Once Upon a Christmas Kiss (8 page)

“Have you ever had a spell like that before?” he asked, just as puzzled as she was.

“No,” she said, weakly, “never.”

“Could it have been something you ate?” he asked. “Or maybe drank?”

“But I’ve had nothing that everyone else hasn’t also partaken of,” she said with a sigh. “All I know is that one minute I was alert and skating beside Lord Leaming, and the next I was waking up on the bench.”

“I’ll have Hurst send round for the physician just as soon as we return,” Lucien said firmly. Though he had little faith in a country doctor when what he really wanted was the best that Harley Street could offer, they would have to make do.

“But the roads,” Winnie protested.

“He can send the sleigh round for him,” Lucien said, unwilling to brook protest over the matter. He’d not feel a bit of peace until he could be assured that nothing more serious than a fainting spell had caused her fall.

Looking down, he saw that she’d dozed off. Settling her more firmly within the circle of his arms, he leaned his head back against the seat cushion and waited impatiently for them to reach to house.

Chapter Eight

By the time Winnie had been gently deposited upon her bed by Lucien, she was feeling much more the thing.

Left alone to Mary’s ministrations, she allowed the maid to remove her cloak and then unbutton her wool gown. All the while still seated on the bed. “Really, Mary, I can stand if it will make things easier for you.”

“Not at all, Miss Winifred,” the maid said firmly. “You just sit back and let Mary take care of everything. I’ve ordered up a hot bath for you and a pot of tea. We’ll soon have you set to rights.”

Once her gown was off, however, Winnie heard the maid gasp. “Miss Winnie, did you cut yourself when you fell?”

Winnie frowned. “I don’t think so,” she said, puzzled. “Why?”

“There’s a spot of blood on your arm here,” Mary said, pointing to Winnie’s upper arm, where there was, indeed, a crimson blotch.

“What on earth?” Winnie gasped, craning her head to get a better look. “How did that happen?”

Quickly Mary checked the sleeve of both the abandoned gown and the cloak. “There’s no pin here that might have been left behind,” she said with a shake of her head. “Let me clean it a bit. Maybe we’ll find a stinger or some such. Though I cannot imagine what sort of bee would be out and about in this weather.”

When the blood had been washed away, however, there was no stinger. Only a tiny pinprick.

“You don’t suppose someone bumped into you with a stickpin or the like, do you?”

At the mention of bumping, Winnie remembered Lady Emily, Miss Green, and Mrs. Green bumping into her as they skated past. “Not as such,” she told Mary, not wishing to voice her suspicions aloud just yet. “But you probably have the right of it. It is quite easy to lose one’s balance on the ice, and there were any number of collisions.”

The maid’s expression cleared with relief. “Oh, well then, that must have been it.”

As she soaked in the bath, and a bit later when she was tucked into bed with a hot water bottle, Winnie ruminated over the possibility that one of the three ladies who’d run into her had somehow poisoned her. It was such a mad notion that she almost dismissed it out of hand. Even so, when the physician arrived to examine her some half hour later, she posed the question to him.

“I suppose it’s possible that such a fainting spell could be caused by a dose of some drug or other,” Dr. Staples said with a frown. “Though why would someone want to do that to a pretty young lady like yourself?”

Not wishing for him to spread the tale around the village, Winnie laughed. “Of course I don’t really think that’s what happened. I simply wondered. I’m thinking of writing a Minerva Press novel, and my fainting spell made me think of it.”

“Just so long as you don’t go about trying it out on other folks, Miss Winifred,” the gray-haired doctor said, patting her on the arm. “Now, I’d like for you to rest for the rest of the day, and if you feel well enough tomorrow, you can get back to your usual activities.”

“And you have no notion of what could have caused me to lose consciousness?” Winnie asked, just in case she hadn’t been poisoned and should be looking out for some other symptoms.

“Ladies faint for all sorts of reasons,” Dr. Staples assured her. “It’s just a mark of their sensitivity. If it happens again, I can give you the recipe for a tincture that will thicken the blood, but I doubt you’ll need it.”

Relieved, Winnie leaned back against the pillows again, deep in thought.

