Christmas Delights (19 page)

“A gentleman might offer to do that for a lady,” she demurred.

He glared at her behind Courtnay’s back.

“But then,” she continued, “you were nearly killed so recently. You are probably all but too weak to stand.”

“So thoughtful, our Rose.” Lewis directed the remark to Courtnay as she walked away.

“Thoroughly nice girl,” the man rumbled.

“Speaking of this excessive number of engagements recently, are you considering matrimony yourself?” Lewis inquired.

“I
’ve been married,” Courtnay said with no display of emotion. “But she’s long gone now; my wife, I mean.”

“Yes, of course,” Lewis said. “I meant remarriage. A second bride?”

Courtnay, normally a rather still man, tapped the heel of his shoe on the floor. “Might get a bit lonely when Victoria remarries. I expect her to soon, you know.”

Lewis winced. “This has been the most engagement-filled house party in the history of house parties.” He covered the piano keys, noticing his hands were shaking slightly.

“All those Dickondells. I can’t understand why my daughter didn’t snatch one up.”

Because she is in love with me.
But Lewis didn’t want to reveal that to this man. No, he saw Courtnay’s hard, secretive edge. He’d never let anyone completely in, even his successor. Rose, having learned a harsh lesson about being a gossip, might make a good wife for such a tight-lipped man. “There are still more potential brides available, sir.”

“Are you looking for a wife?” The man’s sharp eyes regarded him.

He cocked his head. “No, no, but my cousin has her eye on a gentleman.”

“Rose?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Lives down here with her family?”

“Willing to move. She’s from Bristol originally, then lived in London before Polegate.”

Courtnay’s nostrils flared, as if scenting prey. “Been to Liverpool?”

“Not that I’m aware of, but a girl will do anything for the right man.”

His bushy brows pulled together. “Why would I be the right man, Noble?”

Lewis shook his head. “She likes you, might love you, even. You’d have to answer as to why.”

“Old enough to be her father. She’s Victoria’s age.” His eyes squinted as he pondered Lewis’s words.

“She likes Victoria,” Lewis told him. “I doubt they would clash. She’s been kind to Penelope.”

“Wish my brother would pull his head out of his cups long enough to deal with that situation,” Courtnay rumbled. “Bloody mess, family.”

“Sometimes. Wouldn’t it be lovely to have a wife to deal with those domestic concerns?”

Courtnay’s gaze drifted up to the ceiling. “I shall have to consider that.” He clapped Lewis on the shoulder, exhibiting the iron strength of a younger man. “My thanks for making me aware of the situation.”

Lewis nodded as Courtnay turned away. Victoria was standing at the window now, her soft gaze on the handsome baron, right next to her, his head tilted in her direction. As he watched, the baron put his hand on her cheek and brushed a stray curl behind her ear. He clenched his fists. Why was the Scotsman daring to touch his woman?

“Trouble in paradise?” Courtnay asked.

Lewis stared at the man. Could he have some idea of what had transpired?

“Are you in love with Victoria?” Courtnay continued.

“She is not for me,” Lewis said stiffly. “I have too much keeping me in the London area.”

“If you aren’t willing to fight for her, then you are quite correct,” Courtnay said.

I’m willing to fight to have her in my bed, but not to give her my name.
“Are you saying that you don’t really expect her to marry a successor for your business? That this has been some kind of a game to you?”

“I don’t imagine she has entirely explained the situation to you, Noble. I trust my daughter to do what is best for herself and the businesses she will someday inherit.”

Lewis stared at Courtnay. What a load of rubbish. Victoria did not see any way out of the situation her father had put her in. What game was this? It made him ever more certain that he would not want to be in business with Rupert Courtnay, much less under his thumb. “I trust her to do the same for herself, and for Penelope. She’s headstrong but a good woman.”

Courtnay nodded. “I agree. She does her duty.”

Lewis took his leave of the man and went upstairs without another glance at Victoria and her Scotsman. It seemed she had made her decision, to flirt so openly with the man in front of her lover.

He did wonder, though. Wasn’t it always said that women had a type of man they found attractive? He was blond, muscular, an inventor with oil crusted under his nails and in the lines of his palms. The baron was dark and lithe, a nobleman who spent his time managing family interests. How could Victoria find them equally striking?

