Love With an Improper Stranger (17 page)

Along with Caroline and Trevor, the house party included the hosts, Dalton and Daphne, Admiral Mark and Lady Amanda Douglas, as well as their daughter Cara, and her husband Lance, and their youngest Sabrina, and her husband Everett.  The grand dames, Her Grace and Elizabeth, the dowager viscountess of Wainsbrough, spent much of their time with their heads together or playing cards.  Jason Collingwood, a somewhat dangerous looking sea captain, and his wife, Lady Alexandra excelled at impromptu comedy, as they teased each other in shameless but harmless play.  And Dirk and Rebecca had to be the most precious couple known to humanity, as their polite but intense devotion manifested the stuff of every girl’s dream.

And then there were the unattached members of the family.  Lady Elaine Prescott defined poise and elegance, whereas Lucien Wentworth, sixth Earl of Calvert, and George de Vere, Viscount Huntingdon, were rakes in every sense of the word.  The lone person who Lenore found quite engaging and mysterious was Damian, His Grace, the Duke of Weston, as he took unusual interest in Lucilla, but Blake assured Lenore that Damian’s attentions were innocuous.

On Stir-Up Day, the last Sunday before Advent, everyone gathered in the kitchen.  Amid ribald jokes and humorous stories, the close-knit relations passed the traditional wooden spoon, which signified Christ’s manger, assisting the household staff in making the plum pudding and a selection of fruitcakes.  When it was her turn, Lenore adhered to tradition, closed her eyes, stirred in a clockwise rotation, and made her secret wish.

“I will share my silent plea, if you share yours.”  Blake clucked his tongue and winked.  “Tell me it had something to do with me, as mine had everything to do with you.”

“I will do no such thing, as I hope it comes true.”  How she enjoyed his flirtations, as she realized he would never hurt her.

The following sennight, the rather odd extended family trod through the countryside, in search of holly and mistletoe sprigs, which was another of Lenore’s cherished Christmas customs.  That evening, they affixed festoons of evergreens about the elegant manor house.  And as she anticipated, her sea captain caught her below the singular vibrant decoration, which had been fashioned into a ball, beneath which the husbands had already trapped their wives.

“I have you now, lovely Lenore.”  Blake clutched her about the waist and chuckled.  “Do you know what they say of the lady who refuses to yield a prize under the kissing bough?”

Indeed.”  With a dip of her chin, she rocked on her heels and laughed.  “According to lore, she will not wed in the next year.”

“Then what say you?”  He arched a brow.

“This.”  Perched on tiptoes, she pressed her mouth to his, in an ardent affirmation of her emotions.  And as she expected, he took control of their engagement, darting his tongue at hers, until someone cleared their throat.

“I beg your pardon, brother mine.”  Caroline folded her arms.  “As I recall, when Trevor courted me, you policed our behavior with an iron fist.  What is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.  Thus I should offer the same vigilance, so until you put a ring on Lenore’s finger, you will observe the proprieties.”

“Do you not have some service to provide for your husband?”  Blake frowned, as he claimed a berry from the swag.  “Where is Trevor?  No doubt you are past due for a good spanking.”

“He is tucking the children into their beds, and I like to give him time alone with our babes.”  Then Caroline leaned near and whispered, “Tell no one, but my dear man reads fairy stories, in character, and it is unutterably charming.”

“Someone monopolizes Miss Teversham.”  Lucien, Rebecca’s brother, strolled into the hall.

“Oh, I say.”  Damian elbowed George, Lady Amanda’s nephew.  “The very same someone refuses to share his boon.”

“The rudeness.”  George snickered.

“You are bloody well right, I do.”  Blake pulled Lenore to his side, in a thrilling display of possessiveness, and she stifled a snort of protest.  “There are other, unguarded candidates available for your delectation, as this boon is spoken for, so go find your own.”

