Silence greeted his declaration. He looked down. Robin’s brow was deeply furrowed, his brown eyes troubled, his mouth twisted.
“What does that mean?” the lad finally asked.
“It means I had a jolly good time doing it.”
His eyes brightened and his grin was broad enough to guide seafarers to shore. “Caw. That makes her the best, then, don’t it?”
“Doesn’t it,” he corrected. “And, yes, she is the best.” He didn’t need a qualifier to identify what she was best at. The best, all by itself, applied to her.
“Robin,” Gillie called out, “time to put the star on top of the tree.”
The lad dashed off, gangly arms and legs flying. He was going to be a tall one when everything evened out. But he wasn’t yet tall enough to reach the top of the tree resting upon the table. After setting his tumbler on the mantel, Beast ambled over to where Robin was hopping foot to foot. “Ready?” he asked him.
The boy nodded with enthusiasm. Beast placed his hands at Robin’s waist and lifted him onto his shoulders. Gillie offered the star. Robin took it, leaned forward, and placed it on the top of the tree. Beast set him back on the floor. As Gillie began lighting the candles resting on branches, he wandered over to where Thea stood at the back of the gathering, a little away from it, not part of it.
“Did you enjoy your visit with my mum?”
“I did. She’s full of love, your mum. It just spills out and you can feel it touching you. If your mother had to leave you in someone’s keeping, I think she chose well.”
Once all the candles were lit, ahs and claps sounded. The married men lowered their heads and brushed light kisses over their wives’ mouths. Althea wondered if she should have lifted hers to Benedict. If he’d been looking at her, she might have but he seemed to find the star of more interest.
Gillie gave her hands two quick pats, the clap echoing around them. “We have about an hour before dinner, and Aiden has some sort of project he wants us to participate in. Aiden?”
He stepped forward. “It’ll take a bit of time to accomplish, so fetch a lovely libation and make yourselves comfortable while I set up things.”
She and Benedict wandered over to a corner where a footman poured a sherry for her and a scotch for him. With glasses in hand, they’d taken only a few steps away when Fancy and the Earl of Rosemont stopped them.
“I meant to tell you,” Fancy said to her brother, “the books you wanted arrived. We brought them with us in case you want to take them.”
“I will. Thank you.”
“What is the name of your bookshop?” Althea asked.
The young woman smiled. “The Fancy Book Emporium.”
“A play on your name. How clever.”
With a light laugh she affectionately patted her husband’s arm. “Everyone understood that except him. He declared I’d forgotten the apostrophe and S.”
“It’s where we met,” Rosemont explained. “In my defense, I wasn’t quite myself at the time. I didn’t want her to be clever.”
“He was taking a sabbatical from women, didn’t want to be intrigued by me.”
Althea smiled at Rosemont. Had danced with him on occasion. “But you were.”
“I was indeed. Sometimes when life puts us on a path we don’t necessarily want to travel, we discover it was a journey we needed to take in order to secure happiness. Perhaps like me, you’ll find yourself richer because of the rough road you’re now on. Mine led me to the love of my life.”
Fancy snuggled against his side, and his arm went protectively around her. “He can be so poetic at times. It’s only one of the reasons I love him.”
A shrill whistle rent the air. “We’re about to get started,” Aiden yelled.
“Oops! We’d better go.” Fancy took her husband’s hand and began leading him toward a sofa.
Benedict placed his hand on the small of her back. “They’ve not been married long. Still in the first blush of love.”
She looked up at him. “Do you think it’ll fade?”
He shook his head. “No.”
His answer, his belief in the sustainability of love, made her chest tighten as they made their way to a settee and settled into place beside each other. But then how could he not believe when each husband was either holding his wife’s hand or had his arm protectively around her shoulders, when each wife was nestled against her husband?
The furniture was arranged in a horseshoe shape, with Aiden standing in front of what appeared to be an easel. Only its legs were visible because a cloth covered whatever was on it.
