Twelfth Night Secrets (14 page)

“Absolutely, m’dear fellow. I’ll be at the inn in a moment.” Nick passed his hand across his brow and swayed a little. “Good God, I think I must be coming down with a fever.”

“I’ll only be an hour, and then, if you’re still unwell, I’ll fetch the apothecary,” Julius said. “But I think ’tis just the strong ale, my friend. It can catch one unawares.”

Nick looked doubtful. He shook his head as if he could dispel the dizziness. Then he lurched off around the corner. Julius turned in the opposite direction, and as he did so, he heard the shout, the clash of blades. He ran
to the corner and watched in helpless immobility as two men with short swords attacked Nicholas, who put up a gallant defense. If he had not been addled with the sleeping draught, he would have dispatched both men easily enough, but in his present condition, he was no match for one of them, let alone both. Nick slipped in his own blood to the cobbles in front of the inn, and Julius swiftly melted into the shadows of an adjoining alley. He knew who had sent the two men, and they would be looking for him next. He had his own life to preserve and his own mission to accomplish.

An acknowledgment that brought him no more comfort now than it had done then. What had Harriet said that evening? Something about divided loyalties, how they were the very devil. Well, she had never spoken a truer word, and he was resigned to a lifetime of guilt and grief over the choice he had made that afternoon in Bruges.

Christmas morning dawned bright and crisp, sun glinting off frost-rimed lawns. Harriet was awakened when the children leaped upon her bed with cries of “Merry Christmas, Harry! We got sugar plums!”

She blinked blearily at the two glowing faces. “So I can see,” she murmured. “You’ve both got sugar moustaches, and your hands are all sticky.” She pulled herself up in the bed and squinted at the ormolu clock on the mantel. “Merry Christmas . . . but you’re half an hour early. I said eight o’clock.” She was smiling as she said it, and the children were not fooled.

“We couldn’t wait a moment longer to wish you Merry Christmas,” Grace said. “We’ve been to the kitchen and wished everyone there a Merry Christmas.”

“And for our breakfast, Mistress Hubbard gave us two of the marzipan sheep from the nativity scene she made out of ginger cake and icing for the servants’ Christmas dinner tonight. And Mallow let us have a sip of the wine he’s mulling for them, too . . . oh, and Judd said there’d be a special surprise for us in the stables later,” Tom chimed in.

Harriet shuddered at the catalogue of inappropriate delicacies the children had already consumed by half past seven in the morning. “Have you had any proper breakfast?” she inquired, reaching for the bellpull beside her bed.

“Oh, Nurse Maddox made us eat porridge.” Grace’s nose wrinkled.

“But it did have raisins in it,” her brother pointed out judiciously. “It was Christmas porridge, better than ordinary porridge.”

“I suppose so,” Grace conceded. “Oh, good morning, Agnes . . . will you hurry and help Harry to dress? We need to go down to Grandfather for our presents.”

“Not until the Duke has had his breakfast, you don’t,” Harriet declared. “Otherwise there’ll be no Christmas for anyone. Hurry back to the nursery, now, and let me dress in peace. I’ll come up for you when it’s time to go downstairs.”

With only minor grumbles, they obeyed, and Agnes set a tray of hot chocolate and bread and butter on the bed. “Merry Christmas, m’lady.”

Harriet returned the greeting, pouring a stream of fragrant chocolate into the shallow cup, while she previewed the day ahead. Agnes was stoking the fire, coaxing the embers into a roaring flame. “Will it be the emerald muslin for church, m’lady?”

“Yes, I think so, but I’ll wear a woolen chemise and stockings. Otherwise I’ll be an icicle before I even get to church, let alone sitting for an hour in a frigid pew.” Harriet set aside her tray and got up from the bed. “The ermine pelisse as well, please, Agnes, with the matching muff. But first, would you pass me a dressing robe? I must go down and wish his grace a Merry Christmas before I do anything else.”

Agnes held out the thick velvet robe and handed Harriet her fur-lined embroidered slippers. She brushed her mistress’s hair and fastened it simply with a ribbon at the nape of her neck. Harriet glanced at her reflection and nodded. The Duke would not be looking for a fashion plate at his early-morning breakfast table.

She hurried downstairs and into the small parlor, where her grandfather chose to take breakfast away
from his guests. She was surprised to see that Julius was at table with the Duke. “Merry Christmas, sir.” She kissed her grandfather’s cheek. “And to you, too, my lord.” She nodded at the Earl. “I’m surprised you’re up so early.”

“Oh . . . how so?” He raised an eyebrow in that rather maddening way he had. “I didn’t spend a night of dissolution, if that’s what you’re implying, ma’am. Any more than you did, if I may say so,” he added with the hint of a question in his voice. And there was a look in the black eyes that unnerved her even more. It was a definite challenge. He couldn’t possibly have known she had been following him the night before. Of course he couldn’t.

“
I
certainly didn’t, sir,” she responded, unable to keep the slight emphasis from her voice, although she regretted it immediately. But his only response was a twitch of his raised eyebrow. “I was merely surprised that you should be down for breakfast,” she went on hastily. “Except for the children, most people take breakfast in their rooms on Christmas morning.”

“Total indolence,” the Duke said, taking a draught of ale. “No time for this namby-pamby pandering. Where are the brats?”

“In the nursery, washing sugar off themselves, I hope,” his granddaughter told him. “They’ve already consumed sugar plums, marzipan sheep, and mulled wine. I just hope they aren’t violently sick in church.”

“A little indulgence on this day of all days can do no harm, surely?” Julius inquired. “May I carve you some ham, Harriet?”

