A Christmas Charade (6 page)

“That leaves you an hour, ma’am, to rest and visit with Stewart and Juliette in private.”

Lady Astley gave him a grateful look. “Thank you, Clive, but perhaps you shouldn’t count on John and me for luncheon. You see, our luggage, John’s valet, and my maid haven’t arrived yet and I wouldn’t want to sit at the table in traveling dress.”

“A worn trace,” said Sir John. “Shouldn’t have taken long to fix. I don’t doubt they’ll be here at any moment.”

Juliette placed a solicitous arm around her mother-in-law. “And if not, I’ll bring you a tray. Come, ma’am, I’ll show you to the east wing. Your rooms are close to Stewart’s and mine.”

The two ladies, followed by their husbands, started to move off. After a few steps Lady Astley turned, searching the Great Hall anxiously until her eyes lit on her companion.

“Elizabeth, dear!” she said, conscience-stricken. “Come and let me introduce you to our host.”

“Not at all necessary,” Clive assured her immediately. “Miss Gore-Langton and I are already acquainted.”

“Yes, indeed,” that young lady said tonelessly.

Now
, what had he said to make her quiver and blanch? Indeed, she was a most disconcerting female, this Elizabeth Gore-Langton.

Elizabeth Gore-Langton … the name struck a faint chord. Elizabeth …

Nonsense. Giving himself a mental shake, he said, “Don’t worry about the young lady, dear ma’am. I’ll see that a room is prepared without delay.”

“Dear Clive. So thoughtful,” said Lady Astley.

Juliette waved, and the smile she directed at her mother-in-law’s companion held none of the brittle quality Clive had noticed earlier.

“Elizabeth! Lovely to see you! Make yourself comfortable. I shall come for you in a little while.”

Clive turned to the back of the hall, where he had seen the staff, Margaret, and the twins upon his entrance. Most of the servants had slipped away while he was engaged with his newly arrived guests. But his sister-in-law was still there, a child clasped protectively in each arm. And the butler and housekeeper had stood their ground.

His gaze fell upon a suit of armor which had previously been hidden from his view by footmen and maids. When last he passed through the Great Hall, the suit had stood upright. Now, it reposed on the ground, the helmet, gorget, and shoulder pieces lying at some distance from the rest of the armor. He had no need to ask how that came about.

“Mrs. Rodwell, pray see to it that a chamber is readied for Miss Gore-Langton. Close to Lady Astley’s room, if possible.”

The housekeeper curtsied and hurried off.

Clive met the butler’s questioning eye. “Yes, Symes, you may have the armor re-erected. But first, please, ask Reed to have my bath ready in fifteen minutes.”

He faced Margaret and the children. Margaret had the look of a tigress worn out by her cubs’ antics yet ready to defend them to the death.

Suddenly, he felt tired. He had risen early, scrambled down the cliff path to the estuary, raced up the murderous path again when he saw his niece and nephew atop the tower, had climbed some hundred-odd narrow steps in great haste to snatch the imps from certain death, then had spent several hours walking the beach and the estuary bank below the castle.

“Margaret,” he said, fixing his silent sister-in-law with a dark look. “Don’t you dare say a word. I shan’t beat those imps of Satan—this time. But if you, a governess, a tutor, and a nurse cannot control them, I
will
have something to say about discipline and punishment.”

She uttered a protest, but he cut in ruthlessly. “Recollect, Margaret, that Harry appointed me their guardian.”

“But, Uncle Clive!” said Grace, turning dark gray Rowland eyes on him. “We only wanted to see how a knight could walk in a suit of armor.”

Adam manfully withdrew from his mother’s protective hold. “Sir, I told her that knights didn’t walk. They rode. But she wouldn’t believe me.”

Miss Gore-Langton spoke up from the settle in front of the cavernous fireplace. “True. Knights rode. But they did have to walk from their horses to their tents, which proved so much trouble that in the end they decided armor was a nuisance.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” said Grace. Casting off her mother’s arm, she raised her frilled skirts. “Look, Uncle Clive. I fell with the armor. Tore my stocking and scraped my knee.”

“It’s no more than you deserve,” he said unfeelingly. “Now go back to your rooms. No doubt Miss Whitlock and Mr. Ponsonby are looking for you.”

“But I haven’t had my turn yet.” Adam, who had inherited his mother’s light blue eyes, gave his uncle a pleading look. “Grace always wants to go first on account of being half an inch taller than me.”

