Joan Smith (5 page)

“There is not time for a proper ball. Just a party.”

Aurelia had her little heart quite set on a wedding at St. George’s. On the other hand, Clareview was a rich and famous estate, and her family would enjoy seeing it. She had planned to fix it all up before inviting them. The carpets were downright tatty, and the window hangings were faded. Marie would be shocked at their condition. She had bought everything brand-new when she married Mr. Huddleston. “Do you think we could have the house ready in time?” she asked.

“We shall set the servants to work with beeswax and turpentine,” Lizzie replied. “Have the carpets beaten, or perhaps a good brushing with tea leaves, as the weather is so inclement.”

“That sounds lovely,” Aurelia said in her whispery voice. With five pairs of eyes studying her, she had not the courage to object. She would talk to Nick privately later and explain to him that she wanted to be married in London. Meanwhile, the party sounded exciting.

“This afternoon we are going out to cut the mistletoe,” Nick said to her. “For the kissing bough, you know.”

“You grow it yourself?” Aurelia asked in amazement. “At home, a man used to come to the door selling it. It was convenient, in such chilly weather.”

“We cut our own,” Nick said. “If you have never seen it growing, you will be interested to see it is a parasite. It grows on other trees, usually apple trees.”

“A parasite!” she exclaimed. “I thought a parasite was a person.”

“P’raps you are thinking of a pharisee,” Pelham said.

“I don’t think so. Papa used to call Cousin Edward a parasite. He comes and stays with us for months at a time without ever offering to pay a penny.”

Miss Aurelia found the gentlemen’s talk so difficult that she turned to Jane, engaged her in more rational discourse about the shops in Amberley, and enjoyed the rest of the meal.

She was really not looking forward to another bout of the cold weather, but as soon as lunch was over, Nick said, “Shall we go and cut the mistletoe now, my dear?”

Aurelia looked longingly at the grate, and thought of the fashion magazines in her room. She wanted to curl up in front of the fire and pore over the pictures, choosing gowns and suits and bonnets for her future life as mistress of Clareview, and eventually, as Lady Goderich.

“It is very cold out,” she said. “It was not snowing when we left London. I did not bring any stout shoes with me.”

“You must wear mine,” Jane offered at once, and was rewarded with a testy look.

“I have already been out once today,” Aurelia said. “Why do you not go with Nick to cut the mistletoe, Miss Ramsey?”

Jane looked at her in perplexity. She did not want to make a mountain of the little matter. It was perfectly clear that Aurelia did not want to go, and equally clear that Nick wanted her to.

“We’ll all go, like in the old days,” Pelham said. “Nick, me, and Jane. Let the girl stay by the fire, Nick. You have frozen her once today. You don’t want her to come down with the flu so close to the wedding.”

This warning brought Nick’s urgings to an immediate halt. “I am a selfish beast,” he declared. “Wrap yourself up warmly and stay in front of the fire, my dear, and have a nice hot cup of tea waiting for us. We shan’t be long.”

He accompanied her to the sofa and wrapped her in a shawl. Before leaving, he placed a light kiss on top of her head. Aurelia looked up and smiled a sweet smile at him. She knew she could bring Nick around her thumb. He would not insist on having the wedding in some old French church in the country when St. George’s was so much more fashionable. Marie had told her she must take a firm hand with him from the beginning, and she meant to do it.

The three who were going out bundled themselves up warmly, Jane in a woolen wrapper over her head and shoulders and pattens on her feet, the gentlemen in their greatcoats and boots, Nick carried a knife to cut the mistletoe, Jane a basket to bring it home.

The snow, which had been untouched that morning, bore traces of wheels and hooves and human footprints now, but as they wended their way back to the orchard, they encountered virgin snow again. Jane noticed the strange smile Nick wore as he looked all around at it.

“It is a long time since you have seen snow, I expect?” she said.

“Yes, it is quite a novelty for me. I should not have urged Aurelia to come with us. I wish you will tell me when I am being unconscionably selfish, Jane.”

“I told you,” Pel reminded him. “It was clear as a pikestaff Miss Aurelia didn’t want to come out. Why would she, on a day like this? What you ought to do is go home and sit with her. Jane and I can cut the mistletoe.”

“No, no. I have been looking forward to it,” he insisted.

