A Christmas Charade (30 page)

All this, Nicholas observed with a fond eye. But his gaze sharpened when he saw that Clive kept looking in Gabrielle’s direction. Devil a bit! Gabrielle was not Clive’s type of woman at all. Besides, he was far too old for her.

Too old. Nicholas himself was the same age as Clive. Five-and-thirty. And Gabrielle no more than twenty. Shaken, Nicholas set down his knife and fork. He
couldn’t
be too old. What did age matter when a man finally fell in love? Totally and absolutely. Head over heels.

His eyes met Gabrielle’s across the table. She smiled, and he suddenly recalled two lines of a bit of poetry he had read years ago. Probably in his salad days when he was still at Oxford. He had thought it rather mawkish stuff then; now the words touched him deep in his soul.

“Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine….” He knew then that he would marry her.

When Gabrielle resumed her conversation with Elizabeth, seated on her right, Nicholas looked once more at Clive. His friend’s gaze was still centered on that part of the table where Gabrielle sat, but Nicholas realized it was not the young Frenchwoman who had caught Clive’s attention. It was Elizabeth.

Great Scot! Was that the way the wind was blowing? Interesting. Only four nights ago, Clive had told him it would take an exceptional woman to make him want to give up his comfortable bachelor’s existence. But that had been the day
before
Elizabeth arrived.

Nicholas became aware of a stir of activity around the table. He had eaten the meal without being aware of it, and now the party was preparing to remove to the Great Hall for the lighting of the yule log.

It had been agreed that the gentlemen would forego their port in favor of the wassail, and Nicholas politely but firmly wended his way past the Misses Rowland, past Decimus and Sylvester toward Gabrielle.

Elizabeth was there. For the first time Nick noticed that she looked different. She wasn’t wearing gray but a gown of deep burgundy velvet, the perfect foil for her creamy skin and the diamonds around her throat. And for once her hair wasn’t bundled in a chignon at the nape of her neck. She had piled it up high, a style that made her look like a queen wearing her crown. No wonder Clive hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her.

Nicholas drew her aside. “What about my wager with Juliette?”

“You’re out of luck, it seems. I am beginning to think Stenton isn’t even interested in remembering.”

“Can’t say I blame him. Elizabeth Gore-Langton
now
is a dashed sight more interesting than was the shy, scrawny girl of eleven years ago.”

“I was not scrawny!”

“Pardon me,” said Gabrielle. “I could not help but hear what you said, Nicholas, and I feel strongly that I must correct you. Elizabeth is
more
than interesting. She is beautiful.”

“She is more than beautiful,” said Clive, appearing at Elizabeth’s side. “She is breathtaking. May I have the honor of taking you into the Great Hall, Elizabeth?”

As so many times when she wanted to be her most poised, Elizabeth felt the warmth rush to her face. Her one short season had left her woefully ill equipped with ready answers to such lavish compliments.

“Thank you.” She lightly placed her hand on the proffered arm.

They were the last to leave the dining room. A moment ago, the excited squeals of Grace and Adam and the chatter of the adults had filled the short passage leading to the Great Hall. Now there was silence.

Clive increased the pace. “What’s amiss? I expected the squeals to grow louder. Can it be that the imps don’t like their tree?”

“More likely the footman was slow and they caught him lighting the candles which, according to their nurse’s tale, are always lit by the
Christkindl
.”

Clutching the skirt of her gown to enable her to keep up with Clive’s long stride, Elizabeth arrived rather breathlessly in the Great Hall.

At first glance, nothing seemed to be amiss. The children, the adults, all stood in a wide circle around the tree, and the look on their faces was one of astonishment and awe, not disappointment. Then she saw the footman assigned to the task of lighting the candles. His hands shook. He stared up at the tall fir as though he were seeing a ghost.

Elizabeth’s eyes flew to the top of the Christmas tree. Her grip tightened on Clive’s arm as she watched the long wax taper held by an unseen hand move from candle to candle until the last one was lit.

“Annie,” she whispered. “You little devil.”

Only Clive heard. “Your ghost?”

“
Your
ghost.”

The flame on the taper flickered, then died. The taper floated toward the footman, who took a hasty step backward, turned on his heel, and fled toward the kitchen wing. The clatter of his shoes on the tiles broke the spell of silence.

