Lady Crenshaw's Christmas (4 page)

“There, there, it’s all right, sweetheart.  Come see, the orchestra is all set up.  You and I shall have a dance on our own, just the two of us.”

“I do beg your pardon, Lord Crenshaw, but I am much too fatigued to dance,” Lady Avery insisted.

“It is a
ball
, Lady Avery,” Anthony said, raking her from head to toe with his frostiest expression. 

“Come, my petal,” her husband pleaded, “I do believe you would be more comfortable seated somewhere.”

“No!  I am perfectly happy standing here next to this old woman with the birds in her hair.  I find I have much to say to her,” Lady Avery said with the same regal air particular to old ladies with older titles, the very one at which she had poked fun at her come-out ball less than a year past. 

Ginny allowed herself to be led out onto the floor despite the look on her grandaunt’s face, one that doubtless presaged an apoplexy.  The only silver lining to the current state of affairs was Lady Avery’s inability to raise so many jewels far enough in the air to execute even one of her appalling claps.  

Nevertheless, in spite of the stress and unhappiness Ginny felt, it all disappeared like a puff of smoke when she stepped into her husband’s arms for a waltz.  It gave her the perfect moment of privacy she needed to bring up the subject of her Christmas gift to him.  “Anthony, I’m afraid I wasn’t able to get to town to buy you a gift.”

Surprised, he looked down into her face.  “I wasn’t expecting you to.  You have had enough to do.  Besides, the baby is the best gift a woman might give her husband.”

Feeling slightly crestfallen and unsure as to why, Ginny carefully considered what she should say next.  “I suppose that is a bit of a relief but as the babe is not due until spring, I did truly hope to surprise you with something now.”

“Dearest Ginny, you have!  Did I not say this has been the happiest Christmas of my life?” he asked with a squeeze to the hand he held in his.

“Yes,” she started, then decided to change tack.  “What if I did have a gift for you? When would you expect to receive it?  My father and I always exchanged gifts on Christmas day but Grandaunt has already given me her gift and it’s only Christmas Eve.  I know the servants expect their gifts on Boxing Day,” she said, then realized she was beginning to babble and cut herself off.

“I know what this is about,” he said with an indulgent smile.  “You are wondering when you should expect to receive your gift from me.”

“Oh, no!” Ginny said, appalled.  “Truly, I was thinking about my meager gift to you.  I do so want to do it right.”  Her words were the truth but she had to admit that a part of her was curious about when . . . and if . . . she should expect a gift from her husband.

Giving her hand another squeeze, he dropped a kiss to the tip of her nose.  “Truth be told, I have only been waiting for a moment when we could be alone to present you with your gift.  Had you not chased me out of the library earlier this evening, I would have given it to you then.”

Ginny felt the color rise in her cheeks.  It was not at all unpleasant, unlike the other times she felt herself blushing.  She knew, also, that she was smiling like a giddy schoolgirl.  She had the grace to duck her head so he could not see how wildly pleased she was.  “If that is what you wish.  I shall save my gift to you for when we might be alone, as well.”  She couldn’t help but allow her head to bob up to reveal her wide smile.  “Tonight, then?  After the ball?”

“Not a moment later,” Anthony said with a wide smile of his own.  “Unless you are too tired.  This has been so much work and you have the baby to think of.”

“I won’t be too tired,” she promised, daring to take an extra wide step and shorten the distance between them so as to nestle her head against his chest.

Anthony was forced to let go of one of her arms, freeing one of his to wrap round her waist and pull her even closer.  Resting his cheek against the top of her head, they finished out the music in harmonious silence.

When the music stopped and Ginny and Anthony came out of their private reveries, Lady Avery was swooned out on the ground, her husband was chafing her hands between bouts of mopping his eyes clear of tears and Grandaunt Regina stood over them waving her feathered turban in Lady’s Avery face, a circumstance that necessitated grandaunt to pull it from her coiffure, leaving her hair to stick up at odd angles all over her head.