They entered the orchard, where an inch of newly fallen snow sat on the branches like icing on a cake. On two or three trees, clumps of mistletoe hung heavy with their burden of snow. Jane reached up to brush the snow away.

“This one,” she said. “It has plenty of berries.” Nick cut it off, and placed it in her basket.

They selected other branches until the basket was full.

“We are forgetting something,” Pelham said.

Jane had noticed the outing was less enjoyable than other years, and knew the reason was curled up before the grate in the Gold Saloon. “What is that?” she asked.

He held a branch over her head and kissed her. “That is what the kissing bough is all about, eh?”

She gave an uneasy laugh, wondering if Nick would also perform the ritual. He just looked on, smiling, then took the bough from Pelham and added it to the basket.

“Let me carry that, Jane,” he said, taking it from her.

They returned to Clareview, talking about other Christmases. This is probably the last time I will be coming here with Nick, Jane thought. Once he is married, and Aurelia’s family come for Christmas, they won’t want me underfoot. Probably Aunt Emily and I will come for Christmas dinner, but we won’t be cutting the mistletoe or sharing these little outings, which have always been a part of my life. I shall have to find new traditions.

When they returned, there was no one in the saloon. The butler told them Miss Aurelia had gone abovestairs to write letters, and the other ladies had retired to Lady Elizabeth’s parlor. As Jane’s feet were cold and wet, she went abovestairs to change her stockings.

Miss Townsend’s head peeped out the door of her  room. “Oh, you are back,” she said. “Is Nick downstairs?”

“Yes, he and Pelham are going to hang the mistletoe.”

“Was Nick angry that I didn’t go with him?”

“Not at all.”

“It is so cold out,” she said, shivering. “I noticed at breakfast that Lady—Aunt Lizzie gave me ‘some strange looks when I mentioned giving money to the tenant farmers. And at lunch, too, I fear I made a fool of myself. I have always lived in the city, Miss Ramsey. I don’t understand country ways yet, but I want to learn. I hope you will tell me if I am doing something wrong. I feel so ... strange here, amongst all these people who have known each other forever. I hope you will be my friend.”

Jane was touched at this artless speech. Since her best friend’s marriage and remove to Kent, she had no really close lady friend her own age. It seemed natural and right that Nick’s bride should become her new friend. She might prove useful to Aurelia in small ways, as she was a little older, and familiar with life at Clareview.

“I should like it of all things,” she said.

“May I call you Jane, then? And you must call me Aurelia.”

“I have been finding ‘Miss Aurelia’ quite a mouthful,” Jane said, smiling.

She followed Jane into her room and sat on the bed while Jane changed her stockings. “Nick is very handsome, is he not?” she said, peeking into the mirror and patting her curls. “Even if he weren’t going to be
a
lord, I would still have accepted him. Marie says it is vulgar to be chasing after a title, but I think she is just jealous because Mr. Huddleston has none.”

“Actually, Nick doesn’t have a title yet, so no one can accuse you of that.”

“But he will have, as soon as his uncle dies.”

“Yes, it is pretty sure Nick will be Lord Goderich one day.”

“It is very exciting about the party, is it not?”

“Indeed it is. We don’t have many parties hereabouts.”

“When I am Lady Goderich, I shall have a grand ball every season. And I shall find
a parti
for you, too, Jane. And now I must go to Nick.”

She bounced off the bed and darted from the room, leaving Jane behind to finish her toilette. Jane was happy that Aurelia wanted to be her friend. She had some vague image of herself as Aunt Jane, dandling the future heir to Clareview on her knee.

As she returned below, she saw from midway down the great circular staircase that the mistletoe had been hung in the archway into the Gold Saloon. Beneath it, Nick and Aurelia stood, embracing. His black head was suspended over her glinting blond curls. What a pretty, romantic picture they made! Jane was ambushed by a jolt of anger that made her forget all her good intentions of becoming Aurelia’s mentor. She had to clench her lips to fight down the wild surge of jealousy.

No, surely not jealousy! Envy—that diffused emotion, not centering on personalities but on the fact that Aurelia was engaged and she was not— was more acceptable to her. She was just a little envious. What lady would not be? She hesitated a moment, not wanting to interrupt them. Then Nick’s head rose, he said something to Aurelia, they walked back into the saloon, arm in arm, and Jane arranged her face into a smile to join them.