“It’s the
Christkindl!
” shouted Grace.

She and Adam ran forward, pursued by Margaret, who ordered them to stop. Suddenly, everyone was talking and moving.

Flora and Margaret were indulging in a mild fit of hysterics. The children insisted it was the
Christkindl
that had lit the candles, then pounced on the tennis racquets and balls left by
Knecht Ruprecht
beneath the tree. Amelia, Fanny, and Gabrielle argued with Sylvester Throckmorton about ghosts and apparitions. Sir John and Lady Astley held hands. And level-headed gentlemen like George Wilmott, Stewart, and Nicholas tried to restore calm yet could not help but cast uneasy looks around the hall now and then.

In the confusion no one noticed that the taper had ended up in Decimus’s hand.

“Annie, m’dear,” he said reproachfully, “what a scare you gave me! Could’ve broken your neck with a trick like that.”

“Pish-tosh! I cannot possibly break my neck. But listen, my lord. I need your help.”

“Anything, m’dear.”

Decimus started toward the wassail bowl and the cups set out on a trestle table near the north wing. Later, pastries and pies, jellies and aspics, cold meats and cheeses would be spread on the white cloth, but for the present he’d be content with the liquid refreshment.

“When the party breaks up, I want you to detain the major. My lord, can you do it?”

“Detain Stewart?” Decimus dipped the ladle into the spicy punch. “Nothing easier. But why?”

“Miss Juliette needs a few moments, ten or fifteen minutes, to prepare a surprise for him.”

“She was always one to like surprises. But mostly she liked to be on the receiving end.” Decimus smiled indulgently. “Tell her she can depend on me.”

Annie left him to sample the wassail and flitted off. She still had much to do, not the least of which was keeping an eye on Miss Flora and Miss Amelia, who were sneaking off just as the butler and the housekeeper led the staff into the Great Hall so they might observe the lighting of the yule log. Hesitating only briefly, Annie hurried after the duke’s elderly cousins.

Fanny, too, had noticed Flora’s and Amelia’s departure. But when she would have followed them, George stopped her.

Raising her hand, he briefly touched his lips to her wrist. “My impetuous love,” he murmured. Let them go. They can’t do any harm. And how would it look to the children if one by one we all disappeared?”

She stifled a sigh. “You’re right. Adam and Grace expect me to lead the caroling.”

Holding on to George’s hand, she glanced at the fireplace where Clive knelt by the hearth and lit the kindling under the first ash log. He rose, and she saw him turn and look at Elizabeth Gore-Langton, who was in conversation with the elder Astleys.

Fanny swallowed. She could not recall ever seeing such a look on Clive’s face, his harsh features softened by a smile, and his eyes—why, they positively glowed!

Feeling like a Peeping Tom, she turned away hastily. “Dash it, George! I’ll never know a moment’s peace if Flora and Amelia make off with the jewels. They’re Clive’s, and if he sold them he could afford to marry Miss Gore-Langton, who probably doesn’t have a penny to her name.”

George cast a pensive look at his brother-in-law. “I’m not saying you’re wrong about Clive and Miss Gore-Langton, my love. But I wouldn’t put too much hope on those jewels.”

“But they’re in the castle. I know it! Why else would Flora and Amelia—”

“Fanny,” he interrupted. “If the jewels are not a part of the Rowland estate, and if the first fourth duchess left no will bequeathing them to your father, I’d be willing to wager a pony they’ll have to be turned over when found—to the duchess’s family.”

After the lighting of the yule logs Elizabeth was aware only of Clive Rowland and the minutes ticking by and taking her closer to midnight. Sir John had told her that he was thinking of leaving already on Wednesday, Boxing Day. Lady Astley had conceived the notion to have a New Year’s celebration for the tenants who wouldn’t have a Christmas dinner at Astley Manor this year.

Which meant she’d have only one more day at Stenton. The words she had cherished that morning, “as you get to know me better …” no longer served to nourish her secret dreams. There would be no miracle for Elizabeth Gore-Langton.

But there still could be a kiss. The reason for the wager was no longer important. As the evening wore on, she cared less and less whether Clive remembered her from eleven years ago. What mattered was that he would have no reason to kiss her if he lost the wager.

