'Twas the Night After Christmas (12 page)

What? Knit them back together? She sighed. She hadn’t even been able to turn her marriage of convenience into something solid. Why on earth did she think she could mend this very broken relationship?

Especially when she had only one more night in which to do it.

T
o Camilla’s shock, it turned out to be more than one night, and for the most unlikely of reasons. His lordship’s whim.

The night she’d gone to play piquet with him, he had indeed trounced her. Then he’d stated offhandedly that he had more work to do concerning the estate, so he was staying another day. He might as well have dinner with her and his mother again. If Camilla would agree—again—to come to his bedchamber to “entertain” him afterward.

So she had. And he’d stayed another day.

Then another. And another. Then three more. Each time, he’d claimed that some matter of estate business kept him at Montcliff.

She would have believed him, except that it wasn’t estate business that had him staying at the dower house instead of the
manor. Or dining with her and the countess every evening. Or demanding that she come to his room afterward. She didn’t know what to make of it.

She didn’t know what to make of
him
. As far as she could tell, nothing had changed between him and his mother. Their dinners were still awkward. The earl was largely quiet during dinner, unless Camilla drew him into a conversation that interested him. She found herself making a game of figuring out what would engage him enough to keep him from bolting his dinner and running off to have his cigar.

Meanwhile, the countess seemed grateful for every halfway polite word he bestowed on her. It made Camilla want to slap him. And given how congenial he could be when her ladyship wasn’t around, his behavior was perplexing, too.

Especially since his mother refused to talk about him, no matter how much Camilla hinted and cajoled and finally asked outright for answers. It sometimes astonished her that neither saw how much alike they were—both of them maddeningly obstinate.

Most disturbing was how he changed when Camilla was alone with him in the evenings. He turned into the clever, entertaining, and utterly false creature whom she’d begun to call Devil May Care Devonmont. Oh, she didn’t think he lied to her, but that was only because he didn’t discuss anything worth lying about. He hid his true opinions, his real self, beneath layers of wit.

They played chess and cards, they read books, and last night she’d told him amusing stories about her years as a lady’s companion. But it was all very superficial. And he hadn’t once tried to kiss
her. Of course, that was a relief—or so she told herself every time she saw Jasper.

But sometimes, in those moments at the end of the evenings with him, while she was holding her breath and wondering if this would be the last time she saw him, she found herself wanting so fiercely for him to kiss her that she had to crush the urge to throw herself at him. Because it maddened her that he hid himself from her. It made her want to force him out of his facade.

And she was
still
no closer to finding out why he and his mother were at odds,
still
no closer to mending the breach between them. It was enough to make a sane woman run mad through the estate.

Now, as she sat in the drawing room with the countess and Jasper, she wondered yet again how to convince the countess to confide in her. Camilla could sense his lordship’s growing impatience to be away, feel his building irritation with the situation. She might not have much more time to uncover the truth.

Unfortunately, today wasn’t ideal for raising the subject. Since Pierce was at Montcliff Manor handling estate affairs and wouldn’t return until dinner, she and Lady Devonmont were spending the afternoon with Jasper. And Jasper’s presence made it awfully difficult to have a deep discussion with the countess.

Lady Devonmont glanced up from the stocking she was embroidering. “That looks lovely. The net bags were an excellent idea.”

Camilla wrapped another circle of net about a few walnuts, then tied it with a ribbon so it could be hung on the tree. “How many do you think we should make?”

“Lots and lots!” Jasper said from his seat at the table. “Then my soldiers can have some nuts to eat, too.”

After Pierce had begun extending his stay, her ladyship had told Jasper that he would get a tin soldier for every day he stayed out of his lordship’s way. He was up to six now, and for the past twenty minutes he’d been keeping the little fellows engaged in a lively battle. That was ten minutes longer than he could usually keep his mind on one thing.

“What makes you think these nuts are for
you,
muffin?” Camilla teased.

He shot her an alarmed frown. “Won’t I get any of them?”

“Of course you will,” Lady Devonmont said soothingly. “We’ll give you some now if you like.”

“Not before dinner,” Camilla cautioned.

“Oh, a few won’t hurt him.” The countess put aside her embroidery to crack open several nuts and hand the meats to Jasper. “There, my boy.”

“What do you say?” Camilla asked.

“Thank you, my lady.” He downed them in a flash, then asked, “Can I have the shells, too?”

Looking perplexed, the countess handed them over. Jasper turned them into pieces of the battle landscape and continued with his explosions and attacks as Camilla and her ladyship laughed.

After a while, however, he grew bored with that and glanced over to where the countess was embroidering. “Is that a stocking like in the poem? The ones that are ‘hung by the chimney with care’ ”

“That’s the idea,” Lady Devonmont said. “We’re hoping to
start a new tradition in Stocking Pelham. Given the name of our town, why not? We could make Stocking Pelham famous for stockings. And at the same time make some money for the church by selling them at the fair.”

“So everyone can hang them by their chimneys ‘in hopes that St. Nicholas soon will be there.’ ”

Camilla eyed him in surprise. “You remember that.”

He nodded. “I know the whole poem by heart.”

She and her ladyship exchanged a skeptical glance.

“I do! I really do. After the part about the stockings, it says, ‘The children were nestled all snug in their beds, / While visions of sugarplums danced in their heads.’ ”

“Very good,” the countess said.

“I
like
sugarplums,” Jasper announced slyly.

“So do I,” said her ladyship with a grin. “We’ll have to get some.”

Camilla rolled her eyes. Either the countess was oblivious to how deft Jasper was at extracting treats from her, or she didn’t care. Camilla suspected it was the latter.

