A Christmas Bride / A Christmas Beau (37 page)

“My feelings exactly, ma’am,” he said. “But sometimes it is very hard to resist the temptation to keep oneself warm and cozy.”

“It is a hard winter we are having so far,” Amy said. “My only hope is that the snow will not come to prevent travel before Christmas. There will be many disappointed families, I am afraid, if their members cannot journey to be together.”

“Yes, indeed,” he said. “I have some guests coming to my home in Sussex for the holiday. I do not have any close family, but even so I will be hoping that both my guests and I will be able to travel. Loneliness is always hardest at Christmas for some reason.”

“Yes,” Amy said. “I remember …”

And to Judith’s amazement they were off on a comfortable and lengthy coze, the two of them, ignoring her just as if she did not exist. And his manner with Amy
was easy and pleasant, though of course he came nowhere near smiling.

She was angry. And even more so when Rupert, his cake eaten, got to his feet and went to stand patiently beside the marquess’s chair, waiting to be noticed. She tried to frown him back to his own place, but he did not look her way.

“And how are you today, sir?” the marquess asked eventually, he and Amy having finally come to a full agreement about the undesirability of being alone at Christmas.

“My grandpapa keeps the largest stable in Lincolnshire,” Rupert said gravely. “And the largest kennels, too. My papa would have taught me to ride but he died before I was old enough. Uncle Maurice was too busy last summer, but he will teach me when he has time. I am going to be a bruising rider.”

The marquess set a hand on the boy’s shoulder while Judith unconsciously held her breath. “I have no doubt of it,” he said. “You sat Pegasus quite fearlessly yesterday.”

Rupert almost visibly swelled with pride.

“I was not afraid either,” an indignant little voice said from the stool at Judith’s feet.

He looked across the room, his eyes touching on Judith for the first time for many minutes before dropping to Kate.

“I don’t believe,” he said, “I have ever seen a lady sit a horse with such quiet dignity.”

Judith could not see Kate’s reaction to his words. The child said nothing, but Amy was beaming down at her.

Everyone was having a perfectly amicable good time, she thought, controlling her anger and sipping on her tea. And if she had been furious the evening before at the way he had gazed so fixedly at her for an hour or longer, now she was indignant at the way he had so
effectively ignored her almost from the moment of his entrance into her father’s drawing room—
her
drawing room in her father’s absence.

And what was his game? She could not believe this was the purely social call that it appeared to be.

No sooner had she had the thought than she discovered the answer—or doubtless a part of the answer, anyway.

“The ice is very firm on the Thames,” he told Amy and the children. “Booths and tents are being moved out there constantly so that the river between the Blackfriar’s Bridge and London Bridge is almost like a new busy thoroughfare. By tomorrow the fair will be in full swing, I am sure.”

“Oh, famous!” Rupert yelled. “We are going there tomorrow.”

“Yes,” the marquess said. “I remember Miss Easton’s saying so yesterday. And the thought occurred to me, sir, that you would have your hands very full indeed escorting three ladies to what will be a busy and perhaps rough celebration without some assistance from another gentleman. I have come to put my carriage and my person at everyone’s disposal for tomorrow afternoon.”

Judith felt herself turn cold despite the fact that the fire was roaring cheerfully in the fireplace.

“Famous!” Rupert said.

“How very civil of you indeed, my lord,” Amy said. “And you are quite right, of course. It would not be at all the thing for Judith and me to go there with the children and no gentleman to escort us. I daresay there will be people of all classes there and some rogues and pickpockets, too. We are very obliged to you, I am sure. Are we not, Judith?”

Judith found herself finally being regarded steadily from those eyes, which were coming to unnerve her more than she cared to admit.

“Yes,” she said. “You are very kind, my lord.”

His eyes remained on her until they dropped to Kate, who had suddenly appeared, standing before his knees.

“We are going to buy ribbons,” she told him. “For Christmas bows. Mama said.”

“Are you?” he said. “Perhaps we will find some at the fair tomorrow. Yards and yards of ribbon and all colors of the rainbow, especially red and green for Christmas.”

