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Authors: Hayley A. Solomon

Madrigals And Mistletoe (21 page)

BOOK: Madrigals And Mistletoe
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“You may take my nag!”
“Nag? Call that brute a nag? Not on your life! I shall walk.”
“Very well, I shall trot sedately beside you. We'd better hurry, for the pageant is close to beginning. I think I hear the hour chiming.”
Rhaz leaped up on Firefly and there was a companionable silence between them as both anticipated the afternoon to come.
“Rhaz?”
“What is it, Freddie?”
“I have just had a thought.”
“Excellent! I must congratulate you!” Rhaz's teasing tone was back. “Pray share it.”
“How came you to be proposing to my girl in the rose garden?”
His grace the fifth Duke of Doncaster put his head back and laughed wickedly. “Now
that
is an interesting question! I believe the little nymph was so set on rejecting me she never actually afforded me the opportunity of a declaration!”
“Impossible! You do not mean . . . No, Rhaz! That is the outside of enough! You cannot mean—”
“Indeed I do! Would you put such a preposterous action past her?”
Lord Argyll chuckled. “I do not dare put it to the test! I think, after all, I shall not propose. Declarations are obviously redundant. I shall, instead, merely insist that she wed me and have done with it!”
“
Excellent
notion! By the by, yon Winthrop is shortly to become a relation of mine.”
“You seem remarkably sanguine at the knowledge! If he were to become
my
cousin I am sure I would run a mile!”
“My equanimity is due entirely to my relief, Freddie! I've wanted to throttle the old windbag several times this past month I can tell you!”
“I consider him a lucky man that you did not! I take it he is enamoured of the fair Miss Moresby?”
Rhaz raised his eyebrows. “Fair? You must have acquired some sight defect, Frederick! At all events, they are well enamoured of each other and I am of a mind to play Cupid.”
“Sly creature! I'll warrant you set them in the way of each other! I never
could
understand what maggot possessed you to invite the old windbag to Huntingdon! You could have knocked me down with a feather when I heard
his
version of events.
You,
your grace, are evidently a sight keen to mix your bloodstock with those of the Winthrop stable. Something
very
fishy there, I thought, but like a meek and mild music master, I held my peace. Wished to see the spectacle for myself!
Then
I thought it was all a flimsy excuse to bring Seraphina down to Huntingdon. You are lucky I did not knock your block off the moment I laid eyes on you!”
“You glared at me so balefully I shivered in my shoes.”
“
Please!
Your immaculate top boots did not quiver an inch. I know, for I envied them their dash. I am sadly outmoded in this garb, Rhaz!”
“When have you cared a button for that?”
Frederick grinned. “It is not me I think of, Rhaz. It is my poor, demented,
unutterably
toplofty valet to whom I refer!”
“Ah, well, that is another matter entirely.” His grace surveyed Lord Frederick candidly. “To be frank, Frederick, he has my sympathies! Still, I doubt whether the fair Seraphina cares whether your linen is fabricated from fine lawn or not. As for your neckerchief—well, sadly, there is nothing to say on the matter. If she loves you as you are, then you may take it she loves you true!”
“Thank you very much!” Frederick endeavoured to sound indignant, but his spirit was too light to pull it off. Instead, his glorious chestnut curls ran riot across his forehead, making him look more boyishly handsome than ever before. “ ‘Silent Night.' Can you hear?”
Rhaz nodded. The carollers were upon them. The doors of the great house were thrown wide open and the two men, emerging from the woods and into the formal gardens, could see all the servants and guests standing at balconies, singing as if imbued with Christmas magic.
Even Lord Winthrop could be detected, mouthing a few notes as he stood protectively near Miss Moresby. Rhaz caught his breath as his eyes rested on Cordelia's slim frame, exotic in the magenta red she'd chosen to effect, little splashes of crisp green trim enhancing her style, her beauty and her freshness. Rhaz knew he was in love, but the depth of the feeling he felt at that moment was a revelation to him. At last, she was free. Now it was a mere matter of convincing her. . . . He put the thought aside as he strode up the path to the cheers and applause of the carol singers. True to form, he took the wassail basket from the waiting housekeeper and distributed the warm negus, orgeat and cherry punch to all who required it. Refreshed, the carol singers kept up merry chatter as they finally led the way to the church hall, where the nativity scene was to be reenacted and the Christmas pageant played out.
TWENTY-ONE