“I’m also older!” Grace tossed her head. “Almost ten minutes!”

Clive fixed his nephew with a stern look. “There are some things, my boy, a gentleman will
not
allow a lady to do first. And if a young lady proposes something foolhardy, like climbing to the top of a tower and hanging over the parapet, a gentleman
stops
her. Now, both of you, scoot!”

They did, without a word. Margaret gave him a reproachful look before hurrying after her beloved children, and he knew that only the presence of Lady Astley’s companion had saved him from a homily on his harshness toward his niece and nephew. Burgeoning gratitude was snuffed, however, by the lady’s cynical exclamation.

“Oh, well done, your grace!”

He swung around to face Miss Gore-Langton. She had removed the fur cap, and the fire’s glow lit a dazzling quantity of chestnut highlights in her brown hair.

“If you believe the little boy heard more than the first part of your strictures, you’re quite mistaken. Now you’ll have him fighting his sister about who goes first, but he’ll never stop her more headlong starts.”

He strode toward her. “I daresay you speak from experience?”

“If you mean, did I have brothers I wanted to outshine, then no. I have no brothers. Or sisters. But if you refer to experience with human nature, then yes. I have quite a bit of that.”

Coming to a stop in front of her, he measured her trim shape, the creamy complexion. His ill humor vanished. “Indeed! Stricken in years as you are. You must be all of four-and-twenty.”

“I am eight-and-twenty,” she said quietly.

“In fact, an ancient.” His mouth twisted in a lopsided grin. “Come now, Miss Gore-Langton. Let us not be pulling caps.”

“No,” she said. “That would be putting you at a disadvantage, wouldn’t it? Pulling caps is another thing a
gentleman
would not do.”

He looked into the most brilliantly green eyes he had seen. Again a chord struck somewhere in the deepest recess of his memory.

“Miss Gore-Langton, forgive me. But have we met before?”

All color drained from her face.

“No,” she said, and it was such a blatant lie that he felt as though she had deliberately slapped him. “No, your grace, we have not.”

Now, why had she done that? Almost before the words of denial left her mouth, Elizabeth knew she had blundered.

Something had obviously stirred his memory. If she had kept her composure and said that they had been introduced over a decade ago, his grace would have apologized for his forgetfulness, and that would have been the end of it.

As it was, she had roused curiosity—and pique. She saw it in the narrowed eyes, and she could only be grateful that the housekeeper came bustling into the hall before he had time to formulate another question.

“Miss Gore-Langton,” said the housekeeper, gasping for breath. “If you please … I’ll show you to your room.”

“Thank you.”

Elizabeth rose. She gathered her fur cap, Lady Astley’s shawl, and the two reticules in one hand and held out the other. “May I relieve you of the muffs, your grace?”

He had been so busy welcoming the Astleys and scolding his niece and nephew that the two muffs under his arm had quite slipped his mind. He was surprised into a bark of laughter. What an odd picture he must have presented, especially to the twins. Lucky for them that they hadn’t remarked on it.

“By all means, Miss Gore-Langton. Relieve me of the blasted things. I wouldn’t know what to do with them.”

He threaded one onto the arm stretched toward him and held the second muff until she grasped it securely. But even then he did not let go immediately. He might have forgotten the muffs, but he had
not
forgotten the lady’s denial that they had met before this day.

“My dear Miss Gore-Langton,” he said softly, so his voice would not carry to Mrs. Rodwell. “You’re an abominable little liar. We
have
met. I’m convinced of it, and I shan’t rest until I recall when and where.”

Here was an opening to set the record straight. Not often does one get a second chance; Elizabeth was well aware of it. Yet, perversely, she did not avail herself of the proffered opportunity.

An abominable little liar, was she? Well, she’d be dashed if she reminded him of the many times they had met! Let him cudgel his memory. The exercise, no doubt, would do him good.

She smiled at him, but at odds with the smile was the angry spark in her eyes.

“I’m afraid you mistake me for another, your grace. Will you excuse me? I’m sure your housekeeper has much to do besides waiting to show me to my room.”

He received the snub with equanimity. “Of course, Miss Gore-Langton. Go with Mrs. Rodwell now. I shall see you at luncheon.”

“But I shan’t …” Her voice trailed off, for he had turned and was striding toward one of the passages leading from the Great Hall at what she judged to be the south or southwest end.

