A Christmas Bride / A Christmas Beau (57 page)

“Ah,” he said. “To feel useful. I can understand that need, Amy. It is the way I felt before Max and I dreamed up our plan for our children’s homes.”

“Yes,” she said, “and you found your dream. How I envy you.”

They had reached the house. Rupert and Kate turned to look at them and Mr. Cornwell waved them on toward the doors.

“Run inside and get warm,” he said.

“Will you come in and warm yourself before returning?” she asked.

“No.” He patted her hand. “If I do that, Max will insist on calling out a sleigh or a carriage, as like as not, and I will not get the exercise I need.”

“Thank you for walking with me,” she said as he took her hand in both of his and held it. “It has been a wonderful Christmas, has it not? The best I can ever remember.”

“And for me, too,” he said, raising her hand to his lips. “You will be here for a few more days, Amy? Perhaps I will see you again before you leave. If I do not,
have a safe journey home. I shall always hope that you find what you deserve in life. I’ll never forget you.”

She bit her lip. “Or I you,” she said. And in a rush, “You are the first friend I have ever had outside the family.”

“Am I?” He smiled at her. “Then I am deeply honored. And I shall hope always to be your friend. Perhaps if your sister-in-law and Max …” He smiled and shrugged. “Then perhaps we would meet again.”

She nodded.

“Amy,” he said softly, “it would not work. Believe me, it would not. You are a lady and brought up to the life of a lady.”

An empty, empty, empty life
, she thought, concentrating on their clasped hands. She nodded.

“I think maybe I should not come here in the next few days,” he said.

She nodded again.

“Good-bye, then, my dear,” he said after a pause. “For the first time in more than two years I wish things could be a little different, but they cannot.”

She looked up into his face. “I wish it, too,” she said. “I wish other people did not always,
always
know what is best for me. Is it my size, I wonder? Is it because I look so much like a child to be protected?” She withdrew her hand from his. “Good-bye, Spencer. Thank you for these few days. I cannot tell you all they have meant to me.”

And she turned about and was gone up the steps and into the house before he could even return his arms to his sides. He stood for a long time frowning after her.

T
HE
M
ARQUESS OF
Denbigh was standing in the great hall when the two children came inside alone. He raised his eyebrows and looked at them.

“We just came home from the village,” Rupert explained to him. “Aunt Amy is outside with Mr. Cornwell. Mr. and Mrs. Rundle came visiting and Mr. Rundle said he once met my papa. He said that papa liked to watch all the mills outside town, but Mrs. Rundle would not let him tell me about them. I think it was because ladies do not like to watch mills. Do they?”

“It is not considered a genteel sport for ladies,” the marquess said, noticing that the little girl looked tired. She clung to her brother’s hand and gazed upward at him with those dark eyes, which were going to fell a large number of young bucks when she was fifteen or sixteen years older. He smiled at her. “They do not derive much enjoyment from watching noses get bloodied. Don’t ask me why.”

The little girl had detached herself from her brother’s side and was standing in front of the marquess, her arms raised. He picked her up and she set her arms about his neck and rested her cheek against his.

“Tired?” he asked.

She yawned loudly.

“Do you want me to carry you up to the nursery?” he asked.

She nodded. “Daniel lost his ball,” she told him.

“Did he?”

“But he found it again.”

“I am glad to hear that,” he said.

“They all play cricket in the summer,” Rupert said. He was trotting up the stairs at the marquess’s side. “Cricket is a super game. I am going to play on the first eleven when I go to Eton, just like my papa did. Uncle Maurice told me.”

“So did I,” the marquess said, ruffling the boy’s hair. “It is a noble ambition.”

“Did you?” Rupert said, looking up at his host with renewed respect. “But I would like to play with the boys
here. They all say that Joe is the best bowler. Perhaps if we come back in the summer I will be allowed to play with them. I will be almost seven by the summer.”

The boy’s hand was in his, Lord Denbigh noticed.

“I want to play with the dogs when we come back,” Kate said.

The marquess allowed Rupert to open the nursery door since he did not have a free hand himself. Judith turned from the window at the far side of the room as they entered. She had obviously been awaiting the return of her children. Her face looked as if it had been carved out of marble.