***

“Poison?” Lucien asked a short time later, from where he perched on her bedside.

“Or some drug or other,” Winnie nodded. “Dr. Staples said it wasn’t out of the question. And the pinprick on my arm is just too coincidental for comfort.”

“But why?” Lucien asked. “Why give you only enough to cause a fainting spell, I mean. It seems like a great deal of trouble for someone to go to for a mere few minutes of unconsciousness.”

To his surprise she blushed. “I’ve a theory,” she said sheepishly. “Though it’s rather a scandalous one.”

“I’m anxious to hear it, my wanton,” he said with grin.

“Well,” Winnie said, looking down at her hands, “ladies often have these kinds of spells when they are with child …”

Lucien’s gut tightened. “You don’t meant to say that you’re—”

Her head shot up and her eyes widened. “No! Of course not! I’ve never … that is to say, I’m not. Oh you know what I mean, you wretch.”

“Sorry,” Lucien said wryly. “I didn’t really think it, but it felt as if you were trying to break some news to me.”

“Only that someone wishes to ruin my reputation by making it look as if there is a pressing reason for us to marry in haste,” she said, her cheeks hot.

Lucien swore.

“And if it’s already being suggested that I’ve tricked you into marriage on my back,” Winnie continued, “then why not make it seem even more likely by staging a very public faint?”

It was an ingenious, if farfetched, plan.

“Mrs. Cowper did tell me while you were skating with Leaming that there has been some speculation about why we announced our betrothal so quickly. So, you might well be on the right track.”

“Mrs. Cowper?” A line of perturbation appeared between Winnie’s brows. “Why on earth were you talking to her? I thought we—you—disliked her.”

“I could hardly flee from her when she approached,” Lucien said with a shrug. “And besides, she’s not so bad. I think she’s begun to warm to you.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” Winnie responded with a grimace. “Unless it’s some new strategy to make friends so that she can get closer to you.”

It was hardly the most flattering assessment of why the comely widow had chosen to speak to him, but Winnie had had a difficult day, so he held his tongue on that particular matter.

Taking her hand in his, and stroking the back of it with his thumb, he soothed, “Do not let it overset you. She simply wanted me to know there’d been some talk. From both the ladies and the gentlemen.”

Winnie pinched the bridge of her nose. “I do so wish the other guests in this house would find some other preoccupation besides me.”

“I doubt it’s all the guests, my dear,” he assured her. “In fact, I think it likely that the rumor originated from the same person who drugged you. Just to ensure that the right construction was put on your fainting spell.”

“You’re likely right,” she sighed. “Though it feels as if I’m in the spotlight all the same.”

He could feel the slight tremble in her hand. “We’ll figure out who it is fueling these rumors before too long. Have no fear.”

“I wish I had your faith,” she said morosely. “One thing I’ve learned during my years as a governess is that the upper classes are quite good at keeping secrets.”

“It’s true,” he acknowledged with a nod. “However, the more risks this person takes, the better chance we have of catching them.”

“True,” she agreed with a sigh. “Maybe I need to make myself more available so that they have a chance to make mistakes.”

“The devil, you will!” he said hotly before she could finish speaking. “I forbid it.”

When she told him with a raised brow what she thought of his denial, he shrugged a little. “I do not want to see you get hurt. First it’s a nasty note, then it’s a fall on the ice. What next? I do not care for the way this person’s attacks on you are growing bolder and more dangerous.”

He held his breath, afraid she’d finally give him the dismissal he’d expected from the beginning. Their friendship was of a relatively short duration, and he’d crossed so many boundaries at this point that he was no longer aware of where they were drawn. Whether their betrothal was real or fake was immaterial at this point. “What matters is that you remain safe.”

“Because you are worried for me, I’ll let that little outburst go,” she said in her best governess tone—the one he’d heard her use on Ormond’s sisters more than once. “But you cannot keep ordering me about. I’m not a child, or a servant, to be forbidden things.”

At the word “servant,” Lucien winced. It hadn’t occurred to him that his words had put a master/servant construction upon their relationship. “You are right,” he said raising his hands in acknowledgement of his error. “It won’t happen again. Or rather I’ll try not to let it happen. I can be a tiresome fellow at times.”

