His Mistress By Christmas (34 page)

Grandmother considered her. “Has he broken your heart, my dear?”

“Yes.” Veronica sighed. “Oh, I don’t know. On one hand, I do feel that he was using marriage as a way to get what he wanted—”

“An inheritance.” Lotte nodded.

“Acceptance,” Grandmother murmured.

“On the other . . .” Veronica rose to her feet and paced. “It’s not the type of man he is.”

“You couldn’t love him otherwise.” Grandmother smiled.

“I have never been so confused.”

“Love will do that.” Grandmother nodded.

“I have been confused since the moment I met him. Not at all my usual self.” Veronica stopped and glanced at the other women. “Haven’t you noticed?”

“Around the eyes, perhaps,” Grandmother murmured.

Lotte grimaced. “And that mistress nonsense was not your best idea.”

“It’s an interesting thing about men,” Grandmother said thoughtfully. “It’s been my observation that no matter how intelligent they may be, they can do things that are completely stupid.”

“If he had told me in the beginning . . .”

“You wouldn’t have given it a second thought. Indeed, it might have become something of a joke between you.”

Veronica met the older woman’s gaze. “Do you really think so?”

“It’s entirely possible. Unfortunately, we shall never know.” Grandmother shook her head. “The problem with something like this is that its significance grows the longer it remains unknown. As if it were something to hide.”

“I thought he loved me.”

“And does he?”

Veronica stared at her grandmother.

“It scarcely matters at the moment, I suppose,” Grandmother continued. “What’s done is done.”

“Veronica.” Lotte studied her closely. “Have you been too hasty? Have you made a mistake?”

“Another one, you mean?”

“If you believe you have . . .” Lotte chose her words with care. “Do not wait too long to admit it. Pride is no comfort when one is alone.”

“Veronica is not you, Lotte. She is willing to admit when she is wrong. She is not afraid that in bending, she will break. And as for you . . .” Grandmother pinned Veronica with a firm look. “The only thing sadder than missing plum pudding at Christmas is unopened gifts. Christmas is now behind us, so do sit down and open this present. I, for one, am dying to know what it is.”

“Very well.” Veronica retook her seat between her grandmother and her aunt and reached for the package, noting an odd tremble in her hand. This was absurd. She did not cry, and she certainly never trembled. She drew a deep breath and grabbed the package.

She pulled off the ribbon and unwrapped the velvet cloth. A folded note lay upon a tissue-wrapped packet, far heavier than it looked. She set the note aside and pulled off the tissue. Her heart caught.

“For goodness sakes.” Lotte scoffed. “It’s nothing but an old compass.”

“I doubt that,” Grandmother said softly.

Veronica turned it over in her hand. It felt as warm as it had when he had handed it to her in the park. As if it had just come out of his pocket.

How could he have given this to her? He’d had it since he was a boy. It had accompanied him on all his adventures. This was the one thing he valued most in the world.

“Read the note, dear.” Grandmother’s voice sounded as if from a far distance.

Veronica blinked hard and opened the note.

My Dear Veronica,

While I have always believed the glory was in the quest, I find now that I was wrong.
In Ambitu, Gloria
no longer suits me. I have found the true glory is in the end, in the prize, in the one who claims my heart. It seems only right, then, that I entrust my most prized possession to her whom I prize above all else in life. My quest ends with you, and together a new life awaits.

And it is indeed glorious.

Yours,

Sebastian

“What rubbish.” Lotte sniffed back a tear.

“It’s not rubbish at all. It’s nonsense. Utter nonsense.” Veronica wasn’t sure if she was laughing or crying. “He’s very good at utter nonsense and infernal nonsense and splendid nonsense and . . .” She sniffed. “And, dear Lord, I love him.”

“Just because the man gives you a silly trinket—”

“This doesn’t make me love him. This means he loves me.”

“That was my observation.” Grandmother nodded toward her daughter. “And I’m very astute.”

“Even so, Veronica—”

“Either I trust him, Lotte, trust that he loves me, that he did not intend to hurt me or keep anything of significance from me, or I don’t. It cannot be halfhearted.” She paused for a long moment. Forgiving him would be easy compared to forgiving herself if she lost him. “I have to believe in him.” She drew a deep breath. “And I do.”

