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Authors: Hayley A. Solomon

BOOK: Madrigals And Mistletoe
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Perhaps it was the pain of knowing that Cordelia was Winthrop's betrothed, that unless he were moved to drastic action she would be Winthrop's wife, not his . . . Whatever it was, his grace the fifth Duke of Doncaster found himself furious. It was bad enough that Cordelia's sentiments for him did not run deeply enough to renege on her proposal to Winthrop—but to see this! Lord Henry preferring his anaemic cousin to the glory of Cordelia and playing her false! For whatever Rhaz's private hopes on the matter, there could be no gainsaying that the man was still plighted to the love of Rhaz's heart and, accordingly, should show her the proper respect.
Without thinking of the spectacle he might be creating, quite oblivious to his head grooms and their minions, he marched up to Winthrop and grabbed him by the shirt so the poor man was spluttering bewildered inconsequentialities. Miss Moresby, he could see, was equally taken aback. She did not hesitate to push herself into the fray, inquiring quite crossly whether her cousin had just run insane. Rhaz did not wait to formulate an answer. His cheek was still faintly stinging and he had a sudden urge to rid himself of the wild feelings that were tearing at his mind. Accordingly, his fist shot out and he landed poor Lord Henry such a facer that the gentleman was obliged to sit down right in the middle of the stall and nurse his face with simple bewilderment etched all over his rather vacuous features.
“Lord Winthrop, as host to the Misses Camfrey and in the absence of any male relative on their part, I feel it my duty to challenge you. If you want satisfaction for that black eye, you may call on my seconds. I believe Sir Harvey Trump or Lord Foxton of Eddington Manor will stand for me.”
Lord Henry staggered to his feet with the help of a very solicitous Miss Moresby, who looked daggers at her handsome cousin and was about to pour forth with a crashing scold when Lord Henry interrupted her.
“Beg pardon, my love. I do believe his grace and I are at outs over a mere bagatelle. Why do you not return to the house and I shall have the matter sorted out in a twinkling?”
Helena looked doubtful, but with both male eyes outstaring her, she had no choice but to gather up her sensible woollen skirts and head towards the outer door. She had the last word, however, for as Rhaz was sizing up his victim, her gloved hands on slender, entirely masculine hips, she admonished them both to come off their high ropes and Rhaz, in particular, not to be such a gudgeon.
Her voice softening almost perceptibly, she warned Lord Henry not to dally, but to come inside out of the cold, for she had a hot posset and a sherbet soaking in perfumed cakes and Damascus fruit. Rhaz wondered whether he would be offered any of his own largesse, but he was not. With a toss of her head and a scathing glance at him, Miss Moresby was gone.
TWENTY
“Well, Lord Winthrop? Is it to be pistols?”
“Indeed not, your grace, for I can think of no more churlish way of repaying your hospitality.”
“You call it hospitality when I blacken your eye on Christmas?”
For an instant Rhaz thought Lord Winthrop might grin. He didn't and his grace felt a strange relief, for surely Helena would be madder still if he returned her lover to her with a face that was cracked from the uncustomary effort of smiling.
“Well, then? How does one redress the insult offered your betrothed? Not to
mention
the insult offered Miss Moresby? If I had not come upon you as I did, you might even now be kissing her!” Rhaz's indignation was audible in his voice, though he himself had been engaged in the self-same activity not long since.
“Then I have more than one reason to regret your entrance, your grace! I would far rather be embracing the lovely Miss Helena than clashing swords at cross purposes with
you!
”
Lord Winthrop fingered his bruise. He was relieved to realise Rhaz must have pulled his punch, for the duke was renowned for his boxing prowess. The fact that he was not now in dire agony showed that his grace had had mercy. Still, he
had
interrupted what promised to be a most interesting interlude. . . .
The duke visibly restrained himself. “Puppy! Explain yourself, for I cannot feel Miss Cordelia would be happy to know that you have breached your betrothal vows!”
“A curse on Miss Cordelia! She very roundly sent me the right about this morning, so I have every reason to offer for Miss Moresby! Not even
you
could argue the logic in that!”
Rhaz felt his heart suddenly racing most inexplicably. Not even the physical effort of having knocked down the much maligned baron had rendered this intoxicating effect upon his person. He controlled his breathing and in a calm but slightly dangerous tone asked whether Lord Winthrop meant what he thought he did.
“That Miss Cordelia jilted me? Indeed, she did, for she had a fitting sensibility of the fact that she and I would not suit. There is a certain levity, you understand, that I must deplore—”
“Deplore away, old boy! Just tell me, is she or is she not free?”
