The Duke's Winter Promise: A Christmas Regency Romance

by Isabella Thorne

  Anne had a bemused smile on her face.

  “Remember when we were a part of such antics,” Emily mused.

  “But we are ladies now,” Eliza said.

  “Indeed, we are,” Anne said. Emily thought she heard a wistful note in her friend’s voice.

  11

  Alexander thought it had been a good evening. At least, it had been an eventful one. He slipped off his tailcoat and handed it to his valet, Jervis, while Lucky wagged his tail and coaxed for a rub.

  “Lie down,” he told the ancient greyhound. Lucky obeyed but continued to wag his tail. It made a continual thump-thump sound on the floor as he watched his master with silent adoration.

  A book and a glass of brandy waited on the duke’s nightstand, along with fresh wax candles in the silver candelabrum. He told Barnes that he hated struggling to see the letters in his book in poor light although, he knew; his servants thought he spent an extravagant amount on candles for unused hallways.

  Perhaps he just hated all the dark corners of his boyhood home. He wanted to dispel all of the shadows. Candles would not quite do that, but perhaps there was another way. Alexander swirled the brandy in his glass and took a sip not tasting it. His mind was on Emily.

  Lucky whined and he gave a low whistle. The dog bounded to him and Alexander put down the brandy to give him a good scratch. He had the animal since childhood and the hound showed signs of his age. He was the only greyhound allowed in the house. Lucky was a runt puppy that his father wanted to put down, but Alexander had intervened. Since the dog had lived to a ripe old age, Alexander thought the dog was definitely lucky.

  “Bring me some luck, hey boy?” The duke said patting the dog.

  Around him the servants moved silently, about their tasks. Jervis hung up his tailcoat and fussed with his clothes, tsking over the occasional dog hair, no matter that Lucky was well brushed. Alfie filled the bedwarmer with coals while Joe banked the fire.

  Alexander remembered when it had been Polly who lit the fires in his room: Polly, with the red hair and freckles. She had looked a bit like Emily then. He remembered the day quite clearly. It was the day everything had changed.

  He and Polly were of an age. It had not been long after his mother died. Polly had been kneeling by the fire chattering brightly in the way she had; filling the room with a pleasant sound. He had been by her side talking. She stood and turned to him, a smudge of soot on her cheek, and he reached out to wipe it away.

  She froze, so very still and he had kissed her. It was an impulsive thing, and yet, perhaps he had planned it. In some part of his mind, he supposed he had. He knew he didn’t want his father to choose his first kiss; his first anything, and yet he would. He had.

  Alexander took another sip of brandy and sat the glass on the dresser. He let Jervis take his cufflinks. He unbuttoned his waistcoat and pulled it off handing it to the man to hang.

  He watched Joe now poking the fire and he remembered.

  He had kissed Polly and when he stepped away, Polly had stopped speaking. She had stopped moving. There was stark terror in her eyes. He had not meant to scare the poor girl. It was only a kiss, and yet it was not.

  “Go,” he had said softly and she fled as if the hounds of hell were on her heels.

  The next day, there was a new servant to bank the fires, a tall boy, who he thought must have drawn the short straw. Either that or he was the bravest of those offered the job. Jackson was his name.

  The entire attitude of the household shifted that day. He knew that Polly had told of the kiss. It was such a simple thing. It meant nothing, and yet it meant everything.

  To the servants he was no longer the young master who snuck biscuits and chatted in the kitchen. He was the duke’s son. They did not speak unless spoken to, and he never had another female servant alone in his room.

  Alexander realized that the gossip flooded through the house, and by morning everyone knew he had kissed the chambermaid. They watched him then with the same wary eyes they watched his father.

  “Be wary of the master. Be wary of the master’s son” was whispered from one female servant to the next. They started going about the rooms in twos, never alone. Alexander had not wanted it that way, but he was powerless to alter the situation.

  They watched him still despite changes he had made after his father’s death. He had not hired many woman in the household since his father’s passing even though male servants were more expensive than females due to the tax. He could not stand to see another servant look at him the way Polly had done. He could not stand to see anyone look at him the way Polly had done.

  His thoughts went to Emily, and for a moment he paused with the brandy at his lips. Concern filled him. He took a slow sip of his drink and reminded himself, Emily was afraid of nothing. She would certainly have no call to be afraid of him. He would see to it. He would do things right this time.

  He went over plans in his mind.

  Bramblewood was ready as it would ever be for guests. It was clean. The stairways were hung with pine boughs and holly. Tiny candles glittered among the branches on mantels. He would have to thank the staff for their extra efforts. He was quite impressed. The manor looked beautiful.

  The boy finished with the duke’s fire, and Alexander nodded to Jervis. “That will be all,” he said.

  The man bowed and took his leave.

  Lucky curled up at the foot of the bed, as close to the fire as he could get.

  Alexander crawled into his warmed and yet cold bed and thought of Emily. No, he corrected himself. Miss Ingram.

  He must address her as Miss Ingram. He must not make another mistake. Not like he had with Polly. He had blundered through and things had turned out, although not for the best. The result was at least not disastrous, not for him.