With the arrival of their host, the ladies filtered downstairs. Ancilla looked as ethereal as a butterfly in a light gold and buttercup gown crossed over the front and laced charmingly at the back. She had just spoken with each of her chicks, and though she found it hard to overset her ambitious plans—sown by the feisty, meddlesome dowager—she had given both Cordelia and Seraphina the best advice her maternal heart could offer. She'd urged them to follow their hearts, however hard the road, however wayward the spirit. Cordelia had heard the words with a faint sadness etched upon her brow, but Seraphina had exuded a radiance that bespoke her name—angel.
Ancilla had not inquired too closely, but she guessed the direction of her younger daughter's thoughts. She sighed for what might have been, for what self-respecting mama would not have wished a connection with a duke rather than a poor, struggling music master? Still, she believed that, though some might consider her a most unnatural parent, her advice was the correct one. Captain Argyll as a man—purely as a man—would make the most exemplary of husbands, the most excellent of sons. If he had not wealth and circumstance—well, neither did Seraphina. Doubtless Lord Winthrop would be able to establish him. . . .
She glanced at Cordelia. No! Over her dead body would Lord Winthrop rob Cordelia of her essence, her guileless nature and her intransigent wit. If Cordelia had to be condemned to the life of a spinster, so be it. At least she would not have to constantly explain her witticisms until she arrived at the point where she no longer made them. Winthrop was a kind man but a fool. Cordelia had never suffered fools gladly, and without gladness, her life, at best, would be inferior to its full potential.
These were
very
grown-up thoughts for the flighty Ancilla. So engrossed was she that she did not notice Winthrop take Helena down the snowbound path towards the church hall. Neither did she notice her host stop at Cordelia's side, hold out his hand, encounter a moment's hesitation in which he suffered a thousand deaths before being led deep into the fray. Of the party making their way downstairs, that left the dowager duchess, herself and Seraphina.
Her eyes flitted to the stunningly handsome young man making his way to her daughter's side. She had changed into something more suitable to the cold winter day, but looked charming nonetheless. In a figured merino edged with soft white ermine and a muff to match, Seraphina was exquisite. She had permitted her hair to hang loose from her shoulders, unfashionably unbound, but magnificent for all that. The rich auburn was reflected by the glints in her handsewn morning gown and the half boots of the same shade exactly.
Captain Argyll—clad singularly becomingly in tight cream buckskins and a saffron waistcoat, silver studded with understated buttons and a loose but elegant cravat—walked up to her, made her a smart, slightly self-mocking leg and took her hand lightly between his properly gloved fingers.
“Merry Christmas, my angel, Seraphina.” He whispered the words to her, for the eyes of the entire household were upon them as they took their places on the ice-lined path.
Seraphina looked at his long, unbound, wild chestnut locks, his wonderful, healthy, unbearably handsome face, his wistful smile, his entrancing, fathoms-deep sea green eyes and smiled. “If you will have me, Captain, I am your angel truly.”
“Is that a proposal, Miss Seraphina?”
She stood still, a moment, the glistening snow whiter than ever around her. “Yes.”
“How very improper! ” Frederick was laughing at her, his eyes brimful of love and laughter.
“Who
is
that man?” The duchess's voice boomed loudly in Ancilla's ear so that she jumped.
“He is Seraphina's music master, your grace!”
“Nonsense! Got eyes in my head, haven't I? That is Drummond's boy if ever I've seen him. My son's been as thick as thieves with him for as long as I can remember. Can't think
what
he is doing here when he's got a perfectly good home of his own to go to! And what is he doing kissing Seraphina like that? Ancilla, he is making a spectacle of himself!
Do
something!” With an outraged glare the duchess pointed her lorgnette in the couple's direction.
Mrs. Camfrey, remarkably calm despite the sudden laughter in her heart, mustered up sufficient courage to stare the duchess down. “I shall do no such thing, your grace! And as for him kissing her—well, I'm sure I hope he may!”
“You are a passing unnatural parent, Ancilla! A flighty little fussbudget. A . . . a . . . widgeon of the first stare!” Her very noble grace glared haughtily at the twinkling,
fascinatingly
elegant Mrs. Camfrey. “And if you think my son—”
“Hush! The eyes of the staff are upon us!”
“Hmmph!” The duchess fingered her cane and stepped out into the snow. “Give me a hand, Ancilla. You may be the veriest imbecile, but at least you have a steady hand. Now where are my smelling salts and my tippet? I could have sworn they awaited me in the hallway .”
“Here they are your grace and a very merry Christmas to you.” The housekeeper bobbed a respectable curtsy but her eyes twinkled as she proffered the offending items. In the days before Christmas, the duchess might have been maddening, but the staff nonetheless harboured a secret affection for the old tartar. She was, after all, the present duke's mama and if for no other reason, this entitled her to some small affection in their hearts.
