Once Upon a Christmas Kiss (9 page)

Wiping her eyes, Emily nodded. “I suppose you’re right. Though with the way I’ve treated you thus far, I cannot think that you do not feel some pleasure at the sight of me so miserable. I know if our situation were reversed I would do so.” She shook her head ruefully. “I have a suspicion, however, that you would never allow such a thing to happen. You are much stronger than I at first gave you credit for.”

Belatedly, Winnie recalled that Lady Emily had been one of the ladies who’d bumped into her that morning. It was difficult to believe that the girl was so proficient a liar as to pretend candor like this so soon after poisoning Winnie. Indeed she seemed almost apologetic, but it was difficult to tell if it was over her earlier snide remarks or something more sinister.

“Of course I don’t feel pleasure at finding you in tears,” Winnie said firmly, though she might feel just a tiny bit of satisfaction at seeing that the other woman was human. Even so, that was hardly the same thing as reveling in her unhappiness. Though Emily was more right than she knew about Winnie never allowing herself to be seen in the same position. As a glorified servant, she had come to value her privacy above all things and there was no way that she’d have indulged in a fit of tears in such a public place. It had been bad enough to faint in front of them, though that at least wasn’t something she could’ve controlled. “Now, won’t you tell me what I can do to help?”

Tears welled in the younger girl’s eyes again. “I … it’s just that I’ve had some bad news from home. It’s silly, really. Certainly not worth getting overset about.”

“I can keep a confidence,” Winnie said quietly, and reluctantly she found herself wanting to help. It took courage to admit one’s own faults. And besides, she would not allow suspicion to make her behave in a way that she’d be ashamed of in other circumstances. “I will tell no one. Whatever it is that’s troubling you.”

She could see the conflict in Emily’s face as she tried to decide whether to speak or not. But she must have decided to tell, for she said, “You’ll think me a terrible hypocrite, Miss Winifred.” Looking down at the letter in her hand, which was on fine paper and seemed surprisingly short, she continued. “But I’ve just learned that my old nanny has died.” Her eyes welled and she shook her head. “Isn’t that the most laughable thing you’ve ever heard? Here I am, making you and your sister the objects of my ridicule.” When Winnie opened her mouth to protest, the younger girl gave her a speaking look. “Do not try to deny it, Miss Winifred, for I have been perfectly awful to you both. And now I have been punished for it. If Nanny had known how dreadfully I was behaving, she’d have sent me to bed without supper. Or since it’s Christmas, she’d have threatened to deny me my Christmas pudding, at the very least.”

Her confession finished, the girl was silent, not daring to meet Winnie’s eyes, instead looking down at the letter that had brought the news.

“I am sorry for your loss, Lady Emily,” Winnie said, reaching out to touch her on the arm. She did not reassure the girl about her bad behavior or protest that she hadn’t been perfectly awful to both Cordelia and herself because that didn’t seem to be what Emily sought. And besides, it was true that she’d been cruel. But it was hardly true that her former nanny’s death had been divine retribution for her bad behavior. “Though I think we both know that death doesn’t work that way.”

If it did, then Winnie would surely have been struck down for her ill will toward Mrs. Cowper or, for that matter, Lady Emily—and thus far, at least, that had not happened.

Sniffling miserably, Lady Emily sighed. “I suppose you are right, though it is nothing more than I deserve.” She looked up with a pained smile. “Do you know, I’ve long suspected that Nanny was the only person in the world who loved me. Not because I am beautiful or rich, or for any of those trappings. She loved me because she’d known me from infancy. And remembered a time before I became so wrapped up in my own consequence. And I ignored her.

“Oh, I sent her a gift at Christmas—or rather had my maid send it—every year, which I did before I left London for this party.” Her expression was so forlorn that Winnie found herself wanting to hug the girl. “Do you know, I’m not even sure what I sent her. A ham? A gewgaw? I honestly don’t know. And now she is gone, so I suppose it matters not.”

“I cannot think that she cared
what
you sent her,” Winnie said kindly, “just that you remembered her. I know that when a former pupil sends me a note or some trinket, it’s not the thing itself, but the fact that they took the time to send it. And your nanny can hardly have known that your maid sent it. And I assure you that knowing would not have altered her love for you.”

