A Christmas Bride / A Christmas Beau (40 page)

She shuddered and raised a gloved hand to her mouth.

And then her other hand was taken in a firm clasp and drawn through his arm.

“Your son loves animals,” he said. “He was telling me all about his grandfather’s dogs, particularly the one shaggy fellow which is allowed inside the house.”

“Shaggy?” she said. “That is its name, you know. Sometimes it is difficult to know which end is which. There are a few dogs at home, too, but I would not allow any to be brought with us because London is not quite the place for pets, I believe. Besides, my father would not have taken kindly to having his home overrun by the animal kingdom.”

“It is one advantage of living in the country,” he said. “A great advantage for children. Animals were almost
my only companions when I was growing up. Your children are fortunate that they have each other.”

She looked up at him, startled. He had just given her almost the only human glimpse of himself she had ever had. He had no brothers and sisters. She had known that. She had never thought of what that might have meant to him. Son of the late Marquess of Denbigh, his mother dead since his infancy. An only child. Animals had been his only companions. Had he been lonely, then? But she did not want to start thinking of him as a person.

And she realized that she was strolling with him, her arm drawn firmly through his, conversing just as if they were friends or at least friendly acquaintances. She was relieved to see the moat ahead and Amy and the children standing on the bridge looking down into the water. She used the excuse of Kate’s turning to wave a hand at her to withdraw her arm from the marquess’s and hurry forward.

At least Kate had not fallen beneath his spell that afternoon, she thought a little spitefully as the child lifted her arms to be carried the rest of the distance to the carriage.

But even that triumph was to be short-lived. When they were seated in the carriage, Kate wriggled off Judith’s lap and climbed onto the marquess’s. He continued naming to Rupert all the towers in the outer walls and pointing them out through the windows as they drove away. But he opened the top two buttons of his greatcoat, drew out his quizzing glass on its black ribbon, and handed it to Kate.

She played with it quietly for a while before lifting it to her eye and peering through it at her brother. Rupert shrieked with laughter.

“Look at her eye!” he said, and Amy and Judith
laughed, too, as Kate gazed from one to the other, the glass held to one hugely magnified eye.

The children laughed and giggled for the rest of the journey. It was a merry homecoming.

A
MY AS WELL
as Judith was part of Claude Freeman’s party at the theater on the evening of the following day. The marquess was there, too, and came to pay his respects between acts. Fortunately, Judith found, talking determinedly with Mrs. Fortescue, who was also one of their party, he directed his attentions and his conversation to Amy.

Amy was enchanted and as excited as any child being given a rare treat. She had never been to the theater before and had never seen so many splendidly dressed people all gathered in one place. Best of all, she thought, gazing about her, no one was staring at her. She was a very plain, very middle-aged-lady, she told herself. Not a monster. Sometimes her family members had protected her—or themselves—so closely that she had felt as if she must be some freak of nature.

“I cannot believe all the splendor of it,” she told the Marquess of Denbigh. “The velvet and gold and the chandeliers. And the acting. I was never so well entertained in my life.”

“It is your first visit to the theater?” he asked, his eyes looking kindly at her.

And she realized that her reactions must appear very naive to him. But she did not care. The marquess, for all his splendor and very handsome looks and impressive title, would not laugh at her. He was a kind gentleman and she liked him excessively. If only Judith …

But Judith was pointedly talking to someone else and for some reason did not like the marquess. Or else she
felt embarrassed about what had happened all those years ago.

But Lord Denbigh had clearly forgiven her for that and was quite as clearly trying to fix his interest with her no matter how hard Judith tried to deny the fact.

She wished she had Judith’s chance, Amy thought a little wistfully. Not with the marquess, of course. That would be ridiculous.

“The play is about to resume, ma’am,” Lord Denbigh said, getting to his feet. “I shall take my leave of you and look forward to escorting you to St. Paul’s tomorrow.”

