Christmas Delights (23 page)

No doubt his thoughts would drift back into their usual channels, the occasional melancholy thought of Alys, lost to him forever, followed by a gradual increase in sexual thoughts, which would be laid to rest by some casual encounter among his acquaintances, usually some widow as lonely as he.

Eddy came in without knocking, his hair dripping, smelling of soap. “I like the smell of oil better than horse,” he complained, wrinkling his nose.

“We’ll drive up to London tomorrow. No need to ride again. I want to check the gears on Hatbrook’s new vehicle.”

“It’s ready?”

“It will be. I’m going to work on it tonight. I drove it today for a while and pinpointed what wasn’t operating properly.” Lewis knotted his tie and peered at himself in the mirror. Should he have bathed, too? He didn’t smell of horse, but then, he’d learned to block odors, working in the conditions he did. He checked his watch and undid his tie. Coming to Alys’s table smelling of horse would not be a good start to this brief visit.

An hour later, he was bathed and redressed. Downstairs in the drawing room, the resident adult family members had assembled. When he arrived in the doorway, he steadied himself, awaiting the usual heart pangs that occurred whenever he saw Alys for the first time after a few days. When he didn’t spot her, he wandered through the drawing room, accepting a glass of port from a footman and saying hello to Hatbrook’s Aunt Mary, who had never married after her fiancé died and still lived in the same rooms she had inhabited all her life.

She wore a curious, old-fashioned cap with a black ribbon that was intricately folded and pinned just above the lacy edging. The folds reminded him of the wings of the birds that so fascinated Penelope, and he thought of Eddy’s suggestion that he use a bird design project to work on the submarine’s outer casing. While he’d designed bird automatons in the past, he’d never thought much about the reason birds had feathers.

“Do you know much about birds, Aunt Mary?”

“I’m no scientist, boy,” the old lady said with a grimace, exposing her aged teeth.

“I was wondering how they stay dry.”

“And you a scientist? They rub oil over their feathers, you see, something they make with their own bodies. Even I know that.” Her gaze sharpened. “Hatbrook has some books somewhere. His grandfather fancied himself a naturalist.”

A woman in his peripheral vision turned, and he realized with a jolt that it was Alys. She’d been standing not two feet from him all along, and he hadn’t even noticed her. No heart pangs, not even recognition. What was wrong with him?

Aunt Mary caught his startled expression and smirked. “Just cannot find a way to move on, can you, Lewis? Don’t be like me, with your heart forever promised to someone who doesn’t want it.”

“I’d always heard you told your fiancé on his deathbed you’d never marry.”

She shrugged. “As if he would care once he’d gone to heaven. But back then, you know, so many men had died in the wars. I never met another man worth having.”

He knew that wasn’t the case for him. He had indeed met another woman worth having. Her father had been what stopped him, not her. “You know?” he said. “I have moved on. I even think I fell in love. It wasn’t meant to be, but I did feel something new.”

“Then why did you stare at Alys?”

He patted her arm. “Because it didn’t hurt, and that surprised me.”

She nodded slowly. “Who is the lucky lady? I understand Alys’s sister Rose has found a husband at last. Are you engaged? I don’t hear too well anymore, unless the speaker is close to me. I might have missed the news.”

“No, I’m not engaged. Her father wants her to marry someone he can groom to run his businesses, and I’m not about to do that.”

“Ah, the lady isn’t worth it? That’s a paltry love. You spend a few hours a day with the father, then your nights with the lady.” She smiled again. “Her charms must not be excessive.”

He remembered those lush, generous curves, her thighs spread wide to receive him, the way her mouth felt against his. “Her charms are . . . well, everything.”

“Clearly they are not,” Lady Mary enunciated, “or the father would not trouble you.”

“Perhaps you are correct. I have been unhappy for so long, I don’t know how to permit myself to indulge in happiness.”

“At least you have time to remedy things.”

He grimaced. “No. She accepted another proposal of marriage.”

Lady Mary lifted her scant eyebrows. “That is a pity, but if she is still unwed, you might be able to persuade her.”