“Do you think so?” Emily asked, her eyes so hopeful that Winnie wondered when the last time was that someone had praised the girl. Clearly her bad behavior sprang not only from being cosseted, but also from a need for attention.

“I cannot claim an acquaintance with her, of course,” Winnie said thoughtfully. “I do know that love can be complicated, and in some cases it is quite possible to feel both affection and exasperation for someone.” Her wayward thoughts immediately conjured the image of Lucien, which she promptly ignored.

“I know,” she went on, firmly, “that I often feel both emotions for my own charges, so I cannot think your Nanny was all that different.”

A furrow appeared between the brunette’s brows. “You feel affection for the girls in your charge? Truly?”

“I am not an automaton, Lady Emily,” Winnie said with a smile. “Often when girls are put in my charge they need discipline and training, but they are sometimes little more than children. And it’s a rare child who possesses no redeeming qualities. And yes, I do grow to love some of them.”

“How extraordinary,” Emily said, amazed. “I know my nanny loved me, of course, but it never occurred to me that Miss Summers, my governess, felt anything more than exasperation with me.”

Winnie had little doubt that the redoubtable Miss Summers had felt frustrated more than once if Lady Emily’s behavior thus far at the party was any indication. “I think you might be surprised to learn her true feelings.”

“Perhaps,” Emily agreed. “But I was truly awful to her at times. I am ashamed to admit how awful.”

“Then do something to make up for it. Do something to make your nanny and Miss Summers proud. Or at the very least vow to stop doing whatever it is that you think they’d disapprove of.”

Emily frowned. “That would be everything,” she said wryly. “I fear I’ve not been a very good person.”

“Christmas is the perfect time to make a change,” Winnie said, patting Emily’s hand. “And I’m not sure about you, but I could always use another friend.”

“You would wish to be my friend?” Emily asked, shocked. “After how I treated you?”

“Do you truly think that was the worst I’ve encountered?” Winnie asked, thinking of Leaming’s blackmail threat, and the hateful words traced in powder on her dressing table. “I’ve endured far worse at the hands of my charges. And their parents. I have little doubt that once you set your mind to behaving more kindly to others you’ll be quite charming.”

“I’ve never been very good at making friends with other ladies,” Emily said, her beautiful countenance made more so by hope. “I think I’d like that.”

Winnie suddenly felt a surge of affection for the girl. She knew how lonely life could be for a beautiful girl. She’d seen it time and again with her charges. When a girl was extraordinarily pretty, the other girls would sometimes toady her to such a degree that she became convinced she could do no wrong. But all too often that admiration turned to scorn, and the pretty girl found herself excluded from the group because of jealousy. Especially when the young men around them began to pay her more attention.

“I would too,” Winnie said, and to her surprise she meant it. “Now, unless you wish the others to guess that you’ve spent the afternoon weeping, I suggest you retire to your chamber and lie down with a rosewater-soaked cloth on your eyes for a bit. I’ll ask one of the kitchen maids to bring you a bit of ice as well.”

“Thank you, Miss Winifred,” the girl said, rising. “I appreciate your kindness.”

“You may call me, Winnie. As my other friends do.”

To her surprise, Emily hugged her. It was awkwardly done—as if she’d never embraced anyone before in her life. But it was heartfelt, and Winnie felt herself warming to the girl. “And you may call me Emily.”

“Perhaps as homage to your nanny,” Winnie said as they walked from the room, “we can celebrate Christmas with some of the traditions you used to observe with her.”

“I should like that,” Emily said, beaming. “My parents were often visiting friends for the holiday, but Nanny always made sure that we children enjoyed ourselves. And made us attend services on Christmas morning. Do you think the Hursts will wish to do so as well?”

“Even if they do not,” Winnie said, slipping her arm through Emily’s, “my sister and I will be happy to accompany you.”

Chapter Ten

“I’m s-so p-pleased th-that L-Lord H-Hurst th-thought of th-the s-s-sleigh,” Miss Hawthorne confided to Winnie as they sat side by side in one of three sleighs conveying the guests to the village of Little Sanditon. When Lady Helen had suggested a shopping trip to purchase some Christmas gifts, the idea had been met with enthusiasm from both the ladies and the gentlemen. Even the most enthusiastic of billiard players, it seemed, had his limits.