Lord Winthrop looked at Rhaz as though he were being asked a trick question. Whilst he had no wish to lie sprawled in the stalls again, his natural honesty forced him to confirm Rhaz's question. “Free to wed? Indeed she is, though now she has rejected, uh”—he cleared his throat—“so eligible a suit as mine, one can only speculate.”
Rhaz grinned and dashed on the hat that had fallen in his tussle with Winthrop. “Speculate away! By the by, I take it your intentions are honourable towards Miss Moresby?”
Now it was Lord Winthrop's turn to look daggers at the duke. “Am I to understand you are suggesting anything improper between her and myself? If so, your grace, I fear I shall have to call you out after all! Miss Moresby's principles are of the highest, the most pure—”
“Yes, yes! Her virtues are limitless! I have lived with them from time immemorial and should know! You wish to wed her then?”
“
When
I have obtained the proper permissions, yes!”
“Well, consider them obtained!”
“Beg pardon, your grace?”
“As head of the family and her only male relative, I am the proper person to whom you should apply.”
“Good God! I'd not thought of that! Your grace, I beg you consider. My wealth is not insubstantial. Miss Moresby shall have—”
“Write it up, Winthrop! I shall sign the papers immediately!”
“But . . . ?”
“No buts if you please! I have a lot of untangling to do before the church bells peal! My apologies, of course, for the slight misunderstanding!”
Lord Winthrop touched his cheek speculatively. Though his lips did not move, Rhaz could have sworn he'd witnessed a Christmas miracle: the glimmer of a twinkle in my lord's solemn tawny eyes.
Winthrop nodded. “You are forgiven, your grace! I find I am suddenly infused with the spirit of Christmas!”
“Excellent! If you go on into the house, try to persuade the lovely Helena to exchange her sherbet for my cherry brandy. Then, my dear man, I can
promise
you will be infused with the Christmas spirit!”
With this lighthearted riposte, Rhaz walked back to the sixth stall and beckoned to a groom, who'd just begun polishing the bridles on the far wall. “I will take Firefly out now, Hodges! She can do with a run and I'd like to take her through her paces before the snow is too settled upon the ground.”
Hodges obediently led the beast out and Rhaz fondled it gently before mounting it and leading it out into the cold under the darkening sky. Frederick still needed to be found and time was running out. The sounds of the carollers, high-pitched and fervent, were drawing steadily closer. For an instant Rhaz reflected on the beauty of the age-old songs sung to age-old tunes. His heart twisted a little, for if matters managed to untangle themselves this would, he knew, be the most memorable Christmas of his life.
The woods were dense, the thickets overgrown with brambles and clad everywhere in soft, shimmering snow. Most of the pinecones had been gathered off the ground, but here and there, a couple showed themselves as Firefly trod slowly over the green needles and white mulch that formed the forest floor. When Rhaz was wondering which fork to take, the gentle sound of panpipes floated to his ears, drowning out the breeze and the carol singers, the trotting of hooves and the odd call of the doe. He instantly knew where to turn, and following the notes as if participating in a childish game of hide-and-seek, he finally found his source.
Frederick, lying on his back, was instantly alert to Rhaz's presence. He did not turn around, but continued with his piping, the notes becoming quite tumultuous with energy and unspoken thoughts. At last, he stopped, for Rhaz did not interrupt him, but rather dismounted and came to rest on a rock beside him. Firefly pawed the ground gently and took the unexpected moment to taste some of the ferny leaves that tempted her at eye level. Thus occupied, he did not notice the conversation that took place between the two friends and erstwhile rivals.
“You will miss the festivities, my friend.”
“Shall I? My apologies.”
“Miss Seraphina Camfrey will be disappointed.”
Frederick sat up and set the pipe down. “You shall have to comfort her then. No doubt she will comport herself excellently at the pageant. She is an apt pupil.”
If his tone was bitter, it was not through intent. Rhaz, however, noted at
once
the constraint that had come over his friend. Frederick was obviously suffering from the same delusions as the rest of his household. For an instant he reflected on how he would wring his poor, meddlesome mama's neck. If only she had not circulated the misguided, hideously inaccurate rumour in the first place, they might all, by now, be enjoying Christmas peace. Well, Frederick and Seraphina at all events. He and Cordelia—well, they still had bridges to cross. Rhaz allowed a slow smile to cross his face. He would look forward to the crossing.
“I believe she will perform better if you were present, my lord!”
“Good God, Rhaz! What are you ‘my lording' me for? You only ever do that when you are funning, and frankly, though I wish you all the happiness in the world, I do not feel inclined to joke at this particular moment!”
