Read An Improper Holiday Online
Authors: K.A. Mitchell
An Improper Holiday (15 page)
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K.A. Mitchell
“Off to your cold bed then. But I warrant you’ll sing a different tune before Twelfth Night.”
~ * ~
Stammering concerns about the weather, Lord Anthony and some of his friends departed into a clear
blue sky the next morning. Ian thought the storm they feared was the one presaged by Lord Carleigh’s icy glare as he contemplated their reluctantly rendered aid on the ice. With the party in smaller numbers it was difficult to avoid Lewes’ company, but the man’s mere presence no longer chafed. Ian would never like him, but he no longer could hold him up as an antithesis of decency. Not when his own soul seemed
wedded to those same desires.
Charlotte and Nicky were forbidden to leave their rooms for breakfast, though both professed perfect
health. Ian’s private knowledge of Nicky’s capacity for exercise was nothing which could be offered in Nicky’s public defense, so in their rooms the pair of misadventurers remained. Ian’s treacherous prick thought Nicky confined to bed was an excellent way to spend a day, but a lengthy disappearance would no doubt be marked. And if someone went in search of him… He shuddered in consideration of the potential
disaster. Yes, it would take more than a simple decree from the King of Misrule to ensure a merry Twelfth Night.
When Lady Anna declared that dinner would be the final formal entertainment of the evening, Ian
looked forward to the opportunity to be abed—Nicky’s—early. He escaped the post-dinner rituals as
quickly as possible and was surprised to find Simmons waiting for him in his rooms.
“Ah. I’ll have my dressing gown, Simmons. I may…wish to do some reading before I retire.”
“Very good, sir.” Simmons made quick work of Ian’s coat and cravat and then hesitated.
“Yes, Simmons?”
“I don’t like to repeat gossip, sir. But as it may be of particular concern to you, sir, I thought I must.”
At the word gossip, ice filled Ian’s veins, a rapid freeze to shattering, one shard lodging just under his heart so that a breath ached. How great a disaster? Would it be the Continent or gaol?
Surprised he could still speak, Ian said, “Go on.”
“Or rather it concerns Lady Charlotte, sir.”
The shock of relief offered a cushion against initial understanding. Charlotte? The ice roared away
under a spring thaw, bubbles of rage erupting in his blood.
“Tell me.”
“It seems that she has been, to put it delicately, entertaining one of the guests in her room.”
Despite his missing arm, there would be no need for seconds or a dawn appointment. He would kill
the man with his one hand. Heedless of his state of undress, he walked past Simmons and into the hall, heading for the south tower.
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Had she asked for a room so far away from others to carry out this dalliance or had some vile rake
taken advantage of the distance to seduce her? He took the steps two at a time. There would be no pause at the door, no warning, no quarter. He flung open the door to Charlotte’s room.
At first, his brain could not discern what his eyes reported.
A woman’s bare shoulders, nightdress down to her waist, but the hair was blonde, blonde as—yes,
with the face turning toward the door it was Mrs. Collingswood. The figure recumbent on the bed was
female as well and even as he placed his hand over his eyes he saw his sister, her own nightdress open to the waist.
“Ian,” Charlotte shrieked. “What made you—? I’m going to kill him.”
“I—I beg your pardon.” Still covering his eyes, he backed out of the room.
~ * ~
Signaled by Simmons, Nicky made it to Charlotte’s room in time to intercept her as she barreled onto
the tower stairs in her dressing gown. “You! Why on earth would you send him here?”
“Were you going to tell him?”
“I thought you would.”
“Ah yes, just blurt it out. Your sweet innocent sister has taken a lover,” Nicky said. “Leave the worst of it to me again.”
A quieter voice broke in. “Lord, anyone would think you were already married. Perhaps we could
continue the discussion in tones that don’t carry to the stables?” Emily stood between them. Nicky
recognized a militant eye when he saw one and subsided. “Now. However misguided my cousin has been,
someone has to speak to Mr. Stanton.”
