Marry Christmas (Zebra Historical Romance) (12 page)

New York, December 22, 1892

“You have gone too far, Mother,” Elizabeth said, holding up a copy of the society gossip magazine,
Town Topics
.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Alva said, but she gave the magazine a quick look before schooling her features.

Elizabeth held the magazine up to the fading light to read for her mother: “‘We have discovered that Miss Cummings will wear a corset cover and chemise embroidered with rosebuds and that her clasps are made of gold.’ My underclothes are no one’s business but my own.”

Alva waved a hand at her distraught daughter. “Oh, they just wanted a little tidbit. I think it’s delightful how many people are curious about your wedding. It’s already being called the wedding of the century.”

“Better the farce of the century,” Elizabeth said bitterly. The past months had been a long nightmare of wedding plans. Her mother did not bother consulting her on a single detail, including whom would be selected as her bridesmaids. She’d confronted her mother tearfully when she realized Maggie wasn’t standing up by her simply because her pedigree didn’t match some of the other girls. Worse, she’d included Charlotte Grayson, a girl she actually disliked. Her mother wouldn’t budge on the issue.

She hadn’t seen the duke at all, though about a month after his departure he’d sent her a pair of lovely silk-lined kidskin gloves. He’d sent no note, but she knew immediately they were from the duke. It was such a thoughtful gift that she’d held them in her hands for several minutes before putting them aside. And then, a week later came a box full of lemon tarts, which her mother immediately confiscated. “Why ever would the duke send this?” she said, before giving the tarts to their housekeeper to disperse among the servants.

In addition to the small gifts, he wrote several polite letters that read more like travelogues than letters from a fiancé. It bothered her more than a little that he signed the letters “Yours Truly, the Duke of Bellingham.” She would take out those gloves and put them on and wonder if he truly could know how much those gloves could mean to her. She could hardly remember what he looked like, and her trepidation about marrying a stranger increased daily. That picnic they’d shared seemed very long ago.

Her appearances in New York had been carefully staged by her mother, who gloried each time
Town Topics
or the
New York Times
put her name in the paper. The
Times
had printed exhaustive details of the wedding, including the type of floral arrangements, the order of songs, the people attending, the food to be served at the reception. The reporters knew more about her wedding than she did. People were beginning to hang about the front of their Fifth Avenue mansion on the hope that they would get a glimpse of a future duchess.

“My life has become a circus,” she said dramatically. And even that statement couldn’t ruffle Alva’s feathers. “Don’t you care that I’m suffering?”

“Not in the least,” Alva said sharply. “I only care that you are an ungrateful girl.”

Elizabeth let out a huff of frustration and threw herself down upon a settee. Before her mother could utter a word about sitting up straight, she did so, with great flourish.

“I know these past weeks have been difficult for you,” Alva said nonchalantly. “That is why I have arranged for you and Margaret to go out shopping. Quite anonymously, of course.”

“Truly, Mother?” Elizabeth said, so happy she couldn’t stop herself from throwing her arms around her mother. Alva suffered her daughter’s spontaneous affection for the space of perhaps three seconds before she gently pushed Elizabeth away.

“If you leave before nine o’clock I doubt anyone will spy you leaving in the plain carriage. Wear a shirtwaist and skirt and your dark cloak. No muff, of course, and that little velvet hat, you know, the one with the small white feather? You should probably remove the feather,” she said thoughtfully. “You may take this time to purchase your Christmas gifts. I suggest something nice for the duke would be appropriate. He will be your husband, after all.”

With a sinking feeling, Elizabeth suspected her mother already had picked the item out. Still, she asked, “What would you suggest?”

Alva smiled. “I took the liberty of buying something for him.”

“Quelle surprise,”
Elizabeth muttered.

Alva’s smile disappeared, but she continued undaunted. “I knew how busy you were going to be and likely would not have the time for such a frivolous thing. If you stop by Tiffany’s, they have the most wonderful fountain pens. Your father said the duke admired his, so I ordered one for him. It’s beautifully engraved.”

“I’m certain it is. Thank you, Mother.” Elizabeth could forgive her mother’s presumptuousness if she was going to be allowed a day of freedom and shopping with her dearest friend. That night she went to bed with a smile on her face for the first time in months.

Maggie and Elizabeth were beside themselves with excitement. They felt like spies, peeking out the windows of their simple carriage to see if anyone were following them. Elizabeth hadn’t had such fun in ages, and she prayed no one recognized her. The drive to Broadway took nearly thirty minutes, for traffic was heavy with Christmas shoppers. The city was decorated with trees and garland, and everywhere people were bundled up against the frigid winter air. There was a wonderful festive air about the city, and the girls, filled with cheer and heady with freedom, giggled like schoolgirls. A snowfall a week ago left the streets wet and muddy, and the small piles that remained along the walkways were dirty. Along Barclay Street, a man was selling Christmas trees from a great pile stacked in the middle of the road.

“I do hope it snows before your wedding so all this dirty stuff is covered,” Maggie said, wrinkling her nose at the mud-covered slush. She looked up to the gray sky. “It might snow a bit today. It feels like snow, doesn’t it?”

“What does snow feel like?” Elizabeth asked, smiling.

“Like it feels today. Like snow. Oh, I just love the Christmas season. It just does something to me. It’s magical. And with you getting married, it’s going to be even more magical.”

Maggie’s good cheer was contagious, and Elizabeth wouldn’t even let talk of her wedding bring her down. “It is rather all exciting, I suppose.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I haven’t seen the duke since August.
August.
It’s almost as if he doesn’t exist at all, that some stranger could be standing at the end of the altar and I wouldn’t know the difference. I’m just nervous, I suppose.”