Lotte and Grandmother traded glances.

Veronica’s eyes widened with realization. “I have to go back. I ruined Christmas. I should hate to ruin his birthday as well.”

“It’s entirely too late to leave today. We shall go the first thing in the morning,” Grandmother said firmly.

Veronica shook her head. “I should go now.”

“Absolutely not.” Grandmother adopted her best no-nonsense voice. “First, you need to determine exactly what you are going to say. Then you need to ponder precisely how much groveling you expect from him. And you need a good night’s rest.” She shuddered. “You look dreadful.”

“But I do feel better than I look.” Veronica smiled.

“You would have to.” Grandmother met her gaze directly. “You are certain of this? That you wish to forgive him?”

“I have never been more certain of anything.”

“I suppose one must make sacrifices to get what one truly wants.” Lotte shook her head and sighed. “You will allow him, then, to make you the means to his own ends?”

Grandmother smiled. “But a happy ending nonetheless.”

“No, Lotte, dear.” Veronica summoned a determined smile. “He shall be the means to mine.”

“You do realize you look like an idiot?” Sinclair eyed his friend with barely concealed amusement.

“As I feel like one, it’s appropriate.” Sebastian slumped back farther in his chair and swirled the brandy in his glass.

“You could probably take the crown off now.”

“I like the crown,” Sebastian said under his breath. “It’s still my birthday, and I’m keeping the crown.”

“I suppose it suits you, at least today.” Sinclair sipped his brandy. “You haven’t told me how outstanding I was in the play.” He thought for a moment. “Perhaps I shall go on the stage.”

“The applause was entirely for the children. As for you . . .” Sebastian snorted. “I will say, your performance was adequate given that most of your fellow actors were much shorter and younger. But I would not count on even minimal success on the professional stage, unless you consider success a barrage of rotten fruit thrown at you.”

“You’re not particularly pleasant to be around today, you know.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” he muttered.

He and Sinclair sat at the far end of the hall, in comfortable, if well-worn, chairs facing the fireplace and the burning Yule log. The hall had become the center of the Christmas festivities. The rest of the family was at the other end of the room, near the tree, although the children had already dispersed after being soundly praised for their theatrical accomplishment. Sebastian had rallied from his melancholy state to put up a good face for the duration of the play and the children’s sake. Why should everyone be as miserable as he was?

His mother and siblings had honored his request to keep their opinions, as well as any advice as to how to proceed with Veronica, to themselves thus far. He knew that wouldn’t last. Indeed, he was shocked that they had left him alone for the most part yesterday. Patience was not a virtue Hadley-Attwaters embraced willingly. He had spent a good portion of the day staring at the pennant Veronica had left for him. It was amusing and whimsical and touching. And perfect. Most of the evening and well into the night, he’d been in the company of his brothers and Sinclair, partaking of whisky and brandy and whatever else had been available. Even in his gloom, he appreciated that the others had steadfastly avoided all mention of women in general and Veronica in particular. It was good to be with men who understood that a man didn’t like to have his mistakes thrown in his face. Especially when he didn’t know how to fix them. Adrian had broached the subject of his inheritance once or twice but had ceased when Sebastian made it clear that that, too, was a subject he did not wish to discuss.

“So . . . ,” Sinclair said in a casual manner. “Have you made any decisions? Come up with any sort of plan? Formed a coherent thought?”

Sebastian cast his friend a withering look.

Sinclair chuckled. “I thought as much.” He nodded at the other end of the hall. “If I’m not mistaken, you have another hour at best before they descend on you. I’ve heard the talk among them, and you’re lucky they have let you go this long.”

“I know.” Sebastian drew a deep breath. “I’m going to London tomorrow.”

“To win back the fair Veronica?”

Sebastian nodded.

“Excellent.” The American studied him. “How?”

“I don’t see that I have any choice, nor do I wish one, I suppose.” Sebastian paused for a long moment. He hadn’t actually lied to her, nor had he told her the complete truth. Or rather, everything. “I have to be completely honest with her.”

“I thought you had.”