As Ginny and Anthony watched in horrified fascination, two things happened at once.  A pair of tiny dogs emerged from the décolletage of Lady Avery’s gown and the butler announced the arrival of His and Her Grace, the Duke and Duchess of Marcross.  Ginny would have gladly fainted and collapsed to the ground if she hadn’t been fully aware of how stupendously foolish she would look stretched out next to Lady Avery, upon whom the new arrivals had the opposite effect.  Jumping to her feet like the spry, young maiden she was, Lady Avery hastened to smooth her hair and skirts with one hand whilst adjusting her various pins with the other. 

“Eustace, do make those nasty things be quiet!” she ordered, upon which Lord Avery dutifully began to chase the crazily yapping, tiny, white dogs around the ballroom. 

Grandaunt Regina remained where she was, her face gray as her gown. 

“Well,” Anthony said with a steadiness Ginny could only admire, “I believe I am required elsewhere,” whereupon he commenced the long journey from one end of the ballroom to the other where his uncle and his wife stood, their faces frozen with disapproval. 

Ginny stayed put but could not help but notice the elegance of Her Grace’s red gown, one which thoroughly disguised her six month pregnancy, and the string of rubies around her neck, one far smaller, simpler and less appropriate for a duchess than Ginny’s.  In a matter of moments, Her Grace’s questing gaze had landed on Ginny’s rubies, her haughty expression melting into a look of positive hatred.   

Ginny wondered if perhaps fainting might not have been the best option, after all.

“I require your assistance,” Grandaunt Regina said exactly as if calamity had not befallen their entire evening.  Ginny turned to take in her grandaunt’s state of disorder and, not for the first time, owned an admiration for the Crenshaw steely strength under fire. 

“Of course,” Ginny replied, starting with smoothing back the old woman’s hair, then replacing the turban and returning the feathers to a semblance of order.  Taking her hands, Ginny gave them a squeeze.  “We’ll get through this!”

“I don’t know which one of them I loathe more,” Grandaunt Regina confessed, “that woman he married or my own son.”

Together they made their way across the room to welcome their newly arrived guests, Lady Avery trailing along behind for all the world as if it were her party, Lord Avery and the miniature dogs following in her wake. 

“Ah, Ginny,” Anthony said, holding his hand out to her.  “It has been quite some time since you have spoken with His Grace.  Uncle, this is my wife, Ginerva.  Grandmama, you already know,” he added with a wry smile.

“By all means,” the duke purred, his deep blue eyes all the more vivid in a face grayed with illness.  “
Ma mere
,” he said with a bow of his head in her direction.  

Ginny wondered how a man could be so dismissive of his own mother but was soon far more concerned with the fact he had turned his attention to herself.  Taking Ginny’s hand, he lifted it to his lips and kissed the air above it.  “This is she whom you married over my express objections,” he said in a tone Ginny recognized as being as dangerous as it was mild. 

“Yes, Uncle, as you see,” Anthony replied, by all accounts unaware of or, more marvelous yet, indifferent to his uncle’s palpable disapproval.  “However, Your Grace, let’s do be gentlemen of honor.  I executed all of the tasks you set me with the understanding that your approval would no longer be withheld.  Furthermore,” he added with incredible bravery or gall, Ginny was not sure which, “we have discussed this matter any number of times since my marriage and I must insist that it be dropped entirely.”  His tone rivaled his uncle’s as much in mildness as danger.

Returning his attention to his nephew, the duke sneered and said, “We shall see how wise your choice was, Crenshaw, when this night’s work is done.  Come,” the duke commanded, taking his wife by the hand and leading her away without so much as an exchange of pleasantries between the women. 

“Now we can enjoy the rest of our evening,” Anthony said in his usual voice, one that did well enough to mask the anger that simmered, Ginny knew, just below the surface.  He turned to his wife and grandmother and with an outstretched hand indicated that they should return to the far end of the room.  “I shall just go have a private word with Garner,” he informed them and stalked off.

There was nothing for Ginny to do but once again proceed to the other side of the ballroom as regally as possible when followed by an old woman in a turban askew, a child-like woman decked out in the entire contents of her mother’s jewel box and a softly weeping man bearing two tiny, frantically barking dogs.  Grandaunt Regina’s long-suffering sigh as they once again took their places in front of the large fireplace filled Ginny with more alarm than even the duchess’ spite-filled expression even now on display from her shadowy corner of the room.