Unconsciously squaring her shoulders, Elizabeth approached the housekeeper, who stood patiently awaiting her pleasure.

“If you’ll be so kind as to point me in the right direction, Mrs. Rodwell, I daresay I’ll be able to find the room quite easily.”

“Oh, no, miss!” Looking scandalized, Mrs. Rodwell set her ample form in motion. She ushered Elizabeth into the passage the Astleys had taken earlier. “I’ll show you the way. A nice to-do it’d be if guests were made to fend for themselves! And when you’re ready, miss, you have but to ring and a maid will fetch you to the dining room.”

Elizabeth was silenced. She had started to utter a protest when Clive Rowland said he’d see her at luncheon. Now, the housekeeper, too, assumed she’d be taking her meals with the family.

Of course, she always did so at the Astleys’ home, but Elizabeth knew herself to be privileged. More often than not a companion, like a governess, found herself relegated into that limbo between lady of quality and upper servant and was condemned to lonely meals eaten off a tray in her room. Elizabeth certainly had not expected privileged treatment in the ducal household.

“Here, miss.” Slowing at the foot of a wide stairway with intricately carved balusters, the housekeeper held out an imperative hand. “Best let me take the shawl. You’re trailing it, and before you know it, you’ll trip and hurt yourself.”

The housekeeper’s tone strongly reminded Elizabeth of her old nurse, a forceful woman addicted to issuing orders—and having them obeyed. Meekly, she handed the article over.

“All around the Great Hall on the ground floor you’ll find the state rooms, the salons, drawing rooms, dining rooms, breakfast parlor, and the like,” said Mrs. Rodwell. “The bedchambers and a number of sitting rooms are on the first floor. There
is
a second story, but it needs refurbishing before any of the rooms are fit to be occupied.”

They had reached the top of the stairs and stood in a wide corridor branching to the right and to the left. The housekeeper was wheezing from the exertion of the climb, but, with barely a check, she turned down the right arm of the hallway.

“This is the east wing, miss, where you’ll find some of the most beautiful chambers. Aside from the south wing, of course, which was just restored.” Mrs. Rodwell paused to catch her breath. “The windows here face the gardens mostly. Not that there’s much to see at this time of year, but I always say it’s a better view than all that water on the south and west side of the castle.”

Elizabeth would rather have had the view of the Channel. She had grown up on the edge of Romney Marsh, and her favorite ride had been into Lydd. There she could sit on the seawall and breathe the tangy air and gaze her fill of the Channel’s rolling waves.

“Are all the guests put up in this wing, Mrs. Rodwell?”

“Oh, dear me, no! Just the Astleys—Sir John and his lady—and the major and his wife. And you.”

So Juliette would be close by…. Hard upon the thought, a door opened and Mrs. Stewart Astley peeked out.

“I thought I heard voices,” said Juliette, stepping into the corridor. “Mrs. Rodwell, where have you put Miss Gore-Langton? I shall accompany her.”

“It’s the room after yours, Mrs. Astley. Just around the corner. And if you’ll be so kind …” Mrs. Rodwell handed the shawl to Juliette. “I’m much obliged. What with inexperienced village girls to help out in the kitchens and in the house, there’s almost more work than a body can do.”

With a swish of stiff bombazine skirts, the housekeeper hurried off.

Juliette tucked a hand into Elizabeth’s arm. “I am
so
glad my mama-in-law brought you along. Come to your room, where we can be comfortable.”

“The chamber you just left, I suppose it is Lady Astley’s? Should I check on her before you take me to my room?”

“Oh, no.” Juliette’s firm little hand propelled Elizabeth on. “She’s resting, and … and Stewart is with her.”

Elizabeth heard the tremor in the younger woman’s voice and gave her a searching look, noting the drooping mouth, the dark shadows beneath lackluster eyes. She had expected to see Juliette glowing with happiness. After all, for two years the young lady had prayed to be reunited with her beloved Stewart, her husband of four short days.

“This is Stewart’s room. And that, mine.” Juliette indicated the last two doors before the right-angled turn of the hallway, then opened the first door past the corner. “And this, I suppose, must be yours.”

“How beautiful.”

Elizabeth’s feet sank into soft Turkey rugs as she walked toward the object of her admiration, a fourposter bed with gilded posts, the canopy and sides draped with ivory velvet. Heavy gold velvet and clouds of white gauze curtained three mullioned windows and made a stunning contrast to the dark wainscoting and the gleaming mahogany furniture.