“Hmph!” came the duchess's indelicate reply as she allowed herself to be warmly wrapped against the cold. Then, unbending a little, she pressed a sovereign into the surprised woman's hand and crossly enjoined Ancilla to hurry up.
Throngs were crowding to enter the great hall, but at the advent of the noble party, the people gave way in awed silence and whispered and clapped and even, in some unrestrained instances, cheered. At the back of the hall, Lord and Lady Bancroft had already taken their seats. Rhaz, maneuvering Cordelia up to his own box, noticed and grinned. He would bet a pony the woman would be spreading the news of Seraphina's success across all London before the night was in. Even on Christmas day, the woman's tongue could be relied upon to wag.
He spared a moment's thought for poor Lord Bancroft, who had suffered the venom and indelicacies of his wife's tongue from time immemorial. He, of course, was the product of a perfectly acceptable arranged society marriage. He looked down at Cordelia and smiled secretly to himself. Well,
that
particular trap was to be evaded like the plague. To hang with his mama and her schemes. He would wed the woman of his fancy or none at all.
Cordelia, trembling from his nearness and slightly confused that he was escorting
her
, rather than Seraphina, looked up tentatively. She was met by a gaze of such scorching intensity that she was forced instantly to remove her hand from his grasp. If the duke was ever to have such an effect on her, it would be wise to withdraw from his sphere at once. Since such an action would have been monstrous rude at this juncture, she satisfied herself with the gentle withdrawal of her hand and heart.
Rhaz, sensing this distance, was saddened. Still, he satisfied himself that as soon as the pageant was over, he would be able to have a few salient words, at last, with the delicious, delightful and thoroughly adorable Miss Cordelia. He gave her a hint of what was to come when he whispered, as they walked down the aisle, “You are mistaken, you know.”
“Mistaken?” Cordelia looked at him in confused surprise. The very action was bittersweet for her, for his mouth was perilously close to hers as she turned her head and her tongue wantonly wet her own lips, possibly in deference to this unassailable fact.
“There is only
one
Miss Camfrey I have ever yearned for, night after sleepless night, day after anguished day.”
“Seraphina.” Cordelia's heart was heavy as she uttered the name that was normally so beloved to her.
“
No,
you widgeon! You had better think again. After the pageant you may tell me your revised answer. By the by, I have this for you.”
He pressed into her open hand a small package. There was no more time for talk, for the merry youngsters of the village were beginning their annual parade.
Cordelia took her seat as if in a dream. She watched as the noble lord of the estate, his grace the fifth duke, nimbly took the stage and welcomed one and all, wishing the village and its tenants a year of peace and plenty. Tumultuous applause and cheering and chaffing before the touching little nativity scene, rehearsed half a year by eager youngsters, was performed. Following that were a series of Christmas charades and beyond that again individual performances by villagers and gentry alike. At last, the final performance was announced and Seraphina, now slightly trembling, stood up to take the stage.
Her quivering was stilled when the good captain unexpectedly accompanied her up to the small platform. Out of the corner of her eye, Cordelia could see Lady Bancroft insert a monocle with eager anticipation. She caught her breath and prayed that Seraphina's diligent tuition would pay off.
Seraphina seated herself at the waiting harp whilst, to her surprise, the captain clapped his hands for silence and announced that he intended an impromptu lyric to her accompaniment. The words, he noted loudly and with
pointed
meaning, were dedicated to the player and titled “Seraphina at Christmas.”
Seraphina coloured, and suddenly, with his bright, strong eyes upon her, she forgot all nervousness and struck a light arpeggio across the keys. Frederick's eyes were brimful of amusement as he nodded and she began the haunting, melodic notes of his composition in earnest.
Her fingers were now so well practiced that the piece had become effortless. When Frederick sang, she listened with her whole heart, for the music was acting as a powerful connection between them and Seraphina felt she could not be closer in spirit to the man she had so recklessly chosen for herself than she was now. Frederick looked at her with sudden, intense, unveiled passion, and if Miss Camfrey was ever in any doubt as to the state of his heart, she was no longer permitted to be. Frederick may never have proposed, but the song could not have been a more pointed declaration if he had tried.
 