Victoria had seen Penelope off to the nursery that morning with a promise to meet her an hour before luncheon for puzzles and more of the fairy tale. She’d thought of an interesting twist to the part about the unrung bells. But when she entered the puzzle room, Penelope wasn’t there. Lady Rowena sat at the large puzzle of Pevensey-Sur-Mer Fort with her new fiancé, Ernest Dickondell. Victoria suspected the girl had done the puzzle of her own home so many times that she knew the pieces by heart, could tell from which of them had been dotted by tea, or treacle tart, or bits of marzipan, what corner they belonged in. It was an excellent way to keep touching Ernest. She managed to slide her hand against his repeatedly as she somehow ended up with pieces that needed to be placed just by Ernest’s.

Victoria toyed with the pieces of the Hampton Court puzzle for half an hour, but when Penelope still didn’t appear, she became nervous. She left with a wave at the lovebirds and went up to the nursery, where the maid said she had wandered off after breakfast.

“That was hours ago!”

The maid sighed. “I’m sorry, milady. The countess has a cousin visiting who left their three children under our care without any extra help. Two of them are ill.”

Victoria made a face when she heard the sound of sneezing somewhere off to the left, behind a rocking horse. “I’ll let you return to your work. Thank you.”

She went down to their room, but no one was there. Penelope’s coat, muffler, and mittens were also not present. Should she go to luncheon without her cousin or look for the girl? Maybe she’d gone back to the wishing well. Victoria went to the window and pulled back the lace curtains underneath the heavy velvet drapes. The remains of snow had desiccated, turning to ice, but the sky was clear and the sun was out. It wouldn’t be too bad of a walk. She put on her coat and went outside, regretting the loss of a meal.

Outside, the sun offered plenty of light but little warmth. She hunched her shoulders and wondered if she should have told someone where she was going. Would the baron be concerned if she didn’t turn up? Had Lewis left his sickbed for good? If so, he was more likely to eat sandwiches in the stables than have a proper meal with the house-party guests.

Maybe she wanted to avoid both of them. She set out across the moat, hoping someone watched her from a window and wished they were spending time with her. Funny to make such a specific wish now, when she’d been so careful to wish generally on the proper wishing well day. The truth was that she had no idea who she really wanted to be thinking of her.

The handsome inventor crept into her thoughts, ruinously, as she walked through crunchy grass. Remnants of brown and gold leaves that had fallen a couple of months before still dotted the landscape. An impenetrable collection of brush and holly bushes were off to the left, alongside her, as if pointing the way up the hill to the wishing well.

She squinted into the sun, wondering if she could see Penelope from here, but the well was still too far away. Of course, she could be wrong. The girl could have gone anywhere, but it wasn’t like her to make plans to meet her cousin and then not follow through. She liked Victoria’s company, even when Victoria didn’t quite know how to manage her moods.

Her exhalations puffed white tendrils into the air by the time she crested the hill. She stared out at the landscape, the town laid out in one direction, the long trail of bushes in another, water on a third side, the hill on the last. But she didn’t see Penelope. Had she any pocket money? Would she have gone to town to buy candy or such? Maybe she was following Eddy Jackson around the stables. Or even visiting Lewis.

The thought of that man inevitably moved him to the forefront of her thoughts again. Why was he stuck there? Instead, the baron’s blue eyes should come to mind, the skin around his eyes crinkling charmingly when he smiled. And he smiled often, a happier soul than his rival. For that reason alone, he should be first.

Could he make her feel the passion Lewis did? Would he even try? She’d discovered Sir Humphrey had a mistress, an actress who went weeping to his grave monument nearly every day for two months until she’d found a new protector. London friends had told her about the infamous wailing of the woman, catty with their enjoyment of the tale. No wonder she’d wanted to experience lovemaking, to understand why it could drive a sane woman to such outbursts when it was lost.

She knew now that nothing could take the place of it. Touching Lewis, feeling him inside her, his kisses on her cheek, her neck, her mouth, her breasts; no, nothing could compare. If John was an undemanding lover, careful and modest, she might go as mad as her Aunt Clarissa.

She shied away from the thought of what might have driven Aunt Clarissa mad in truth. Her uncle was no figure of fantasy but bald as an egg and round as a Christmas pudding. Had he ever inspired lust?