“All right,” he announced, “we are to begin.” With a great flourish, he whipped off the draping to reveal a large canvas upon which was written TREWLOVE in what appeared to be pencil, possibly charcoal.
“Not one of your better pieces of artwork,” Benedict said.
“Because it is not yet finished. We have the canvas”—he pointed to it—“the palette with assorted colors”—he held it up—“and the brush.” The last he swiped dashingly through the air as though it was a sword and he upon a stage battling pirates.
“He’s always enjoyed performing,” Benedict said sotto voce, and she wished he was whispering other things, more romantic things, in her ear. He wasn’t holding her hand, but his arm was resting along the back of the settee, a finger lazily tracing a small circle over the flesh just below the sleeve of her gown, and she wondered if he was even aware of the action.
“No disrespect to those who have married into the family,” Aiden continued, “but only those originally named Trewlove will be participating. Each of you, in turn, will come up and paint one of the letters. We shall create a nice display of our name. Mum, you’re up first. Come paint the T.”
“Oh my. I didn’t know I was going to start.” She pushed herself out of her chair and walked over to him. “What if I mess it up?”
“I’ll guide you. If we make a mess, I can fix it.”
“All right, then.”
“What color?”
“My favorite. Blue.”
He dabbed the brush at the palette before handing it to his mother. Then he stepped behind her, wrapped his hand around hers, and helped her to slowly trace the letter. “Perfect,” he said when they were finished.
Mrs. Trewlove was beaming when she returned to the winged chair.
“Now we go in the order in which we arrived. Mick.”
“Orange,” he announced as he crossed over to his brother.
He was done in a tick and headed back to his place beside Aslyn, who smiled at him as though he’d just conquered the world.
“I’m next,” Aiden said. “I’m going with purple because that’s the color of the gown my lovely wife was wearing when I first met her.” He moved his arm as though he was stroking a violin.
By the time he was finished, Finn was already standing there. The brothers exchanged a few quiet words and a grin.
“They resemble each other so much,” she whispered.
“They have the same father.”
She jerked her gaze to him, a question in her eyes.
“The Earl of Elverton,” he said quietly.
She’d never liked the man. It was no secret that his unfaithfulness to his wife included multiple affairs at the same time.
“Beast, L is yours.”
He shoved himself to his feet, and she found herself desperately missing his touch. She watched his graceful, powerful strides. How was it that so simple a movement, a movement common to most, seemed extraordinary when performed by him? It had the ability to addle her mind, still her breath, cause her heart to drum a little faster. At that moment she knew if Father Christmas existed and was to grant her one gift for Christmas, she would ask for a waltz with Benedict Trewlove.
Slowly, he outlined the L in red, and she wondered if the shade of her gown had influenced him at all.
Once he was headed back, Gillie stood. “This is taking too long. Come along, Fancy.”
With arms l
ocked, the sisters marched forward, took their turns with the O and the V, and returned to their husbands’ sides with no fanfare. Trust a woman to get on with things. Only the final E remained unpainted.
Aiden eyed them all as though each was responsible for some nefarious act. Then he looked back at his canvas. “Well, I didn’t plan that very well now, did I? You can’t have Trewlove without an e at the end and we’ve run out of original Trewloves to paint it.”
“It seems to me,” Mick said, “that what we need to do is find someone who has only one name. I just don’t know who—”
“I have only one name,” Robin piped up. He was sitting on the floor, nestled between Gillie’s and Lavinia’s feet.
“Are you sure about that, lad?” Aiden asked.
“I should hope I know my own name. It’s just Robin, nothing else.”
“Well, isn’t that a lucky coincidence,” Gillie said.
Finn slid off the sofa and knelt, making himself nearly eye level with the boy. Althea realized she’d made a dreadful mistake when shopping for her wardrobe. She’d failed to purchase a handkerchief and feared during the next few minutes she was going to be in desperate need of one.
