A Christmas Charade (15 page)

“Stewart?” She cocked her head questioningly.

“A favor. Yes, of course.” It was difficult to assume the distant manner he usually adopted toward her. He wanted to ask about the chuckle, wanted to …

Speaking more stiffly even than he had intended, he said, “What can I do, Julie?”

Juliette did not notice the tone of his voice. He had called her Julie, the affectionate name he had first used the day he proposed! There was hope, wasn’t there? Perhaps miracles still happened after all.

But even a miracle might need a helping hand. She’d had a scheme in mind—a plan of attack—when they left London. His calling her Julie was the encouragement she needed to put the plan in motion.

“Stewart, will you please button my gown?”

She turned, revealing the back he had likened to that of the Venus de Milo during their honeymoon.

Watching him over her shoulder, she did not miss the flush that darkened his face. Did he, too, remember the four days he had delighted in acting her maid?

“I told you not to give your maid a holiday,” he said grimly but stepped across the threshold into her chamber.

“So you did. But it’s past mending now, and I’d appreciate your help.”

She felt his fingers on her back. His touch against her bare skin—brief though it was before the fabric of her gown interfered—made her catch her breath.

“Stand up straight,” he ordered. “And hold still.”

She did, closing her eyes as she mentally followed his progress, button by button. He used to kiss the nape of her neck when he reached the top.

One of the tiny mother-of-pearl buttons proved recalcitrant. He glared at it, remembering the times he had
un
buttoned his wife’s gowns.

“Dash it, Juliette! You should have rung for one of the Stenton maids.”

“They are all village girls, as clumsy as can be,” she said, ruthlessly maligning young Mary, who had assisted her very competently on several occasions.

It had not been a part of her plan to make use of the Stenton housemaids when she gave her own woman a holiday. Neither had she meant to wait this long before soliciting Stewart’s assistance. But there had been that closed door. A most daunting sight.

However, now that Stewart had opened it once … A tiny crease appeared between her brows. Just why did he open the door?

His fingers brushed her neck as he worked the top button. Heart in her throat, she waited. Waited for the kiss on the nape of her neck.

The kiss that did not happen.

“There you are.” His hand fell onto her shoulder. He gave her a little push. “Couldn’t have done it faster had I two arms and hands.”

Juliette stood quite still. As always when she sensed Stewart’s bitterness, she ached inside. If only she knew how to help.

Slowly she turned. “Stewart, I believe there is
nothing
you cannot do as well with one arm as other men accomplish with two. You are strong and brave. And I love—”

“Don’t!”

His face twisted. She had been about to say I love you. But he wanted no merciful lies. Did she believe he’d forget the look on her face, the shudder that had convulsed her slim body when she saw the ugly, scarred stump of flesh and bone? She might lie to herself, feeling honor bound to abide by her marriage vows. But he could not and would not accept a sacrifice.

He spoke with stiff formality. “Juliette, I have decided to return to town. The sooner I get our marriage voided the better it’ll be for both of us.”

“No!”

She felt as if he had punched her, but there was no time to think about the pain inside her. He was turning away and she must not allow him to shut the door again. If she let him, she knew that everything would be lost.

“Stewart Astley, you are a selfish, inconsiderate beast!”

He stopped abruptly, just inside his chamber, his hand gripping the door as if he were about to slam it. He did not look at her.

The sight of his stiff back infuriated her. It was all she had seen of him these past three weeks, his back—poker straight, proud, rebuffing advances when he left the house to hide in his club. Deliberately fanning the flames of a healthy anger, she flung at him the arguments first raised by Elizabeth.

“How do you think your parents will feel when you tell them you won’t spend Christmas with them? How do you think
I
will feel when you tell Clive you’re leaving me behind?”

He spun. “Juliette, for goodness’ sake!”

“For goodness’ sake nothing! You don’t care, do you? You didn’t give a straw for my feelings when you showed your friends—and all of London!—that you cannot stand the sight of your wife!”

He was pale. His eyes flamed and the veins in his neck corded darkly. Juliette knew the satisfaction of having pierced the shield of coldness, but it was not enough.

