by Alysha Ellis
“How do you expect to live without sufficient income?” Edward demanded. “You’ve sold your commission, and I doubt a captain’s pay left you with any savings.”
The smile had returned to James’ face. “I told you there were benefits to adventure. When I accompanied the coureurs I trapped a good number of furs myself. The profits are quite astounding.”
“You cannot hope to convince me that one year’s fur trading is enough to set you up for life?”
“No. But investing those profits in trading companies in Canada and New France has made me astonishing returns…and trade continues to be excellent.”
“Trade?” Edward spoke in much the same tone as if James had announced he’d brought in a plate of filth from the stables. “You have involved yourself in trade? Have you no respect for the family’s reputation?”
“The family’s reputation, aided no doubt by your own respectability, is such that I doubt anything short of my committing murder and boasting of it would be sufficient to challenge it.” James leaned back in his seat. “The world is a bigger place than you realize, Edward, and I intend to profit from that knowledge. You may disown me if it suits you.”
“I trust it won’t come to that.”
“I’m sure it won’t,” James replied. “I have no intention of remaining indefinitely in England. If having such a brother as I offends you, you are free to forget my existence.”
“The existence of no member of this family will be forgotten.” The countess sitting straight-backed and imperious, looked from one to the other of her sons. “Let us enjoy our dinner without bickering and leave such matters for a more private time.”
“Quite so, Mama,” Edward said, inclining his head stiffly. “We have guests who should not be made to feel uncomfortable.”
Lucinda felt more intrigued than uncomfortable, but one look at the stern faces of her parents showed her they heartily agreed with the countess.
For the rest of the meal, Edward dominated the conversation, expounding on the duties and obligations of rank. If he meant to shame or embarrass James, he failed. James did not contribute more than a few half-hearted ‘Indeed’s or ‘If you think so’s. He made a point of catching Lucinda’s eye whenever Edward said something particularly pompous. There was something so charming in his raised eyebrows and quick grin that Lucinda was hard put to pay attention to anyone else.
It took her father two attempts to draw her notice. “Lucinda, Lord Beaufield asked you a question. Please answer him.”
Since she had no idea what Edward had said, she was at a loss.
“Edward loves to be right,” James whispered wickedly beside her. “Just say yes.”
She stifled a giggle by biting the inside of her cheek, took a deep breath and said, “Oh, yes. I agree.”
“Of course you do,” said Edward, clearly well satisfied. “What person of any understanding would not?”
They all resumed eating. A moment later a deep voice from her left murmured, “I told you so.”
This time she couldn’t prevent the little choke of laughter.
“Are you all right, my dear?” her mother asked.
“Oh yes, Mama. I just swallowed the wrong way.”
The meal was not extended, and the ladies soon withdrew, leaving the three men to their brandy.
It was not long, however before James strolled in from the dining room and took the vacant seat beside Lucinda. “My brother and your father seemed to desire to speak seriously, and since I found the topic of conversation unpleasant, I left.”
Lucinda swallowed. “Unpleasant, sir?”
“Oh yes. Such things as what might be expected in the way of marriage settlements. Only as a general topic, you understand. Not any particular case, but I found the prospect of any…” He broke off and his heavy-lidded eyes met hers. “Very beautiful young lady being yoked to my prosy brother quite unpalatable.”
A strange flutter in her veins made her feel light-headed but she managed to reply. “I’m sure there exists a woman who will not feel it an imposition to be ‘yoked’ to your brother, and I wish him the good fortune to find her soon.”
James leaned back, a small smile curving his lips. “But you do not feel he has met her yet?”
“No, sir, I do not.”
“No, James, I do not.”
Lucinda wrinkled her brow. “I don’t understand.”
“My name is James, not sir.”
“Oh.”
