by Amanda Scott
The sound of music from the stone hall increased momentarily in volume, giving her a notion that the door into the stair hall had opened briefly and shut again, but her view of that door was blocked by her suitor’s head, and she was, moreover, fully occupied in attempting to effect her own release. Dauntry had now managed to get his arms fully around her and was plastering his wet kisses around and about her right ear. She tried to kick him but realized after the first effort that satin dancing slippers were poorly constructed for such a purpose.
“Darling Philippa,” he murmured against her ear.
“Good God, Mr. Dauntry, do give over. You are mussing my dress and my hair, and I promise you I should never agree to marry anyone capable of making such a cake of himself.”
“No, indeed,” said a quiet, amused voice by her right shoulder, “I shouldn’t advise any lady to contemplate matrimony with such an idiotish cub.”
Dauntry went rigidly still at the first sound of that voice. When he pulled his head away from Philippa’s ear—to her profound relief, for she was in danger of succumbing to the alcoholic vapors that wafted beneath her nostrils whenever he sighed—she had a good view of Rochford, standing close beside them but making no effort to separate them. The viscount merely looked on with arms folded across his broad chest, as though he found their antics interesting.
“Rochford, do something,” Philippa demanded.
At that Mr. Dauntry fairly flung himself away from her. “No need, ma’am, assure you. Just going. Your servant, my lord.” And he scuttled away, opening the door into the stone hall and shutting it quickly again behind himself.
Philippa was left to face Rochford alone. “If you must make a practice of rescuing me from embarrassing situations,” she said, glaring at him, “I do think you might have interfered earlier.”
“He was no match for you, my dear,” the viscount said, taking a handkerchief from his inner pocket and employing it to remove some smut from her chin. “It wasn’t until I realized you stood in danger of injuring your dainty foot upon his shin that I decided to take a hand.”
“I must look a sight,” she said with a small sigh.
“You look charmingly,” he said, pinching up one of her puffed sleeves and smoothing a lock of dark blond hair off her cheek.
His voice was low and contained a note in it that brought a flush to that same cheek. Extraordinarily conscious of his nearness and of the fact that they were quite alone, Philippa experienced a dizzying sense of danger that had been altogether lacking in her confrontation with young Dauntry. In an attempt to break this strange mood, she said, “That idiotish boy said he needs to recoup his losses, that his father refuses to frank him any longer. Would you believe, sir, he actually seemed to believe such a reason would entice me to accept his hand?”
“Sheer foolishness,” said the viscount in that same caressing tone of voice. “Altogether unromantic and shortsighted. That’s what comes of dallying with younger men, my dear.”
“But I wasn’t dallying. Oh, you are being ridiculous, my lord, and I wish you will take me back to the dancing. I cannot think how you came upon us, anyway,” she ended a trifle lamely.
“Why, I missed your charming presence, of course, and I had seen young Dauntry follow you and your cousin from the hall. Having been nauseated from the outset by the damned sheep’s eyes he persists in casting your way, I suspected he might choose such a moment to waylay you.”
“Did you, indeed?” She looked at him then, and her eyes narrowed. “Since Cousin Adeliza and I left the hall some fifteen minutes ago, my lord, and Mr. Dauntry, if he did indeed follow us, must have done so immediately, you certainly did take your own time in coming to my rescue.”
“Did I say I came to rescue you?” He grinned at her. “That was not my intent. I waited until Miss Pellerin had returned without you, and then I waited a moment longer, so as to ensure that my arrival would be welcomed by you, and then—”
“I hope,” Philippa said awfully, “that you will not take it amiss, sir, if I tell you to your face that you are a … a …”
He lifted his eyebrows. “Well, what am I, sweet Philippa?”
“Words fail me.”
“I thought they might.” He was still quite close to her, and now he took her hands in his in exactly the same way that Dauntry had done. Somehow, though, her hands felt much more comfortable in his. She looked up at him questioningly, and he smiled. “The problem is, I think, that the lad is inexperienced. He ought to have known better than to thrust his attentions upon a lady. A younger lady would be frightened by such precipitate action, and a lady with experience greater than his own must certainly be seriously annoyed. He would have done better to have approached you gently, to have taken your hands in his, thusly. Then, when you looked up at him, as you must”—Philippa looked up almost shyly to find his gaze warmer than ever, his eyes twinkling with affectionate amusement—“then, and only then, should he have kissed you. Like this,” he added, bending his head slowly, mesmerizingly, toward hers, and suiting action to words.
His lips were warm against hers, and soft, at first. Then, as she moved responsively, he let go of her hands and pulled her gently into his arms, his mouth moving more possessively against hers as he did so. She was aware of his hands on her back, but she scarcely noticed when her arms went around him, urging him to hold her more tightly. When his fingers caressed her, it was as though the silk of her gown didn’t exist, as though he touched bare skin. There was a warm, tingling sensation wherever his body touched hers. And when the moving fingers of his right hand drifted lower to her hips, then up again along the curve of her waist to her breast, the distant sound of music in the stone hall faded away altogether as the humming in her mind swelled to a thunderous crescendo worthy of Mr. Handel at his finest hour.