As the days passed in a blur of activities, Lenore accustomed herself to life as Blake’s partner, given they were paired for every fun-filled event, which she suspected was no mistake.  And despite her previous trepidation and despair, she assumed her role at the head of the great collective, as was expected of her suitor’s lady.  But she had yet to reconcile herself with her choice.  It was, perhaps, no small coincidence that on Christmas Eve, when everyone assembled in the drawing room to mark the blessings of the special occasion, that she made her decision, without reservation.

While Lenore sat on the
chaise
, Blake rolled on the floor with his oldest nephew.  Little Welton squealed with joy, as the estimable naval captain crawled on all fours and roared like a lion.  Then they collapsed into a heap, with unabashed mirth.  For Lenore, it was a side of Blake she could not resist, as never would she have imagined him capable of such playful behavior.  In that moment, she spied the man, without embellishment or rank, and she loved him.

As sure as she knew her name, Lenore knew she was his.  Insofar as the title was concerned, it mattered not, as she would take him without it.  But as she could not separate him from his station, should would have to rise to the occasion.

“All right.”  Mrs. Jones clapped her hands, as the nannies collected their charges.  “It is time for the adults to exchange their gifts, and then we will serve dinner, per Mrs. Randolph’s instructions.”

When Blake attempted to release Welton, the boy burst into tears and clung to his uncle.

“There, there.  Buck up, lad, as you never cry in front of the women.”  Blake glanced at her and shook his head.  “Perhaps Uncle Blake should take you upstairs.”

“It is your fault.”  Caroline compressed her lips.  “You spoil him shamelessly.”

“Of course, I do, as I adore him.”  With Welton perched on Blake’s shoulders, the two charged forth.  “Up and away, we go.”

“Wonderful.”  Daphne stood.  “If the men will carry in the Yule Log, the ladies can help me light the tapers on the fir, as we should open our packages before the carolers appear.  And Dalton, fetch the lump of coal from last year’s fire.”

Decorating a tree was an uncommon and rather new tradition, which Queen Charlotte, the wife of King George III, introduced during holiday celebrations at Windsor, in eighteen hundred.  And while most English citizens limited the gifting of presents to children, Her Grace informed Lenore that the Brethren had their own ritual, which included the adults.

That was her big break.

As Lenore returned to her place on the
chaise
, Blake reappeared and sat to her left, while Daphne sifted through the various wrapped parcels.

“Let me see.”  Kneeling, Daphne read the labels and conducted a roll call, of sorts.  “This one is from Lenore, to Blake.”  Then she hoisted a vast deal more than decent sized box.  “And this is from Blake, to Lenore.”

After the revelers had claimed their treat, the great unveiling commenced, as everyone ripped into their bundles.  Exclamations of delight heralded each recipient’s pleasure, along with unbridled expressions of affection.  But Lenore waited, as she wanted to gauge Blake’s reaction to her homemade surprise.  When he lifted the lid and parted the paper, he met her stare.

“Darling, it is perfect.”  From a bed of cotton, he retrieved a navy wool scarf.  “Did you make this, yourself?”

“I did.”  She situated the neckerchief and was pleased with the fit.  “All those afternoons I told you I napped were but a ruse, so I could knit something especially for you, and I worked hard to complete it.  When we were aboard the
Tristan
, you never seemed to have a scarf handy, and I worry about you catching a cold.  I hope it meets with your approval.”

“Sweetheart, I shall treasure it, always.”  He kissed her temple.  “Now, open yours.”

Lenore knew not what to expect from her suitor, as he seemed forever bent on surprising her.  But when she discovered his offering, she gasped.  The tears that formed, almost in a flash, bore a wealth of elation she simply could not contain.  As she removed the hat, an exact replica, complete with the jaunty feather, of the one he destroyed on the day they met, from the box, she gazed at him and smiled.

“How did you manage it?”  She swallowed a sob, as she rotated the precious accouterment and admired the lavender felt.  “How did you recreate the design?”

“Lucilla helped me, as she described it, in detail, for the milliner.  And while I know it is not your father’s original, I hope it makes amends.”  Blake drew a handkerchief from his coat pocket and daubed her cheeks.  “Have I made you happy?”