He took her hand and raised it to his lips. Amy felt ridiculously pleased. She felt even more pleased when he glanced toward Judith, although Judith was studiously looking the other way.

A
T
S
T
. P
AUL
’
S
the following day they wandered in some awe about the nave, dwarfed by the hugeness and majesty of the cathedral. Judith had never been there before. She had never been comfortable with heights, but the Whispering Gallery did not look too high up when one looked from below—the dome still soared above it—so she agreed to Rupert’s persuasions and climbed the stone steps resolutely. Amy stayed down below with Kate.

But she felt the bottom fall out of her stomach when she stepped out onto the gallery, which circled the base of the dome. The nave of the cathedral looked very far down, the people there like ants. She did not even look long enough to distinguish Amy and Kate.

Rupert was running around the gallery, the marquess strolling after him. She stood against the wall, her palms resting against it at her back, willing her heart to stop thumping and her legs to regain their bones. She took a few tentative sideways steps. She looked nonchalantly
about her but not down. It still seemed a very long way up to the top of the dome and the Thornhill frescoes painted there.

“It has nothing to do with cowardice, you know.” She had not even noticed the Marquess of Denbigh coming back toward her. “It is an actual affliction that some people have. Your head can tell you that the gallery is broad and well railed, that there is no possible way you can fall. But still you can be paralyzed with terror. A friend who suffers in the same way has told me that it is not so much the fear of falling as the fear of jumping. Is that right?”

He was standing in front of her, perfectly at ease, filling her line of vision. He spoke quietly, as he usually did. For once in his presence she felt her heart quieting.

“Yes,” she said. “It is a very annoying terror. One feels like the typical helpless woman.”

“The friend I spoke of,” he said, “is a man and weighs fifteen stone if he weighs an ounce and is as handy with his fives as any pugilist one would care to meet. Take my arm. Your son, you will see, is across from us, waving down to his sister and his aunt.”

Judith felt her stomach somersault again.

“He is perfectly safe,” he said, “and will be delighted if we join him there. Walk next to the wall and imagine that we are strolling in Hyde Park. Look at my arm, if you wish, or at my shoulder. You have a lively and curious son. You must look forward to nurturing his curiosity.”

No, she thought firmly as she told him of her own plans to employ a tutor for a few years and the plans of her brothers-in-law to send him to school when he was older—Rupert would after all be head of the family after the passing of his grandfather—no, she would not grow to like him. She would not mistake his behavior either here and now or briefly at the Tower for kindness.

There was no kindness in the Marquess of Denbigh. Only a cold, calculating mind. Only the desire to punish her by winning the affection of her children and by inflicting his unwanted company on her and by making her look foolish and rejected in the eyes of society.

She must not even begin to doubt what she had so strongly sensed from the first moment of seeing him again.

“Your son will want to test the theory that a word whispered at one side of the gallery can be clearly heard at the other,” he said just before they came up to Rupert. “But since you must whisper with your mouth to the wall and listen with your ear to it, that should pose no great problem for you.”

Despite herself she found herself relaxing. His words were reassuring. Even more so was his tall strong body between her and the rail of the gallery.

He took them to Gunter’s for tea and cakes before returning them home. He spoke of Christmas and his eagerness to return to his estate.

“There is nowhere quite like the country and a houseful of people for celebrating Christmas,” he concluded, while Amy gazed wistfully at him and both children were unusually silent.

“There were always lots of cousins at Grandpapa’s,” Rupert said at last.

“But this year we will have each other,” Judith said briskly, “and will be able to do just as we please all day long.”

His words had been ill-considered, she thought. If his intention had been to make her feel guilt at having deprived her children and her sister-in-law of other company over the holiday, then he had succeeded. But it was one thing to hurt her, and quite another to depress the spirits of her family.

He had miscalculated. It was his purpose, surely, to
win over the others. She felt an almost spiteful satisfaction at his one slip.

And an even greater satisfaction at the realization that he must surely leave for the country within the following few days.