“Would you like to be a Trewlove, lad?” Finn asked gently.
The boy nodded with so much force that his hair flopped against his forehead. “Caw! Would I? It’s the best name ever.”
“Shall we make him a Trewlove?” Aiden asked. “Everyone in favor raise a hand.”
Not only the original Trewloves voted, but so did everyone who sat beside them. Althea shot her hand up so fast she likely hurt her shoulder.
“Well, Robin Trewlove, come give us our final E,” Aiden announced.
The boy jumped up and dashed over to the easel. As he painstakingly painted the E, a different color for each line, Althea turned to Benedict, who was little more than a blur through the veil of tears she’d been unable to blink into submission. “Did you know that’s where this project was headed?”
As he handed her his linen handkerchief, he slowly nodded. “Finn and Lavinia wanted to give Robin our name, asked our permission, and since we were all in agreement, we wanted to do it in a way that let him know he was part of all of us.”
She dabbed at her eyes, at the tears. Such a simple gesture and yet its impact couldn’t be measured, would change the manner in which the boy viewed himself. She might possibly never have another moment like this, of sharing in the giving of a gift that had not cost a single penny but was still more valuable than gold.
As she sat there clutching the linen of a remarkably generous man, surrounded by the members of his incredibly kind and thoughtful family, she didn’t know why happiness rested in returning to Society, why she had put such value on its embrace.
If she became another man’s mistress, she would likely never see Benedict again, would most certainly never be alone with him again. She would have no more evenings of sitting in a library and talking. No more moments of discovering yet another facet of this layered, complicated man.
“Well done,” Aiden announced, and she glanced over to see that Robin had finished painting the E and was wearing a broad smile that had to be causing his jaw to ache. “When the canvas is dry, we’ll frame it and you can hang it in your bedchamber, so you don’t forget you’re a Trewlove now.”
“I won’t forget,” Robin said with such earnestness that Althea had to use the linen once again. “Ever.”
As Robin strutted back to his place, she couldn’t help but believe that any woman Benedict took to wife would emanate the same sort of pride at sharing his name.
“Oh, look, it’s snowing,” Gillie suddenly announced.
“Coming down quite heavily as a matter of fact,” Thorne added.
“Mum, Finn, and Lavinia were already planning to stay the night. Everyone else must stay as well. We have ample room.”
“Gillie, we didn’t bring any clothes with us,” Fancy said.
“Wear tomorrow what you’re wearing tonight. Your safety is more important than changing your frock. When you retire, you can borrow one of my nightdresses. I have plenty to go around. Think of the poor horses, drivers, and footmen going out in this. And what if it’s so thick on the streets tomorrow that you can’t join us?”
Althea paid no heed to the myriad voices over her shoulder as the others discussed the consequences of their options. Her gaze had returned to Benedict’s as though she needed confirmation that he’d not melted away, but was real, had never been only a dream.
“Do you want to remain or leave?” he asked quietly.
“They’re your family. The choice should be yours.”
“Are you comfortable being among them?”
They were like being wrapped in a warm blanket on a cold day. “Yes.”
“We’ll stay then, shall we?”
Chapter 21
Althea lay in the bed, in a nightdress that fairly swallowed her since her hostess was several inches taller than she was, staring at the window where distant streetlamps or garden lamps provided just enough light to reveal that big fat snowflakes continued to fall as the wind whistled eerily beyond the glass.
Everyone had decided to stay, and the remainder of the night had seen a good bit of alcohol consumed following a sumptuous dinner. Robin Trewlove had eaten with them, but afterward he and Mrs. Trewlove had gone up to bed. Althea had been concerned that an awkwardness between her and the ladies might settle in when the gentlemen went off to have their port, but this family apparently didn’t follow the tradition of giving men their time alone. Everyone had headed to the billiards room where Selena had soundly beaten Aiden three times.