“You have, and I would do something for you.”  That was her chance.  After setting aside the treasured item, she inched closer and took his hands in hers.  Inhaling a calming breath, she licked her lips.  Summoning every ounce of her conviction, she pinned his stare and whispered, “Yes.”

Amid the boisterous festivities, a cocoon of quiet euphoria swaddled Blake and Lenore in their own world.  Myriad emotions danced in his expression, and she knew the instant her revelation dawned, and he comprehended the full import of her word, as he tensed.  Then he lowered his chin but remained mute.

“Yes.”  To reassure him, Lenore nodded.  “My answer is yes.”  Then she added, for good measure, “I will marry you.”

For a while, they simply sat there, conversing in a manner only they could understand.  With his thumbs, he caressed her knuckles, and a gossamer web of warmth enveloped her, as he focused his attention on her mouth.

After a few intensely silent minutes, in
sotto voce
, he asked, “Should we tell the others?”

“Oh, no.”  She nestled near, as he wrapped an arm about her shoulders.  “Let us keep it our secret, just for tonight.”

“Then we shall savor our confidential news, between the two of us, and I will make the announcement tomorrow, at the Christmas feast, just prior to the ball.”  With a surreptitious glance at the Brethren, Blake blew out a candle on the side table and stole a quick kiss.  “When shall we wed, my darling?”

“I have no preference, so I will leave that to you.”  Indeed, now that Lenore had made her commitment, everything else seemed inconsequential.  “But I will need a dress, and I suppose a duke cannot just run away to the country and marry in a small, private ceremony.”

“My dear, I can do whatever I want.”  Then the now-familiar smirk made its return.  “And you will have all of London clamoring to design your gown.  Plus, Mama and Caroline will be only too thrilled to arrange the particulars, so you may rely on them.”

Just then, Lenore discovered they were alone in the drawing room.  “Where did everyone go?”

“From the sounds of it, they are in the foyer, and I believe the carolers have arrived.”  Standing, Blake pulled her from the
chaise
.  “Shall we join them?”

“I suppose, though I rather enjoy having you to myself.”  How safe she felt in his company, and how bright her future seemed, as it peaked above the horizon.

Bringing up the rear, they gathered in the grand entry, as locals serenaded Daphne and Dalton with a rousing version of “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.”  Blake shifted, loomed behind her, and hugged her about the waist, and she rested her head to his chest.  At one point, she peered at him, and he grinned, winked, and squeezed her.  Yes, she was his, and nothing could change that.

#

Christmas Day dawned with beautiful blue skies and shimmering sunlight, as if even Mother Nature signaled her blessings of Blake’s impending nuptials.  After attending a morning church service, with his stunning fiancée anchored at his side, the family returned to Courtenay Hall to visit, sing carols, and play several ridiculously competitive rounds of whist.  And all the while, he and Lenore shared knowing glances and flirty smiles, which only intensified his excitement.

As he donned his black formalwear, in preparation for dinner and the ensuing ball, to which Daphne and Dalton had invited the residents of the small island community, Blake mulled various versions of his announcement.  While most noblemen of his stature traveled with their valets, he preferred to turn himself out in trim when away from home.  After checking his appearance in the long mirror, and making a minor adjustment to his cravat, he departed his quarters.  At the head of the grand staircase, he met the object of his affection and almost tripped over his own toes, at the sight of her.

“Hello, Your Grace.”  A goddess in a gown of vivid aqua velvet trimmed in silver embroidery at the bodice, the hem of the skirt, and the long sleeves, with her thick brown locks piled in carefree curls, a sprig of holly just above her left ear, and an exuberant expression, she splayed her arms and rotated for his delectation.  “How do I look?”

“Yes.”  Everything inside him came alert, and he clenched his gut.  “I…am…fine.”

“I beg your pardon?”  With a giggle, she blinked.  “Are you all right?”

“I—that is to say—never have I seen—you are beautiful.”  The world shifted beneath his feet, as he pulled her into a vise-like embrace and seized her mouth in a bruising kiss.  After a few desperately intense minutes, he rested his forehead to hers.  “From this day forward, I shall always count myself the most fortunate man alive.”