The Christmas Carrolls (9 page)

“I gave my word.”

“But you’d given it before, when you said your marriage vows!”

“And I meant them, dash it! One night, one mistake, out of twenty years? Your mother knows I’d never stray again. I couldn’t live with myself for the hurt I brought her, and now you. She forgave me, puss. Can you?”

Joia looked at her father, whom she’d adored all her life, gazing at her so hopefully. So he couldn’t part the seas, he was still her father, and she didn’t love him any less. Then she looked over at Comfort and knew why he’d wanted her to listen to Papa’s tale. His past wasn’t spotless either. Trusting a rake was going to take a giant leap of faith.

“I’ll try, Papa. I’ll try.”

Chapter Ten

Lady Carroll had exceeded herself, the county agreed at that night’s hunt ball. Winterpark glowed with beautiful flowers and beautiful women. The food was delicious, and the gossip was even better.

Any of the houseguests present for the wedding ceremony was a sage. Anyone present at the bumblebroth in Oliver’s bedroom was a celebrity.

Now all eyes were on Joia and the viscount as they enjoyed their second dance together. Since it was only the second set of the evening, speculation was rife. The first had been the cotillion. As one of the highest-ranking gentlemen, it was Comfort’s duty to lead off the eldest daughter of the house, behind the earl and countess. The second dance was a waltz, which the viscount had already appropriated and refused to relinquish. They both knew that one more dance together would be tantamount to a declaration, even by country standards, but they still hadn’t found time to hold a private conversation.

“Do you think it’s too cold for a stroll on the patio?” Comfort asked, reluctant to hand Joia over to her next partner. Tall and slim, dressed in lace-trimmed burnt orange with her golden hair in wisps about her face, she reminded him of a wavering candle flame, beckoning, warming, mesmerizing. There was no way in hell he was passing her on to some cake in overstarched shirt collars. “We should speak.”

Joia didn’t think a stroll through the Antipodes would be too cool, not after being held in Craighton’s arms through the waltz. She did borrow Merry’s paisley shawl, which her youngest sister had brought along to liven up her pale yellow gown, as though Merry’s red curls and laughing eyes needed any more animation.

Joia made sure to avoid her mother’s glance, but she did catch Papa’s nod in Comfort’s direction.

“He
is
pushing you into this!” she said on their way through the French doors.

“Who is pushing me into what, my sweet?” Comfort asked, more interested in making sure they were out of sight of the curious eyes than anything else. He led her toward a path where the nearby rosebushes bore their last, late blooms, warmed by the protection of the house. Fairy lights, paper lanterns hung in the trees, lighted their way.

“My father, of course. He’s talked you into one of those dratted dynastic marriages where two great estates and fortunes come together. You need an heir. Papa wants a titled son-in-law.
Voilá!
A match is made. Well, I say no!”

Comfort had his arm on Joia’s shoulder, to make sure she didn’t stumble. He pulled her closer to his side, but kept walking. “Do you know, my lady, I believe you have just rejected the second offer of marriage that I didn’t make. Terrible habit you have.”

Joia couldn’t tell if he was smiling there in the shadows, but she thought he must be. And he wasn’t angry, for he didn’t remove his arm. “That kind of marriage is just what I don’t want.”

“Ah, now we are getting somewhere. What
do
you want, sweetings?”

“I want love and affection and passion, all wrapped together. I want a man to want to marry
me,
not what I can bring to a marriage. I want—”

Whatever else she wanted would have to wait as Craighton brought his other arm around her and drew her against his chest for a kiss that had the Chinese lanterns doing somersaults.

“Is that enough passion, my love?” he whispered into her mouth, his hand stroking up and down her back, under Merry’s shawl. “If not, I could ...” His hand moved to her side, just beneath her breast.

“No! I mean yes.” The hand moved higher, during another senses-stirring kiss. “I meant I thought it was enough.” Joia knew her wits had gone begging, especially when she had to bite her tongue to keep from begging for yet another kiss. “But... but that’s not all.”

“Lud, much more and I’m like to expire, sweetings,” Craighton said, trying to catch his own breath. “Whatever happened to Miss Prunes and Prisms?”

Joia sighed. “She’s still here. I still want constancy in a husband, a man I can depend on.”