Simmons glided up the tower stairs like a ghost. “Mr. Stanton has sequestered himself in your father’s study, my lord. From the sounds of it, he means to make the acquaintance of a great deal of your father’s cognac.”
Nicky started past him and then came back up. “Is the door locked?”
“No, my lord, but I do have the key.” As he held it up, three hands reached for it, and Emily’s slender fingers proved the most deft.
“I am the most sensible choice as I am bound to him neither by blood nor affection. Indeed, I may be
the only one he will speak with. You’ll see that they don’t disturb us, Simmons.”
“You have the only key, madam.”
After Emily had gone out of sight around a corner, Charlotte turned on Nicky. “I can’t believe you
would do something like this. I’m going with her.”
Nicky stopped her. “You just want to listen at the door. I have a better idea. Though you may want to
go back to your room to secure a scented kerchief or something to cover your nose.”
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~ * ~
Ian welcomed the fiery cognac into his throat and poured a fresh glassful from the decanter. Such
abuse was no doubt shameful given the expense of procuring the stuff during the war, but he needed
something to blot the image in his mind. Another man might have been able to dismiss what he had seen in Charlotte’s room as girlish curiosity, but not a man with Ian’s experiences.
He had not known women felt that way too.
Another half decanter of cognac and Ian wouldn’t care. This was why Charlotte hadn’t married. Could
a proclivity for one’s own sex be something they had inherited from their mother? Though Lord Carleigh’s library was well-stocked, Ian doubted he would find the answer on its shelves. He might however find
something less costly in which to submerge his thoughts.
Intent on his search, he ignored the first three taps on the door.
“Mr. Stanton? It is I, Emily Collingswood.”
Maybe she had come to ask for Charlotte’s hand. As long as she hadn’t come to remove the strong
spirits, they could exist in harmony. He stalked over and yanked open the door.
He had kept the room dark to match his mood, but after she closed the doors again, she slipped over to a wall sconce and lit it with her candle. Ha! A bottle of single malt was next to some political tract. He grabbed it.
“Mr. Stanton, I am sure you have suffered something of a shock.”
A shock. Yes. Finding his sister engaged in…he didn’t know what she had been engaged in and he
didn’t particularly wish to examine it with any scrutiny. He opened the bottle and started to raise it to his lips, but despite what he had seen, there was a lady present and Ian was still a gentleman. He poured a generous amount into his glass.
“I love Charlotte very much, Mr. Stanton.”
Maybe she was asking for her hand. “Are you pleading her case or yours?”
“Neither. I believe you are entitled to an explanation.”
“An explanation. That would be rather an accomplishment. Would said explanation cover the ease
with which the three of you have subscribed me for the fool in your little bit of theater?”
“You are a proud man, Mr. Stanton, if you will not take my saying so amiss.”
“And you are a direct speaker, Mrs. Collingswood.”
“Then we know where we are. May I?” She nodded at the decanter.
He shrugged. He had the whiskey. He was content. Not nearly foxed enough yet, but content.
She poured out a measure for herself and took a sip. “My husband preferred gin. But then again he
was a beastly man.” She took another sip. “Very well. To begin, Charlotte and I became well-acquainted after we met here. We—”
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“I believe that fact has been duly noted, madam.”
“Then I will tell you what you do not know. I did not wish to marry. And Charlotte was adamant
about it, as you might expect. But my family was intent on the match. No funds, four girls, a man willing to forgo a dowry, I’m certain my tale is in no way original. Charlotte begged me to reconsider, but I did not have her courage. I yielded to the will of my family. I believe you may have some understanding of that?”
Ian refilled his glass.
“Arthur was a dreadful man. Or perhaps all husbands are. I had only the experience with the one. He
drank too much, and when he did he was violent.”
“Your fall?”
“Yes. He pushed me down the stairs over some imagined insult. The wrong kind of tea or something.
