The Christmas Spirit (16 page)

This driver, like the last, claimed no knowledge of Meadows Lane, but Matthew assured him that the street had only recently been built, so the man followed his directions. As soon as the lane appeared--short and possessed of only one house at the end--Ahmad begged to be set down.

"I shall see you at breakfast." Matthew tossed the remark, his eyes already fixed on the doorway ahead. It gleamed as white as sunlight in the black of the night, like a brilliant beacon in the fog.

"Take care, Matthew saab." Ahmad's words seemed to echo behind him in the quiet street as the hired chaise rolled on to its destination.

No other houses had been built on the lane as yet, although graceful lamps had been spaced along its length. As the horses neared the end, the structure that greeted Matthew's eyes was so new and fresh that no soot had sullied its bricks. Its eaves were shining with white paint. Its windows sparkled with an unnatural cleanliness, while, with the exception of an occasional evergreen, all around it the trees of the park loomed in leafless silence. A clump or two of mistletoe, which must have escaped the Christmas revelers, hugged their empty limbs. As Matthew stepped down, the wind seemed to ruffle them, as if they bent to see him.

With his mind on mistletoe and the pleasures it would bring, Matthew abandoned his quick examination of the house and strode up onto the porch. He had barely pulled the bell, when the door was thrown open by a footman, who grinned at Matthew in a most unseemly manner.

Taking the servant's good humor as evidence of some celebration going on below stairs, Matthew wished him joy of the season and identified himself. The footman asked Matthew to follow him into a nearby parlor where he might wait.

All the furniture inside seemed as new as the house, although its style was restrained and comfortable. Not having known what to expect, Matthew was reassured by Faye's good taste, which seemed so perfectly to suit his own. He only wondered that she should have considered her household to be in disarray, when it was plainly in excellent order, with the one exception of the servant's demeanor. He decided that, despite Faye's protestations, she must be a far more exacting housekeeper than she'd allowed.

Before this contradiction could raise other questions in his mind, he was distracted by the entrance of a plump, tiny lady, draped in lavender satin. She swept into the room with a flourish, made him an elaborate curtsy, and extended one dainty hand for him to kiss.

"Sir Matthew Dunstone?" she inquired with a downward sweep of black lashes over violet eyes.

Matthew had never had the patience to be a gallant, but something about this pretty woman, who reminded him of Faye, made him pleased to extend her the courtesy. He bowed low over her hand and let his lips brush her fingers, which he found as soft as rose petals and strongly scented with lilac. "Madam? I am afraid you have the advantage of me."

She giggled, and the roses in her cheeks bloomed. To Matthew's astonishment, they seemed the result of purest nature rather than rouge.

"I am Faye's Aunt Petunia," she said. "She has asked me to bear you company while she puts the finishing touches on her toilette. I hope you do not mind," she added with a daring wink.

Her flirtatious manner obliged Matthew to respond in kind. "Your question puts me at a disadvantage once again. I cannot say that I mind without being untruthful, nor can I own to being delighted for fear of giving offense to your niece."

This remark seemed to tickle her enormously. She took a delicate Japanese fan--a trinket he had not noticed her wearing--raised it to her lips, and tapped his wrist with it.

"Lud! But you’re a naughty boy!" she said, in a style reminiscent of the previous century. "And I shall have to caution my niece to have a look to you."

At her statement, a new concern arose in Matthew. He had been counting upon the expectation that he and Faye would be alone, but her aunt's unanticipated presence suggested otherwise.

"Are you to accompany us to the ball, madam?" he asked in as polite a tone as he could muster.

"Heavens, no!" Faye's Aunt Petunia laughed and touched one hand to her dimpled cheek. "Why, Faye would have my head upon a platter if I did! Although I should dearly love to dance with you, young man. And perhaps I
shall,
one of these fine, dewy evenings."

Even Matthew, with his wealth of experience, was startled by such a bold remark. Eccentricity seemed to run in Faye's family--if not total madness. He was beginning to think he understood the reason for Faye's avoidance of polite society, for it would be difficult for such a free spirit to swim where she wanted in a pond thick with sharks, who were certain to take issue with slight differences in comportment.