  Nonetheless, there would be no mistakes this time. Not with Emily. Not with anyone. Emily was a lady. He must treat her as such.

  The candles were making flickering patterns on the wall. He must remember to tell Barnes that he wanted every sconce lit. He wanted no dark corners for nefarious actions at the dinner party even though he only invited upstanding persons.

  Lots of candles make no dark corners. Wicked deeds happened in darkness, not in the light. He had ordered an extravagant amount of candles for the party.

  He wanted the unfinished rooms locked. He knew his kitchen clerk had the meal well in hand, but he ran over the items in his mind anyway. It must be perfect, just like Emily was perfect. Once again he went over all that should be done, and what should be done differently. Not all of the servants had been involved in the hosting of his father’s parties, and none of them had been involved in a party like this one.

  Previously, the only order was to keep the alcohol flowing. It was much more difficult to host a party like this, and without a hostess to take care of the ladies it was doubly difficult, but the lady was the whole point of the party.

  The staff would manage, he thought. They were good people. After his father died, he cleared out any of the staff that had agreed with his father’s proclivities. He had retired his father’s old steward and promoted Barnes. Several others gave their notice, perhaps anticipating that he was going to sack them which left odd gaps in the staff. He did not care. He would replace them.

  He despised the man his father had assigned to be his valet. The man was a veritable spy, passing information to his father as the late duke wished. Distasteful though Alexander may have thought it, the man could not disobey the duke. Alexander took pity on him, gave him a curt reference and the man left his service.

  He promoted the most senior footman to the position of his valet the next day, and Jervis had been with him ever since. He promoted Jackson to take Jervis’ place as senior footman.

  After he was done with his mental tally of things to do, the young duke decided it was too late to read. He leaned over and blew out the candles. He wanted to be up early. He wanted to go over everything again for the dinner party. Everything had to be p
erfect.

  12

  St. Nicholas Day came more quickly than anticipated. Emily found herself anxious for the duke’s dinner party. She would never admit it out loud, but she felt as if this gathering was a test of the gentleman’s ability to behave like civilized company.

  In spite of telling herself not to, Emily took special care with her appearance that evening. Pearls glanced out from between her locks; which had been most carefully arranged. The stark contrast between the pale orbs and her dark auburn locks had always been noted by her admirers in London.

  The pale golden gown gave her the distinct feeling of femininity. The sleek silhouette showed off her figure to perfection and Emily could not help but feel satisfied with the overall effect.

  The carriage ride that took them to Bramblewood Park gave Emily her first feeling that the Christmas season was truly upon them. The gentle flutter of snow swirled around the carriage, enough to catch the light of the lanterns, but not enough to cover the ground.

  Bramblewood’s sprawling grounds had taken on new life under the change in ownership. The lawns were manicured and the fields and gardens, although tempered for the winter, still held hints of the lush growth that had flourished in the preceding months. Although much still needed repair, the main buildings were revitalized with fresh paint and repaired stonework.

  She thought of the late duke’s revelries that had often left the properties in disarray. Emily recalled one autumn in which Alexander had spent countless evenings in one of the many guest rooms of his parent’s once august home as they waited for the glass to arrive to replace the broken window which had been shattered during a late-night game of cricket.

  It had taken place during a drunken revelry in the light of the front garden rather than further out on the lawn. No doubt the guests did not want to travel too far from the spirits.

  One glance at the Bramblewood façade now showed pristine glass in every pane and a light in each window. The building glowed with the promise of hope, as if the chaos that had once hung thick within it walls had been chased away by the brightness of the Christmas candles. Perhaps, Emily thought by the care that seemed to have been taken; this party would be a far muted version of past extravaganzas and all the better for it.

  The carriage pulled around the circle drive and Emily, Edmund, and their relations were handed down with care and shuffled inside. Their coats were taken by a footman before they were briefly greeted by the duke, who expressed his regrets that he must attend to the next couple and those that followed as they walked through the door of the ballroom.

  “You have done well, my boy,” Uncle Cecil said to Alexander.

  The duke smiled shyly at the praise and returned to greeting his guests. His gaze caught Emily’s for only for a brief moment, but that moment was alike a spark to a candle.

  She looked away quickly. “Yes, Your Grace,” she agreed. “The decorations are beautiful.”

  The alterations of the interior were, Emily thought, if possible, even more dramatic. The furniture shone with polished curves and the carpets had been replaced, burn holes and stains no longer littered the flooring from the late duke’s carousing.

  The hounds were apparently in their kennels, because there was no sign of the animals now. They had used to be underfoot and left to do as they may, which left an unmistakable odor in the house. Now, the air was filled with the sweet aroma of pine boughs.

  Emily knew that Alexander loved those dogs. One had even slept upon his bed at night. She supposed that he needed the company with the lack of siblings. Yes, she remembered her uncle saying the hounds were with them at the impromptu hunt last week, so Alexander still had his dogs; he just took better care of them than his father.

  The new décor was elegant, striking, and most welcoming to the guests as they arrived. In fact, Emily would say that the edifice was nearly unrecognizable. As far as she could see, every inch of the manor was trimmed with Christmas cheer. Boughs of evergreen and festive bows were placed here and there. The mantels and the stairways were done with care and mistletoe hung in the doorway between the parlor and the hall, and no doubt several other places within.