At one point, when Althea was sitting on a sofa with Benedict, watching Aiden’s thrashing, Thorne had wandered over and crouched before them. “I was wondering if you might have any ships heading to South America in the near future.”
“What do you need from South America?”
“A toucan.”
“What the deuce is a toucan?”
“Colorful bird with a large beak.”
“What the devil is Robin going to do with a toucan?”
“What the devil does he do with the massive tortoise I gave him?”
Benedict had sighed, but it had lacked any true irritation for what was certain to be an inconvenience for one of his captains. “I can probably arrange something.”
Thorne had winked at her. “It pays to have a brother-by-marriage with ships.”
After Thorne walked away, she’d asked, “How did you know the toucan was for Robin?”
“Because he’s always giving Robin animals. Tomorrow morning it will be a spaniel.”
The camaraderie among the siblings was unlike anything she’d ever known. They knew so much about each other. They’d exchanged stories, laughed, teased each other. They’d included the spouses. They’d included her.
What she had enjoyed most was watching Benedict’s interactions with the others. Mrs. Trewlove had told her that Finn had always been the most sensitive, Beast the most contemplative. All the times in the beginning when he’d merely watched her, she now realized was simply his way. While his siblings argued and debated, he merely listened, sorting things. When he did finally contribute, his words were usually met with, “Knew you’d have the answer.” Or, “Knew you could make them see sense.”
Observing their exchanges, she understood they’d shared secrets, sorrows, hurts, successes, and failures. They didn’t judge each other. They accepted each other as they were.
She kept running the entire evening through her mind, recounting conversations, reexamining moments that had made her laugh or smile or tear up. As long as she focused on the past, even if it was only a few hours past, she wasn’t reminded that Benedict was presently in the bedchamber adjoining hers.
“I saw a flash of panic on your face when I suggested everyone stay the night,” Gillie had told her, “so I thought you would be more comfortable sleeping in the bedchamber adjoining Beast’s. You
can always ring for a servant, naturally, if you’re in need of anything, but I wanted you to have reassurance he’s near.”
In her parents’ home, bachelors slept in a wing separate from the one in which unmarried ladies slept. Never would they have been within easy reach of each other. Her mother would be appalled to know Althea had counted the steps from the bed to the door that led into his room, that she was now listening for any sound, any indication he was still awake. That she was hoping he might be on the other side straining to hear any sounds coming from her.
Perhaps it was all the wine now coursing through her veins or the love this family showered on each other or simply a need not to be alone on Christmas Eve—
She nearly laughed aloud at the realization she might be no different than the men who would be spending their night with Jewel, Hester, Lottie . . . men without families, men without someone to love them. Tonight she’d experienced something finer than what she’d always dreamed her future would hold. But she knew it could contain so much more.
If she was willing to take those eleven steps, knock on a door, and make a complicated mistake.
With his hands shoved beneath his head, Beast stared at the ceiling and cursed Gillie for the hundredth time.
Every time his errant gaze fell on the door, he thought, Three steps, four; that’s all it would take to be there.
It wasn’t as though each night, at some point before he finally managed to force sleep upon himself, he didn’t consider knocking on her door. But it was easier to resist the temptation when her bedchamber wasn’t right next to his, when he didn’t think he could smell the scent of gardenia—surely it was his imagination. Her fragrance couldn’t be slipping in beneath the door.
It had been a mistake to bring her here, to see how easily she fit in with his family, how right she looked sitting with his mum, how much he had enjoyed having her near, how much more special the moment when they’d given Robin their name had been because she’d shared it with him. Years from now when they looked back on it, when he recalled the tears in her eyes—
Except years from now they wouldn’t look back on it, they wouldn’t reminisce. It would be only him, alone. Because he couldn’t imagine another woman coming into his life whom he would want more than he wanted her—and if a person couldn’t have what he wanted most in the world, could he find happiness with less?
Beauty Tempts the Beast Page 22