Kate returned solemnly to her stool.

The marquess stood up. “That is settled, then,” he said. “I shall call for you ladies and gentleman after luncheon?”

“Thank you,” Judith said, also rising to her feet.

“We will look forward to it immensely,” Amy said. “It is very civil of you to think of us and our safety, my lord.”

Everyone spoke at once after the marquess had left. The children were excited by the renewed certainty that they would indeed be going to the river the following day and by the fact that a gentleman was to take them there. Amy was quite ecstatic.

“I must confess,” she said, “that I had not really considered the dangers of our going there alone, Judith. But now we do not have to worry at all, for I am sure that his lordship would only have to level a look at any impertinent fellow for him to melt into the ice. I shall feel quite perfectly safe with him and I shall feel that you and the children will be safe, too.”

“I cannot like it,” Judith said. “He is a stranger to us and has no obligation at all to put his time so much at our disposal.”

Amy beamed at her. “I do not know what happened all those years ago,” she said, “and I certainly cannot say I am sorry that you chose Andrew, Judith. I would not have known you else, and the children would not exist. But I can see that his lordship is going out of his
way to win your favor again. And he is such a splendid and such a very civil gentleman.”

“Upstairs, children,” Judith said briskly, turning to pull the bell rope to have the tea tray removed. “Nurse will be waiting for you. Amy, you have mistaken his motives quite. He has no interest in me, you know. Why, he did not even speak with me at tea. It is quite as likely that his interest is in you. You must be very close to him in age, after all.”

Amy laughed as the children left the room. “What a thoroughly nonsensical idea,” she said. “It was perfectly obvious that he had nothing but a purely friendly interest in me, Judith. And I would have to say that age is the only thing the Marquess of Denbigh and I have in common. No, it is you with whom he is trying to fix his interest, mark my words.”

“Amy.” Judith covered her mouth with her hands. “Don’t say so. Please don’t say so. He makes my flesh creep.”

Her sister-in-law looked at her in amazement. “Oh, no, Judith,” she said. “Surely not. He is such a splendid man. But how insensitive I am being. It has been only a little longer than a year since Andrew passed away, has it not? Of course it is a little early for you to think of any other gentleman in that way. But never fear. The marquess is perfectly amiable and civil. He will not press unwelcome attentions on you, I am sure.”

Amy had given up hope of matrimonial contentment for herself, but she loved to see those she cared for happy. And she cared for Judith more than for either of her other two sisters-in-law. Judith had not had a good marriage, Amy knew, but she had always remained true to it. She had made Andrew a good wife, and she was a good mother—and a good sister-in-law, too. Amy could imagine no greater happiness than seeing Judith well wed. Though of course, she thought a little sadly, when
Judith remarried, then she would have to return to Ammanlea.

Judith used the excuse of the removal of the tray to leave the room herself in order to return to her own room.

He was stalking his prey. She could feel it. And he was clever enough to get to her through her unsuspecting sister-in-law and children.

Because after eight years he wanted her back? Because he wanted to fix his interest with her, as Amy seemed to think?

No, not that. There was a certain expression in his eyes when he looked at her. He was not stalking her out of any soft sentiments, of that she was sure. But why, then? Punishment? Had she so wounded his pride and sense of consequence that she must be punished even eight years after the fact?

It must be that, she thought. She had made him feel and look foolish all those years ago. Now she must be punished.

She wondered with some fear and some anger what constituted punishment as far as the Marquess of Denbigh was concerned. Only what she had suffered so far, but at greater length? Embarrassment? Discomfort? Enforced hours in his company?

Or was there something else?

She shivered and despised herself for feeling fear.

H
E LIKED HER CHILDREN
. H
E SUPPOSED THAT IT
might have been easier if he had not done so, and he had not particularly expected to do so since they were hers—and Easton’s. But then in many ways it was not surprising. He had something of a weakness for children.