“Ah, here’s the crux, then. If I promised not to stray, would you believe me? What if I said that I’ve seen what your parents have—even with the misadventure—and decided that only their kind of marriage will do for me, too, the forever kind, the sharing and caring kind? What if I told you that I waited to marry until I found the one woman who makes my heart sing, so no other song will do?”

“Am I the one? Are you sure?”

For answer he put her hand against his heart. “It’s playing a waltz, our waltz, Joia. Can you hear it?”

She rather thought the strains of a quadrille were drifting through the ballroom doors. “Do you truly love me, then?” She hadn’t dared to hope.

“It’s like seeing snow for the first time. I didn’t know such a thing was possible, my joy. You showed me. And if you don’t love me that much yet, well, I mean to make you. What would it take, slavish devotion, slaying more dragons, letting your sisters trounce me at jackstraws?”

“I think one more kiss ought to do it, for I’ve loved you forever.”

One kiss wasn’t nearly enough for either of them, of course. When the viscount needed to breathe, he told Joia, “You’ll never have to worry about my being unfaithful, for I never intend to be away from your side. You’ll have me next to you by day and in your bed every night.”

That sounded appealing to both of them, but Joia had to ask, “What, am I to be your warden to keep you honest, your keeper?”

“You’re already the keeper of my heart. Nothing else matters.”

Some time later, the viscount took his arms away and stepped back. “No, no more until we are married or your father will have my head. That marriage had better be dashed soon, sweetings, I’m warning you now.”

Joia pretended to think a moment. “Do you know, I don’t believe I ever heard a proper proposal?”

“What, should I give you a chance to reject me a third time? Never. Besides, I have it on good authority that the proper Lady Joia would never give her kisses where she doesn’t intend to give her hand.”

With that he led her back to the ballroom, where the orchestra was playing another waltz. “It will be our third dance, my love. Shall we?”

“I am sorry, my lord, but I do believe that all of my waltzes are promised to a devilishly handsome rogue with a wandering eye and a wicked reputation.”

“That chap’s been put to grass. You’ll have to take me.”

She laughed. “Since that seems to be the best offer I’m like to get, yes, my love, I will.”

* * * *

Since all eyes had been on the door waiting for the couple’s return, everyone at the ball noticed that a lock of the meticulous viscount’s hair had fallen in his face, that the fashionable Lady Joia wore a pink rose in her hair that clashed quite horribly with the orange of her dress. And that they danced as if no one else were in the room.

Lady Carroll made sure she was standing near their position when the music ended. She tried to look severe over such a lapse in decorum, but failed when the viscount kissed her hand and swore to cherish her daughter for a lifetime, at least, for she had made him the happiest of men.

“Then I am happy, too, my lord.” The countess wiped a tear from her eye.

“What’s this, eh?” Lord Carroll was there, holding out his handkerchief. “This should be a joyous time, what? Instead my Bess is turning into a watering pot.”

Joia’s sisters had left their dance partners to come see what was toward, and they were teary-eyed, too. Holly making a pretty speech about welcoming their new brother-in-law, but Merry simply throwing her arms around the viscount’s neck, to her mother’s chagrin.

The earl shook his head. “Never try to make heads nor tails of a woman’s reasoning, my lad. And always carry extra handkerchiefs.”

Lady Carroll clucked her tongue. “Bradford, are you trying to frighten the poor boy off before there’s even been an announcement?”

“An announcement, that’s what we need!” the earl declared, on the off chance that his hard-to-please daughter might change her mind. “Not that there isn’t a soul in the room who hasn’t figured it out for himself. We’ll need some—”

“Champagne, my lord?” Bartholemew appeared at Lord Carroll’s elbow with a tray and full glasses, while similarly burdened footmen circulated throughout the vast ballroom. “We were prepared for a Great Event.”

“Excellent man. You should be running the government, except what would we do without you here at Winterpark?”

“I am sure I couldn’t say, my lord.”

“Yes, well, it didn’t take an Aristotle to figure this one out, what with these two smelling of April and May.”