I suppose he might have finished me off, but his regiment was sent to Spain. And I lived. I do not know what you thought of when your body ached with mending until death seemed preferable, but I thought of
Charlotte. And then she was there. She nursed me through it. Led me back to the land of the living.”
Her words were soft and measured, but held the force of her feelings. Ian could not have interrupted
her even if he could think of something to say.
“When I was finally able to leave my bed, I was determined not to suffer without her company again.
By now, I’m sure you have suspected that we had hoped that by finding yourself similarly bound by
affection, you would see that a marriage between Lord Amherst and Charlotte would enable either of us to frequent the household without exciting comment.
“I am sorry for any deception, but as I have said before, you are a proud man, Mr. Stanton, and not
one who is easily swayed. You must follow the dictates of your conscience, but I do not intend to be parted from Charlotte again.”
“You speak as if such an end were simple.”
“It is. As simple as love itself.”
“I assure you, madam, love is neither easy nor simple.”
“But it is. Love is a very simple thing. I pity anyone unable to see that.” She nodded at his glass. “But perhaps you will find that sufficient companionship for the rest of your days.” She left him in the study.
~ * ~
Nicky sucked in his breath, nearly choking on the redolence of the former privy. The one at the south
tower provided excellent hearing for the study and summer salon. “Of all the blasted stupid things to say.
Christ. I never should have let her be the one to speak to him.”
“But she’s right,” Charlotte objected. “It is all so simple, if only Ian would see that.”
Nicky shook his head. “You have never understood your brother. I must get to him.”
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~ * ~
Ian drank off the glass’s contents and set it down with great care. Not care enough, however, for he
knocked it sharply against the edge of the desk, and it separated into three pieces, sharp and thick as the icicles on the eaves. As he picked one up, it sliced deep into his palm, cold at first, but then the blood met the whiskey and it burned. Since he was reeling from the injudiciously applied alcohol and the implications of the tale from his sister’s…lover, the pain was negligible. He held it up to examine the wound on the hand he had left. In his typically imperfect fashion, he had not made a clean slice, a notch made a V at the bottom in the deepest point. Blood ran down into his cuffs, a dark trail across the white. He flexed his fingers, found them still functioning, and the blood came faster.
It smelled like battle. Smoke and cries and cannons. He remembered the stillness of cold white as he
pulled Nicky free of the ice. His blood felt warm where it ran over the back of his hand, cool as it flowed down his wrist. Hot or cold. Happy or sad. Honor or love. No. Such decisions were as far from simple as this study was from the Pyramids of Egypt.
“Sweet Christ, Ian, your hand.” Nicky rushed forward, tearing off his cravat and wrapping it around
Ian’s palm before Ian could drag his thoughts back from wherever they had ventured on their river of
whiskey.
“I don’t want to be cold.”
“Of course you don’t. What the hell is wrong with you, letting it bleed like that? What happened?”
“I think you already know. You were the engineer behind the entire deceit.”
“Actually, Charlotte was the one with the plan.” Nicky tied off the cravat.
Ian pulled away. “Was it truly necessary to inflict the sight on me? I may never recover.”
“That was my idea, I’m afraid.”
“Mrs. Collingswood has the mien of Lord Wellesley. Perhaps we should send her to make short work
of the Emperor.”
“You will have to be the one to explain that to Charlotte.”
“Marriage? You would marry Charlotte and—”
“Haven’t you been urging me to undertake the blessed state?”
“It cannot be that simple.”
“God, Ian, why on earth would you think it simple? Look at you. Has anything about this been
simple?”
“No.”
“Love is neither simple nor easy, but for such a man as you, I consider all the effort most
worthwhile.”
Ian felt he might have swallowed a candle. Nicky’s earnest devotion radiated from him like the light
and heat of a midwinter bonfire. But his words were curiously familiar.
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“You devious bastard. Where were you hiding?”
Nicky grinned. “I don’t think you want to know.”
Ian took a step toward him and stopped, brought up short by the odor emanating from Nicky’s coat.
“What is that smell?”
“You prefer lavender?”