“I’d be a fright,” Maggie gushed. “Imagine all those people. They’ll be throngs outside St. Thomas’s. I heard they’ll be putting extra police out just for that. Can you imagine? I don’t expect anyone to be hanging about when I get married.
If
I get married.” Maggie gave a rare frown but nearly instantly recovered. “Have you heard from the duke lately? The last you told he was in Washington.”

Elizabeth examined her gloves. “He’s in New York now. Staying at the Waldorf, of course. He’s written fairly regularly and sent some lovely postcards. He’s been very thoughtful.” She let out a sigh. “Have you heard from Lord Hollings?”

Maggie smiled. “Why ever would I?”

“It seemed to me you spent quite a bit of time together in Newport. I thought perhaps you had found yourself an earl and we could be neighbors. Two Americans taking those English by storm. I was hoping, secretly.”

“Lord Hollings and I had an agreement,” Maggie said laughing. “He would stay by my side to dissuade those Wright boys from hounding me, and I would stay by his side to get those marriage-minded mothers away from him. My mother is beside herself, of course. I think she was already trying to think of ways to get me to Europe to buy my trousseau. It was fabulous fun at the time, but poor Mama. I think she truly is heartbroken and I feel a bit guilty. More than a bit, really.”

Elizabeth gave her friend a friendly smack on her arm. “I cannot believe you didn’t tell me about this. It would have been such fun.”

“You were a bit preoccupied this summer, if you remember.”

“Just a bit,” Elizabeth said, as the carriage pulled over to the side of Broadway. “We’re here. It shouldn’t take long to fetch the pen, and then we’re on our own.” The footman helped the women down from the carriage and into the throng of Christmas shoppers. “Look, Maggie, it’s begun to snow. How wonderful if it keeps up.”

“Enough to cover St. Thomas’s and close down the city?” Maggie suggested.

“Mother would find a way to clear every speck of snow from the streets, so such a wish would be futile,” she grumbled. “Look,” Elizabeth said, pointing to the famous clock above Tiffany’s entrance. “It’s only half past nine. We have hours and hours before I have to be home. We’re having a small dinner tonight. Only fifty people or so,” Elizabeth said, laughing. “And His Grace will be there as well. I am quite nervous about the entire thing.”

Maggie linked arms with Elizabeth as they crossed the street. “You shall be fine. This snow is a good omen, you’ll see.”

The two girls entered Tiffany’s smiling widely at the scene before them. It seemed every New York male was in the store buying some trinket for their wives and daughters. They all had similar looks of desperation on their faces, for Christmas was only two days away.

Elizabeth found a clerk and asked him to find her mother’s order.

“Oh, Miss Cummings,” the clerk gushed.

Maggie held a finger to her mouth and shushed the blushing young man. “We’re here incognito,” she whispered, smiling mischievously. “No one is to know. No one. It certainly wouldn’t do for the duke to know his Christmas present ahead of time, would it.”

The clerk straightened. “No, miss. I’ll be right back,” he said furtively.

“Thank you, Maggie. I can’t tell you how weary I am of all this attention. You can go look at those rings, I’ll wait here. The fewer people who see me, the better.”

Maggie wandered off, attracted by the beautiful necklaces on display for the Christmas season, and Elizabeth examined the case of fine fountain pens in front of her. Her mother’s gift was a good idea, she thought as she took in the intricate designs on the pens, though she wished she knew the duke well enough to have come up with something a bit more personal.

“Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth stiffened, her heart felt as if it stopped, and the blood seemed to drain from her head in a rush. She’d know that voice anywhere, that smooth, cultured wonderful voice. Henry.

“My God, it is you. My God,” he said, and Elizabeth tried desperately to school her features into something less joyful.

She swallowed and turned, afraid she might faint. “Henry.” She hadn’t thought to ever see him again, but there he was, standing in front of her, looking so dear, so sad and disheveled, with a bit of melting snow still clinging to the shoulders of his overcoat. She’d forgotten how simply seeing him could affect her, how her heart would race. She’d truly thought she would never see him again, and yet here he was in Tiffany’s staring at her as if she were the most precious thing on earth.

“Oh, my dear, I’ve been looking for you forever it seems,” he said in a happy rush. “I didn’t dare try to visit you. Every time I’ve been out in town, it seemed you had just left or hadn’t yet arrived. The Oelrich affair. I was there, but you had gone. I’ve been going quite insane.”

“Henry,” Elizabeth said, ending on a bit of hysterical laughter. “I got your rose. It was you, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. I couldn’t bear to leave without sending you a token of my love. You have no idea how difficult it was to leave you. But your father was quite adamant, you see. Oh, here.” He reached into his overcoat and pulled out a small envelope. “I’ve been carrying this around with me for weeks, hoping I would see you. Oh, Elizabeth, I’ve been going mad without you.”

It was on the tip of Elizabeth’s tongue to ask why he’d so easily been persuaded by her father, but she stopped herself, for he looked so incredibly distraught. “You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be talking with me,” she said instead. An unexpected surge of anger hit her, shocking her a bit, for as long as she’d known Henry she’d never been even a little bit angry with him. But how dare he come to her the day before her wedding and tear her apart this way. She’d thought she’d finally gotten over him, but seeing Henry again left her feeling raw and wounded and terribly confused.

“Here,” he said, putting the envelope into her numb hand. Her entire body felt numb.

“What…”

He looked around as if fearful they would be caught. “Just take it, my dear.” Elizabeth curled her hand around the paper, searching his eyes for some clue as to what the envelope contained.

“Elizabeth?” Maggie asked, coming up beside her, her voice brittle. Maggie did not bother hiding her displeasure at seeing Henry. “Are you all right?”

“Merry Christmas, Miss Cummings,” Henry said, ignoring Maggie and giving the hand that held the small package a shake, silently beseeching her to remain silent about the gift.