Christmas Belles (14 page)

"The lady?"

"Yes. It is a fancy that sailors often have, perceiving
the sea as a woman."

"Truly? What does she look like?"

"Well, she looks different to different sailors."

"What does she look like to you?" Chloe persisted,
clearly fascinated by anything hinting of legend.

"I never really thought about it, but I suppose she
would have delicate features, long flowing hair, and eyes the color of..."

He found himself staring directly into Chloe's wide blue
eyes.

"Yes?" she prompted.

"And what a great deal of nonsense you can coax a man
into talking, Chloe." He gave a quick laugh. "You will have me as superstitious
as Doughty in a minute."

"But no more ghosts, I promise." She favored him
with a sudden shy smile. "I am sorry, Captain, about everything, how
horrid I have been ever since you first came. I really would be glad to have
you for a brother if only I could be sure that Emma will be happy." She
paused, giving her head a rueful shake as though determining not to open any
old quarrels. "But it is very difficult when you have three sisters and
all of you are so close, and a gentleman comes to take one away."

"You will feel differently when it is your turn."

"I fear that will happen only in my dreams. I am not as
clever as Agnes or as beautiful as Lucy."

"And yet you have one of those winsome faces, the kind
that must have sent knights of old out on quests to slay dragons."

She blushed prettily. "Pooh. Now you are indeed talking
nonsense, Captain, and this time it isn't my fault."

"If we are indeed going to be friends, I wish you would
call me something besides Captain."

"All right," she said, and then with a soft
hesitation, "Will."

He had meant for her to call him Trent, as his friends did.
No one had ever addressed him as William, let alone Will. But he didn't correct
her, the sound of that single syllable on her lips strangely sweet.

When they were on the verge of retiring from the parlor, she
startled him by standing on tiptoe and suddenly kissing his cheek, her lips
warm, whispering perilously close to the corner of his mouth.

Chloe must have perceived his astounded expression, for she
pointed upward. "The mistletoe," she said. "Merry Christmas,
Will."

"Merry Christmas, Chloe," he replied gravely.

She left him then, making her way up the stairs, smothering
a tiny yawn. After such a night, things had a way of working out most strangely,
he thought, as he watched his newest sister vanish into the darkness.

There was only one problem. He touched his hand to where he
yet felt the sweetness of her kiss. For one moment there, when her lips had
grazed so near his own, his impulses had been far from brotherly.

Chapter Six

Chloe awoke late next morning after what had proved a deep
sleep. As she sat up in bed, coming to a state of drowsy awareness, she
stretched and yawned. Lord, but she had had the most incredible dream. It had
been so vivid, so real. She had dreamed she had kissed Captain Trent under the
mistletoe, touched his hand, and called him "Will."

But as her gaze roved about the nursery, she focused on the
old-fashioned gown crumpled into a heap upon the floor, and memory of last
night's escapade flooded back to her, her disastrous misadventure and its
aftermath with Trent in the parlor.

Chloe felt her cheeks wash hot with confusion and was glad
she was alone in the bedchamber. It had been no dream. She really had kissed
the enemy. No, not the enemy, she was obliged to correct herself. She could not
call the captain that any longer, not after the way he had spared her the
humiliation of being discovered in her foolish masquerade, not after all the
confidences they had shared before the fireside.

She was forced to acknowledge that Trent was not such a
coldhearted man after all. For all his sternness, there was a gentleness and a
gallantry about him very much like that of the knights of old.

Never would she forget the haunted look in his eyes as he
had described the way Papa had died, the captain most bitterly blaming himself.
For the first time since she had lost her father, Chloe had felt the need to
give comfort rather than receive it, to soothe away the pain shadowing Trent's
features. In that instant, she had realized that hers had been the cold heart,
set against Trent from the start.

If she had not feared that Emma was still so much in love
with Mr. Henry, Chloe could have wished her sister joy of her engagement to the
captain. He was indeed a fine man. But it was most strange. Her coming to know
Will better, even to like him, only seemed to strengthen her opinion that his
marriage to Emma would be very wrong.

Drawing up her knees beneath the coverlet, Chloe rested her
head against them. Everything was so confusing. How much less complicated her
life had been only a week ago, when she had been in blissful ignorance that
Captain William Trent had been about to descend upon them. And yet she found
she could no longer wish he had never come to Windhaven.

He had brought with him the winds of change, whether for
good or ill she was still not certain. She only knew that she felt more alive,
more quickened with excitement than she had for a long time. It was almost like
winter melting into spring. This morning she would not have been surprised to
hear birds chirping among green leaves outside her window, to feel a flood of
sunlight pouring into the room. But as she glanced up, she saw something that
gave her far greater pleasure.

The windows were half frosted over with a crystalline
substance that sparkled like diamonds. Beyond the glass, a few stray snowflakes
danced through the air.