“We shan’t allow them to spoil our evening, Ginerva,” Grandaunt Regina said in low tones for Ginny’s ears alone.  “There were a number of reasons I chose you for Anthony’s bride and this is one of them.”

“Pray tell why?” Ginny asked, feeling bold.  “To throw a ball attended by none but those we love least?  So Anthony and I could have only one dance together before he disappeared?”  She paused a moment to control the tears she knew were coming.  “So as to beggar the candle account to better light the hatred on their faces?” she added with a slight nod towards the duke and duchess.  

“Don’t be such a fool!” Grandaunt said, taking Ginny’s hand in hers and giving it a little pat.  “It’s because you are the only gel I’ve ever known who could put that woman to shame.”

Ginny turned to her grandaunt in wonder.  “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you are far more lovely, far more intelligent and far more virtuous than Rebecca could ever hope to be.  You are the only one I have known to be worthy of my grandson,” she said fiercely.  “Together the two of you will make the most splendid Duke and Duchess of Marcross the kingdom has ever known.”

Ginny did not know what to say.  Her grandaunt had always been one to withhold approval, even love.  This overflow of compliments was a far lovelier gift than the collar of rubies.  “Grandaunt,” she sniffed.  “You don’t know how much that means to me.  And here I was so afraid you were going to scold me with regards to my over-spending on the candles.”

“We shall discuss that matter at length tomorrow,” grandaunt hissed, then immediately turned her attention to the doors which swung open to reveal Anthony in the company of a small cluster of guests, each one seeming to be pleasantly surprised, even enjoying themselves.

As Anthony came to stand next to her in the reception line, Ginny could feel her anxiety melt away, especially when he took the time to take her fingers in his between shaking hands with the guests, now arriving in droves.  She was inordinately relieved that the ball was proving to be a success and smiled so much she felt her face might break.  Lady Avery had finally tired of shaking hands with the guests and wandered off to cause trouble elsewhere, a circumstance for which Ginny was very grateful.  The only cloud in her sunny sky was the realization that Anthony was correct about the velvet gown; standing in front of the fire, the crush of people and the abundance of candles were proving too much for her warmly-covered body.   

Deciding that she must soon sit down or die, she suggested to her husband that they dance together as soon as the orchestra struck up the next song, after which she would spend the remainder of the evening watching the dancing until supper at midnight.

“I haven’t seen my mother,” Anthony replied, his voice hinting at the strain he was feeling.  “She is sure to feel slighted if we break up the reception line before she arrives.”

“Perhaps she is too busy with her Italian count to come?” Ginny suggested, hopeful that the fictional count was indeed a reality.

“You’re right, Ginny.  We mustn’t wait on her.  She and the duchess have been forever at daggers drawn since her marriage to my uncle.  Mother is no doubt still in the doldrums over his order that she set up her own establishment.”

“Oh my, I hadn’t realized,” Ginny said, wondering what her obligation in such circumstances might be.  “Should we invite her to take up residence here?” Ginny asked.   

“My love, you can’t be serious,” Anthony drawled.  “My mother and my grandmother under the same roof would be, at the very least, a disaster, at the most a tragedy of biblical proportions, not to mention the affect it would have on you.  No.”  

Ginny, feeling a bit sheepish over the immensity of her relief, knew he was right.  “I suppose, then, that I shall hope she finds some place close by so she may come and visit the baby when she chooses.”

“My dearest love,” Anthony said, his heart in his eyes, “I know how much those words cost you.  Come, the guests are taking their places for the next set.  Will you dance with me?”

“Do you suppose I would have troubled to throw a ball if it weren’t my express purpose?” Ginny asked with a saucy smile.  Tired, but happy, she took the hand he held out to her, telling herself that it was the heat that was making her dizzy.  She knew she would feel better once they began to move about the room in broad circles to the strains of a waltz.  Only, the music being struck was for the Quadrille, a boisterous and public dance compared to the waltz.  Swallowing her disappointment, Ginny told herself she need only get through this one set and then she might sit and relax.