would you mind informing Crampton and Mrs. Marks of
our change in plans? Perhaps the servants would like a night off,
too.”

“Certainly, Mr. Montfort.” Silently cursing
his formality and her own, Carol hastened to the kitchen. There she
discovered Mrs. Marks with a large knife in hand, attacking a
boiled lobster as if it were a personal enemy. Without comment
Carol delivered her message. She knew Mrs. Marks well enough by now
to be aware that she would not have to wait long before she was
told exactly what was troubling the cook.

“I’m sure I could use an evening to myself,”
said Mrs. Marks, taking a vicious whack at the lobster. “There’s
others what would also enjoy an extra night out on the town. Nell
has started seeing that young man she met at St. Fiacre’s on
Christmas Eve. Mrs. Kincaid says he’s a decent enough fellow, but
he hasn’t got a job. Nell pays for the cinema and for their tea
afterward, too. In my day, a respectable man would never let a lady
pay his way. Mrs. Kincaid says times have changed, but I say, not
for the better.”

“What young man?” Carol asked, disregarding
Mrs. Marks’s other complaints. “I didn’t know Nell was dating
anyone.”

“She wasn’t, till this week. Here they come
now,” Mrs. Marks hissed in a stage whisper.

Out of the servants’ dining room issued Nell,
her blond curls dancing and her plump cheeks pink with an emotion
Carol could not immediately define. A tall, fair-haired young man
was right behind her. Crampton followed the couple into the
kitchen. He was finishing what sounded to Carol like a serious
lecture.

“I will expect you to have Nell home by
eleven o’clock at the latest,” Crampton warned the young man. “I
stand in the place of her late parents and I feel responsible for
her, so I will hold you to this time-honored household rule.”

“Sure, Mr. Crampton. I’ll see she’s back in
time,” said the young man in an offhanded way.

“Oh, Miss Simmons,” said Nell, catching sight
of her, “this is Allen Symms. Al, this is the lady I told you
about.”

“
Al
?” When the young man stuck out his
hand, Carol took it, but she could think of nothing else to say to
him. He did not appear to notice her tongue-tied condition, nor did
Nell.

“We’re off to see that new movie,” Nell told
Carol, adding in a low voice, “You’d think Crampton and Mrs. Marks
were my grandparents, they’re so fussy about where I go and what
time I come back.”

“They care about you,” Carol said. “Have a
good time.” As the young couple went through the servants’ entrance
and up the outside steps, Carol stared after them.

“Nell and Al together?” she murmured to
herself. “There is no way in heaven or earth that I will ever
understand this development. I wonder what Lady Augusta would
say?”

“An interesting question, Miss Simmons, and
one with which I quite agree.” Crampton was standing closer to her
than Mrs. Marks and he had overheard her remark, but he could not
possibly have known why Carol found the pairing so
incomprehensible.

“There’s no accounting for young people’s
activities these days,” Mrs. Marks put in. “If you ask me, that boy
is just not right for Nell.”

Carol was left with a sense of bewilderment.
She was unable to understand why two couples—the Kincaids and Nell
with her new friend—were so mixed up when they ought to be paired
off differently. And yet Lucius Kincaid and his wife seemed to be
perfectly happy in their marriage. Perhaps couples did not always
find each other in every lifetime. It was a depressing idea.

Whatever her concerns about her friends,
Carol soon put such thoughts aside in order to concentrate on her
own relationship with Nicholas Montfort—or rather, her lack of a
relationship with him. Throughout their evening with the Bascomes,
at the theater and the dinner afterward, Nicholas behaved toward
her with the same air of polite but detached formality that
permeated all their activities together. Carol was beginning to
believe he felt nothing at all for her.

After a nightcap in the library on their
return to Marlowe House, the Bascomes decided to retire. Nicholas
and Carol followed them up the stairs, and they all said their good
nights in the upper hall. Their bedroom door closed behind Will and
Joanna, leaving Carol and Nicholas alone.

“Good night, Mr. Montfort.” Carol started up
the second flight of stairs toward her own room.

She never knew what made her suddenly look
over the railing toward Nicholas in the hall below. Perhaps it was
the sudden faint whiff of lavender in the air, or possibly it was
the fact that Nicholas did not respond to her words.

He was standing by the door into Lady
Augusta’s old suite, with one hand on the polished brass lever. She
caught him by surprise, with all of his polite, professional
barriers down. He was gazing up at her with such an expression of
stark longing on his face that Carol stopped dead, gazing back at
him.

“Nicholas?” For the first time she used his
given name.

“Carol.” His voice was a whisper, but still
she heard him. With his eyes locked on hers he drew nearer to the
staircase where she remained standing, unable to move. Reaching up,
he placed one hand over hers on the banister as if to keep her
where she was. He spoke again in the same harsh whisper. “Who are
you?”

“I am Carol Noelle Simmons.”

“That is not what I meant and you know it.”
His voice was rough, as if he were fighting against an emotion he
did not want to acknowledge. “
Who
are you? ‘
What
are
you, that you can have this effect on me?”

She did not answer in words. Instead, she
bent forward to caress his face with her free hand. Nicholas caught
his breath—and caught her hand, holding it tightly so she could not
pull away from him.

“We have met somewhere before,” he said.
“That must be it. I can’t think of another explanation for what has
happened to me in the last few days.”

“And what is that, Nicholas?” Carol moved
down one step and then another, slowly returning to the hall where
he stood. She paused on the second step. “Tell me what you
feel.”

“You are—
significant
to me.” Then, as
if he could maintain his rigid self-control no longer, he burst out
in a low, ragged voice, “My God, how do you expect me to feel?
Since the first moment I saw you, all I can think about is taking
you in my arms, taking you to my bed. On Christmas night I did not
know you, I had never seen you before that I could remember, but I
could not get you out of my mind. I don’t think I have slept an
hour since I reached London. And every day, seeing you, working
with you, having to hide what I’m feeling—”

“No one would ever suspect.” Carol was amazed
to discover that she could keep her voice so level when Nicholas
was losing control. She held on to his hands and looked straight
into his eyes. “I didn’t guess. I thought you were indifferent to
me. I could only hope that one day you might regard me as a
friend.”