Joan Smith (3 page)

“Oh, yes, your friend. You gave him the living at St. Peter’s, I think?”

“He is a sort of honorary vicar. He doesn’t actually practice his calling. Shortly after I gave him the living, he inherited a fortune from a nabob uncle and hired a curate to attend to the parish.”

“A member of the squirarchy,” Miss Aurelia said. “I look forward to meeting-him.”

“I shall ask him to practice the wedding ceremony,” Nick said, gazing at his beautiful bride-to-be. “I would like Pel to marry us.”

Miss Aurelia looked uncertain at this. Jane thought perhaps she had a relative of her own she would prefer to have perform the ceremony, but if so, she did not mention it. The conversation turned to local matters. Nick had a dozen questions to ask, and Miss Aurelia seemed eager to listen and learn.

As soon as supper was done, Nick suggested she  should retire. “I know you have been up since dawn preparing for this visit. I told you there was nothing to be frightened of. My relatives and friends have excellent taste. They all like you. When they come to know you better, they will love you as I do.” His insouciant grin peeped out. “Well, not
exactly
as I do, but they will admire you. And now it is time for bed, miss.”

Miss Aurelia thanked her hostess very properly, said good night to everyone, and was escorted to the bottom of the stairs by Nick.

It was the first time the ladies had had a moment alone since her arrival.

“Well, what do you think of that?” Lizzie exclaimed.

“She seems very nice. Pretty,” Jane said.

“A brewer’s daughter!” Lizzie said.

Emily Lipton shook her head sadly. “If Jane can live with it, then I don’t see that you and I have anything to complain of, Lizzie,” she said.

“It could be worse,” Lizzie said, trying to accept it. “She must be rich as Croesus. A dot of twenty-five thousand at least, I should think. Whitbread is a millionaire, and if Townsend is the second largest brewer in the country, he must be high in the stirrups. I am surprised Nick had the sense—not that I mean to say he is marrying her for her money. He is not that sensible, unless he has changed a great deal. It is odd she did not bring a woman with her, is it not? They must have been traveling since dawn.”

“They are engaged,” Jane pointed out. “And it is not as though they spent a night at an inn.”

“Still, a lady
would have had a companion,” Lizzie said. “What if they had been caught overnight in the snowstorm? It is in those little details that breeding tells. We must see that she behaves herself.”

Jane, remembering her private conversation with the girl, said, “She will. She is eager to learn. I think she and Nick will suit very well.”

That was the position she had taken, and she meant to stick by it. When Nick returned to the table, they all expressed their satisfaction with his bride-to-be. He had expected a little more enthusiasm, and mentioned what he called her “fabulous beauty.”

“Beauty is only skin-deep,” Lizzie said, rather curtly. “I think you are rushing into things, Nick, marrying a stranger. There are ladies closer to home whose character is well known to us all.” Her eyes slid to Jane as she spoke. “But that is your concern. For your sake, I am sure I wish you both happy. And now I shall retire.”

She patted Jane’s shoulder in a consoling manner as she left the table. Nick noticed it, and wondered about that “ladies closer to home.” Was it Jane she was referring to? Surely she didn’t think there was anything between Jane and himself? What nonsense! Why, Jane was the first one to welcome Aurelia.

Mrs. Lipton soon rose as well. “You won’t be long, Jane,” she said, before leaving.

“I shall be up right away,” Jane assured her.

She and Nick followed Mrs. Lipton from the dining room and stopped at the bottom of the staircase.

“Well, what do you think of her, Jane?” he asked. “I value your opinion.”

“She is exceedingly beautiful. She is friendly, nice. I like her.”

“Did you ever see such eyes? They put sapphires to shame. And that hair, like spun gold. I mean to have her portrait painted by Sir Thomas Lawrence as a belated wedding gift to myself. He is the foremost portrait painter in the country. And he is a particular master of the romantic style, which will just suit Aurelia. She wants to have me painted in my scarlet regimentals as a companion piece. I hope Sir Thomas will agree to come to Clareview to do it.”

“If not, you could have it done in London in the spring,” Jane suggested.