“June,” the countess declared, downing her second glass of champagne. “We’ll have a beautiful June wedding at Saint George’s, Hanover Square. I suppose we’ll have to invite the Prince and his brothers, but perhaps they won’t come. The reception will be at Carroll House, of course; the gardens should be at their prime, especially if we start early in the spring. I can almost see the wedding in my mind, Joia dear.”

Lady Carroll was slightly on the go, and who could blame her, with her house turned into a gabble-grinder’s banquet hall? What with Oliver’s mingle-mangle, Joia’s making mice-feet of her reputation, and the hint of old scandals on new lips, it was no wonder the countess forgot herself. Of course, she could see that June wedding, for it was the one she’d planned for herself twenty years ago. “It will be the wedding that I never got to have.”

“Whyever not, Mama?” Joia asked the question they were all wondering. “It’s not as though you made a runaway match.”

“Why is your anniversary in February if you dreamed of a June wedding?” Holly wanted to know.

Lady Carroll giggled. “Because the date had to be moved forward.”

“Now, Bess, there’s no need to go into past history.”

“Why not?” the countess asked, fluttering her husband’s handkerchief in his direction. “Every other family secret seems to be public knowledge.”

“Mama! Never say you and Papa anticipated your vows!” Holly exclaimed, while Merry’s jaw fell open.

Joia was doing some calculating. “But that makes me—”

“The eldest daughter.” Craighton hurriedly filled the breech, waving off Bartholemew and his refilled tray of champagne. “And I am sorry to disappoint you, my lady, but I shall need to be in Ireland in the spring, to see about the new foals. No sense putting all the money and effort into the venture if I’m not going to be there. And I did promise Castlereagh I’d attend the meetings in Vienna this winter. He’s a friend of my father’s, you know. I thought, that is, Joia and I decided to wed soon, and honeymoon in Vienna. We could keep an eye on Oliver, too.”

Lady Carroll started weeping again. “Now, Bess, you know youngsters get impatient.” Lord Carroll frowned toward his youngest daughter, who had to clamp her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. “And a Christmas wedding is everything magical. We can hold a ball....”

“We hold a ball every Christmas, Bradford.”

“Yes, but this will be the finest. We’ll invite everyone, even the mad king; you’ll spend a fortune, turn Winterpark inside out, and dress the girls in silks and velvet.”

“I’m not having my daughter’s bridal gown made by any provincial seamstress, Bradford.”

“Of course not, my dear. The Carroll ladies will be dressed by the finest modiste in the land. I expect nothing less.” He expected to have to sell some Consols to pay for it all.

“Then it will have to be London, and you’ll come along, too, Bradford. There are bound to be engagement balls, and Carlisle is usually in London for the Little Season. His Grace will want to meet our Joia. And Meredyth can use a little Town bronze if she’s to be presented next spring.”

“Comfort, be a good chap and find me a chair. Damn gout is paining me something dreadful.”

Chapter Eleven

Joia and her new fiancé watched her parents climb slowly up the staircase after the last guests had left or retired to their rooms. The ball had been an unqualified success, especially once the champagne started flowing, but now they were all weary. The earl was leaning on his walking stick between stairsteps, and the countess had a handkerchief pressed to her forehead to stop the pounding there.

“Do you think they are happy about the wedding?” Joia asked, taking a step closer to Craighton’s side now that her parents’ backs were turned.

He smiled down at her and put an arm around her waist. “I think your father is in alt, except for the London trip, and your mother will have the affair organized down to the last flower by tomorrow afternoon. She’ll be even more resigned as soon as she has a grandchild to spoil.”

“So long as that happy event comes none too soon,” Joia added, showing her dimples. “Poor Mama couldn’t take another shock to her notions of propriety.”

“Little chance of that happening,” Comfort noted dryly, nodding toward where Bartholemew was fussing over a stain on the Queen Anne table in the hall. They were out of the old retainer’s hearing but in his sight, along with the tall pendulum clock he kept glancing at, none too subtly.

Barty would just have to give them a few minutes more, Comfort decided. A fellow didn’t get betrothed every day. It appeared, however, he would be going to bed unfulfilled every night until that blasted wedding. “Most of all, they want your happiness. Does a December wedding please you?”

He was hoping she’d say no, they should marry as soon as the banns could be read, but of course, his decorous darling would never entertain such forward thoughts.