Once Upon a Christmas Kiss (3 page)

“I should hardly call it that, Sir Lucien,” Winnie replied coolly. “You were as civil as ever.” Why was it that when she said the words they made him sound like a graceless oaf?

Helen looked from one to the other, and Lucien could all but hear the gears turning in her head. “How is it you know one another?” she asked, speculation in her eyes.

Before Lucien could speak, Winifred said, “I am employed as governess to his neighbors, the Duke and Duchess of Ormond, in Yorkshire, Lady Helen. As your cousin is a frequent guest of the Ormonds, we have met any number of times.”

“I can see that you and your husband have much more democratic tastes than I had previously imagined, Lady Helen.” Mrs. Green lifted her nose in the air as she spoke.

“Are we to be tested at the end of each day?” Lady Emily asked pertly.

The other ladies—aside from Helen and the Nightingale sisters—tittered in the uncomfortable silence after Lady Emily’s words. Lucien felt his jaw tighten at the slight to the Nightingale sisters. But he needn’t have worried.

“I should dislike it above all things, Lady Emily, if you found our presence here in any way curtailed your enjoyment of the party,” Winifred said with deceptive pleasantness. “We are off duty, as it were, for the duration of the party. So, you needn’t worry about looking foolish before the other guests.”

She looked, Lucien thought, like a golden goddess delivering a pronouncement to her minions, which was hardly the outcome Lady Emily had wished from her pointed words.

By now, like sharks smelling blood in the water, a couple of other ladies had wandered over. Mrs. Cowper, a widow with a reputation for fast behavior, tilted her beautiful head to the side and said, “Yes, I daresay, Lady Emily, that the Nightingale sisters will not wish to offer their services to us with nothing but Christmas cheer as recompense.”

It was, on its face, a statement of probable fact. But the mention of money, and the offering of services, put a construction on the widow’s words that made Lucien flinch on the Nightingale sisters’ behalf.

Though she said nothing, Winnie’s cheeks blazed with two bright spots of color, whereas her sister paled.

It was the mousy Miss Hawthorne who leapt to their rescue, however. “Th-that was unkind, M-M-Mrs. C-Cowper.”

“But she’s quite right, my dear,” Mrs. Green said with an approving nod to Mrs. Cowper. “I have always taught my gels to treat those less fortunate with kindness. And if the Nightingale sisters are to be here for the duration of the party, then they should be allowed to rest from their labors. Though it will, of course, be difficult for the rest of us to forget their place, even if they are able to do so.”

Unaware of the undercurrents on this side of the room, Jeremy and the other gentlemen chose that moment to wander over. “Coz, I see that you’ve made a beeline for the ladies, as is customary for you.”

Thanks for that, Jem.
“You know me too well, cousin. Though you can hardly fault me when there are so many lovely ladies assembled in one place. I find it incredible that you other chaps neglected them for so long.”

“Not a bit of it,” the Marquess of Stanford, Lady Emily’s father, said merrily. “We were merely discussing plans for the rest of the week, Blakemore. Can’t have a holiday party without festivities can ye?”

At this moment the butler announced that dinner was served. Grateful for the distraction, it was with politeness if not warmth that Lucien offered his arm to Mrs. Cowper, whom Helen had informed him he was to escort into dinner.

“I hope you won’t think me too terribly wicked, Sir Lucien,” she said with all the semblance of apology but none of the sincerity. “I simply thought to make light of the situation. To be frank, I find it a bit difficult to endure the presence of such downtrodden beings amongst the rest of us. One always feels the sting of jealousy from them. And it’s not as if we are at fault for their situation, after all. Really, though I can understand the need to make up the numbers, one has to wonder what Lady Helen was thinking.”

“I imagine she was thinking to do the ladies a kindness,” Lucien said with remarkable calm, given his true thoughts at the moment. “And, as you say, to make up the numbers.” Once again he regretted his rash decision to accept his cousins’ invitation. Especially in light of the open slights the Nightingale sisters would endure as a result.

Glancing behind him, he saw Winnie being escorted by Mr. Charles Beesley, a wealthy neighbor of the Hursts. He was a handsome fellow, and Lucien felt an unusual pang of jealousy.