“That seems a small enough indulgence,” she responded, unable to resist his sudden complicit smile. “Thank you.”

Once again, he was enclosing them in their own little world. How did he do that? How could he annoy her one minute and the next make her feel that he was the most attractive man she had ever met?
Did he charm Nick in the same way? Charm him and then betray him?

She sat down and buttered a piece of bread as Julius laid a wafer-thin slice of ham on her plate. She turned her attention away from that smile and those knowing black eyes. “Should you give the children their present before church, Grandfather? Judd has already warned them to expect a surprise in the stables.”

“Then there’ll be no holding them back,” the Duke said. “Best before church, otherwise they’ll never sit
still through the sermon. Just hope old Greerson doesn’t take it into his head to deliver one of his interminable sermons.”

“I doubt he will.” Harriet refilled her coffee cup. “He knows his congregation will be restless. Besides,” she added with a chuckle, “he’ll be as anxious to get up to the hall for his preprandial sherry as anyone else.”

“That, my dear child, is the only comfort I have,” the Duke declared, pushing back his chair. “If you’ll both excuse me, I shall go and dress. You may bring the brats to the library in an hour, Harriet. We’ll go to the stables then.”

Julius rose politely as his host left the parlor, then resumed his seat. “So what awaits the twins in the stables?”

Harriet smiled. “Something that will send them into raptures and get them into all sorts of mischief. And it was Grandfather’s idea, too.” She shook her head with the same smile.

“And won’t you enlighten me?” He was entranced by that smile, he realized. It transformed her usually grave expression, brought a glow to her creamy cheeks and a light to the green eyes that was sometimes as elusive as a will-o’-the-wisp. And he had the feeling that if he wasn’t very careful she could lead
him, like a will-o’-the-wisp, into the marshiest imbroglio.

“No, I won’t spoil the surprise,” she said on a sudden impulse. “Come with us to the stables, and you shall see for yourself . . . and be warned, you’ll be experiencing the twins at their most unmanageable. Excitement has a dire effect on them.”

“And you think I can handle such an experience?” he inquired, his lips twitching.

“Oh, eminently,” she said with an airy wave as she rose from the table. “You do have the experience of your sister’s children to fall back upon, after all. Even if you do have difficulty remembering how many of them there are.” She went to the door, saying over her shoulder, “I have every faith in your resilience, my lord.”

He had half risen from his chair as she made for the door and murmured with a bow, “You do me too much honor, my lady. I shall endeavor to earn it.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll do that with the greatest aplomb, sir.” She gave another airy wave and left the parlor.

Julius sat down again and resumed his breakfast. There was no point denying the truth. He was not as in control of himself and his surroundings as he was
accustomed to being. And for some strange reason, he didn’t seem to mind. Perhaps the Christmas spirit had infected him.

Harriet reached her own chamber, wondering why she had issued that invitation. Julius Forsythe was not a member of the family, however familiarly he was treated by the Duke, and there was no more intimate family occasion than giving the children their Christmas presents. She sat down at the dresser while Agnes did her hair, looking into the mirror but not seeing herself. Nick’s image came back at her instead. This was the first Christmas without him, and the hole he had left was impossible either to fill or to ignore for any one of them, and yet she had co-opted Julius to play Nick’s role in the children’s Christmas without a moment’s hesitation. For Gracie and Tom . . . for the Duke . . . or for herself? She would have liked to believe it was an act of pure selflessness, but she had far too much integrity to ignore what she knew full well. It was as much for herself as for them. And it wasn’t because Julius Forsythe took the place of Nick—of her brother—oh, no. There was no possible way Julius could in any way take Nick’s
place. He had his own. And it seemed to be setting down roots.

She dressed quickly, threw a cloak around her shoulders, and went up to the nursery, where, as she expected, the children, already dressed for the outdoors, were hopping from foot to foot, driving the nursery maids and Nurse Maddox to distraction. “Come, Grandfather is waiting for you.” She took their hands firmly and led them down the nursery stairs to the main landing. “Now, try to be a little decorous, both of you.”

“What’s that . . . what’s dec’rous?” Gracie demanded.

“Something that you are not,” Harriet said, suppressing a smile.

“But something that you soon will be, Lady Grace,” came the Earl’s laughing voice from behind them.

Harriet turned around. He was looking very splendid in a black brocade coat with gold buttons, a gold striped waistcoat, and black britches. He carried a cloak loosely over his arm. “You are an optimist, Julius,” she said lightly. “Make your curtsy, Gracie. It’s customary when a lady receives a compliment.”

Grace, looking a little shocked, bobbed a curtsy.
Tom offered a jerky bow, although his expression said that he was aware he had not received a compliment, however confusing.

“Lord Marbury is coming to the stables with us,” Harriet told them as she encouraged them downstairs. “Remember to greet Grandfather properly, and don’t say anything about presents . . . not until he mentions them first.”

“That’s what Nick always said . . . we remember,” Tom declared, squaring his shoulders. Julius came up behind him and laid a hand on the thin shoulders and squeezed quickly, before letting his hand drop.

Harriet noticed but said nothing. It unsettled her when he acted like Nick around the children, as naturally as if he had lived in her brother’s skin. And yet she was grateful for it.

The Duke was standing in front of the fireplace in the library when his grandchildren entered. The twins curtsied and bowed and murmured their greetings, their eyes darting sideways to their sister to see if they were doing it correctly. Their grandfather suddenly laughed. “Oh, you can’t fool me, you rapscallions . . . butter wouldn’t melt. Now, come here and give me a kiss and wish me a proper Merry Christmas.” He held out his arms, and the children ran into them.
The Duke’s eyes were a little wet as he hugged them to him.