But for all her eccentricity, Aunt Petunia seemed to be a lady, at least, and a delightful, though surprising one.

Before he could ask her by what name he should address her, a rather breathless Faye entered the room. Matthew turned to greet her, and his heart caught in his throat.

Everything about her seemed to sparkle. Her emerald eyes were lit with the softest glow he had ever seen in them. Her welcoming smile was a bright snowy white. Even her hair, which was as soft and as black as midnight, shone as if the moon had lit it. The green dress she wore, which draped her slender figure to the ankles, spoke of holly and mistletoe, and the roses in her cheeks whispered of firelight and kisses. Matthew was struck speechless as if he were seeing her for the first time.

I am besotted,
he thought.

Faye, in turn, took in his black evening garb, and he witnessed her approval of the extra pains he had taken with his appearance tonight.

Her frank admiration, which spoke of a hunger nearly as great as his own, made his eyes fill with mist.

Then, through that hazy mist, he spied something--

A pair of pointed ears, nestled in the sharp black of her hair. Green felt instead of velvet for her clothes.

The plaster walls of the room seemed to fade away, letting ghostly trees emerge from the park . . .

Matthew closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Matthew?" Faye's voice came from close by. He felt the soft touch of kid on his cheeks and forehead. "Are you all right?"

He shook his head and opened his eyes, and she was there again as she had been, dressed in green velvet for the ball. The softness of her features soothed him.

"A momentary dizziness," he said, taking a deep appreciative breath. Her scent, a mixture of hedgerows and lavender, filled his nostrils. "For an instant, I feared a return of my fever."

Faye placed the back of one wrist against his brow. "I don't feel any fever," she said, but her face was troubled.

"It's over now." Matthew held her away, then took her gloved hands in his. "I see you have worn my gift."

A rapid flush, greater than anything his remark had warranted, tinged her features. "Yes, I have," she whispered, as if it were a secret to guard between them.

"What is this? What did you say?" Aunt Petunia said sharply from behind him.

"Nothing, Auntie." Faye winked at Matthew. "I am certain you misunderstood." She reached for a handsome cloak that had been thrown upon a chair. Of a sudden, Faye seemed in great haste to be gone. "Sir Matthew just made me a compliment. There is nothing for you to be concerned about."

Faye tugged at his sleeve. Nothing loath--for, in truth, Matthew still felt a bit dizzy--he followed her lead and made his goodbyes to her aunt.

"But--did he not say--" she stammered.

Petunia's pretty face had puckered in concern. Why, he did not know. But it was clear to Matthew that, whatever the cause, it was something Faye did not wish to discuss.

"Have no fears," she called back to her aunt from the front door. "I am in complete control." This last was uttered almost defiantly as she slammed the door behind them.

Matthew's lips began to tickle. Now that they were out in the street, his vertigo seemed to have cleared, although a dense fog had moved in from the park. As he accompanied Faye down the short walk, he glanced back and saw that mist had completely enveloped the house.

He would have remarked upon the curious phenomenon, but Faye's parting comment could not be ignored. "In complete control?" he asked as they reached the carriage. "Dare I beg an explanation?"

"You may beg one if you like." She flashed him a teasing smile.

"But you will choose not to answer, is that it?"

When she nodded, half mischievously, half regretfully, he only chuckled, then waited until they both were seated inside before he said, "Which would deal my masculine vanity a severe blow. Very well, then, I shall not ask. Only tell me that you have nothing cruel in mind, fair lady, for my heart is of no mind to be wounded this evening." He had tried to say this lightly, but it came out more seriously than he'd intended.

Faye's response, too, was more sober than he had expected. Dismay clouded her eyes, when she said, "No, not cruel. I promise. Whatever the evening holds, I shall not be cruel. You have my word."

Disturbed, and even a bit frightened by the distress in her voice, Matthew tried to change the subject. "I was afraid for one terrible moment--no matter how charming your aunt is, mind--that you had planned for her to accompany us."

