The Kissing Bough (5 page)

If her pulse had fluttered before, it now hammered, and she looked around fearfully, sure others could hear the thunder.

At that moment the butler earned Lucinda’s eternal gratitude by stepping forward and announcing dinner. James drifted away without an answer.

Their entrance into the dining room was much more ordered than the previous evening. No ambulant flora disturbed the calm, and everyone was seated around the table in the conventional fashion.

James sat across the table from her mother, polite usage therefore barring him from conversing directly with Lucinda. In any other home, with such a small family gathering, she would have assumed such a stricture could be ignored, but the formidable weight of Edward, the countess and her parents’ disapproval was more than she felt capable of withstanding.

Surprisingly, James, too, conformed to convention, conversing quietly with Mrs. Demerham on his right, and with his mother at the head of the table to his left. Only when the meal finished, and the ladies rose to withdraw, did James introduce a change.

“Let us forgo the brandy tonight, gentlemen. Instead, to celebrate the season, we might indulge in a little entertainment.” So saying, he stood, and by virtue of placing himself beside Mr. Demerham’s chair, obliged him to rise too.

He herded them all into the drawing room.

“Miss Demerham, shall we play charades?” he asked.

“Certainly not,” huffed Edward, forced by the actions of his guests to fall in with his brother’s manipulations. “Charades are a game for children and I’m sure Mr. and Mrs. Demerham and my mother would have no interest in such things.”

“Very well then,” said James, unperturbed. “Miss Demerham, do you play the piano?”

“I do,” she replied.

“Then perhaps you will agree to play for me, while I sing.” He looked at her with a distinct twinkle and she had the feeling perhaps this was what he had been angling for all along. “Unless of course, you, too, sing, in which case I would be honored if you would join me in a duet.”

She nodded and accompanied him to the corner of the room where the piano was located. Under cover of looking for musical arrangements they both knew, he whispered, “Thank you. I couldn’t stand another boring evening stuck in that room, drinking dreadful brandy, smoking inferior cigars and listening to Edward drone on and on and on.”

Aloud he said, “Ah, here we are.” He dragged out a folio, opened it and said, “Will this one suit?”

Lucinda nodded and sat down, spreading her fingers upon the keys. Like all accomplished young women, she had been taught to play and sing, as well as paint, and in the absence of much else to occupy herself, had devoted long hours to the practice of these arts. She knew she was considered more than competent.

But tonight, the thought of being so close to James, of mingling her breath with his as they hit the higher notes, left her unaccountably nervous. The tightening in her chest made her wonder if she’d be able to force out any notes at all.

The piece James had picked had a long musical introduction, followed by a chorus sung only by the male voice. She managed the lead-in well enough, then James lifted his voice in song.

She was entranced. His voice was smoother, more powerful, more engaging than she could have imagined. It lifted her up, gave vigor to her fingers so they danced along the keys with more emotion than she’d ever been able to express. When it came time for her to join him with her part, he carried her easily with him. Their voices soared in harmony, each supporting the other.

When the song drew to a close, unexpected tears tingled in her eyes, put there by the sheer beauty of what they had achieved together. For a moment they just stared at one another, cocooned from the rest of the world by the echo of the final notes.

The spell was broken by the gentle applause of Lady Beaufield. “My dears. That was delightful.”

“Oh yes,” Mrs. Demerham corroborated. “I always enjoy listening to Lucinda sing, but together with Mr. Lymon, you have excelled.”

Her father stood and patted her back. “Beautiful. Both of you.”

Only Edward did not join in the praise. He remained sitting in his armchair, reading a week-old copy of a London newspaper. His mother turned to him, eyebrows raised. “Edward?”

“Yes, yes, very well to show off in such a way in the strictest confines of a family setting, but I would be reluctant to see any female member of my family put on such a display in public.”

Even Lucinda’s mother was unable to pretend this bit of rudeness had not happened, and for a moment she looked annoyed. Then her pursed lips softened and she smiled. “You must not mind if Lucinda gives a little of her time to your brother,” she said archly. “I’m sure Mr. Lymon will remember with pleasure this evening at home
surrounded
by his
family
, when he returns to his travels.”

