Winter Wonderland (12 page)

“Only if it makes you dissatisfied with your position. If you have been used to elegance and luxury, how will you stand taking simple meals with the boys in the schoolroom? Or dining in the servants' hall? How will you bear taking orders from someone to whom you feel superior?”

Miranda gasped. “Oh, my Lord!” she said, horror-stricken. “Have I given the impression that I feel superior to you?”

“No, no,” Delia said kindly, leaning forward and patting her knee. “Do not look so alarmed. It was only that your
yes, ma'ams
came so awkwardly to your tongue.”

Miranda felt tears spring to her eyes. She got up from the bed and went to the little window, wiping at her cheeks surreptitiously. “It's true. What you say is very t-true! I am not accus … accustomed …” And to her shame, she burst into tears.

Delia jumped to her feet. “Oh, my
dear
,” she exclaimed, coming up behind her new governess and putting an arm about her shoulder, “I never meant to upset you so. How you say
yes, ma'am
is … is such an unimportant little thing—”

“No, it's n-not a little thing,” Miranda sobbed. “I am a s-servant. I m-must get used to it.”

“Must you? You're obviously accustomed to servants of your own. Would it not be easier to forget this adventure and return to your old life?”

“You don't understand. This is not an
adventure
to me. I
can't
return!” She dashed the tears from her cheeks and turned to face her employer. “I'm not playing games, ma'am, truly I'm not. I have not a penny in the world. I
must
succeed at this!”

Delia, her motherly heart touched, pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped the younger woman's cheeks. “Please, my dear, don't weep. I haven't any intention of discharging you if you truly mean to take your employment here seriously.” She studied the other woman's tear-stained face with sympathetic concern. “You wrote that you are a widow. Was Sir Rodney Velacott your husband?”

Miranda's eyes widened. “Yes. How did you—?”

“My sister-in-law Honoria wondered about it. The name is not commonplace, you know.” Delia went thoughtfully back to her seat. If this peculiar relationship was to work—and she wanted it to work, for by this time she quite liked Miranda Velacott—it would be best to encourage complete honesty. “Then you should be called
Lady
Velacott, should you not?” she prodded.

“Yes.” Miranda threw Delia a shamefaced glance and turned back to stare out the window. “I didn't wish to lie to you, Mrs. Traherne, but I just didn't think the title was suitable under the circumstances. My husband's property—what was left of it after his gambling debts were paid—went to his brother. I had to find a way to support myself. But who would hire a governess with a title? Can you imagine yourself saying, ‘This is her ladyship, my governess'? So I simply dispensed with it. What need have I for it? The blasted title pays no bills, nor does it put a roof over my head. It is nothing but a burden to me.”

“Yes, I see.” Delia nodded, her mind made up. “So you still wish to be
Mrs
. Velacott, governess to my sons?”

Miranda, hearing the acceptance in Delia's voice, wheeled around. “Yes! Oh, yes!” She flew across to Delia's side and dropped down on her knees beside the chair. “I already adore your little boys,” she said, taking one of Delia's hands in hers. “I will be the very best governess to them! And I'll learn to say my
yes, ma'ams
just the way I ought, I promise you!”

Delia smiled and squeezed her hand. “Heavens, woman, who cares for that? You may call me Delia, if you like. All I want is for you and the boys to be happy together.” With a relieved sigh, she got up and went to the door. “I'm glad this is all settled, Miranda. Now that I understand you, I'm sure we shall deal famously together.”

Miranda got to her feet. “I think I'm very fortunate in my choice of employer,” she said gratefully. “Thank you, ma'am.”

Delia looked over her shoulder and grinned. “That
ma'am
was very well done, but call me Delia. It's more comfortable.”

Miranda smiled back. “Thank you, ma'am, but I have no intention of overstepping my place. I'll call you Delia, if you like, but only when we're private.”

Eleven

Dinner was a raucous family affair, as it always was when the four brothers reunited. The food was abundant, the atmosphere relaxed, the company noisily cheerful. The ladies listened and laughed as the brothers threw taunts and questions at each other. Delia and Honoria, accustomed to the family patterns, smiled indulgently as the Earl, Terence and Harry vied with each other for center stage. The three older brothers still made it difficult for Barnaby to finish a sentence, but Barnaby had learned, over the years, to get his points across with a quick quip. He could now hold his own.