From Winnie’s other side, Lucien agreed. “It is a pleasant excursion, is it not, Miss Hawthorne? I’m grateful my cousin remembered the sleighs. And I confess myself relieved, for I’ve been worried that I’d have nothing to give my bride-to-be come Christmas morning.”

Miss Hawthorne tittered, while Mr. Beesley, who sat across from her beside Cordelia, grinned at him. “You don’t want to begin things in debt, Sir Lucien. Ladies have long memories for things like that. Do you not, Miss Nightingale?”

Cordelia blushed beneath Mr. Beesley’s gaze. Winnie would eat her hat if her sister hadn’t changed her mind about his proposal before the end of this house party. Little by little as the week progressed, Cordelia’s manner had relaxed more and more in Mr. Beesley’s presence, which was a relief to Winnie. Though she sympathized with her sister’s reasons for refusing Mr. Beesley, Winnie thought him better able to endure attack from the likes of Mrs. Green than Cordelia realized.

“I can hardly say,” Cordelia answered primly, “for I’ve never been in the position to receive gifts from a gentleman.”

Her sweetheart looked as if he’d like to argue that she could be in such a position easily enough, but sufficed merely to raise his brows.

“Well, I for one,” Lucien said squeezing Winnie’s hand where it rested between them, “am relieved to escape such a disaster. As I am quite sure Winifred is as well. Are you not, Winnie?”

“I’m nearly prostrate with it,” she said wryly. “Though I have a suspicion that it is more customary for the gentleman to bestow a gift upon the lady and not the other way around.”

But Lucien waved her off. “We shall set our own tradition. Have no fear!”

The mention of tradition had Winnie experiencing a pang of nostalgia for the Christmas traditions she and her family had shared before her parents had died. Wistfully, she remembered standing on one side while Cordelia stood on the other as their mother stirred the Christmas pudding weeks before the actual celebration. And then there had been the snowy afternoons when she and her parents and their closest friends from the village had stalked the nearby wood in search of the perfect greenery and mistletoe to adorn their snug cottage.

It had been a happy childhood, one in which she and Cordelia had never felt as if they wanted for anything. Until, of course, their world fell apart upon the death of their parents. When dreams of pretty gowns for the local assemblies and handsome gentlemen bowing on their hands had been exchanged for days spent hard at work ensuring that the young ladies of the finest families in England were ready to be presented at balls far grander than anything Cordelia and Winnie could have dreamt of.

Perhaps, she thought, allowing herself a little bit of hope, she and Lucien would one day set their own traditions. It was entirely contrary to what she’d told him when she agreed to consider his proposal, of course, for she still had no wish to damage his reputation. But as time passed she found herself wondering more and more how she could possibly leave him when the time came. Even in two short days she’d come to value his presence beside her. What would she think at the end of a full week?”

Unaware of Winnie’s reflections, Miss Hawthorne smiled, thus rendering her rather plain looks quite pretty. “C-C-Christmas is m-my favorite time of year. I h-hope we’ll b-b-be able to gather g-greenery this afternoon. And have a s-snowball fight.”

“You shock me Miss Hawthorne,” Lucien drawled. “I’d never have guessed you to be so bloodthirsty.”

“Unless the snow is overly wet and turns to ice,” Mr. Nutting, a pleasant young man who seemed quite taken with Miss Hawthorne, added with a smile, “the worst you can get from a snowball fight is cold.”

“Spoken like a man who has done his share of avoiding snowballs,” Winnie said wryly. “I am simply happy we will be able to gather greenery instead of being trapped all evening in the drawing room.”

“M-Me, too,” Miss Hawthorne said. “I l-love the outdoors.”

Mr. Nutting began to ask her polite questions about life on her father’s estate, and since Cordelia and Mr. Beesley were deep in conversation, for a few moments Winnie and Lucien were left to their own devices.

“Have you any gifts in particular to purchase in the village?” Lucien asked. “Besides my own, of course. Though I can tell you what I want cannot be purchased.”

Though his tone was playful, the flare of heat in his eyes told her that he spoke the truth. For a moment their eyes locked, and Winnie felt an answering longing deep in her belly. What would it be like between them? she wondered. If his kisses were any indication, then making love with Lucien would be thoroughly intoxicating.

“If you keep looking at me like that,” he said in a gruff undertone, stroking the soft skin of her inner wrist just above her glove, “then I shall have to drag you off to some secluded corner once we arrive in the village and kiss you senseless.”