With a glad cry, Chloe flung back the coverlets and darted
to the window, never minding the cold feel of the floorboards beneath her bare
feet. She pressed her nose against the glass, shivering with delight.

After so many wretched, gray mornings of nothing but
dampness and fog, it had snowed at last. The world was bright and new again.
Not a deep snow, but enough to cover the gardens and the roof of the stables
with a dusting of fairy white. There was always something magical about the
first snowfall. The bushes would be frosted like icy cakes, and the pond must
be frozen over.

Unable to stand still, Chloe glanced eagerly about, longing
for someone to share her pleasure. But Agnes had likely risen and crept out of
their chamber long ago. And as if Agnes would have done anything more than look
down her sharp little nose, declaring that the wonderland outside was but a
natural consequence of the season, nothing to make such a fuss about. Then she
would dive back into some musty old book.

Chloe sighed, but she did not waste time repining over her
lack of companionship. Instead, she stripped off her nightgown and hastened to
get dressed. By the time she scrambled into a soft woolen gown the color of
primroses, she felt the want of Agnes in a more practical manner. There was no
one about to help her lace up the back of the gown.

Holding the material closed as best she could, Chloe crept
cautiously down the hall to Lucy's room, certain of finding her in her chamber,
still abed. She was only half-right. Lucy was still in the room she shared with
Emma, but surprisingly up and stirring. She stood before the dresser mirror, arranging
an elegant shako upon her golden curls, the hat complementing the military cut
of her new, blue velvet riding habit.

Chloe gaped in astonishment, but Lucy only laughed and spun
Chloe about to fasten up the back of the gown, all the while chattering gaily.
"There you are, at last, Miss Slugabed. I told Emma someone ought to check
on you, make certain you had not slipped into some trance, like that
unfortunate princess Papa used to tell us about. You never even woke during all
our excitement last night. What do you think? Captain Trent's steward was
thrashing about in the throes of some horrid nightmare. It startled me so. I
thought the house was being overrun by brigands."

Chloe felt a telltale blush rise into her cheeks, and she
was glad she had her back to Lucy. As soon as Lucy had finished with the
fastenings, Chloe peeked around, her gaze tracking from Lucy's riding habit to
the riding gloves and fur-trimmed cape slung carelessly over a chair.

"Lucy," she said in accents of undisguised
astonishment. "You are going out riding?"

"Mmm," Lucy said absently, taking one more peek in
the mirror, adjusting her hat to a saucy angle.

"But didn't you notice? It snowed."

"Of course I noticed, you goose."

Chloe was thoroughly nonplussed, knowing that Lucy was far
more wont to curl up before the fire like a sleek cat on a day like this,
rather than risk the frost nipping her nose to an unbecoming shade of red. Then
a thought occurred to her.

"Oh!" she said. "Mr. Lathrop would not also
happen to be going, would he?"

It was Lucy's turn to blush. She tossed her head in a manner
of affected carelessness. "It so happens that he is. Charles—I mean, Mr.
Lathrop—is quite mad about riding. I think he'd go out even if there were a
blizzard. And someone must go with him to make certain he doesn't get lost
again."

As though feeling the weight of Chloe's earnest stare, Lucy
whipped about to glare at her. "And you needn't go thinking I am falling
in love with the man."

"Why I didn't," Chloe stammered in protest.
"I mean, I never—"

"Good! Because I am not. He is a very charming man and
quite good-looking. But he is possessed of only a modest fortune and no title
worth speaking of. I can do much better for myself in London."

"Perhaps you can, but—"

"I am glad we have that settled, then," Lucy said,
jamming her fingers into her gloves. "Your romantic imaginings can be very
tiresome sometimes, Chloe."

Scooping up her cape, she swept majestically out of the
room, leaving Chloe nigh incoherent with indignation and bewilderment. She was
not quite sure what had just taken place, only that she had been most unjustly
accused and Lucy was behaving very strangely.

But she was in far too sunny a mood to be disconcerted for
long. Slipping out of Lucy's room, Chloe headed downstairs, eager to discover
what the rest of the household might be doing this morning.

The rest? She brought herself up short with an abashed half
smile. She was honest enough to admit there was only one person whose whereabouts
aroused her curiosity—that being a certain sea captain.

Below, she heard distinctly masculine voices coming from the
region of the breakfast parlor. But before she could reach for the handle, the
door swung open, and Mr. Doughty, on the point of charging out, nearly
blundered into her.

"Oh, good morning, Miss Chloe," the sailor said
with a respectful nod and his broad grin.

Her spirits somewhat subdued, she took a deep breath and
greeted the steward, hastening on to frame her apology. "It was a beastly
thing I did last night, giving you such a dreadful fright, and I am so very
sorry."