A moment later he set her back upon her heels, and Philippa stared up at him breathlessly. When she could speak, she said, “Rochford, why?”
He grinned at her. “I shouldn’t like you to think I’ve retired from the lists, my dear, though I’ve certainly better sense than to press my suit upon you at such a time as this.”
“Well!” she said, her sharp tone covering a wave of disappointment that she would not have cared to attempt to explain to anyone. “I cannot conceive of why you should think tonight a worse time than any other, when I am scarcely flattered by such attention as Mr. Dauntry’s at any time. I fear Wakefield was right when he said I should be happiest to remain a single lady. No one cares a jot for anything but my fortune.”
The expression in the light gray eyes hardened suddenly. “If I did not care prodigiously, my girl, you would precious soon come to understand that I won’t tolerate having that accusation flung at me more than once. I do apologize, however, if my levity was offensive. I had forgotten for a moment how distressing this time of year must be to you.”
Having listened to his first words with skepticism, she eyed him now in bewilderment. “Distressing, sir?”
“Do not feel you must be on your guard with me,” he said gently. “My mother has been gone these eight years and more; yet, at Christmastide, the good memories flood my mind, and it seems like the event occurred only yesterday. So I know well that even when one believes one’s period of bereavement to be over and done, the holiday season can be trying. And this past two weeks or so have been more than ordinarily difficult for you.” He paused, regarding her closely, then added more gently than ever, “Perhaps it will relieve your mind a little to know that I’ve no intention of saying anything further about that no-trespassing business.”
“Your silence has already made that clear,” she said, relieved not by his words so much as by the fact that he had got onto another subject. Though she had felt a wave of compassion when he spoke of his mother, she was not by any means certain she was ready to attempt to explain her feelings for the late baron to him, for the disappointment she had experienced upon his saying he would not press his suit had been replaced by a small sense of relief that she could
not explain even to herself. She went on now, quietly, “I should not have expected you to crow over me, in any event, sir. You have always shown yourself a gentleman.”
“Not always, my pet, but in this particular instance your instincts are not at fault. Nothing would be accomplished by pointing out your errors again to you, and I have never thought you did not believe you had the right to act as you did. To discover that you had not must have come as a bitter blow.”
She looked up swiftly from under her eyebrows, for she thought she detected a quizzing note in his voice, but he was regarding her blandly. Drawing a deep breath, she said, “I have no quarrel with what has come to pass, sir, but I do think that if we are to avoid undue comment, we must return to the dancing.”
He bowed, and if she was disappointed that he did not solicit her hand for another dance, she managed to keep that disappointment from showing; however, it was hours after her last guest had departed before she fell asleep that night, so jumbled were her thoughts.
Christmas morning was peaceful for the simple reason that, except for the servants, everyone slept through most of it. At eleven, when they gathered in the breakfast parlor, Philippa, Miss Pellerin, and Edward received the small gifts Jessalyn had made for each of them and exchanged gifts with one another. Later, gifts were handed out to the servants before the four attended services at Saint Mary’s Church in Melton. They had no sooner returned to the house, however, than it was time to dress for the journey to Wyvern Towers.
Both Miss Pellerin and Jessalyn were ready long before Philippa was, for she had wanted her appearance to be perfect, and both of them came to her bedchamber to urge her to greater speed and to confer over her choice of attire. She looked her stepdaughter over critically, and the child shifted from foot to foot anxiously, awaiting her verdict.
“I knew that dress would become you, Jess,” Philippa said, smiling her approval. “The ribbons match your eyes, and that Denmark satin will be a deal warmer than muslin, I believe.”
“I have never,” Miss Pellerin said, “understood this passion to dress all young girls in pure white muslin until they catch a husband. She will have to wear such stuff for her come-out in a few years, of course, but there is nothing to insist upon her wearing it now, particularly in the country and to a family dinner.”
“But it is not our family,” Jessalyn objected, “and I daresay Lucy will wear white muslin, for she fairly dotes upon it, you know.”
“Yes, and the purity of the color is excellent for her, because her own coloring is so vivid,” Philippa said, watching now as Alice swept her golden tresses high on her head in the style she liked best. The gown she had finally chosen was one of emerald-green velvet with a skirt that hung in soft folds from a high waistline. The sleeves were three-quarter-length with deep lace ruffles, and there was a wide edging of lace at her hemline as well. She wore several gold chains wrapped around her lovely throat, and there were emerald pendants for her ears. Alice threaded a gold cord through her curls, twitched two ringlets into place behind each ear and, once the earbobs were in place, pronounced her ready.