“Mama.” Her son raced toward her. “There was a gentleman at the house in the village who used to know Papa. He said I look just like him. He said he would have known me anywhere.”

She rested a hand on his curls.

The marquess bent down to set Kate’s feet on the floor. But she squeezed his neck tightly and kissed his cheek before scurrying across to her mother with some other pressing piece of news.

Judith was bending down to listen to her daughter’s prattling as he turned to leave the room.

C
HRISTMAS WAS NOT
quite over, it seemed. The decorations still made the house look festive, and there were still all the rich foods of the season at dinner. And it appeared that the marquess’s aunts had busied themselves during the afternoon organizing a concert for the evening.

“Everyone is to do something, Maxwell,” Aunt Edith told him when they were all at table. “Miss Easton was not here, of course, when we made the plans. She was in the village with the dear children. But I am sure she will favor us with a selection on the pianoforte.” She smiled
at Amy. “And you and Mrs. Easton were out walking.” Her smile, echoed by Aunt Frieda and Lady Tushingham, was almost a smirk.

“I shall read ‘The Rape of the Lock,’ ” Lord Denbigh said. “It always shocks the ladies.”

“But I am sure it cannot be quite improper despite its title if you are willing to read it aloud with ladies present, dear Maxwell,” Aunt Frieda said.

Judith supposed she would sing. Amy would be willing to play for her. She had deliberately seated herself beside Mr. Rockford at dinner, knowing that a few carefully selected questions would keep him talking the whole time. She excused herself as soon as Lady Clancy got to her feet to signal the ladies to leave the gentlemen to their port, promising to return to the drawing room in time for the concert.

Kate and Rupert were both fast asleep, she found when she looked in at the nursery. She went to her own room. Her heart plummeted when there was a tap on the door almost immediately and Amy came inside. She so desperately wanted some time alone. But she needed to talk with her sister-in-law, too.

“Amy,” she said, “I have been meaning to tell you that we must …”

But Amy did not wait to hear what she had to say. “Judith,” she said, her voice agitated, “is it possible that we can leave here tomorrow? Or that I can, perhaps? Is it possible that you can come with someone else later or else that you will not wish to leave at all?”

Judith had been wondering how her sister-in-law would react to having to leave Denbigh Park a few days earlier than they had planned. She frowned and watched aghast as Amy burst into tears and hurried across the room to gaze out of the window onto the dark world beyond.

“Amy?” she said. “What is it?”

“Oh, nothing.” Amy blew her nose. “Just homesickness. This was not such a good idea after all, Judith. I have never been away from home at Christmas.”

“Mr. Cornwell?” Judith asked softly.

Amy blew her nose again. “What a foolish, pathetic creature I am,” she said. “I am thirty-six years old and from home for the first time in my life, and I fall stupidly in love with almost the first gentleman I meet.”

“And he with you, if my eyes have not deceived me,” Judith said. “He seems very fond of you, Amy. Did something happen this afternoon?”

“Only good-bye,” Amy said. “And the assurance that ‘it’ would never work—whatever ‘it’ is. I am a lady, you see, and have been brought up to the life of a lady.”

“Have you ever told him,” Judith asked, “how lonely that life was, Amy, and how sheltered from the world you have always been? And have you ever told him how you surrounded yourself with the children and happiness whenever all your family came to visit?”

Amy did not answer. She sniffed and Judith knew that she was crying again.

“Oh, Amy.” Judith crossed the room and set firm hands on her sister-in-law’s thin shoulders. “We live in a cruel world. We women have to wait for the men to make all the moves, don’t we? And if they decide not to do something, there is almost nothing we can do about it.”

“Perhaps he does not even want me,” Amy said. “Why should he? Look at me, Judith. And I am too old to be starting to bear children—or almost too old anyway. He must have guessed my feelings. It must have been embarrassing to him. I am fortunate that he is a kind man.”

Judith clucked her tongue impatiently. “These things can be sensed, Amy,” she said. “If you have felt that he cares for you, then you are probably right.”

Amy straightened her shoulders and blew her nose
once more. “I cannot bear to stay here even one more day,” she said. “Will you mind if I leave, Judith? Will Lord Denbigh be offended, do you think?”