“Oh, I should not like to waste my time sitting for a portrait for the few days we will be in London then. Aurelia will want to go up for a ball or two, but spring is the busiest time about the estate. And so pretty, too, with the fruit trees in bloom. I mean to settle down and enjoy the simple pleasures of rural life. I have had my fill of excitement.” A shadow of memory darkened his eyes. Jane wondered what he was remembering—some battle, from the way his lips firmed so grimly.

“I am sure something can be arranged. And now I must go up, before Aunt Emily takes the notion—” She came to an embarrassed stop.

“The notion that I am trying to nudge you under the kissing bough?” he asked, smiling. He looked to the archway into the saloon, where the mistletoe usually hung. “What is this? No kissing bough? I shall rectify that tomorrow. For the meanwhile, you are in no danger of unwanted molesting from me. I am a reformed character.” Then he stopped and examined her more closely.

“Not that you do not provide temptation. You have come along very nicely, Miss Ramsey. What ails the gentlemen hereabouts that none of them have offered for you? Slow tops!”

He sensed a new reserve in Jane when this subject of his romantic waywardness arose. She looked uncomfortable, and suddenly he felt uncomfortable, too. He was accustomed to thinking of Jane Ramsey, when he thought of her at all, as a hoydenish teenager with flying red hair and freckles. Where had this cool lady come from? He gazed at her a moment, noticing in particular how her green eyes sparkled.

She stared back unflinchingly. “Why do you assume no one has offered, Nick?” she asked. “I have refused a few offers. I am rather particular.”

“And so you should be. I suggest you hold out until the right one comes along, as I did. True love is worth waiting for. It hits you like a thunderbolt. And now I shall let you go. Good night.”

He placed a chaste kiss on her cheek, and watched as she walked slowly upstairs. Her velvet gown shimmered as she swayed gracefully. He admired her, in a purely aesthetic way. Yes, Jane really deserved someone special.

A vague sense of unease accompanied Jane to bed. Nick spoke of settling into his role of country gentleman, but she thought that Miss Aurelia had other plans. She wanted to cut a dash in London society. It was odd, too, about the miraculous recovery of her wrenched ankle. Was it possible that Miss Aurelia had exaggerated her injury to get Nick to accompany her home? Well, what if she had? It would not be the first time a lady had taken maximum advantage of a situation to catch a gentleman’s interest.

In any case, there was no doubt that Nick was well and thoroughly fascinated by her. He could hardly, stop raving about her eyes and hair. He hadn’t said much about her personality, though, or her character. And he spoke of getting married early in the New Year, when he had only known her for two weeks. But basically Miss Aurelia seemed like a nice girl, even if she did call her ma’am. She was young; if she had faults, they could be corrected. Nobody was perfect.

What bothered her more was Nick’s kiss on the cheek. If that was not a thunderbolt that had struck her, it was something very like it. Her cheek still tingled from his touch.

Many a night in Spain, while bivouacking on hard ground, or in a haystack, or in the shadow of a cannon, Nick had dreamed of being home, sleeping safely on his own feather tick again, with a cloud-soft goosedown pillow beneath his head. He was thus disappointed that his first night’s slumber at Clareview was so restless. It was the visit to his uncle, playing at war with the tin soldiers, that caused it. He had a nightmare about the bloody battle of Badajoz, where his best friend, Colonel McMaster, had been killed, and Nick was promoted to colonel on the field of battle to take his place. The thunder of the guns, the heat and dust and blood, came back to him with a vividness that shook him to the core.

What a relief to lie peacefully in a quiet room and listen to the soft creaking and cracking of timbers. He gazed out the window as the first light of dawn crimsoned the sky, to watch the sun rise on a world blanketed in snow. No footprints or carriage wheels marred the pristine surface, stretching white down through the park, and off into the distance. He watched the stars fade as the sky lightened from an inky blue to clear azure, with a blinding sun that turned the snow to diamonds.

God, but he was glad to be home. By next Christmas, he would have a son in the nursery, if all went well. Life was too uncertain; a man had to take care of the necessities while he could. He knew his family thought he was rushing things by marrying Aurelia so soon after having met her, but dammit, a man knew when he was in love. Aurelia felt the same way, so why wait?