There is a star on the horizon,
faint but steady.
In the dark of the night
it flickers, ready
to rise and remind,
shimmer with heady flame
and glimmer and sparkle to echo
a name that is forever Christmas.
 
You are the isthmus,
my angel, of the spirit, the might
On the eve of Yuletide,
on a velvety night
I call, “Angel my angel,”
and behold Seraph, the light.
 
Scatterlings of fire,
fragments of faith,
Yuletide's rejoicing
in starlight embrace.
Glisten and glimmer,
sparkle my sprite.
The world is in waiting
this still, silent night.
 
Hail to thee, Seraph!
At my behest
unveil celestial secrets
and sweet love's caress—
that your glittering beams
be reflected on earth
in peace and tranquility
for mankind's rebirth.
 
You are the isthmus,
my angel, of the spirit, the might.
On the eve of Yuletide,
on a velvety night,
I call, “Angel my angel,”
and behold Seraph, the light.
 
A moment's silence filled the hall before the deafening cheers. Seraphina had acquitted herself superbly and whilst Lady Bancroft's eyes had dilated a little in disappointment, the text of Frederick's song was enough to satisfy her that her friends and cronies would get their regular dose of delicious gossip. Besides, she would be the
first
to pronounce Miss Seraphina gifted and to be first in anything must be considered a social coup, after all. She therefore smiled relatively benignly on her poor, henpecked spouse and joined in the applause quite as genteelly as Lady Curruthers in the next pew.
In her seat, Cordelia glanced strangely at the duke. Had he known? She had never
suspected
the state of Seraphina's heart. His smile seemed whole and genuine and wonderfully gentle as he nodded to the unanswered question.
“I am delighted, Cordelia. I may call you that, may I not?” She nodded. “My joy is twofold, but I shall leave that to the good captain to explain. He does, in fact, have a lot of explaining to do.” His eyes rested softly on Cordelia's, then widened in amusement as they glanced to the back of the hall.
“
Now
the fat is in the fire,” he announced, but with such an unconcerned, mischievous grin that Cordelia was intrigued rather than concerned. She noted, too, that her grace the duchess, seated next to Ancilla, was looking close to an apoplexy. When she pointed this fact out to Rhaz, he nodded slowly and announced that her hour or so of annoyance could be regarded as an excellent punishment for her meddling ways.
BOOK: Madrigals And Mistletoe
10.34Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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