Tonight the teasing began with a discussion of the Earl's new sleigh. “Clever of you, Lawrence,” Terence remarked, “to buy yourself a sleigh. Barnaby wouldn't be sitting here tonight if you hadn't.”

“It cost a devilish long price, I can tell you,” the Earl bragged. “I ordered it from a sleigh-maker in Russia. The Russians call it a
troika
, goodness knows why.”

“Because they use three horses to pull it,” Barnaby said.

“Listen to the boy,” Harry taunted. “Showing off his foreign-office erudition.”

“Not having any yourself, you're jealous that the boy has some erudition to show off,” Lawrence rejoined in Barnaby's defense. “But as far as
troika
is concerned, I did perfectly well with only two horses.”

“If I were the Earl, and well able to afford a stable full of horses,” Terence said, to needle his elder brother, “I'd do as the Russians do and harness three.”

“If I were the Earl—” Barnaby began.

“If you were the Earl,” Harry cut him off, “you wouldn't buy a sleigh at all. You'd give the money to the poor and walk.”

“And if you were the Earl,” Barnaby rejoined, “you'd buy
two
.”

Everyone, knowing Harry's tendency to extravagance, guffawed. Even his affianced bride, who hardly ever relaxed her dignity enough to smile, laughed heartily.

Conversation slowed when the lamb roast was brought to the table, smelling of rosemary and basil and other fragrant herbs. Honoria's earlier tension eased as she watched Barnaby making conversation with the quiet Olivia Ponsonby, seated at his left, and helping her to a slice of lamb. For Barnaby to show such attention to the girl was a hopeful sign. He seemed to
like
little Livy!

It gave Honoria particular satisfaction to see that all the brothers at the table this evening were paired with suitable females. This was the first time since she'd known them that this was true. Of course, the pairings were in various stages of maturity: she and Lawrence, now married for three decades, were an old couple; Delia and Terence were also well established in their fifteen-year marriage; Isabel Folley had managed to catch the elusive, forty-one-year-old bachelor, Harry, who looked happy enough in his newly forged chains; and, if all went well, Barnaby would discover in the sweet young Livy a promising partner for life. Honoria looked at the faces round the table, all smiling and aglow in the light of the branched candles at the center, and her heart filled with happy optimism.
By this time next year
, she said to herself hopefully,
all four brothers may be married men!

She would not have been so optimistic if she'd heard what Barnaby had whispered to Delia just a few moments before. Barnaby, sitting to the right of his hostess, had leaned over and asked something that had been puzzling him. “I say, Delia, is Mrs. Velacott ill?”

“Mrs. Velacott? No, of course not. Why do you ask?”

“She isn't here at table.”

“But Mrs. Velacott isn't a guest, you know, Barnaby,” Delia'd whispered back. “A governess usually takes breakfast and luncheon with her charges and dines in the servants' hall after they've been put to bed, didn't you know that?”

Barnaby was startled. “No, I didn't. Is that how it's done? But, Delia, she's not … that is, a governess is not like a chambermaid, is she? Is it right to treat her so?”

Delia had scrutinized her youngest brother-in-law with shrewd amusement. “Can it be, Barnaby Traherne, that you're
taken
with the new governess?”

“Don't be silly,” Barnaby had said quickly, his mouth tightening. “As a matter of fact, I don't like her at all. We got on so badly in the few days we were thrown together that I'm relieved to learn she's not to spend her evenings in our company. I was only curious about the … the proprieties.”

“The proprieties, eh? I see. Well, I hope I've satisfied your curiosity. I must warn you, though, that Mrs. Velacott
will
be joining us for dinner the day after tomorrow. The boys always dine with us at Christmas Eve dinner, so she will, too.”

Barnaby had pretended to indifference, shrugged and turned to smile at Miss Ponsonby at his other side. “Do have a slice of the lamb,” he'd urged the young girl. “It's smothered in herbs and quite delicious.”

Later, when the ladies excused themselves, and the four brothers gathered at the head of the table with their brandies, the Earl cleared his throat in an avuncular way that the others knew presaged a scolding. “See here, Barnaby Traherne,” he said sternly, “I didn't wish to berate you in front of the ladies, but from what Terence told me of your encounter with the highwaymen, it seems to me you acted very rashly.”