“If you pucker those lips in such an adorable way, I might have to call you…”
“Lucinda!” The peremptory tone of her mother’s voice revealed her displeasure. “I need you to come over here at once, to tell the countess about your…about your…” Her gaze raked the ceiling in an obvious search for anything that would remove Lucinda from the vicinity of such a dangerous man. “Come here and talk to us about your tatting.”
Beside her, James gave a snort of laughter then pushed himself to his feet.
“As riveting as such a topic of conversation promises to be, I think I shall leave you ladies and go in search of more masculine pursuits.” He paused, and said in tones so innocent that they instantly aroused Lucinda’s suspicions, “I intend to convince my brother to while away what remains of the evening in a game or two of billiards.”
“Oh, but I’d hoped Lucinda and Lord Beaufield would…” That it would be indelicate to complete that sentence seemed to suddenly occur to Mrs. Demerham, and she closed her mouth with a snap.
“Just so,” James said, and as he turned away, Lucinda saw his right eyelid drop in a distinct wink.
He sauntered out of the door. Lucinda spent the rest of the evening in a silence completely devoid of reference to tatting, to wonder whether she was more relieved to be spared the burden of Edward’s ponderous conversation or regretful that she was bereft of James’ alluring presence.
Only when her maid had prepared her for bed did she realize, that with all the fuss accompanying James’ outlandish arrival, she had mislaid her reticule.
Lucinda loved novels, no matter how scandalous her parents thought them. If her mother knew she possessed books like Lady Carolyn Lamb’s Glenarvon, she’d have destroyed them, so Lucinda had formed the habit of reading in bed after her maid had retired for the night. This required spectacles and she carried them in her reticule wherever she went.
Without her glasses she couldn’t read.
She tried to go to sleep, but the futility of tossing and turning soon exhausted her patience. With a sigh, she reached for her wrapper, picked up the candle and eased herself out of bed. She tiptoed past the closed doors along the corridor, taking special care not to make any sound that would interrupt the steady drone of snores emanating from the rooms allocated to her parents.
She was gratified to learn that the Lymon’s care for their home resulted in hinges that slid silently and stairs that did not creak. Undetected, she slipped into the drawing room, located her reticule and turned to leave. She had just reached the door when it swung open. Standing there, still dressed in breeches and shirtsleeves, but with his neck cloth and coat removed, stood James Lymon.
“I hoped it was you,” he said. Then he did something quite extraordinary. He put his hands on her shoulders, dipped his head and kissed her!
His mouth was warm, an inexplicable combination of soft and hard. Her cheek tingled where his beard-roughened face scraped against it and then…it was over. He stepped back until a respectable distance separated them. Or what would be respectable if it were not the middle of the night and they were not entirely alone.
Lucinda clapped a hand to her burning cheeks and tried to speak. “What? Why? I don’t…”
James chuckled and pointed upwards… There, above the door was the decorated branch he had hung earlier.
“I don’t understand,” she gasped, her voice sounding strange, rough and breathless.
“It’s a kissing bough. When a man and a woman meet under it, they kiss.”
“And
you think that’s acceptable?” she squeaked.
“Not just acceptable, compulsory. It’s a Christmas tradition. Not to obey it would be to invite bad luck.”
“I have never heard of it,” Lucinda stated.
“Then it’s a good thing you have me to contribute to your education,” he replied.
“I don’t think my mother would think it was a good thing at all.”
“She would disapprove of this, but she approves of her daughter running around in other people’s houses in her night clothes? How extraordinary her standards of behavior must be.”
Lucinda pulled the edges of her dressing gown tighter together. She clutched her reticule in one hand, noting with some surprise that James’ assault hadn’t caused her to drop it. Not that assault was quite the right word. An assault implied something unpleasant, and James’ kiss had been…had been… She didn’t know what it had been but unpleasant was not at all the word she was looking for.
He had, however, reminded her of one salient fact. Her mother would very much disapprove of her coming downstairs alone to retrieve her reticule. If she knew she had met James she would be outraged. Lucinda wasn’t sure she had the power to describe her parents’ reaction if she knew James had kissed her.