“My things are already packed in the dressing room,” Judith said. “I have already sent word that the carriage is to be got ready for the morning.”

Amy turned and looked up at her with reddened eyes. Judith’s smile was a little twisted.

“It seems that it was something of a mistake for both of us,” she said. “I just wish it were possible to leave tonight, Amy. No!” She held up her hands sharply as her sister-in-law took a step toward her. “Please don’t say anything, or ask any questions. Not yet. My control can be very easily broken and there is this wretched concert to be lived through. Perhaps on the journey home I will tell you all about it.”

“But has he not made you an offer?” Amy asked. “I thought … It seemed so obvious that …”

“No,” Judith said. “It was just a Christmas flirtation, Amy, nothing more.”

“Oh, no.” Amy frowned. “It was definitely more than that, Judith. He …”

“I think we should go down to join the ladies,” Judith said. “Shall we?”

Amy sighed. “It was all so perfect until this afternoon, was it not?” she said. “In time, Judith, we will remember that and judge it after all to have been one of the best Christmases ever, perhaps
the
best.”

“Yes,” Judith said. “Perhaps in time.”

T
HERE WAS MUCH
sleeplessness in Denbigh Park that night. Amy stood at her window long after everyone had gone to bed, staring sightlessly out, thinking of Judith’s words. It was something that could be sensed, Judith had said from an experience of life that was more
extensive than Amy’s. If Amy thought he had cared, then he probably had.

He had cared. She was sure of it. He had wished things could be different. He had wished he were ten years younger and wealthy. He had wished she could find someone who would make her comfortable for the rest of her life.

He cared.

Life was cruel, Judith had said. Women had to wait around for men to speak, and if the man never spoke, then the woman remained disappointed. Unfulfilled. Unhappy. Life a dreary waste.

Tomorrow she would go away with Judith. And she would never see him again, or all those children. In time, Judith would marry again. It was inevitable even if for some strange reason she did not marry Lord Denbigh. And then she, Amy, would go home again. And that would be the end of life until the time, some unknown number of years in the future, when she breathed her last.

Because she was a woman. Because he was a gentleman and did not believe his way of life suitable for a lady. And because she was a woman and unable to speak up against him.

She was thirty-six years old. Perhaps she would live for thirty or forty more years. Years of dreariness and uselessness and humiliation—because she was a woman and unable to speak her piece.

It was a stupid reason. Because she was a woman!

Well, she thought finally, and the thought sent her to bed at last, if she allowed such a stupid reason to spoil the rest of her life, perhaps she deserved the future that was yawning ahead of her.

She was going to persuade Judith to put off calling the carriage until noon. If she did not lose her courage with
the light of day, she was going to use the morning to speak her piece. If she did not lose her courage …

She scrambled into bed.

J
UDITH LAY IN
bed staring up into the darkness. She could still feel the physical effects of that afternoon’s happenings. Her breasts were still tender. There was still an ache where they had coupled. And if she closed her eyes, she could still feel him. And smell him. She did not close her eyes.

The anger, the hatred that had sustained her during the walk home that afternoon, during that brief and unexpected meeting with him in the nursery, and during the interminable evening of cheerful Christmas entertainment, had faded. She was no longer either angry or filled with hatred. She was empty, blessedly free of any violent feelings.

And she began to live again through the events of eight years before. The very correct, very harsh-looking man who had been her betrothed, who had escorted her to the various
ton
events of the Season, conversing with her stiffly, never touching more than her hand. Her own frightening awareness of him, which she had naively interpreted as revulsion. And Andrew, handsome, charming, smiling, easy and familiar in his manners.

And her own dreadful behavior. Unthinkable. Unforgivable.

And his revenge. He had planned it all, moment by moment. She could clearly see that now. Everything, from that first encounter in Lady Clancy’s drawing room, had been directed toward achieving his revenge.

But why? That was the question that had revolved and revolved in her brain since the afternoon. Wounded pride and consequence? Would that account for all he had done? Would not some public humiliation have
been more appropriate to a revenge from that motive? This revenge would surely not be public enough for such a man, even though there were undoubtedly several people who were expecting them to marry. She did not believe that he would make public the fact that she had given herself to him and declared her love for him.