To his surprise, she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you,” she said quietly, her blue eyes bright with emotion. “I appreciate that you are willing to make that change for my sake. Not many men would.”

That was true enough, he realized, thinking of his friends attitudes toward their wives. With a couple of exceptions, they frequently made decisions for their spouses without consulting their wishes. Though they were given the ordering of the household and the household servants, the ultimate arbiter was the husband. And if he thought it appropriate, he could take away his wife’s authority any time he wished.

How much worse must it be for a governess?

In answer to her praise, he shrugged. “I still hope that you will follow my wishes, but I won’t demand it. I hope that you will learn to trust me enough so that it isn’t an issue.”

“And vice versa?” she asked, clearly not done with the topic.

“And vice versa,” he said with a surprised laugh.

She picked at the bedspread beneath her fingers. “Do you really think the person who’s been threatening me has been lashing out because we’ve provoked them?” She sounded hopeful, like a child voicing a sheepish Christmas wish.

“Our engagement must have done it,” he said, taking her hand again. “It cannot be mere coincidence that you were attacked on the very same morning we announced our betrothal.”

“It’s possible,” Winnie said thoughtfully. “And it’s likely that he or she was feeling mightily annoyed at the news the morning after issuing the threat. That must have stung.”

“Probably hoping for some announcement about the awful message left in your bedchamber, but was instead met with a betrothal announcement. That would certainly make
me
unhappy if I were in those shoes.”

“It’s a sweet thought, isn’t it?” Winnie grinned. “Another sweet thought is giving them something else to be angry about.”

As she leaned forward he could smell the sweet scent of roses from her bath, and though he wanted to kiss her with all the pent-up emotion that had flooded through him earlier, he held back, letting her brush her lips against his. It was a tentative touch at first, but soon he felt the stroke of her tongue over the seam of his lips, and before long they were both breathless with need.

“What brought that on?” he asked when they’d both stopped to come up for air.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to look a gift horse in the mouth, Lucien?” she asked, taking his lower lip lightly between her teeth.

“Point taken,” he said with a laugh as she kissed him again.

Chapter Nine

Later that afternoon, having taken a long nap once Lucien left, Winnie called Mary to help her dress.

“I cannot just lie about all day when I feel perfectly fine,” she explained to the protesting maid. “I won’t overexert myself, I assure you.”

“Make sure that you don’t, Miss Winifred,” Mary said firmly. “And though I don’t like to mention it, I hope you’ll watch yourself. What with the message last night and the fainting spell this morning, I’m that worried about you.”

Touched by the woman’s concern, Winnie assured her that she’d do her best.

Then, hoping to find her sister, she set off into the hall, but to her disappointment found an empty bedchamber. Thinking that Cordelia might have retired to Lady Helen’s little parlor to write letters, she set off in search of her there.

But when she opened the door, it was to find not her sister, but Lady Emily, her normally regal straight back slumped over the pretty writing desk. Winnie turned to leave the room, but must have made some noise, because the younger woman turned with a start; to her surprise, Winnie saw that she’d been weeping.

It
would
be the case, she thought wryly, that even in the midst of a crying fit the girl would still be beautiful. No blotchy skin or red nose for the likes of Lady Emily.

“I do apologize, Lady Emily. I did not know you were here. I’ll leave you in peace.”

Rather than haughtily order her from the chamber, however, the younger girl just looked more miserable. With an inward sigh, Winnie added, “Unless, that is, you’d like to talk. I cannot help but notice that you are in some distress.”

Rather than speak, however, Lady Emily dissolved into tears. Closing the door behind her, Winnie took a seat and offered the handkerchief she always kept with her. As a governess, one never knew when one would find a charge in a fit of tears.

“Thank you, Miss Winifred,” Emily said, taking the proffered linen. “I am mortified that you, of all people, should see me like this. Especially so soon after your collapse earlier.”

“Better me than one of the gentlemen, or one of the other ladies,” Winnie said practically. “I do not yet have friends in the
ton
I can gossip to about finding you in tears. And as a governess, I am quite familiar with soothing the tears of young ladies. Indeed, I account myself as something of an expert, if you must know.”