"No, I told you I lived alone."

"Is she merely visiting then?"

"Yes, she'll be gone by morning."

Such a blithe dismissal surprised him. But it was all part and parcel of Faye, and what made her unique. "What does she think, I wonder, of your going out tonight without a chaperone?"

"I believe she envies me."

This was said in such a soft, husky voice as to set his blood afire. Wishing he could see her, Matthew reached for her hand in the dark and, when he found it, heard her gasp.

The sound was as virginal as it was eager. It cautioned him to wait. Whatever rules of society Faye had breached, her unguarded reaction to his touch had proven her innocence in this particular regard. And the knowledge that he might be her first and only love gave Matthew an unexpected rush of triumph, so strong, in fact, that his hands began to shake.

Astonished--for he had not thought such things important to him, he had trouble finding his tongue. When he did, he used it to divert himself from the temptation churning his blood.

"Would you care to know something about our hosts?" he asked lightly.

"Why, yes. I suppose I should have asked who they are."

He chuckled and drew her hand onto his knee, noticing with pleasure that it trembled just like his. "Our esteemed hosts are Gerald Fortescue, Esq., and his wife, Lady Patricia, the daughter of the Earl of Albion, both patrons of the African Association. Fortescue is one of the wealthiest men in Britain, but he prefers town to country, which is why you find him still in London. He's both a scholar and an amateur scientist, and his wife shares his passion for the unknown. He's rather a decent sort, and his wife is no less, although some of her friends necessarily lack her level of discernment.”

He grinned at Faye through the dark. “I'm afraid you will find both sorts at this function, but it should be a bit more amusing than your typical society affair, else I would not have bored you with it."

He sensed a hesitation before she spoke, "You could not have bored me with an invitation. I--"

When it appeared she would not continue, he prompted, "You. . . ?"

Faye laughed, a musical laugh that made his spirit soar, and Matthew knew he had overcome whatever fear had held him back from loving her.

"I,"
she said, placing an emphasis on the word, "cannot wait to see a ballroom decked out in Christmas greens."

It was not what she had been about to say, he was sure, but the words reminded him of mistletoe again. And he could only hope she'd been thinking of her promise when she'd spoken.

The carriage came to a jerking stop.

"It appears that we are already here." Matthew opened the door to step down first. Then, he turned and helped her to alight, putting his hands upon her tiny waist, which gave him the chance to bring her close and to sniff her hair. She felt weightless, as light as a butterfly.

"I shall endeavor," he whispered into her hair, "to see that the journey home passes much more slowly."

This declaration caused Trudy's pulse to leap as she took Matthew's arm to be escorted in. Fear and exaltation seemed to mix equally inside her as she gazed at his profile. Matthew's back was perfectly erect. The cut of his black jacket closely hugged his square shoulders. The strong features of his face and his imposing brow gave him the look of an eagle.

Beside him, Trudy's step was effortlessly light as always; however, when they entered the door, she almost tripped, alarmed by the crush of humans.

One glance at the scene inside told her she was by far the frailest creature present. The men's voices were raised in raucous shouts; the ladies' laughter nearly pierced her ears. Children, as tall as she, chased each other back and forth across the corridor through the crowd. A Christmas ball was not at all the decorous event she had expected, and for one instant, she was tempted to draw her cloak about her and simply disappear.

Then Matthew stepped around in front of her, his body shielding her from the noise. He put one finger under her chin to raise her eyes to his.

He did not bother to shout over the din, but instead arched one brow as if to ask if they should go in. A sympathetic grin turned up the corners of his mouth.

At that moment, Trudy heard music from the orchestra, and the prospect of a dance chased her fears away. She had nothing to fear as long as Matthew was beside her.

She took a bracing breath and nodded, giving his elbow a squeeze.

"I'll present you to our hosts," she heard Matthew say as he turned to lead her towards the ballroom.

Nearly lost in a sea of humans, for Matthew's tall back blocked her view, Trudy was surprised when he moved aside to let her precede him through the doorway. A vista opened, and she gasped in delight at the sight of the kissing bough.