He heard Rufus moving quietly about in the dressing room. His batman had made it safely through the war with him. His uncle’s moaning in the next room took the first sharp edge of joy from the day. One day, Nick thought, I, too, shall die in that bed—but not yet. Not until he had done something worthwhile with his life.
“Il faut cultiver mon jardin.”
That was what brought real satisfaction and happiness. He jumped from his bed in a near frenzy to get on with finding that happiness.

Within fifteen minutes he was striding down the staircase, sniffing the air for the welcome aroma of gammon and eggs, toast and coffee. He found his aunt and her female guests in the morning parlor. He greeted them all warmly, but Jane noticed he did not single her out in any manner.

After they had exchanged greetings, he said, “Aurelia will sleep late this morning. She was up at the crack of dawn yesterday. We had a hard day’s driving, but she is a game chick. She never uttered a complaint. Is there anything I can do to help with the preparations for Christmas, Aunt Lizzie?”

“Cook has the preparations in order for dinner. She has made her plum pudding and mince pies. She has ordered the crabs for roasting.”

“The mummers will be calling as usual, I hope?”

“I expect so. They came last year.”

“Good. Good. I mean to take Aurelia calling on the tenant farmers today. They will want to meet her. Shall I take the Christmas blankets or—”

“Most of them are already delivered, as the cold set in so early this year. I am making up a special box for Mrs. Dooby. She had twins this time, poor woman. That makes nine children.”

“Poor woman?” he asked. “Why, she is blessed nine times. Were they boys or girls?”

“Both boys. As like as peas in a pod, they say.”

“Boys,” he said, shaking his head in jealous wonder. “We shall have to move her to a larger house.”

“The houses are all occupied, Nick,” his aunt said. “Fogarty makes sure of that.” Fogarty was Lord Goderich’s agent,

“Then we must add a room to Booby’s present house. Boys need space to grow. You have done an excellent job of preparing for Christmas, Auntie, but there is one little thing you have forgotten.”

“The spiced punch,” she said, nodding. “I have not forgotten. We always make it up late in the afternoon, so it will not all be drunk before the mummers come. Now, there is something you could do. Mind you go light on the wine. The mummers stop at a dozen houses. We don’t want them staggering home.”

Nick gave a rueful grin. “That is a reference to the year Pel and I added brandy instead of wine and caused a scandal in the parish. I shall adhere to the family receipt. I have become a traditionalist. I shall teach Aurelia how to make it. That is the sort of thing I missed when I was away—the traditions, the rituals. Roast beef and plum pudding on Christmas, the Maypole dances, church on Sunday. I even missed Mrs. Lemmon’s old piebald bonnet. I used to sit, waiting for it to rise up on its hind legs and neigh, when I was a lad.”

“That is naughty of you, Nick!” his aunt said, but she said it with a tolerant smile. “That bonnet is not horsehide. It is made of white feathers over a black felt. I fancy she ran out of feathers. We all thought it quite the crack when she first wore it a decade ago.”

“I shall be sadly disappointed if she has bought herself a new bonnet for Christmas. It is strange, you know, how one disparages the traditions when he is young, and wants to ‘improve’ everything. Now I don’t want to change a single thing. Not even the chair with the jiggly leg in my dressing room, nor the watermarks on the ceiling that form the map of Africa. All I want is to have our old friends gathered around us for this happy season.” So many of his friends had died, he felt a need to assure himself that something was permanent, unchanging, in this world.

Jane saw again that shadow pass over his face, and wondered at it. She wondered, too, if his love of tradition would stand in the way of Miss Aurelia’s plan to fancify the house. If she were a betting lady, she would have bet Miss Aurelia would have her way-Nick turned to smile at her. “Jane, Mrs. Lipton— Pel, of course. It will be like old times, only better with Aurelia here to share it. Did Pel say when he would come?”

“Pelham is the hostess’s nightmare,” his aunt said. “He never replies to an invitation.”

“No, no. You have misunderstood his tactic. He doesn’t reply when he plans to accept it, but he does send in a refusal.”

“He usually does show up, though often late. As he sent no reply, I expect he will come when it suits him.”

“The sooner, the better. You distracted me with your talk of punch, Auntie. What I meant you had forgotten is the kissing bough.”

“The kissing bush, we used to call it when I was a girl,” she said, smiling at her own memories. “I asked the underfootman to bring in some mistletoe, but he couldn’t find any, which is odd, when we have so many oak trees in the park.”