She joined in the caroling and the charades. She went out onto the portico with Lady Harry, Gabrielle, and Juliette to admire the snowman built by the twins and Stewart, who had all three refused to participate in the charades and had donned coats and boots instead.

But her mind was busy plotting ways and means that would make the kiss possible. When the children said good night at eleven o’clock, she had just told herself it would be perfectly all right to maneuver Clive under the kissing bough hanging from the chandelier in the center of the hall. There was nothing awkward about it! All she needed to do was stand close to him, look up, feign surprise, and—

“Goodnight, Miss Elizabeth,” said Grace, curtsying. Clutching her tennis racquet to her chest, she tilted her head and gave Elizabeth a curious look. “What’s the matter? You look as if you had just been told to bathe in cold water. Don’t you like Christmas, Miss Elizabeth?”

“Don’t be impertinent, Grace.” Clive, with Adam in tow, appeared behind his niece. He turned both children toward the west wing passage. “Off you go. And remember! No tennis playing in your rooms. If I discover a broken window or a cracked lamp, you’ll have no dinner tomorrow.”

“Yes, Uncle Clive,” they chorused.

As they trotted off, Grace was heard to say, “He didn’t say we cannot play in the corridor.”

“But he meant it.” Adam looked over his shoulder. “Would you save us a piece of Christmas pudding, Uncle Clive?”

Elizabeth chuckled. “I’ll wager my own share of the Christmas pudding that you’ll have to send for the glazier in the morning.”

A teasing light sprang to his eye. “What? Another wager? I didn’t realize what a little gamester you are.”

“I seem to be an extremely fortunate gamester. There’s no risk betting on the children playing tennis inside. And, it now appears, I am about to win a canopied tester bed.”

“You can hardly take it with you.” He took two cups of wassail from the tray of a passing footman and, handing her a cup, started for one of the settles by the fire. “Or do you expect Sir John to load it atop his coach?”

“Not at all. I’ll have a carrier cart pick it up.”

“You could leave the bed at Stenton. Ownership is an excellent reason for you to return.”

She sat down on the settle rather abruptly. Lud! What was he saying? It was unthinkable that an unmarried lady visit a bachelor. Or a widower. Yet it did not sound as though he expected the Astleys to come with her.

For an instant she toyed with the notion that he was offering her
carte blanche
. But Stenton was a gentleman. If he wanted a mistress, he’d turn to a member of the muslin set not to a lady of quality.

“Elizabeth?” Stretching one long leg toward the hearth, he sat down beside her. “Is it so very important to you that I remember our previous meetings?”

All too aware of him so close beside her, she turned her gaze onto the crackling yule log.

“No.”

And it truly wasn’t important—except when she thought of the kissing bough.

“No,” she repeated. “It is no longer important. It could only have mattered in the very beginning, when it might have influenced your perception of me. But now—”

“But now,” he finished when she broke off in some confusion, “we have established a relationship quite independent of vague memories.”

Though not the relationship she dreamed of. And she still had her memories. But she wondered if they had truly played a part in how she felt about him now.

“Clive!” Fanny swept around the settle. Arms akimbo, she demanded, “Pray tell Margaret that
I
shall be your hostess tomorrow night.”

Margaret, too, planted herself in front of Clive. “But as Harry’s widow it is
my
duty and my
right
—”

“Ladies!” Clive rose. “There’s no need to squabble. It is all settled.”

“
I
am the hostess,” Fanny said with satisfaction.

Margaret glared. “Nonsense!
I
am.”

Elizabeth and Clive shared looks brimming with laughter.

“Does this remind you of something?” he asked.

“Very much. I remember Adam and Grace in a similar spat only this morning.”

Margaret gave an indignant sniff, but Fanny started to laugh.

“I apologize, Clive,” she said. “But pray don’t keep us in suspense. How have you arranged the seating at the Christmas dinner?”

“If I had a duchess to preside with me over the dinner, I would of course have the tables arranged in the shape of a horseshoe.”

His gaze strayed to Elizabeth but immediately returned to Margaret and Fanny.

“Why, what can you mean?” asked Margaret. “We’re not a large enough company to warrant such elaborate arrangements.”

“But, yes. I was informed yesterday by no lesser authority than the innkeeper of East Dean that it has been the tradition at Stenton to invite certain families from the villages to the Christmas dinner, which is served in the Great Hall at four o’clock.”