“Don’t look so terrified,” James said. “It was only a little kiss, not the sort to destroy a well-brought up young lady’s reputation.”
“A well-brought up lady’s reputation could hardly withstand a midnight encounter with a gentleman,” she retorted.
“Perhaps I’m not a gentleman,” James said, folding his arms and leaning against the doorjamb.
She felt the blood leave her face as she became aware of how perilous her position might be.
Suddenly James pulled himself upright and stepped aside. “Then again, perhaps I am a gentleman after all. Go to bed, Lucinda.”
She hesitated, gathering the courage to move through the door with its dangerous adornment above it.
“Go quickly, Lucinda, before I change my mind.”
She picked up the trailing hem of her dressing gown, tightened her grip on her reticule and fled.
Chapter Two
Christmas morning began with a service in the family’s private chapel. Breakfast followed, where in a concession to the season, small gifts were exchanged.
Edward presented Mr. Demerham with an English translation of a Roman history and gave Mrs. Demerham a filigree workbasket.
James, whose unexpected arrival meant there were no gifts prepared for him, leaned back in the chair he had once again managed to secure next to Lucinda and watched the proceedings, chatting to her politely, as if their midnight encounter had not occurred.
Lucinda decided the wisest course was to follow suit.
“Unobjectionable,” he commented to Lucinda, as her parents unwrapped their gifts. “And also quite uninteresting. What do you suppose he will have found for you? Tatting materials perhaps?”
“Stop it.” Lucinda laughed. “You are not at all well-behaved.”
“I should hope not,” James said with a look of horror on his face. “How inexcusably dull. I leave that to my brother.”
Lucinda didn’t know how to respond. To agree would be insulting to poor, earnest Edward. To disagree would be…a lie.
She was saved from making any comment by Edward himself, who presented her with an oblong shaped parcel.
“A book,” Lucinda exclaimed. “How nice. I do so love to read.”
She tore the wrapping paper off and held it up to read the title. Sermons for the Education and Improvement of Young Women.
Lucinda blinked. Beside her, James broke into open laughter.
“It is not a novel,” Edward hastened to assure them all. “I find them offensive, as any sensible person must.”
“Thank Lord Beaufield for his thoughtful gift,” her mother said out loud, then leaned in to say in a much quieter though far more intimidating tone. “I never thought to have your manners put me to the blush.”
Thus rebuked, Lucinda thanked Edward, keeping her back turned to James so he could not catch her eye. If he’d heard her mother’s comment, she didn’t want to see his cynicism, and if he were still amused by the situation, she didn’t want to be lured into a response that would justify her mother’s accusation of impropriety.
Instead she took the opportunity to present Edward and his mother with their gifts.
For Lady Beaufield she had a Norwich silk shawl with a hand-knotted fringe. Trying to choose a gift for Edward had been much harder. Her mother had insisted she consider all the implications. The gift had to be impersonal enough not to break the conventions that directed what was permissible for an unmarried woman to give a male not related to her, yet, her mother insisted, she ought to show some awareness that this occasion symbolized the possibility of, as her mother had coyly put it, “a lasting connection with the House of Beaufield.”
This brief sojourn into Edward’s home had made one thing clear. If a lasting connection meant marriage to Edward, Lucinda didn’t want it.
In the end, Mrs. Demerham had suggested Lucinda give Edward one of her watercolors.
Edward unwrapped it, his eyebrows drawing together and his eyes narrowing as he took in the riot of colors, so different to the gray, cold English countryside in this Year Without a Summer.
“Quite, um, unusual,” he said flatly. “I have never seen water this precise shade of blue, nor have I seen palm trees outside the confines of exhibitions. What is it meant to be?”
Lucinda’s face heated. She had no desire to impress Edward, but she prided herself on her skill with the brush and she had worked hard on this painting.