He liked the sister-in-law, too. She was unfortunately plain, with several pockmarks marring her complexion, and she was unusually small. He guessed that she was about his own age, well past the age of marriage for a woman. But there was an amiability about her and a kindness that he sensed. It was a pity that such women were so often denied the fulfillment of husbands and families.

Her friendliness, of course, and that of the children—even the little one could not maintain her shyness when there was something important to be said—could only make his task easier. It would all depend, he supposed, on the amount of power Judith Easton held over them and how well she liked to use that power even against their wishes. Her behavior of the afternoon before had suggested that making them happy was important to her. She had put up no fight against the proposed outing.

The Marquess of Denbigh rode out to the river and across the Blackfriar’s Bridge during the morning. The
icy fog that had gripped the city earlier was lifting and there was a magical, almost fairytale quality to the view below him on the river. Booths and tents were lined up in close and orderly formation on either side with a wide avenue of roughened ice between. Hawkers were loudly advertising their wares. Shoppers, sightseers, and the curious were wandering from stall to stall. There was a tantalizing aroma of cooking food wafting up to him.

It would do, he thought. He was fortunate that the rare occurrence of the Thames freezing over had happened at such an opportune time. He turned his horse’s head for home again.

By the afternoon the fog had lifted right away and the sun was even trying, though not quite succeeding, to break through the high cloud cover. There was no significant wind. It was still cold, but pleasant for an outing. And the Eastons liked daily outings.

They were all ready to leave when he arrived, and came downstairs to the hallway without delay. The boy was openly excited. The little girl clung to her mother’s cloak and smiled shyly at him from behind one of its folds until he looked at her. Then she disappeared altogether.

He bowed to them and bade them a good afternoon.

“The air is crisp,” he said. “But you are all dressed warmly, I see. And there are warm foods and drinks down on the river, I have heard, and even a fire where meat is being roasted. I could smell it this morning.”

“A fire on the ice?” Amy asked in amazement. “Will it not all melt?”

“Apparently not, ma’am,” he said. “The ice is very thick indeed.”

“Amazing!” she said.

He handed them into his carriage, lifting the little girl and setting her on her mother’s knee. The boy scrambled in without assistance. Judith Easton had not said a word
beyond the initial greeting and sat quietly and calmly smoothing her daughter’s cloak over her knees.

“From my observations this morning,” the marquess said, seating himself opposite Judith, his knees almost touching hers, and addressing his words to Amy, “it is quite a festive scene. The sort of excitement such an occasion engenders can also serve to make one quite unaware of the cold.”

“To be quite honest,” Amy said, “I would prefer extreme cold to extreme heat if I had to make a choice. Very hot summer days can quite sap one of energy.”

The two of them carried on an amicable conversation during the journey while Kate stared wide-eyed from one to the other of them and Rupert sat with his face pressed to the window, watching what passed outside.

“Oh,” he said eventually, stabbing a finger against the pane, “there, Mama. There, sir, do you see? Look, Aunt Amy.”

And then they were all leaning toward the one window, gazing down from the bridge at London’s newest street.

“May we get down?” Rupert demanded. “Oh, just wait until Uncle Maurice hears about this.”

“We may,” the marquess said. He looked across at Judith for the first time. The moss green of her bonnet and velvet cloak became her well, he thought. “Shall I instruct my coachman to return in two hours’ time, ma’am?”

“As you wish,” she said.

Two hours should be long enough for a start
, he thought. He must not be impatient.

But the time passed quickly. There were vendors of everything one might want to buy from lace to boots, from books to smelling salts. And hawkers to persuade a person that he needed an item he had never felt a need of before. There were the tempting aromas of roasted
lamb and pork pies and tarts and chestnuts and the less tempting one of cheap ale. And there were fortunetellers and portrait painters and card playing booths and skittle alleys. There was everything one could possibly imagine for the entertainment of all.

Amy was enjoying herself. She was in London and at the very heart of its life and activity. And she was not alone but with her sister-in-law and nephew and niece. And they had the escort of a handsome gentleman. She felt more light-hearted than she had felt for years.

“I am going to have my fortune told,” she announced recklessly when they came to the fortune-teller’s booth.