“Rashly?” Barnaby asked in sincere innocence.

“It seems you attacked the armed felons not once but twice! Attacking an armed man even once when one has no weapon seems rash to me.”

“And to me,” Terence added.

“And me,” Harry also added.

“It wasn't rash,” Barnaby said, looking from one to the other in disgust. “On both occasions I had an opening. I did exactly what you would have done in those circumstances.”

“You flatter us,” Harry said dryly. “I would have been shaking in my boots. And Terry would have run for cover at the first sign of an opening.”

“Oh, very likely,” Barnaby sneered. “Then it was not you who, before my admiring eyes, ran into a burning stable to save a horse? Or you, Terry, who dived into the lake at Shallcross to save me from drowning, and you couldn't even swim?”

“Just because they've been rash from time to time,” the Earl said, “doesn't excuse you, boy! I expect better sense from you.”

“Dash it all, Lawrence, I'm not a boy!” Barnaby snapped. “I'm quite old enough to know what I'm doing. And I'm here, alive and well. So let's have done with this nonsense.”

“Nonsense?” the Earl said, glaring at his youngest brother in offense. “Since when do you speak to your elders in that tone?”

“Since I reached maturity,” Barnaby retorted.

“The fellow's right,” Harry said placatingly. “Let's be honest. If any one of us had been robbed of a gold watch and a fob to which we were sentimentally attached, we'd have put up a fight, just as Barnaby did.”

“And you'd probably have beaten them,” Barnaby said ruefully, “not failed miserably, as I did.”

“They took your fob?” the Earl asked, suddenly sympathetic. “The one I had made for you?”

Barnaby nodded glumly.

Terence stared into his brandy-glass thoughtfully. “I think, Harry, that you and I ought to—”

“Yes!” Harry's eyes brightened. “We ought to ride out tomorrow and find those footpads.”

“Right!” Terence grinned. “I've a new pistol I'm eager to try out. Those miscreants would make a most satisfactory target. With any luck, we can restore the fob to its rightful owner by Christmas.”

“That is a very good idea,” the Earl said approvingly, lifting his glass to them.

“
What
?” Barnaby glared at each of them in fury. “Do you think it is
still
necessary to fight my battles for me?”

Harry and Terence exchanged surprised glances. “Well, we
always
—” Harry began.

“We
like
to—” Terence muttered.

“After all,” the Earl put in, “you
are
our baby brother—”

“
Damnation
!” Barnaby cursed, jumping to his feet. “Every time we get together we revert to our old ways! This must stop! I am past thirty and, I believe, completely competent to run my life. You will
not
call me baby, and you will
not
fight my battles! Is that clear?”

Under his furious glower, the Earl dropped his eyes. “We didn't mean to impugn your competence, Barnaby,” he mumbled.

“We only wanted to help,” Harry muttered.

“To show you what you mean to us,” Terence said in meek apology.

“Affection, that's all it is,” Harry added.

“That sort of affection could smother me to death,” Barnaby said, refusing, for once, to surrender his anger. “I will take care of the highwaymen myself, in my own way at my own time. And if any one of you dares to interfere in this matter in any way, I'll show you how well this baby brother has learned to use his fists!”

The ladies, meanwhile, were having an entirely different sort of conversation. “Did you know, Honoria,” Delia asked as soon as they'd seated themselves in the drawing room, “that Lady Isabel is quite talented on the pianoforte? Isabel, would you consent to play for us?”

Isabel nodded in gracious acquiescence, sat down at the instrument, spread her blue Persian silk skirt, closed her eyes and began to play. Her fingers moved expertly on the keys and her breast heaved with great emotion. Delia sat listening, enthralled, but Honoria had other things on her mind. She glanced over at Livy Ponsonby, who was sitting on a sofa, her hands folded in her lap and her eyes lowered. In her soft plum-colored jaconet gown and with her hair tied up on her head with silver ribbons that permitted bouncy blond ringlets to frame her face, Livy seemed as exquisite as a Sevres figurine. Honoria, disregarding the music, took a place beside Livy on the sofa. “Tell me, my dear,” she whispered in the girl's ear, “what do you think of our Barnaby?”