“That wouldn’t be honorable.” He drained his glass, wishing the port had been something stronger.

“Honor versus happiness,” she mused. “At least you have your work. That is a consolation.”

“It does keep me busy.” But his thoughts went to that sad little girl, and what Victoria had sacrificed to keep her out of that horrible school. Could he not sacrifice his time to build her a bird? “Do you have any feathers, Lady Mary? I’d like to take a look at some.”

“I know my great-niece left headdresses here,” she said. “There were feathers in some of them. Her rooms are vacant.”

Lady Elizabeth had no need for headdresses now, since she had married the Baron of Alix’s younger brother, a man with an actual career as a private inquiry agent, and had gone to live in Edinburgh. How odd to think of his Victoria as a close family connection to Alys. Lady Elizabeth was Alys’s sister-in-law, and now she would be Victoria’s as well.

The thought made his stomach turn. The port sloshed around. “I believe I will forgo dinner and have a look at those feathers.”

“Why?”

He shook his head. “It is the final commission the lady I lost asked of me, one I turned down. But out of love, I should make a bird for her cousin, don’t you think? It is the only thing she asked of me. And she gave me everything.”

Lady Mary narrowed her eyes. “I thought you were to spend the evening in conference with Hatbrook, discussing winery issues.”

“He will wait.” Lewis patted her arm. “Make my apologies, will you? I’m going to steal the feathers and then spend the evening in my toolshed.”

“Inventors.” Lady Mary sighed. “Go on, boy. I will make your apologies, if you promise me this.”

“What?”

“That you deliver this bird you are going to make in person, to the lady you lost. Give her a chance to see you. If she loves you, not the other man, you owe her that.”

“I’m still not willing to marry her and take on the position of her father’s apprentice,” he countered.

“Ruminate on what the lady is worth to you while you make the bird,” she said. “If you think this was a mere passing affair, then move on to the next lady. But if you see her and still feel that sweet pain in your heart, then pray reconsider, for the sake of all my long, lonely years.”

He stared at the lined face, the look of sorrow in her gaze, and knew that someday Alys and Rose’s children might look at him with that sensation of pity for the loneliness of his life. “At least we had love.”

“You don’t have to lose it.” She patted his arm. “Think hard, Lewis.”

He nodded. “Thank you, Lady Mary. You have been a great help.”

Without a backward glance at Alys—or, indeed, any of her happy family circle—he went up the stairs and found the abandoned rooms of the former Lady Elizabeth Shield, now Beth Alexander. A small dressing room was behind one of the doors in the bedroom. Still stuffed with clothing, the wardrobes daunted him at first, but he found an array of plumage poking out of an old Chinese vase to the side of the wardrobe containing woolens. He blew dust off the feathers and examined them closely, not sure what such inanimate objects could tell him that he didn’t already know. But he wanted the bird to be as perfect as possible. It would be the last one he’d ever make.

After a few minutes, he took the feathers and went to the first floor of the Farm, where the library was located, and looked for the section on natural history. Soon, he was ensconced in an armchair, reading about feathers. Since he would need a microscope to see some of the features described, in this case a book was of more value than a feather itself. He read about the shingling effect of feathers, and about the tiny barbs that helped keep feathers together. Also inspiring was the idea of a shaft down the middle with more flexible material on the outside. When he’d exhausted the information about feathers, he found a watercolor reproduction of a white stork in one of the books and tucked it under his arm.

While Penelope might care more about appearance than function, he might as well work to both their benefits. He knew he wouldn’t sleep tonight, but in the end, when he handed Penelope the bird, he wanted to be able to make peace with the fact that he’d lost his Victoria. He didn’t want to spend the next three years mourning her, as he had Alys.

I
t took Lewis a solid twenty-four hours to complete the white stork for Penelope, even with Eddy’s help. By Wednesday evening, dazed with exhaustion, he didn’t argue when Eddy insisted he go to bed. The next morning, when he checked in his shed, the paint had dried on the nonmetallic parts of the bird and it looked ready for delivery.