“How can you stand there with your mouth folded, like some prim and disapproving parson!” She stamped a foot. “Dash it, Stewart! You want to discard me like—like an old cloak! You don’t have the decency or the courage to say why, but you expect me to accept your decision without demur. Well, I shan’t!”

“Juliette—”

“If you put in motion the divorce or annulment or whatever it is, I shall fight you.
You
may think nothing of our marriage vows, but
I
respect them. And I shall
not
agree to a divorce!”

Stewart’s hand clenched. The marriage vows. Just as he suspected, her sense of honor would not permit her to admit that the vow to love and cherish could not be forced.

“Juliette,” he said stiffly, “my mind is made up, and I’m afraid there is nothing you can do. I hope that someday you will recognize I’m doing this as much for your sake as for mine.”

“For
my
sake?” Arms akimbo, eyes sparking in anger, she closed the short distance separating them. “In that case, my husband, I demand to know how
I
shall benefit by a divorce!”

He gripped her shoulder, turning her and propelling her with ease back into her own room.

“You can marry again, Juliette. And be happy.”

He started to close the door in her outraged face. “And I would appreciate it if next time you would contain your laughter at my clumsiness until I am out of earshot.”

She had never laughed at him, clumsy or not. The unjust accusation was the last straw.

“I shall laugh if and when I please! And I forbid you to leave Stenton and upset your parents and the Christmas party. If you want to ruin my life, you can dashed well wait until after the holidays!”

“As you wish.”

“Gorblimey!” Annie had meant to be as quiet as a mouse but was unable to stop herself. “What a set of gudgeons!”

“What did you say?” Stewart and Juliette demanded of each other simultaneously.

Juliette glared at him. “
I
said nothing!”

Tight-lipped, he bowed and shut the door.

Tears sprang to Juliette’s eyes. She was in no shape to judge whether she had won the round or lost it.

She trembled all over, but with a final spurt of fury, she shouted, “And don’t think you can hide from me behind a closed door!”

In reply, the key grated in the lock.

Shaking her head at the folly of humans, Annie watched Miss Juliette wipe her eyes and blow her nose before snatching up a comb. The young lady attacked her tangled curls with a vigor that boded ill for the shining golden tresses.

Noiselessly, Annie flitted off. If Miss Juliette wanted to appear bald at the luncheon table, that was
her
affair. Annie wouldn’t stop her. She had done what she could for now. And see where it had gotten them! The major and Miss Juliette were in worse trouble than ever.

“Gudgeons!” she said once more, with feeling.

This so startled a footman coming out of the library, where he had replenished the firewood supply and filled the wine decanters, that he dropped the wood basket and an empty sherry bottle.

“And you’re a gudgeon, too, my fine fellow,” Annie said scornfully and passed right through him. “And a noddicock if you think I’m talking to you!”

The footman pressed a shaking hand to his forehead. Never, ever again would he touch a drop of his grace’s wine! Cross his heart and hope to die.

Annie’s full skirts swished as she whisked into the south wing. She skimmed past the library, the billiard room, the offices, the muniment room, past Lady Fanny and Lord Wilmott’s chambers, and rounded the corner into the former nursery wing. Although she could not quite approve of the changed appearance, this was still her favorite part of the castle.

True, it was here in the nurseries that the fire had started. It was here that tragedy had touched the Rowlands and those in the family’s employ. But whatever was in the past held no horror for Annie. It was the future that made her restless.

She stopped at the door of the former day nursery, now Lord Decimus’s chamber. She heard the clink of glass, the softly gurgling sound of wine pouring from a decanter. Undecided, she hovered outside the door.

Annie had been strictly reared. She knew it wasn’t seemly to enter a gentleman’s chamber, and she had ventured into Major Astley’s room only because the case had been desperate. Lord Decimus was a different kettle of fish. He was a bachelor, and he wasn’t in any kind of trouble requiring Annie’s assistance.

But Lord Decimus lived in London where Annie wanted to go. And if Miss Juliette did not make up with her major and ended up going to Hertfordshire, Lord Decimus must be Annie’s next choice of travel companion. She wouldn’t dream of driving with Major Astley or Lord Nicholas or the duke. They were what her mum used to call handsome young blades, to be avoided like the plague lest a girl wanted to be thought fast.