“It’s my impression of the Hawaiian Islands. I read Captain Cook’s journal and I thought the islands sounded beautiful. Such a change from…” she trailed off, aware of the glazed look that had fallen over Edward’s face.
Behind her came the scrape of a chair. James stood, reached forward and took the painting from Edward’s lax hand.
“Captain James Cook explored Quebec, you know. He was very much admired for his navigation and the accuracy of detail in his journals and maps.” James held the small artwork up and inspected it closely. “This is exactly as I had imagined these islands to be. You have great skill, Miss Demerham, to be able to interpret Cook’s writings so.”
His praise took away some of the sting of Edward’s indifference. His smile made her forget it altogether. With a start, Lucinda realized his eyes were the exact shade of blue she had used to render the sparkling warmth of the tropical sea.
“I wish I could go there,” she sighed. “I long for warmth and sunshine.”
”Then find a way to go,” James said. “No one need be stuck in England forever.”
“Don’t be absurd,” Edward snapped. “Travel beyond the distance between home and London is unnecessary. It is grossly irresponsible, James, to suggest that a lady might journey to such wild and dangerous places. Might I remind you, not all of Lieutenant Cook’s experience was sufficient to prevent his being murdered by the inhabitants of the very islands Miss Demerham has so ill-advisedly tried to represent.”
“Too nasty by half, Edward,” James said with menace in his voice. “Apologize to the lady.”
“I do not need the interference of my younger brother to remind me of correct conduct. Miss Demerham must be aware I meant no offense to her, or to her skills as an artist,” Edward said stiffly. “Merely that she cannot have understood the implication of choosing this location to depict, when it has such an unfortunate history.”
“I’m sure your sentiments, Lord Beaufield, are quite justified,” Lucinda’s mother said. “I fear Lucinda has made an error.” She frowned at her daughter. “I was certain we had decided you would give Edward that pretty scene of the swans on the Serpentine. Edward would have found that much more to his taste.”
Lady Beaufield got to her feet. “Edward and I like to attend the Christmas service in the village at midday. It is good f
or the locals to see their Lord and Lady at worship with them. Perhaps you would join us?”
“We’d be delighted,” Mrs. Demerham replied.
“You’ll forgive me if I decline the invitation,” James said. “I am going to take my carriage out. The horses need to be exercised regularly. Would you care to accompany me, Miss Demerham?”
Lucinda knew what she should say, knew what was expected of her, but the thought of an invigorating ride along country roads in James’ company appealed far more than an hour or two seated on a hard wooden pew listening to more sermons.
“Yes, I’d love to.”
“Lucinda!” Her mother’s gasp was shocked. “Surely you’ll attend church with us? It’s Christmas.”
“But, Mother, I’ve already attended one service.”
“Let the girl have a little fun,” her father interrupted. “After all, it is Christmas, and she will be safe with Mr. Lymon. You will, of course, take your maid with you and I expect Mr. Lymon will have his groom.”
“I have a groom,” James agreed. “And I have no objection to Miss Demerham’s maid.”
He hadn’t said he’d take either of them with them, Lucinda noted, but she didn’t mention this omission.
Her mother stood with pursed lips, but without contradicting her husband, she was forced to remain silent.
“I regret that you prefer gallivanting about the countryside, James,” Edward said, his mouth flattened into a tight, thin line. “May I suggest you spend some time on your outing contemplating good works and righteous behavior?”
“You surely don’t expect me to do that? Especially at Christmas?” James asked incredulously.
“I expect very little of you at any time,” Edward replied repressively, and left the room.
“Service starts in half an hour,” Lady Beaufield remarked as she followed him out. “I suggest we depart in twenty minutes.”
“Come, my dear. It will take you almost that long to get ready.” Mr. Demerham held out his arm to escort his wife from the room. Whether he’d meant to do it or not, he’d saved Lucinda from the scolding she was sure her mother had planned to deliver.