Dressed in a warm but scratchy wool suit against the cold, he regarded the bird critically. What would a little girl find to love about the thing? He had captured the delicacy of the stork, the beautiful neck and slender orange-red beak and legs. Would it give her hope as she settled into her new life in Edinburgh?

“I wonder if I should make another one and give it to Lady Allen-Hill as a wedding present.”

“That seems exceedingly foolish to me,” said a voice behind him.

Lewis glanced over his shoulder. He didn’t need to see the man to recognize Hatbrook’s voice, however. “Why?”

“Talk her out of the engagement,” Hatbrook advised, folding his arms over his broad chest as he leaned against the inner door.

Lewis turned. What did Hatbrook know of his business? “Why do you say that?”

“Aunt Mary gave me an earful.” A smile crinkled the corners of Hatbrook’s eyes. “Your Twelve Nights of Christmas were eventful, it sounds like. Either that or she’d dipped deep into the sherry.”

To think he assumed he could trust an old woman with his secrets. More fool he. “I didn’t think of her as a gossip.”

Hatbrook grinned and rubbed the back of his neck. “The old girl continually surprises me. What if you gave the lady a child, Lewis, have you thought of that? Do you want the baron raising your offspring?”

“He might not go through with it.” Lewis smiled.

“I know Lady Allen-Hill only slightly, and I’d hate to think she’d take the man to bed just to make sure he wouldn’t be critical of her child’s birth date, but it’s something you have to consider. For a man of science, you are surprisingly obtuse at times.”

“What do you suggest I do? Follow her to London and skulk around her house until I can bribe her maid into telling me if she’s had her courses?”

Hatbrook tilted his head. “I’d be direct with the lady, but of course she might lie. You need to tell her she has no business getting engaged until she knows if she’s carrying your child.”

“It’s too late for that,” Lewis protested.

“As long as the engagement hasn’t been reported in the London papers, there is still time. The only ones who’ve heard about the engagement are a few people at an obscure house party.”

“The Earl of Bullen’s house party,” Lewis said. “That’s hardly obscure.”

“I’m throwing you a bone, Lewis. Grasp it. Pack up that damnable bird you made and get yourself to London before it’s too late.” Hatbrook picked up a screwdriver and tossed it into an open drawer.

“She did it for her young cousin, you know. I wouldn’t marry her, and Courtnay threatened to send the child away to school if she didn’t find a fiancé in something like forty-eight hours.” Lewis put his favorite wrench into his traveling tool kit.

“Then make sure the child is in your pocket,” Hatbrook said. “Use her.”

“I don’t want to live under Courtnay’s thumb. I had enough of that with Sir Bartley.” He gritted his teeth as he put the rest of his wrenches into another drawer. Unfortunate that the man would use a child as his pawn. He would not suffer similarly.

“Be a man. Refuse. Once you’ve married the lady, you can do what you want. Obeying Courtnay isn’t exactly part of your marriage vows.” Hatbrook tossed paint-spotted rags into a refuse barrel.

“He might take Penelope away.” Lewis stared at the bird again.

Hatbrook shrugged. “I don’t see the problem. You have lawyers. Make sure you have legal guardianship of the child before you make your refusal to go to Liverpool obvious.”

“I don’t think legal guardianship is on offer,” Lewis said. “She has parents; they are just a combination of unwilling and inept.”

Hatbrook hung two hammers on the pegboard. “Speak to Rose. She can work on Courtnay. She’s marrying the man, after all.”

“I expect you’ll be happy to see her gone north,” Lewis said, remembering the old anger Hatbrook had against Rose for gossiping about Alys’s premarital lovemaking.

“Not especially. She’s matured. One of those rare people who learn a lesson and change for the better. Unlike her sister Matilda.” Hatbrook shook his head as he wiped the worktable clean of metal shavings, then tossed that rag into the barrel.

Lewis grinned. The man kept a tidy property. “Now there is a beacon for misadventure.” He glanced at the bird, which seemed to be staring at him critically. “Some minor adjustments to the face, I think. It doesn’t look peaceful enough to give to a child.”