"Not at all, miss. 'Twas a capital jest. No need to
look so down just for having a bit of fun. As for frightening me, bah! I knew
it was you all along." The burly seaman leaned forward in conspiratorial
fashion. "Though I did think there was a moment there when you gave the
captain quite a turn."

"You know, I believe there was." Chloe pressed her
hand to her lips to stifle a giggle, and Doughty chuckled heartily. As he stood
aside to permit her to enter the breakfast parlor, she dimpled into a
mischievous smile.

It was a smile she checked as she realized that Trent was
already seated within and must have overheard this exchange. He quirked one
brow in quizzical fashion.

"Of course, none of it was amusing at all," she
said quickly. "And I'd never do it again."

Doughty agreed and beat a hasty retreat, closing the door
behind him. Trent's lips twitched, but he rose respectfully at Chloe's
entrance. She waved him back down.

"No, don't get up, Cap—Will. You mustn't let your
breakfast get cold."

As she moved to help herself from the dishes assembled on
the sideboard, Chloe could not help stealing a sidewise glance at him. He was
clad in tight-fitting breeches and a dark blue frock coat that sported none of
the glitter of his uniform. Yet he still presented a commanding presence, his
dark hair swept back in flowing waves. He was handsome enough to make any
maid's heart pound a little harder. Perhaps Emma truly was reconciled to the
prospect of marrying him. Chloe knew that if the choice had been hers---

She checked her thoughts, which were both wayward and
improper. Lowering her gaze, she fixed her attention upon securing herself a
bit of toast and a cup of tea. She managed to compose herself by the time she
returned to the table, although she shyly ducked her head when Will held her
chair for her. It would have astonished her to learn that he was also feeling
the absence of his usual composure. He found it difficult to admit how eagerly
he had been awaiting her appearance. He had spent a restless night, deeply
troubled by the feelings she had aroused in him with that innocent kiss under
the mistletoe. But he had managed to convince himself it was all right. She was
going to become his sister, and it was the proper thing to entertain some
fondness for her.

Indeed, it would have been impossible not to be fond of
Chloe. Trent had never seen anything so charming as the way she had apologized
to Mr. Doughty. Her soft, honey-colored curls framing her delicate face, those
wide blue eyes so contrite. With such a look, a man could forgive her anything,
Trent thought, even to sinking his ship to the bottom of the Channel. England
had plenty of boats; there was only one Chloe.

Astonished by the foolish notions flitting through his
brain, Trent concentrated upon his plate, which was heaping with eggs and a
large grilled beefsteak. He ate with gusto until he became aware that Chloe was
staring at him. Flushing a little, he lowered his fork.

"You'll have to excuse me if I seem a perfect
glutton," he said. "After so long at sea, when breakfast is often a
hard biscuit alive with weevils, something like this seems like pure
ambrosia."

"Oh, don't apologize," Chloe said, moving to
refill his coffee cup. "I didn't mean to stare. It was only so pleasant
for once to see you really enjoying something."

"Do I really seem that much of a dull old stick?"

"No, only surpassingly serious. I would wager you have already
forgotten you are supposed to be on holiday and have arranged some sort of grim
schedule for today."

"Naturally, I had planned to meet with Mr. Martin, and
then there are accounts to be gone over—" Trent broke off with a guilty
laugh. "And what plans have you formed for your day, ma'am?"

"Me?" Chloe leaned against the back of her chair,
her eyes becoming dreamy. "I intend to do something of great importance. I
am going outside to make footprints in the snow, and then if I can bully Agnes
into going with me, I shall go skating on the pond."

"I fear you have little chance of that. I believe Agnes
has already barricaded herself in the library with a most ponderous-looking
tome."

"And Lucy and Mr. Lathrop have gone riding." Chloe
gave a disconsolate sigh. "And Emma never skates."

"In any case, Emma is already engaged in interviewing
prospective housemaids by my insistence. I looked at your sister's hands and
was appalled to see how chapped her fingers are becoming from all her work in
the kitchens."

Chloe only nodded. An image rose in her mind of Trent
examining Emma's hands, and she could fancy how tenderly he must have done so.
The thought produced a curious and wistful ache in her heart.

She was rather glad of the diversion provided by Polly and
Old Meg entering the breakfast parlor. Chloe reached eagerly for the small
purse she had brought with her. It was Boxing Day, a time customarily set aside
for rewarding the service of one's family retainers, and none deserved it more
than these loyal and faithful friends.

But as she started to spill into her hand the bright
shillings she had so carefully saved, the elderly cook and pert housemaid were
already making their curtsies to the captain.

"Begging your pardon, Captain." Old Meg beamed.
"We didn't wish to intrude upon your breakfast, but Polly and me could
wait no longer to thank you for your generous gift."

"Truly," Polly gushed. "I never had five
pounds all at once in me life before."

Five pounds? Chloe felt her own smile waver. The hoard of
shillings clutched in her fist seemed pathetic by comparison, and she whisked
them under the table.