The crass statement dropped into a pool of silence. Edward seemed put out rather than mollified. The countess’s eyes widened in surprise.

The silence was broken by the clash of piano keys, as James slammed his hand down upon them.

“I beg your pardon,” he said roughly.

“Perhaps you’d like to sing something else,” Lucinda suggested.

“And have you offend my brother? I think not.”

He gave a curt bow directed at the room in general and stalked toward the door.

“James, wait,” his mother called out. “I shall send for tea directly.”

“I don’t want tea,” he snarled. He left the room without looking back.

Chapter Four

James’ departure cast a pall over the rest of the group. Teacups were drained with unseemly haste and candles called for. In various states of tiredness, annoyance and confusion, the remaining members of the house party retired.

In her room, Lucinda threw herself against the pillows and stared at the ceiling. Her spectacles remained untouched in her bag. Lady Caroline’s thinly veiled history of Lord Byron held no interest for her tonight.

Far more intriguing and disturbing were her attempts to unravel the motives behind James’ behavior. Even someone as naïve as she, could see the way James sometimes treated her had come very close to flirting. Certainly in twenty-four hours he’d shown more signs of enjoying her company than Edward had in the entire time she’d known him. Edward wanted a wife, and it was a melancholy truth that it didn’t really matter who she was, as long as she was suitable.

She wasn’t going to marry Edward. She’d be wrong, though, to imagine James’ attention meant he intended to pay her his addresses. It was no more than an extension of his exuberant personality. Marriage would be far from his mind. If she couldn’t bear the thought of being tied to the prosy Edward, how much less would James be able to stand the bonds of home and hearth? Freedom and adventure beckoned him and he had no will to resist.

The house was silent, lacking even the occasional creak of settling, yet Lucinda couldn’t sleep. Some unseen force tempted her, lured her to something unspeakably daring. Without conscious volition, she sat up, relit her candle, pulled on her robe and drifted to the door.

She knew it was foolish, worse than foolish—it threatened utter ruin, but she made her way down the stairs and along the polished timber boards to the drawing room. Only when she stood alone, shivering with cold, did she acknowledge the truth. She’d hoped to find James. Hoped for just one more glimpse of a different life, one more of those fascinating, terrifying kisses before he left to go to wherever next took his fancy.

But he wasn’t here. How absurd to think the mysterious pull she’d felt emanated from him, that he would be here waiting.

A strange feeling tingled between her shoulder blades as if something unseen touched her. “I shouldn’t be here,” she said out loud, and turned to trudge back to her room. She had just placed her foot on the first step when the drawing room door slammed shut, sending a waft of air her way, carrying with it the scent of spice and pine. She shivered and ran silently back to her room.

Chapter Five

Lucinda woke late on Boxing Day morning.

She brushed off Betsy’s enquiries about a choice of outfit for the day. What difference would it make what she wore? Edward’s opinion didn’t matter, and her appearance wouldn’t change anything, even if anyone else
did
happen to notice.

By the time she got to the breakfast room, everyone had already eaten and left. She crumbled a cold slice of toast, spread a coddled egg over her plate, drank half a cup of tea and pushed herself away from the table.

She looked out of the window and sighed. Fresh snow had fallen again in the night. The disturbance left by their snowball fight would be covered up. No sign that it had ever happened. She left the room, deciding to go back to her room. Before she’d come to Beaufield, she had found solace for many hours of boredom in reading. She would have to learn to do so again.

As she reached the first landing, Edward emerged from his study. “Ah. Miss Demerham. Lucinda. I had been hoping to see you this morning.” He smiled, and Lucinda realized how infrequently that happened. Not like James who… She cut the thought off in its tracks.

Instead she focused on what Edward was saying.

“I have arranged an interview with your father at midday. After that I hope you will be available. I shall have a very particular question to ask you.”