“Do something about the eyes,” Hatbrook said. “But don’t tarry too long. Once the announcement hits the papers, you’re sunk.”

Lewis opened a paint can and found a clean brush. “I have to hope they are too busy settling back in after a long trip away to have managed it.”

“I’d have said that I hoped she was regretting her decision to marry the baron, myself.”

“That too, but she’ll make the best of it, for Penelope’s sake. Besides, I don’t want Victoria to be unhappy. That would be a cruel wish to have for the woman I love.” He dipped his brush into the white paint.

Hatbrook’s smile faded. “That is true.” He held out his hand.

Surprised, Lewis lifted his grimy hand to Hatbrook’s and the men shook.

“I’m glad you’ve moved on,” Hatbrook said in a low voice, wincing as he said the words.

At that moment, Lewis realized that Hatbrook had known of the torch he’d carried for Alys all these years. “I have been difficult to be around, haven’t I?” he said.

Hatbrook’s eyes rose to the heavens for a moment before returning to him. “We wish you all the best. Fix that bird’s gaze and send it home.”

“Yes.” Lewis regarded the bird again. “As swiftly as possible.”

Lewis called at Rupert Courtnay’s London mansion on Friday afternoon and asked to see Penelope. The footman who answered the door looked askance at the large, sheet-wrapped bundle under his arm, not to mention the fact that he’d asked for a child, but allowed him in after he’d presented his card.

Lewis had waited an extra day in Heathfield, allowing the bird time to dry while he caught up on his sleep. Every dream he’d had was of Victoria: their past, their unlikely future. The staff had done their best to remove the paint and metal shavings from his attire. He’d been so enthusiastic about his project that he hadn’t changed into work clothing when he’d started on the bird, who he had nicknamed Welly, since he’d come into their lives at the destroyed wishing well. The suit he’d worn when he started the project would never be the same again, and his most sober waistcoat had been ruined, so he was back in an unfortunate green and ruby tartan today. It was either that or wait another day to visit so he could return home and retrieve more clothing. But he knew that would cause him distraction on any number of fronts, and every day he delayed was another day Victoria or the baron, or Rupert Courtnay, could write an engagement notice for the papers.

When he was shown into a small sitting room, he unwrapped Welly, concerned that the paint might have smudged, but the white stork looked fine, kindly even, after all the work Lewis had done to perfect his face. Eddy had helped resculpt the eye sockets as well, which added to the bird’s appeal. The boy might have had a future as an artist if he wasn’t so mechanically minded. Lewis rewrapped the bird and pulled a red ribbon from his pocket. He tied a bow around the neck to make his offering more festive. When he was done, he stepped back and regarded it. The bird was still a cloth-covered lump with a sloppy bow around its neck, but at least it appeared he was trying.

After five minutes, a maid opened the door and Penelope ran in, followed, as he had hoped, by Victoria. Penelope’s white dress was smudged at the hem, possibly from kneeling too close to a fireplace, but Victoria looked slim, cool, and perfect in lavender silk. Her dark hair was coiled into an elaborate coif, making her appear even more remote, like a woman ready to be immortalized in oil. Her gray eyes regarded him expectantly, though she said nothing.

The moment he’d seen her, his palms started to tingle, dampen. His collar felt too tight and the fire must have been freshly fed with coal because it felt like a firing kiln in the room. Sweat broke out at the small of his back. He checked the door behind her, wondering if Courtnay would arrive, too, but thankfully no one else entered. And there were no other afternoon callers, at least not in this room. Perhaps the family wasn’t officially at home yet. Or were merely stopping for a few days before returning to Liverpool.

Why was no one speaking? His throat felt tight. He desperately wished for a tea tray, but nothing had been offered yet. He attempted to squeeze out a few words. “I am glad to see you looking so well. I never said good-bye in Pevensey.”

“Why wouldn’t we look well?” Victoria asked.

“Yes, of course. Such a happy time for you,” Lewis managed. Didn’t she regret how things had ended at all? “Is the baron here?”

“He hasn’t left the Fort yet, as far as I know. I thought you had come asking for Penelope, not John.”