At least, Lord Decimus was old. Surely it wouldn’t hurt just to make his acquaintance? Resolute, Annie slipped inside and sank into a chair opposite Lord Decimus.

She tilted her head, subjecting the rotund gentleman, whose face looked like that of an elderly angel, to a judicious scrutiny. Whether he had not been at the castle or whether he’d simply had no interest in the nurseries forty-one years ago, Annie did not know. But she thanked her lucky star that she had not made his acquaintance then. He was just the kind of gentleman a young girl in service should avoid, a charming rake, one who would easily sweet-talk a girl into a heap of trouble.

Well, he was no danger to her now. At his time of life, he was nothing but a harmless if amusing old rattle. And he looked lonely the way he sat there, contemplating the contents of his wine glass.

An impish smile lifted the corners of her mouth. Perhaps a bit of conversation would cheer him.

Hands folded primly in her lap, her feet in their buckled shoes placed neatly side by side, she said softly, “Good afternoon, my lord. You look out of sorts. Is the wine not to your liking?”

“Eh?” Lord Decimus appeared a bit surprised but not at all startled to be addressed. He set his glass on a nearby table and peered short-sightedly about him. “What’s that you say, m’ dear?”

“The wine, my lord. Is it not to your liking?”

“It’s fair enough. But I cannot help thinking that a claret straight from France would be even better.”

He raised his quizzing glass and stared directly at Annie. “You wouldn’t know if a delivery has been made yet, would you, m’dear?”

She blinked, trying to erase the image of that enlarged eye trained on her. It was quite disconcerting—as though he actually, truly
saw
her!

He put the glass down. “Didn’t think so,” he said resignedly. “Pretty little thing like you. What would you know about a wine delivery?”

Annie swallowed. “But, sir … my lord! Can you see me, then?”

“ ’Course I can see you. May not have perfect eyesight, but I’m not blind,” he said indignantly.

“But
no one
—”

No one can see me, she had been about to say. She had been sure of it. Dash it! She was a
ghost!
Yet she had been heard, and she had made her presence felt when she wanted it. Could she possibly be visible as well?

Was this also something she could make happen at will? She didn’t think she had
wanted
Lord Decimus to see her.

He frowned and peered more closely at her. “Have we met, m’dear? I don’t offhand seem to recall your name.”

Flustered, Annie rose with more haste than grace. She curtsied. “I’m Annie, my lord. Annie Tuck, junior nursery maid. And if you’ll pardon me, I must be off immediately.”

“Wait!”

Decimus stretched out a detaining hand but encountered only thin air. The comely young girl in a blue-and-white striped gown had vanished.

“Upon my word!”

Screwing the quizzing glass once more to his eye, he looked about the room. His gaze fell on the decanter and his empty glass.

“Upon my word,” he repeated. “My capacity is not what it used to be.”

Leaning out the window, Elizabeth could hear the faint toll of the Seaford church bells. The four Astleys had left some time ago—and so, she assumed, had the rest of the company and most of the servants—to attend church on this fourth Sunday in Advent, the day before Christmas Eve.

Elizabeth had planned to go to church as well, but Lady Astley and Juliette had both protested. They wanted her to stay in bed—as though the little adventure yesterday had turned her into an invalid! And Juliette, who called herself a friend, had bluntly refused to lend her a cloak or a pelisse.

Overnight, the temperature had dropped considerably. The rain had stopped and not a cloud marred the pale sky, but the sunshine that had lured Elizabeth to the window was deceptive. It did nothing to mitigate the biting chill of the air. Having grown up on the coast, she knew this for an unusually severe cold, and if the sky had been dark and gray she would have looked forward to a rare December snow.

When the cold raised goose bumps on her arms, Elizabeth closed the window. Now what was she to do until the others returned from Seaford? She started to pace. She would
not
go back to bed, for she was quite well except for a slight woolliness in the head, which she attributed to the effects of laudanum. She might read, but, somehow, the notion of sitting still did not appeal to her.