Unfortunately his companion hadn’t missed the direction of his glance. “She’s quite lovely,” Mrs. Cowper said knowingly. “It’s a shame she’s so utterly ineligible for him. Perhaps there is some local widower or shopkeeper we might tempt with her. I do enjoy matchmaking so.” Her possessive grip on his arm informed him that she didn’t just mean matchmaking for others.

With a pang of regret for his usual solitary Christmas in Yorkshire, Lucien listened with half an ear to the pert widow’s chatter as they entered the dining room.

Chapter Three

“I shouldn’t pay any mind to what Mrs. Green or the other ladies say,” Mr. Charles Beesley said, patting Winnie’s arm as he led her toward the table. “Their sort can never endure not being the loveliest woman in the room.”

Winnie was startled by Mr. Beesley’s frank words. “I’m not sure I know what you mean, sir.” She couldn’t deny that the other ladies words had set her back up. Not for herself, but for Cordelia, who was, as far as Winnie was concerned, one of the sweetest people in world, much less currently present in Hurst House. She’d learned over the years to let insults such as theirs pass over her like water off a duck’s back. But because she had spent the past five years in a small Somerset village, Cordelia, she guessed, did not have the same sort of imperviousness.

“You do not strike me as being either unobservant or unintelligent,” Mr. Beesley said shrewdly. “I could not help but overhear Mrs. Green’s statement. She is a termagant of the first order and likes to think she rules the village of Little Sanditon. But she is quite wrong about that. And I should hate to think that she has overset sweet-tempered young ladies like you and your sister.”

At that Winnie couldn’t help but laugh. “I believe you are the only man ever to call me sweet tempered, Mr. Beesley,” she said wryly. “That description, however, fits my sister quite nicely, so I shan’t call your bluff.”

To her amusement, the man’s ears reddened. It was refreshing to be in the company of a man who could buy and sell everyone in the room but was modest enough to color up over his own words. “I beg your pardon,” he said stiffly. “I do claim some acquaintance with your sister, so perhaps I was assuming too much.”

“Have no fear, sir,” Winnie said to him with a genuine smile. “You will never step wrongly if you pay compliments to my sister in my hearing.”

“One can hardly stand
not
to compliment her, Miss Nightingale,” he said as they stepped into the dining room. “For she is the sweetest lady imaginable.”

At that declaration, Winnie’s brows rose. “Do you mean to say,” she said in a low voice, “that you are in love with my sister, sir?”

Her words simply made the man blush brighter. But he was man enough to own his words. “Yes, indeed. Though I have not as yet been able to convince her to marry me.”

Cordy, you devil,
thought Winnie.
You’ve been keeping secrets.
Aloud she said, “My sister, while sweet, can be quite stubborn when she wishes to be.”

“Not without reason,” Mr. Beesley said, handing her into her chair and taking the seat next to her, where his name was written prettily on a place card. “I understand her reservations.”

“Really,” Lady Fowlkes, a horse-mad matron and the sister of Mrs. Cowper, said from his other side, “I must know what you are speaking of in such undertones, Mr. Beesley. There can be no secrets in such a small party as this.”

“It is no great secret, Lady Fowlkes,” Beesley said to the viscountess. “We were merely discussing our favorite Christmas traditions.”

Across the table, Cordelia raised a brow at Winnie, as if asking whether he told the truth. Winnie gave a slight shrug and spoke up. “Yes, I was just saying how much I enjoy gathering greenery and wassailing.”

To her relief the conversation turned to the subject of Christmas, and Winnie was left to reflect upon the secret her sister had kept from her. She would definitely be having a long conversation with her once the household had retired for the night.

Glancing up, she noted that Lucien was deep in conversation with Miss Hawthorne, who seemed not to stutter too badly in his company. She’d had a pupil once who suffered from the same malady, and nervousness had always made it worse. It was a sign of Sir Lucien’s kind nature that the young lady did not feel unsettled in his presence. She had to admit that the man did have a way of putting people at ease. She’d noticed it from the first time they met at Nettlefield House when he’d come to practice the waltz with the duke’s younger sister. For a moment she recalled what it had felt like to whirl about the ballroom in his arms, and as if he’d sensed her thoughts, Sir Lucien glanced up just then and for the fraction of a moment their gazes held. Was it her imagination or was that the flare of desire she saw in his eyes? At the thought she felt a shiver run through her, and she looked down to hide her response. When she looked back up, his full attention was on Miss Hawthorne, as if the moment between them had never happened. And likely it hadn’t, she told herself firmly.