“I thought so, too, but I was wrong. Apparently, a lie of omission is as bad as an outright lie.” He shook his head. “The oddest thing about all this is that I had nearly forgotten about my birthday and the inheritance. All I wanted was her, as my wife. In my life forever.”

Sinclair cast him a wry smile. “Tell her, not me.”

“I shall.”

Sinclair chose his words with care. “What if it’s not enough?”

“I do not intend to give up. I am counting on the fact that she loves me enough to forgive me. If I’m wrong about that, too . . .” Sebastian shrugged. “I don’t know. But first . . .” He shuddered and got to his feet. “I shall have to deal with them.”

He started toward his family. Better to let them have their say and get it over with. They weren’t going to tell him anything he didn’t already know. Once again, he was a disappointment. But for the first time, he didn’t care.

He had very nearly reached the circle of chairs and sofas facing the Christmas tree where the family had gathered when Bianca caught sight of him and nodded to the others. Almost as one they turned expectant eyes toward him.

“I suppose you are all wondering—”

“Sir Sebastian,” Stokes called behind him. Sebastian turned. The butler hurried toward him. “Sir, you have guests.”

“Guests?” He grimaced. “The last thing we need at the moment is more guests.”

“But it’s Lady . . .” Stokes paused in confusion. “Lady . . . um . . .”

“It suits you, you know,” a familiar voice said from the entry to the hall.

His heart caught. “What suits me?”

Veronica strolled toward him, her family a few steps behind.

“The crown, of course.” She shrugged. “It’s not as fashionable as one of my hats, but it does make a statement.”

“I like it,” he said cautiously.

“So do I.” She considered him for a moment. “Although it’s a bit shabby. You do need a new one.”

“Perhaps next year.”

He was well aware that a dozen or so pairs of curious eyes were fixed on them, but he didn’t care. The rest of the world faded away. He stepped toward her, and he lowered his voice. “Will there be a next year?”

“Oh, I do hope so.” The faintest tremor sounded in her voice. His gaze met hers. “I never lied to you.”

“I know.”

“But I should have told you about the significance of the birthday.”

“I know that as well.”

“I admit, in that I was wrong.”

“Yes, you were.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “Why are you here?”

“Goodness, Sebastian.” A faint, tentative smile curved her lips, as if her heart was thudding as hard as his. “It is your birthday, and I have come to wish you many happy returns of the day.”

“Is that all?”

“No.” She drew a calming breath. “I believe you asked me to marry you.”

He nodded.

“And I agreed.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Then you cannot get rid of me that easily,” she said staunchly. “You asked to marry me, and I am here to hold you to that promise. I am not the type of woman to ignore a promise of that nature simply because a man has what is hopefully a momentary lapse in judgment. Although I do expect him to be more intelligent in the future.”

“I see.” He thought for a moment. “I assume you expect me, as well, to spend the rest of my life making amends for my mistakes.”

She scoffed. “Without question.”

“Very well then.” He shook his head. “But that’s not why you came back.”

She arched a brow. “It isn’t?”

“No.” He pulled her into his arms and gazed into her eyes. “You said it yourself. You cannot imagine your life without me.”

“Well, yes, that is a consideration.” She shrugged as best she could in his arms.

“You’re smitten with me.” He smiled slowly. “Head over heels, mad for me.”

“I am probably mad.” She slipped her arms around his neck.

“And you, Sir Sebastian Hadley-Attwater, you want to die with your hand in mine.”

“More than anything I’ve ever wanted. But not . . . ,” his lips murmured against hers, “for a very long time.” He pressed his lips to hers, and she returned his kiss with the kind of love he had no doubt would indeed endure until they had both breathed their last. And perhaps beyond.

A throat cleared somewhere behind him.

Veronica drew away and smiled up at him. “I had nearly forgotten that we are not alone.”

“Pity.” He grinned down at her, then sobered. “I would give up the inheritance if it would prove to you that you are all I want.”

“Nonsense. It would be absurd to give up a fortune.”

He drew his brows together. “Veronica, it’s not a fortune.”

“Amounts scarcely matter. We certainly aren’t lacking for money, but this is something your father wanted you to—”