The Christmas Knot (12 page)

“An excellent notion,” Richard said. “You may make a few new gowns for yourself as well.”

It took a moment to find her tongue. “Thank you, but I don’t require any new clothing.”

“Indeed you do,” Richard said. “One ugly brown gown and an equally ugly grey one are not only insufficient, but I don’t see why you shouldn’t have something less faded and worn.”

She colored with shame. Understandably, he didn’t want a shabby governess—although why should he care, when she would be leaving in a month or so? “Perhaps, but the fabrics we found in the attic are inappropriate for a governess, who must dress in sober colors.”

“Oh, fudge,” Lizzie said. “I agree with Papa. What about that lovely blue wool? I’ll wager there’s enough for a gown for each of us, even if there are a few moth holes here and there.”

Maybe so, but it verged on improper for Richard to provide Edwina with anything but serviceable clothing. That wool was far too costly for a mere governess.

She strove to suppress the yearning in her heart. How she would love to wear pretty colors again.

“There’s a seamstress in the village who would welcome some work,” Richard said as if the matter was settled. “She may not be acquainted with the latest modes, but if you design the gowns, she is competent to sew them.”

“The
robe…robe a l’anglaise
is a beautiful dark green,” Lizzie said. “I would like a gown made of that. There was a crimson gown, too. Crimson would suit you, Mrs. White.”

“Perhaps, but it would be completely inappropriate,” Edwina said, her cheeks heating. Crimson did indeed suit her—it was the color she’d worn the night she and Richard had waltzed together into the dark garden.

“As you wish,” he said, echoing his indifference of earlier in the day. “If you need any thread, ribbons, and so on, you may send to Chester. Which reminds me, it is past time to start thinking of Christmas baskets.”

“Christmas baskets?” Lizzie asked.

“For all the villagers,” Richard said. “They’re good people and deserve a festive holiday. I’d like to provide each household with a ham and perhaps a goose as well, and a wheel of good cheese.”

There was a silence, during which Edwina was sure they all pondered the shadow that had been cast over many Christmases in Rawden. How horrid to wonder, each year, whether it was now the firstborn’s time to die. She resisted the urge to glance at John and hurried to fill the lull. “How very thoughtful of you, Sir Richard. My late husband wanted to be considered a great benefactor but was selfish by nature. I had to persuade him that to appear generous, he had to
be
generous.”

“We’ll send to Chester tomorrow and hope the weather holds good for the next while,” Richard said.

“Might we give them all cakes as well?” Lizzie said. “That’s what I like best at Christmas.”

“I wish we could, but we don’t have the staff to make and bake for the entire village,” Richard said.

“You may be able to get fruitcakes from Chester as well,” Edwina said. “When I was married to Mr. White, I ordered cakes for all our dependents, and of course we held a Christmas feast for the entire household.”

“We don’t have much of a household at the moment,” Richard said, and Edwina wished she had kept her mouth shut. There were ways of getting around the lack of servants, but it wasn’t a governess’s place to offer suggestions or make comparisons to previous households or do anything but remain quietly in the background. She’d hated manipulating her husband, but it was even more tedious to say nothing at all.

“If we had the necessary help,” Richard said, “I would hold a feast for the entire village, as has been the custom for the past two hundred years.”

Again there was a lull, during which Edwina pondered the courage of the Ballisters, who had held a feast whether the curse loomed over them or not.

“But if no one will enter the house except the scullery maid, I don’t see how it’s possible,” Richard said.

“I do,” Edwina blurted.

~ * ~

Starting afresh wasn’t going quite the way Richard had hoped.

Hell and damnation, he didn’t even know what he hoped for. He’d been doing his best to believe her a liar, but she’d gone so pale at the sight of John, and her voice had trembled with genuine concern, and…poof, as if a fairy godmother had waved her wand, he was besotted with her again.

And then there was that bruise. How could he have stooped so low last night as to think her a conniving little slut who would do anything to regain his sympathy? She hadn’t come to seduce him. What a laughable notion that was. They’d been on the way to mending their fences, or so he’d thought, but she wasn’t really letting bygones be bygones—he’d seen the look on her face—and now she would rather dress in rags than accept some discarded gowns from him.

Particularly a crimson one—but best not to think about that.

He supposed he would have to believe wholeheartedly in the ghost now, which he didn’t want to do, as it left him—and more importantly, John—utterly at the mercy of the blasted curse. Before now, he’d retained enough skepticism to believe he could pretend to end the curse and get the same result.

He forced a smile. “Tell us, then.”

She had stiffened as if she regretted speaking, but now she relaxed a little and said, “Why not get the whole village involved in preparing for the festivities? They can cut greenery and bring it here, and we’ll put it up. They can cook most of the food, too—I’m sure each housewife has her specialties. You would supply the ingredients and pay them for the work, of course.” She colored again. “If that’s all right with you, Sir Richard?”

“Of course it’s all right. It’s an excellent idea and just what we all need—a festive Christmas.” His eyes rested on John, whose nose remained firmly in his book. Involuntarily, Richard exchanged a glance with Edwina, whose concern mirrored his almost as if she were the child’s mother, not just a governess. She would make an excellent mother—or stepmother.

Perhaps Fate had taken a hand here, and he should weigh his options, with their positives and negatives, like a sensible man. “Mrs. Cropper, come help us plan the food. Sam Teas can provide ale for wassail, and there’s plenty of wine in the cellar for punch.”

“May we give pennies to all the children?” Lizzie asked. “And oranges! May we order those, too?”

“Why not?” Richard said, leaping up. “I’ll get pen and paper, and we’ll make a list.”

And if he sent for something not on that list, just on speculation…why not?