Her father? A particular question. Oh, no! No! She didn’t want…

“Edward, I beg you won’t…”

“Come, come, my dear. You know what I am about. Why I asked my mother to issue this invitation.” He reached out and lightly grasped her chin. “There is no need for false modesty.” He tapped her once with his pale, soft finger, then released her. “Perhaps you’d like to converse with your mother. Happy news is always to be shared.”

He went back into his room without waiting for her reply.

A surge of nausea soured Lucinda’s mouth. She swallowed, clasped her hands to her chest and tried to think. She’d suspected this would happen. She had to decide how she would deal with it. Her first thought was to go to her father and demand he deny Edward his permission. But to do that would be to offer Edward an insult he didn’t deserve.

If she were going to refuse this marriage, she had to do it herself. She was not a coward. Edward wouldn’t be pleased and his inflated self-esteem might mean it took a little while to convince him, but she could do it.

The interlude wouldn’t be pleasant, however. With that hanging over her head, she wasn’t going to be able to sit in her room reading and waiting for the summons.

Instead she took her coat and headed out for a walk in the new-fallen snow. She paced through the park, ignoring the cold, rehearsing the way the conversation might go, muttering to herself in a way she was sure would have sounded quite demented to anyone who had the misfortune of overhearing her.

She’d just stopped to draw a frosty breath and to decide whether it was time to return to the house, when she heard a voice hail her from behind.

She turned. James marched across the snow, his face set in grim lines, his complexion pale, except for twin flags of red where the icy air had slapped at him.

“Don’t,” he said when he reached her.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t marry my brother. I know he’s an earl. I know he can offer you a title and a place in society, but you wouldn’t be suited to it. You have snowball fights with the staff. You dream of foreign lands. You paint pictures that show your longing. You are not meant to be a countess.”

Lucinda stared at him, stunned. As the import of his words sank in, she felt a shaft of pain stab through her chest. “Are you saying I’m not good enough for Edward? That he deserves someone better?”

James ran his hand through his hair. “Not Edward! You!
You
deserve someone better. You deserve someone who knows how to have fun. Who appreciates you for the woman you are. Not as someone who was chosen to fulfill a role, to do her duty, to provide the heir and little else. You would never be happy. Edward and his propriety would destroy you, leave you an empty shell.” He grabbed both her gloved hands in his bare ones.

“James. Why are you here?”

“Edward told me he was about to propose to you. He was so certain you would say
yes
. I couldn’t bear it. I saw your footprints in the snow and I followed you. I had to speak to you. Had to tell you. Had to make you understand.”

“Understand what?”

“That you’d be making an unforgivable mistake.” He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. “You shouldn’t marry my brother. You should marry me.”

Not all the sun shining on the sand of a tropical paradise could rival the heat and brightness that burst over her. She stood there, soaking in the wonder, too happy for mere words.

“If I have to live in England, I will. I have money. Not as much as Edward, but there is more than enough and I know my investments will grow. I’ll do anything…”

She stopped him with a gentle shake of her hands. “I don’t want to marry your brother. I don’t want to stay in England. I don’t want to spend the rest of my days wishing I had done something else. I want to travel. I want to go with you to New France and to America. I want to go to tropical islands.” She smiled, absolutely certain of what she was about to say. “I want to marry you.”

He pulled her into his arms. He lowered his head until his lips met hers, shaping them, warming them.

The scent of spice and pine swirled around her, forever branded in her heart as the scent of Christmas and James.

At last he drew back. “I can’t promise life will always be easy, I can’t promise in our travels there will never be risk, but I can promise you there will be fun and laughter and celebrations every Christmas, wherever we may be. And I promise to love you now and always.”

She snuggled up against him. “That’s the only promise I need. And one I can make you in return. I love you.”

He tightened his arm around her shoulders. “As happy as that makes me, do you think we might go back inside? We need to inform my brother and your family of your decision, and I seem to have lost the feeling in my feet.” She looked down. He wore a pair of decidedly soggy dress shoes.