She reached the well and stared down into its depths. The copper bucket had been removed. Were you only allowed to wish one day a year? Penelope had brought her the tale and she hadn’t inquired further into its mysteries.

As she stared into the well, images that reflected in the choppy water began to resolve. She saw more tall, wild holly bushes groaning with berries, the church spire, some kind of old building. Turning around, she looked in the direction of the building, wondering if she was near an interesting ruin. The hill sloped up a few yards, and on top she saw a crumbling stone bench. On top of that bench was a figure, and that figure was her missing cousin.

What was Penelope doing? Feeling a hot rush of fear, Victoria scrambled up the hill, grabbing at a scraggly tree at the halfway point to maintain her balance. “You’ll catch your death up here,” she called as the wind whipped around her.

Penelope didn’t turn around. Victoria couldn’t see her arms, and she wondered if the girl was hugging herself. Despite her reducing, she was breathing as hard as she could, wishing she didn’t have to wear her stays so fashionably tight. She coughed once or twice before she regained her breath and made it up the last few feet.

“Penelope!” The girl still hadn’t turned around, but Victoria saw her head tilt. Bending into the wind, she went to sit on the crumbled end of the bench next to her.

“I was watching for the storks,” Penelope said after a moment. Her lips were wind chapped, her cheeks bright red.

“You have been here for a while.” Victoria pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and opened it to reveal two large squares of shortbread, studded with currants and orange zest. She hadn’t planned to eat them except in a case of extreme emergency, but she and Penelope had both missed the midday meal.

The girl snatched one of the treats and took an enormous bite. She bent over it as if it were her last meal, her eyes closed to savor the taste.

Victoria broke an edge off hers and let it melt in her mouth, resigned that the fate of most of her treat would also be eaten by her hungry cousin. When Penelope finished the first cookie, she handed the second one over, then waited for her to finish it before speaking again.

“I don’t like that you left the Fort without telling anyone,” she said.

“The countess saw me going out when she was greeting her cousin,” Penelope said in a sulky tone.

“That was hours and hours ago! Have you been here all morning?”

“Yes.” Penelope pulled off one glove and picked crumbs out of the nubby wool with pale, bloodless fingers.

Victoria took the girl’s hand and put it to her cheek. “Penelope! How can you stand to be this cold?”

“I can hardly feel my fingers anymore,” she said.

Victoria squeezed her eyes shut. Penelope was not behaving like a normal child. Could she get through to the girl, or was she destined to repeat her mother’s madness? “Let us go back. Perhaps we should return to London a few days early. Would you like to see the sights instead of staying here?”

Penelope pressed her lips together. They were the same color as the rest of her skin. “No.”

“I know the air is better here, but why are you outside? At the very least, you could be cozy in the stable, pestering Eddy.”

“He told me to leave him alone,” Penelope said in a low voice.

“He did?” She found that hard to believe. Eddy was a thoroughly nice young fellow, and so patient.

“He said he was busy.”

“That might have been true, you know.”

Penelope sniffed, then coughed. First Lewis had risked his health and now her cousin. What was wrong with everyone? How had a simple house party become so complicated? Both of them were all but suicidal. Penelope needed to know she was loved, and Lewis needed some project other than that blasted submarine. She knew she had to talk him into making Penelope a stork. A symbol of hope would be so helpful.

She took Penelope’s hand and drew her from the bench. “We must get you warm, dear. Come now.”

Penelope stumbled a little as they began to walk down the hill in a zigzag fashion, attempting to keep away from the little pebbles that skittered under their shoes, throwing them off balance. Victoria heaved a sigh of relief when they reached the base and found the path back to the Fort.

An hour later, she had Penelope tucked into bed with a nursemaid hovering over her. The girl’s cheeks, pale with cold, did not look much better, but color had returned to her lips. She sipped chocolate and nibbled on a biscuit while Victoria changed her gown. Her hems had been damp and muddy by the time they had returned.

She buttoned up the front of her simple wool dress and pinched her cheeks. They still felt wind-chapped and chilly, but Lewis’s room would likely be kept very warm still, so she would not feel cold for long. She couldn’t resist checking on him. A nurse’s pride, she told herself.