~ * ~

What an orgy of list-making that was
, thought Edwina, almost content as she prepared for bed. She hadn’t seen Richard so enthusiastic since the day, twelve years ago, when they had made their plan to elope. And been thwarted…

She sighed. He seemed willing enough to let her plan the festivities, but why wouldn’t he? She was his employee—nothing more. She would do her best whilst searching for the necklace as well. She intended to enjoy this Christmas before embarking on her tedious life as a governess once again, and to ensure that Richard, his children, and the entire village of Rawden enjoyed it, too.

That is, if no further ‘accidents’ befell John…

~ * ~

How dare you think I would torment that child on purpose?

Edwina woke abruptly to a pitch-dark room, braced for another slap. When it didn’t come, she asked, “Why can’t you simply tell me where to find the necklace?”

I’m doing my best, you fool. Look about you, for the love of God. There’s not much time.

“Your best is dropping a lantern on a boy’s head?” she retorted, but the ghost was already gone.

She groaned and sat up.
Look about you.
Did that mean the necklace wasn’t hidden at all? Or, more likely, that by taking stock of her surroundings, she would realize where it must be?

That sounded much too easy. She lay down again but couldn’t sleep. What if she
could
find the necklace, just like that? Richard would be so grateful. He might even smile as if he liked her a little.

She stifled these unworthy thoughts and got out of bed. The love between her and Richard was dead as the fire on the hearth—deader, since she managed to light a taper on a deeply-buried coal. Very well, if she should look about herself, why not start right here?

The floorboards were icy cold, so she donned her only pair of warm stockings and went slowly around the room. There wasn’t much to see—the bed, a chest of drawers which held her clothing, a chair over which she had draped her ugly brown stuff gown. The papered walls; the strapwork on the overmantel, its elaborate pattern much like that found in the Great Hall. A painting of a supercilious-looking man with a pair of equally superior hounds at his feet, all staring into a nondescript distance. A rather more pleasant (if excessively sentimental) painting of a little girl with a kitten. Even such a sparse room held hiding places aplenty, such as inside a hollow bedpost or a secret drawer. But none of the furnishings were more than a hundred years old, so how could the necklace be hidden there?

She would have to search further afield. She parted the curtains slightly to look out the window. By the position of the moon, it was hours till dawn. She really should go back to sleep.

A man came around the corner of the house, a gun over his shoulder, his shape ominous in the moonlight. Behind him padded a huge dog… She let out a breath of relief—it was only Richard and Felix.

Richard looked up.

~ * ~

As if it wasn’t bad enough that Edwina haunted his dreams, she had invaded every second of his waking life as well. He needed her help, but otherwise he must take things slowly. He already knew the pain of a marriage where the affection was unequal. He wished he could turn away as if he hadn’t seen her, but good manners didn’t permit that.

Therefore, he raised a hand in greeting and
then
turned away, whistling to the dog to follow him.

She opened the casement and hissed, “Sir Richard!”

He faced her with a sigh. She leaned out the window, her curls rioting about her face. Damn it, he’d already had to deal with arousal once tonight, having woken with an insistent erection; he’d been dreaming of her. “What is it?”

“I must speak to you.”

“Now? It’s the middle of the night. Can’t it wait until morning?” God help him, he sounded like an old curmudgeon. Meanwhile, his cock responded like an eager eighteen-year-old boy.

“I suppose it can,” she said stiffly. “I merely thought that since we’re both awake…” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.” She moved as if to close the window.

He sighed again. He had best get used to dealing with his contradictory feelings. “Come down to the kitchen. I’m about to make some tea.”

~ * ~

Did he dislike her so very much? He’d sighed—twice—as if she was the last person he wanted to see. She wished he hadn’t seen her, wished she hadn’t tried to speak to him, but it was too late now. She no longer owned a wrapper to wear over her nightdress, but she couldn’t risk looking like a loose woman again after the way he’d reacted last night. Very well, she would tie her hair back in her usual severe style. That would make her look less in dishabille, and a blanket would cover her as well as any wrapper. She took one off the bed, hugged it around herself, and went downstairs.

Richard was already heating water in the kitchen. He looked her over, his expression a mixture of incredulity and distaste. “You don’t have a wrapper to cover your nightdress?”

She bit back a retort and said as mildly as she could manage, “I sold my last one, along with my only other gown, to help pay my coach fare.” How pitiful that sounded. Either she whined like a beggar or scolded like a shrew.

He scowled. “I don’t understand how you came to be so impoverished. Surely you have relatives to turn to.”

She put her nose in the air. “A few, but they are stingy and unwelcoming, and one of my uncles tried to make me his mistress.”

Richard let out his breath on a hiss. “You mustn’t return there.”

“I shall have no choice, once I leave here. I don’t know how long it will take to find another position, so I must save every penny I can. You needn’t look so appalled. I can take care of myself.”

“You shouldn’t have to.” Richard turned abruptly away to tend to the fire. “Would you like tea? I can warm some milk instead, if you’re having problems sleeping.”

“Tea is fine, thank you,” she said. Felix padded over and licked her hand. She scratched him behind the ears, thankful for his easy affection, and wiped his slobber on the blanket. Better that than on her only nightdress.

“It’s cold out there,” Richard said, “and getting colder. Perhaps that’s why there are no treasure hunters sneaking about tonight.” He busied himself with the kettle and took out the tea chest. “Dash it all, Mrs. Cropper has locked it again. God knows why, as there’s no one here to pilfer the tea.”

“It’s her habit,” Edwina said, “and a good one. You’ll have servants again soon.”

“Let us hope so. I’ll be back shortly.” He took a candle and strode away, returning a few long minutes later with a ring of keys. “If you ever need to make tea in the middle of the night, the keys are on a hook behind the library door.”

“I would never presume to take your keys without permission,” she said.