I
T WAS SNOWING
in a halfhearted way. Enough to whiten one’s hat and shoulders and to blind one’s vision as one rode. Enough to remind one of the coming season. But not enough to settle on the traveled thoroughfares and obstruct traffic.

Even so, the Marquess of Denbigh frowned up at the sky as he rode through the park. Perhaps he was foolish not to have gone into Essex before now. He had guests to prepare for, after all. And even if the weather should prevent the arrival of his guests, there were plenty of other people who needed his presence at Denbigh Park and would be disappointed if he did not arrive. All the children were to stay at the house for two nights—on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day—as they had the year before, and were looking forward to the treat almost as if he had offered them a month in Italy, according to both Mrs. Harrison’s and Cornwell’s letters.

It would not do to be stranded in town by snow.

But he had not wanted to jump his fences as far as Judith Easton was concerned. He had been proceeding with those plans as slowly as he dared. Too slowly perhaps. He was maybe seeing too much of her. And too much of her children and that good-natured sister-in-law of hers. He was becoming too fond of them.

One danger he had become particularly aware of in the past few days: He must not allow himself to like Judith Easton in any way. It was true—he had played on the fact—that she cared for the happiness of her family and hated to deny them pleasure. And it was true that
she was a good mother, spending much of her days with her children instead of abandoning them to a nurse’s care. He approved of the way she did not try to overprotect her children, especially the boy.

And there was something admirable about her courage. She had walked the whole circle of the Whispering Gallery at St. Paul’s with him, even though he had known from the slight tremor in her voice that she had been terrified, and she had looked down at her son’s direction and waved to her daughter and sister-in-law in the nave below. She had unconsciously gripped his arm a little tighter at that moment. She had spent ten whole minutes testing the acoustics of the Whispering Gallery to please her son.

But knowing someone was courageous was not the same thing as liking that person or growing soft in one’s intentions for that person. He had always known that she was a woman well in command of her emotions. Or at least, he had known it since that morning after the opera when her white-faced father had called on him to bring his betrothal to an end.

No, courage, control over emotions did not necessarily make a person likable. And even the most vicious and degenerate of creatures were capable of showing mother love.

He rode in the direction of Lord Blakeford’s home. The ladies would in all likelihood have returned from their afternoon’s walk, if they had taken it in this weather. He hoped so, at least. This was the visit he had been building toward since his arrival in London. He drew some deep and steadying breaths. He hoped the children would be downstairs for tea. He would be far more confident of success if they were.

They were. In fact, the tea tray had not yet been brought in, and Lord Denbigh realized as he followed the butler into the drawing room that the ladies had
only just risen from the floor, where a game of spillikins was in progress. Miss Easton was smoothing out the folds of her dress and laughing, rather flustered. Judith was busy sticking out her chin and clasping her hands calmly in front of her.

“Good afternoon, my lord,” she said.

“How civil of you to call on us, my lord,” Amy said. “Have you come to join us for tea?”

“I came to get myself out of the snow for a few minutes,” he said, “and to assure myself that you are all well after our outing yesterday. But if I am being invited to tea, ma’am, I will most gratefully accept.”

“Do you have Pegasus with you, sir?” Rupert asked.

“Yes, indeed,” the marquess said, rubbing his hands together to warm them. “But he looked rather like a white-haired old man by the time we arrived here. He was quite covered with snow.”

Kate chuckled. “Old man,” she said.

Judith had no choice in the matter, as he had intended. Soon he was seated by the fire with Kate on his knee showing him some of the Christmas bows they had made already from the ribbons he had purchased at the river booth. Amy was telling him that they had forgone their walk that day in order to drive to Oxford Street to shop for their Christmas gifts.

“I bought Mama a—” Kate began.

“Sh,” Amy said. “Secrets, love.”

“—pair of scissors,” Kate whispered in his ear, tickling it.

Judith was pouring tea from the tray, which had just arrived.