Had her hands, already clasped together, twisted very slightly? How still she was, the imaginative, impulsive young lady he knew turned into this cool goddess. Something had gone wrong with the baron; he just knew it. She was holding herself in check, as if in fear of pain.

Penelope took his hand, forcing his attention to her. “It is lovely to see you again, Mr. Noble.”

He grinned at her, his tension dissolving at her artless greeting. “So formal, Miss Courtnay? And here I thought we had become friends when you tended me after I nearly drowned.”

She nodded happily. “I thought so, too.”

“Then you must think of me as Lewis, even if we don’t see each other very often anymore.”

Her forehead creased, as if she didn’t quite understand.

“I brought you a present,” he told her.

“A present? It’s not my birthday,” the girl said.

“I know, but it’s sort of a memory, from the wishing well. I thought you might like it.”

Victoria’s chin went up. Her gaze went to his. They shared a long moment of silent communication. He could almost hear her question, her silent
well done
. Nodding slightly, he took the child’s hand and walked her to the table in between two chairs, where he’d set his creation.

Penelope tilted her head, regarding the ribbon intently as Victoria moved behind her. “It’s rather a large present. I find large presents are the best. They are often toys.”

“What is the best gift you’ve ever received?” he asked.

She clapped her hands together. “A dollhouse. From Cousin Victoria and Uncle Rupert, three years ago. I played with it for hours and hours. I’m too grown-up now, of course.”

“You can use it to practice your decorating and sewing skills,” Victoria said. “There are plenty of uses for a dollhouse.”

Penelope wrinkled her nose. “I want to see the new toy.”

Lewis cleared his throat. “It’s not exactly a toy. More of a friend.”

“If it was a pet, I’m sure it would have moved by now,” she said.

“Perhaps it is stuffed,” Victoria suggested.

Lewis shook his head. “Unwrap it, Penelope. Eddy and I made our best effort for you.”

“Eddy worked on it?” Penelope smiled as she gently untied the ribbon, then wrapped it around her wrist and held it up to Victoria so she could tie a bow. “There, now I’m a present, too.”

Victoria ruffled her hair. “Must you make such a ceremony of the unwrapping? I want to see what’s inside.”

Lewis held back his grin. Victoria was an impatient woman, always.

Penelope gently unwrapped the top of the sheet, gasping as the face of the bird was revealed. Her hands moved faster, unraveling the linen, until the white stork stood exposed.

Lewis had sculpted, with Eddy’s help, the head from wood. The feathers were all metal, though, cut and painted to look like the real thing. “The beast’s balance is imperfect,” he warned. “You’ll need to be gentle.”

“Is it an automaton?” Victoria asked.

He’d wanted a different reaction from her than this temperate question. “No. I didn’t want to take the time. It would have delayed the delivery, and I didn’t know how long you would be in London.”

“She’s beautiful,” Penelope breathed, touching a feather.

“Be careful; they are probably sharp,” Victoria warned.

“It’s not a toy,” Lewis agreed. “But a friendly art piece.”

“I love her,” Penelope said. “Can’t I hug her, just a little?”

She turned to Victoria, who nodded. When Penelope put her arms gently around the bird and touched her cheek to the side of its beak, Victoria turned to him.

He wanted to see her smile. She made his soul levitate when she looked at him with laughter in her eyes. He stepped closer and she drew away from Penelope, who had started whispering to the bird.

Victoria put her index finger on his chin, her thumb just beneath. Her fingers were cold, her gaze remote. Almost close enough for a kiss, she blew out a breath instead of pulling his mouth toward her. Her mouth against his would be perfection, but he needed her smiles even more, especially now. He waited, staring down at her, a captive to her touch, wondering what she might do next.

“Why have you come?” she asked, any hint of a polite social smile disappearing.

She didn’t release him. Her fingers stroked fluidly along his jaw as he spoke, reminding him of the way she moved with him when they made love. “To bring the bird, of course. You did ask me more than once to make it.”

Her fingers tightened slightly, denting his skin. “You did a lot of work to please a little girl who is no connection to you. Work you’d refused.”