“Then the next part says:

And Mama in her ’kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter

I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter . . . ”

He cast Camilla a knowing glance. “It was St. Nicholas, you see.”

“Aren’t you getting ahead of the story?” the countess asked with a soft smile.

But Jasper had apparently given up on a word-for-word recitation and had settled for paraphrasing. “He’s on the sleigh with the tiny reindeer and—” He halted. “What’s a sleigh?”

“It’s like a sled, only big,” Camilla said.

“Or like a carriage for driving on snow,” her ladyship said.

“And for flying, right?”

Lady Devonmont glanced at Camilla, amusement in her gaze. “Well, I’ve never seen one that flies.”

“But St. Nicholas has one. That’s how he gets up to the roof to come down the chimney.”

“The reindeer pull him up there,” her ladyship reminded him.

“Right.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen and Comet and Cupid and Dunder and Blixem.”

“You know all their names?” Camilla said, rather surprised. He really did have the poem memorized. Or mostly, anyway.

He held up his toy soldiers. “That’s what I named the fellows. Well, six of them. I don’t have Dunder and Blixem yet.”

Camilla swallowed. Her ladyship would have to invent a reason to give him Dunder and Blixem if his lordship didn’t stay.

“What will you do when you have all eight?” the countess asked him.

“Why, make them pull a sleigh, of course. They’re soldiers, so they’re very strong.” He frowned. “That’s why I need to know what a sleigh is. So I can get them one.”

“Ah,” her ladyship said.

“Do you think they might have one at the fair that I could look at?”

Camilla sighed. No matter what she told him, he couldn’t give up the idea of attending the fair. “I told you before, dearest, we can’t go.”

He looked crestfallen. “I could pretend to be your groom.”

“Aside from the fact that you’re too young, everyone in town knows that I don’t ride,” Camilla said gently.

She’d never learned. Indeed, she’d hoped when she took this post that she might get to do so, for she could imagine nothing more enticing than racing along a road on horseback.

But alas, her ladyship had a bad hip that made riding painful, so the possibility never arose. “And since her ladyship doesn’t, either, no one would believe that you’re our groom.”

“You know what?” the countess put in. “I think there just might be a picture of a sleigh over there in one of the books on the bookcase. It’s the one about travels in America and Canada. Do you think you could find it?”

“Yes, my lady!” He grabbed up his soldiers and carried them off to the bookcase.

“That’s all he’s been talking about for the past week,” Camilla said in an undertone. “Going to the fair.”

The countess cast her a rueful smile. “Earlier he told me he wanted to go so he could buy you a present. When I asked him how he would pay for it, he thought a bit, then said he would sell the soldiers I’d given him.”

“Oh, dear.” Camilla’s throat tightened. How sweet that was.

“You’re so lucky,” Lady Devonmont said wistfully as she watched him hunt through the books. “To have a son who would do anything for you, even sell his own toys.”

Camilla caught her breath. Now was her chance to bring up the subject of her ladyship’s relationship with Pierce. “Yes. I’m lucky to have a son who doesn’t begrudge me a few ‘baubles.’ ”

The countess stiffened, then leveled a dark gaze on her. “What do you mean by that?”

Camilla chose her words carefully. “Didn’t you hear his lordship at dinner his first night? Haven’t you noticed how he keeps attempting to provoke you into asking for money?”

Lady Devonmont frowned. “Well, yes, but I just figured he’s like most men—worried about finances.”

“Actually . . . ” She debated, but decided it would be better for the countess to hear it from her than from the earl one night when he was in a black mood. “The earl thinks that you . . . He seems to be laboring under a misapprehension that . . . well . . you want him here so you can ask him for more funds.”

Any fears she might have had that his lordship was right were instantly put to rest by his mother’s astonished expression. “The devil you say!”

“He thinks you married his father only for his money, and now that your husband is gone . . . ”

“Ah.” Lady Devonmont visibly withdrew. “I see that my son has ignored what I said in my letters, preferring to listen to old gossip.”

“Which is clearly lies,” Camilla said.

The countess forced a smile. “I’m afraid not. I mean, the idea that I want more money from Pierce is absurd, but . . . ”

When she paused, Camilla drew in a ragged breath. “But?”

“I did marry Pierce’s father for his fortune.” Her gaze grew distant. “My late husband made sure of that.”

Camilla frowned. “What do you mean?”

Just then Maisie burst into the drawing room. “His lordship is coming up the front steps!”

“So soon?” Camilla jumped up.

“He must have finished his business early,” her ladyship murmured. “He probably won’t come in here, but just in case—”

Camilla was already rushing over to Jasper. “You must go with Maisie now, dear. The earl is coming.”

“But I just found the book!” he complained.

“Take it with you, and Maisie will show you the picture.” Swiftly Camilla grabbed the tin soldiers sitting on the top of the case and thrust them into his hand.

They heard boot steps in the hall as Lady Devonmont scanned the room, looking for anything else that might give Jasper away. Grabbing up Jasper and the book, Maisie darted to the servants’ door.

She slipped through it right before the boot steps paused outside the drawing room. Camilla hurriedly took a seat at the table, as did the countess, although it was highly unlikely Pierce would come in. He avoided them except at dinner, and he already knew that they spent most of their afternoons in the drawing room.

So she was quite surprised when the door opened and he stepped inside.

Trying to quell her pounding heart, she looked up and forced a smile. “Good afternoon, my lord.”

“Good afternoon, ladies.” He glanced about the room and then frowned. “I could have sworn I heard a child’s voice coming from in here.”