  Emily studiously sidestepped it as she entered the room with her brother as her escort. A moment later, Anne and her sisters joined the party. Edmund teased that he did not have enough arms for them all, and Susanna and Eliza joined hands, allowing Edmund to escort Anne, the eldest of the sisters.

  Anne looked stunning. Her tawny hair was woven with velvet ribbon that matched her gown and slippers. The regal colors were fitting for the season and made a vibrant statement against the sleeting showers that had persisted during the days leading up to the event. The few bits of soft snow that still clung to her skirt made it appear as if she, by some unknown power, had brought the snow with her.

  Both ladies had just finished their greetings and several moments of pleasant conversation, before expressing a wish for thick blanket of snow to celebrate the season. However, it seemed that the English weather would prove otherwise as Henrietta arrived with her aunt. Both were soaked through. Even though it was quite cold, the rain had begun anew.

  The golden haired lady shed her sodden wrap and passed it to a servant. Emily admired the pale blue gown that Henrietta wore. It was clearly a style that would not be fashionable in London but it was still lovely: silk velvet and had hand laced edging. Such a garment would be costly due to both the silk and the intricacy of the labor even though the style was several years past. Still, it was the country.

  Henrietta greeted Anne and Emily like an old companions, embracing them with vigor and affection.

  “What an appealing sight,” she commented, gesturing at the elegance around them.

  “Yes. It is, isn’t it?” Emily agreed. The festive decorations made her wonder even more at the man who had facilitated such a transformation.

  “I must say that we set it off to perfection. The jewels of the room, are we not?” Henrietta added with a flutter of her eyelashes.

  Edmund excused himself to go speak with another gentleman across the way, and Henrietta tucked her arms into those of her companions and began to tow them toward the drawing room. “What fine work Alexander has done. I do recall that the manor was quite uninhabitable years ago. Do you remember when the side window was broken?”

  Emily frowned. “As I recall, it was the front,” she said.

  “Oh, yes,” Henrietta laughed. “It was both of them. The front was broken earlier,” she said with a laugh. “To hear my Father tell it, one of the late duke’s guests or perhaps it was the duke himself, got into a match of fisticuffs and threw another guest through the side window.”

  “Lud!” Emily exclaimed. “Was the gentleman hurt?”

  “Not a scratch. Do you not know that drunks seem never to suffer for their folly?”

  Emily supposed that Henrietta was right, but she would not want test the notion.

  “His Grace has made many improvements,” Emily agreed. “Although I would not have considered it quite as bad as you say.”

  Even so, Henrietta’s words reminded Emily of things that her own mother used to say. Lady Kentleworth, had no qualms about voicing her disapproval that the late duke was always tap-hackled. Emily recalled one time that her father had even referred to the place as ‘Shamblewood’ for all the ruckus that went on.

  If Emily wrote to her mother this very night about the improvements that she had personally witnessed, she doubted that they would be believed. It seemed to be a miracle that the duke had been able to make this much progress. Although, she thought, Alexander always had been clever.

  Henrietta reached out and took Emily’s hand in her own. “Now, Emily,” Henrietta patted her hand in consolation. “I only wish to give a complement to our dear host on his progress. I meant no offense.”

  “Of course not,” Emily affected a smile, pleased when Henrietta’s expression mirrored her own. She could not say why she felt so defensive over anything said about Bramblewood. It w
as not as if Henrietta had truly meant anything harsh. They had all been friends in those days.

  Several minutes later Henrietta rushed off to gain the attention of the subject of their conversation.

  The ladies joined Uncle Cecil and several others with before dinner drinks.

  Aunt Agnes was not with him, and Uncle Cecil said that she was playing unofficial hostess. “Just to help the poor boy,” she confessed as she joined them again. “He was uncertain of the seating arrangements.”

  Emily was thankful when the group was called to the dining hall. The couples paired up to enter, Uncle Cecil and Aunt Agnes joining several of the older guests and moving towards the lower end of the table.

  Emily looked for her brother, but he was already escorting Anne. They were deep in conversation and took no notice of Emily. Rather, she found herself beside the duke, who gave her his arm to escort her.

  “Your Grace,” she said with a deep curtsey.

  “May I escort you to dinner, Miss Ingram?” he asked and she acquiesced. He smiled and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.

  Emily could not help but be flustered for reasons that she refused to evaluate as he led her to the front of the line. She decided her excitability was due to all of the eyes that turned their way and followed their lead, rather than anything to do with her handsome companion.

  Try as she might, all she could think of was the warmth of his hand on hers and the comparable warmth in her cheeks. Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest. Alexander seemed to have noted it as well.

  The lengthy table had been set for twenty guests. Emily found the room suitably full without being crowded and thought that this was turning out to be quite the exemplary dinner party. The duke seated her at his right and then stood at the head of the table, waiting for the other ladies to be seated. The invited guests gathered round. Henrietta watched them with sharp eyes. Emily could make no sense of the expression and hoped that it was not anger or jealousy that she saw in the lady’s features.