“Do you not? I rather find the spectacle of you orbiting in love strangely ironic! Forgive me the smirk but I have to say, Frederick, how the mighty have fallen! Mind you, Miss Seraphina is passing handsome, but you, who have sworn ever to be a bachelor—”
Lord Argyll paled and his hand clenched into a small, but visible fist. “Rhaz, if you were not my dearest friend, I would beat you to a pulp! I beg you, desist making a mockery of me! I had thought I'd kept my feelings well under check, but apparently I have failed dismally. If the truth must be spoken between us, then, yes, I do love your Seraphina. Look after her well, Rhaz, for I promise you, friendship or not, I shall be waiting in the wings to carry her off should you ever give me cause! ”
“I hope I shall not, though I fear, since I am as yet unused to the role, I shall make quite an exasperating brother at times!”
Frederick was just formulating a fierce, burning reply when the import of Rhaz's words reached the inner recesses of his mind. “Brother? Do not you mean
lover?
What a terrible slip, your grace!” His words were formal, for the intensity of his emotions necessarily placed a distance between himself and his noble friend.
“Not at all, you foolish gudgeon!” Rhaz grinned broadly. The time for teasing was well and truly over. “It is Miss
Cordelia
Camfrey whom I intend to take to wife. That places poor Miss
Seraphina
Camfrey in the sad position of having to call me brother!”
Hope flared in Frederick's eyes. “You would not joke about such a thing, Rhaz!”
“Of course not! I am a sombre old soul.
You
should know that!”
Frederick recovered himself to cuff his dearest bosom buddy wryly. “Indeed, a regular old sawbones!” His voice changed. “You speak truly?”
His grace nodded, all trace of merriment gone from his dark, handsome features. “I speak truly, Frederick! And though my preference is for the elder Miss Camfrey, I have to say that I find your choice delightful! Miss Seraphina is more than likely to lead you a regular song and dance, but I believe most emphatically that you shall suit!”
“So do I!” Frederick chuckled. “She is a little witch, Rhaz! You have no idea!”
“I suspect I can guess!”
There was a moment's silence; then Frederick, a little uncertain, asked whether Seraphina knew of his preference. “You see, Rhaz, I believe she has been coaxed into expecting an offer from you. I declare I was never more surprised in my life when I learned of the connection.”
“The
fictitious
connection I collect! My mama has a lot to answer for, it would seem!”
“True! Be that as it may, she is expecting to become a duchess. I dare not hope she would lower her eyes to the level of a mere music master, but even as Lord Argyll, I cannot possibly compete! Your wretched rank is an
absurd
obstacle to my declaration!”
“Would you love her if she had no dowry?”
“I don't believe she
does
have one! Her papa left them sadly out of kilter, though what
that
has to do with the matter at hand—”
“Bear with me! You do not expect a dowry. Why should
she
marry for rank or title? You make too much of the issue.”
“Thank you, Rhaz! I wish I could be certain on that score, but I fear it
shall
make a difference! I'll marry her for love but not to satisfy a fit of pique! I will not spend the rest of my life playing second fiddle to a duke, however much I happen to be
fond
of that duke!”
He nodded in Rhaz's direction but a black scowl had descended upon his brow. “Am I not perverse? Five minutes ago I was wishing merely that she was free. Now that I know she is, I find that I want more.”
“Ask her then.”
“But if she refuses? If she even hesitates? I shall have to live with that, Rhaz, forever!”
“You do your lady an injustice. I know she will not.”
“How can you be so certain? Apart from your charm—and I know I can compete on
that
score”—Frederick grinned for a moment—“your eligibility is aeons away from mine.”
“You are no coward, Frederick. Try her. I know she will not disappoint.”
Frederick still looked strangely disturbed, his normal confidence ebbing most uncharacteristically and a surefire sign, to Rhaz, of his natural agitation.
“Frederick! You force me to lose all self-respect and offer you a weapon with which to mercilessly tease me!”
Frederick raised his brows. “Do I? How so?”
“I shall have to inform you, Lord Argyll, that I have just been jilted in my own rose garden! It appears I cannot compete with a certain nameless captain who has the knack of entrancing a particular bright-eyed seraph and capturing her heart forever and a day! Of course, I just whisper these confidences to you, for my honour does not allow me to tell you directly
exactly
what was said. . . .”
Firefly pawed the ground in the background. She was ignored. Captain Argyll stood up.
“By all that is holy, I believe you are serious!” His words were filled with wonder and a glimmer of hope that was almost tangible in its potency.
Rhaz nodded. “For all my flippancy, Frederick, I am.”
“Then I must go to her!” Frederick grinned, the spirit of Christmas finally settling on his broad, enviable shoulders.

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