Clearly Mr. Beesley’s confession about his affection for her sister had turned her head for a moment.

They’d just finished the cheese course when, from the head of the table, Lord Hurst announced, “I hate to address the table at large, but we are a small enough party that I think it will pass. I’ve just been informed that thanks to an overturned carriage in the vicinity, and the inclement weather, we are to welcome two more guests to spend the holiday with us.”

“I don’t suppose,” Lord Fowlkes quipped, “it’s a shepherd and his enciente bride, who will sleep in the stables?”

Hurst chuckled. “I’m afraid not. Just Lords Leaming and Stannis, who were on their way to another party when their carriage lost a wheel on the road just outside Little Sanditon.”

At the mention of Leaming, Winnie, who had been taking a sip of wine, felt herself tremble, and as a result, splashed wine down the front of her gown.

“Oh dear,” Mr. Beesley said, offering her his handkerchief.

Trying desperately to calm her nerves, Winnie thanked him, but it was obvious she’d need to change her gown. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said brightly, “I’ll just go take care of this.”

Quickly, she rose and left the dining room on none-too-steady legs. Behind her she heard Mrs. Green say in a stage whisper, “Poor dear, that is likely her only evening gown.” But Winnie had far more pressing problems than the likes of Mrs. Green.

Once the door closed behind her, she all but sprinted up the stairs, not stopping until she was safe in her bedchamber.

She’d known this day would come. Of course she’d known. But how unfair that it should come so completely unexpected. And while she was among such a condescending group of people. At least if she were acting as governess, she’d have the excuse of her duties to keep her from encountering Leaming too often. But here, as another guest, she’d be forced to make polite conversation with the man who’d attacked her nearly a half dozen years ago. It was not to be borne.

With shaking hands she removed her gown, and in only her shift and stockings, she padded to the dressing table and splashed cold water on her face.

She’d finally managed to control her nerves, when she heard a brisk tapping on her door. “Winnie,” Cordelia said, “it’s me. Can I help?”

With a sigh, Winnie crossed to the door and unlocked it for her sister.

“What happened?” Cordy asked, her eyes sharp. “You aren’t usually so clumsy.”

Debating whether to tell her sister the truth, Winnie finally sighed. “I was startled, that’s all. I am a little acquainted with Lord Leaming.”

Cordelia’s eyes widened. “It’s him, isn’t it? He’s the one who accosted you all those years ago, isn’t he?”

Winnie had been governess to the Earl of Tuthill’s two daughters for nearly six months when his son and heir, Lord Leaming, had arrived home from university. And it had taken only a few minutes of the younger man’s company for Winnie to realize he considered her—and every other woman—below him in status, as his by right.

She’d been warned about him by the housekeeper when she first arrived to take up her position, but seeing him in person had only confirmed the older woman’s words. At first, he’d pretended to a boyish charm that she saw through easily, having met men like him before in other households. But unlike the others, Lord Leaming was unfailingly persistent.

She’d informed the countess, his mother, about his behavior, but that lady had simply laughed merrily and told her that of course her son had no designs upon a governess. He knew better than such nonsense. And to add insult to injury, she’d threatened Winnie with dismissal if she did not drop the subject.

Things had gotten so bad that Winnie had taken to moving the small bureau in her chamber to block the door, in addition to locking it. But one night, after a particularly trying day with Leaming’s sisters, she’d fallen asleep without moving the bureau. And unfortunately, that was the night Leaming decided to pick the lock. He’d been on top of her when she woke up. Before he could ravish her, she’d screamed so loud that the entire servants’ hall had awakened.

The result had been that the earl had threatened her with a ruined character if she told anyone what had happened, and dismissed her to find another position. Which she had done quickly after first removing to Cordelia’s cottage.

“Yes, it was Leaming,” she told her sister. “Cordy, what will I do? How can I possibly continue on here while he is under the same roof?”

Cordelia led her to the small settee, rightly guessing at her sister’s degree of upset. “Should you tell Lord and Lady Hurst? I’m sure they will not wish to harbor such a man beneath their roof. No matter how inclement the weather.”