“You tell him, Jane,” Aurelia said when Jane joined Nick and his fiancée in front of the grate.

Pelham was there as well, reading, which was an unusual occupation for him. Jane chose the chair beside Pelham.

“Tell him what?” Jane asked.

“Tell Nick he must wear his scarlet regimentals tonight. Lady Elizabeth has invited some friends in for dinner. The mummers will be coming later. I want him to wear his uniform.”

“And I never want to see it again,” Nick insisted.

“You promised you would have your portrait painted for me in your uniform.”

“I would like to see you in your uniform,” Jane said. “I should think all the neighbors expect to see you wearing it at least once.”

“I am no longer an officer. I have resigned my commission,” Nick insisted.

“Wouldn’t mind seeing it myself,” Pel said. “Mean to say, been hearing of your heroics forever. I’d like to see the shako and gold braid and all. Really ought to wear them once. A kind of a duty, in a way.”

Aurelia adopted a moue and said, “Please, Nick. For me.”

“Tell you what,” Pel said. “Wear ‘em to church tomorrow, let the whole town gape at ‘em, then put ‘em away in mothballs. You’ll never hear the end of it until folks get a look at you in the outfit.”

Nick looked around at the three demanding faces, from Aurelia, to Pelham, to Jane. Then he gave a reluctant
tsk
and said, “Very well, one last time at church tomorrow, then they go into mothballs.”

“Until we go to London to have our portraits done,” Aurelia said, and laughed, pleased that she had partially won her way. She could not leave well enough alone, and added, “Since the outfit will be all pressed and ready, perhaps you will wear it for the New Year’s ball, too, to let my family and friends see it.”

He gave a look of mock intimidation. “There are limits to my patience, my little turtledove. And the New Year’s do is not to be
a
ball, but an informal rout.”

Lady Elizabeth and Mrs. Lipton joined them and approved of the idea of Nick wearing the uniform to church for Christmas.

“Be sure you stop in to show it off to your uncle,” Lady Elizabeth said. “Have you been in to see him today, Nick?”

“Certainly I have, and will go again. Is he awake now?”

“Yes, he was asking for you.”

“Let us go up, then,” he said to Aurelia, and they left.

“What a dear child she is,” Lady Elizabeth said. Her crocodilian smile coerced them all to agree.

Jane said to Pelham, “Is that the wedding ceremony you are studying, Pel?”

“Eh? What would a wedding ceremony be doing in a cookery book? I am looking at the receipt for mulled wine. Port or claret, it says. Which do we use?”

“We used claret last year.”

“So we did. It don’t mention the apples. We always have apples floating in the wine. Do you have any apples in the root cellar, Aunt Lizzie?”

“Of course we have apples. And don’t forget to use the proper tin warmer for the wine. Mulled wine requires its own special pan.”

Jane studied Pelham as they worked together. She was reluctant to give up the past. If she married Pel, things would continue on much as they always had. True, she didn’t love him, but she liked him very much. He would make a good, thoughtful husband. There was no one she liked better— except Nick, of course, and as he was marrying, why should not she?

While the preparations for the mulled wine were taking place in the saloon, abovestairs Lord Goderich surveyed the two young strangers who had come into his room. Then he recognized Nick and demanded to know who the young chit with him was.

“This is Miss Aurelia Townsend, uncle, my fiancée
.
”

“I thought you was marrying that Junoesque redhead that was in here last night. Rob Ramsey’s gel, is she?”

“Indeed she is, but my fiancée is Miss Aurelia.” He said aside to Aurelia, “Say something to him.”

Aurelia stepped closer to the frightening old man on the bed, who looked like a bedlamite with his white hair flying about and his wild eyes staring at her. Words stuck in her throat. What on earth did one say to a lunatic lord? In society, she was invariably introduced as the youngest daughter of Edward Townsend, the brewer.

She curtsied and said timidly, “I am Aurelia, Edward Townsend’s daughter, sir.”

“Eh? Who the deuce is Edward Townsend? There are no Townsends hereabouts.”

“Papa is a brewer,” she said.

“Ah, a brewer! Excellent. Bring me a glass of ale, miss.” Mistaking her for a serving wench, despite her elegant gown, he reached out his fevered finger and pinched her chin.