Philippa stood up, turning so the others might enjoy the full effect of her gown. “Have you your cloaks?” she asked.
“Indeed we have,” Jessalyn answered. “We have been ready this age, ma’am.” The child was fairly dancing in her eagerness to be off, and Philippa decided the enthusiasm must be contagious, for she felt much the same way herself.
—14—
DUSK HAD FALLEN BY FOUR o’clock when the Raynard-Wakefield party reached Wyvern Towers, but inside the magnificent marble entry hall, every candle had been lighted to welcome them. Having never been inside the house before, Philippa stood transfixed upon the threshold, staring at the wondrous marble hall. Designed by William Kent in the Palladian style, the chamber was of a stupendous height, fully as tall as the building itself, and was surrounded by fluted Ionic columns. The ceiling was richly coffered and ornamented, and the marble was not ordinary marble at all, but pink alabaster, glowing vividly now in the light of a hundred or more candles.
Their party was guided up a broad staircase in an apse at the inner end, to the state rooms, which were hung with Genoa velvet and Brussels and Mortlake tapestries with both classical and hunting motifs. Passing through these rooms, the guests were led into a drawing room with walls of plain ivory and gold, which was distinguished by a collection of antique sculptures gathered over the years by succeeding Drakes in the course of their grand tours. It was here that they found their host, his relations, and a number of other persons.
Lady Lucinda Drake, who had been sitting demurely beside her eldest sister upon one of several red Kent-designed settees with gilt claw feet, leapt up and crossed the blue-and-red Axminster carpet with more haste than grace to greet her friend, chattering as she moved.
“Oh, Jessalyn, what a lovely gown! Was that a gift from your stepmama? Is this not exciting, to be permitted to dine in company?”
“Lucy, darling, where have your manners gone begging?” inquired Lady Kegworth as she rose gracefully to her feet. “Philippa, Miss Pellerin, how delightful that you all were able to come to us tonight.” Her gesture included the group of young gentlemen following behind, and she nodded to her butler to begin offering wine to those who wished to take a glass before dinner.
Rochford, who had been standing beside the marble fireplace, stepped forward then to extend his greetings to the newcomers, and Philippa was astonished when he approached her, took her suddenly in his arms, and kissed her soundly.
“Rochford!” she exclaimed, when she could catch her breath.
Twinkling, he pointed upward, and she discovered that a sprig of mistletoe had been secured to one arm of the chandelier overhead. “Happy Christmas,” he said to her in a low tone.
“Oh, is it not famous!” exclaimed his youngest sister, dancing at his side. “Seldon caught Margaret there and Kegworth caught Catherine, but neither has caught his own wife. Jess, you must stand underneath and see who will kiss you, too. I certainly mean to do so.”
No one rebuked her for her enthusiasm, but Rochford did lay a calming hand upon her shoulder, and Philippa noted that Jessalyn was blushing furiously. Edward noticed too.
“A lady should certainly be kissed under the mistletoe at her first grown-up party,” he said calmly, taking his sister gently by the elbow and nodding to Rochford and Philippa to stand out of the way. They did so willingly, and smiled when Jessalyn accepted her kiss with a good deal more shyness than was her wont.
Lucinda had fallen suddenly silent and was watching her friend with wistful eyes. When Edward straightened again, he glanced first at her and then at Rochford, quizzingly. The viscount grinned at him.
“Will you do me the honor, Lady Lucinda?” Edward said then quietly, smiling at her.
Silently, as though she were in a trance, Lucinda moved toward him, and when she was properly under the sprig of mistletoe, Edward bent and gently kissed her on the lips.
Immediately there was an uproar as Lord Reginald Partridge, a proper neckcloth around his neck for once instead of his customary Belcher kerchief, stepped forward saying, “Dashed if I know why you should have all the fun, Wakefield. Here, Lady Lucinda, if you mean to stand under that stuff like that, I’d like my turn as well. Dashed pretty little thing, your sister, Rochford. Yours, too, Wakefield. Must share and share alike.”
Lucinda stared at the rake wide-eyed, but Jessalyn looked only too willing now to comply with his demand, and Philippa looked urgently at Edward, warning him to stop his friends before they became carried away. It was Rochford who came to the rescue, however, when the other gentlemen laughingly agreed that the younger ladies’ favors must be shared. Gray eyes twinkling, the viscount said, “Enough, my friends. You will turn the little ones’ heads till there will be no living with them. These chits, pretty as they unquestionably are, won’t properly be out for another three years. Moreover, you have not yet made your manners to my esteemed father.”
Thus gently reminded of their duty, the young gentlemen stifled their groans and stepped forward to make their legs to the earl, who sat near the cheerful fire in a comfortable chair that matched the red settees, his feet propped up on a velvet-covered stool. He had nodded to his guests but had said nothing, and Rochford said quietly to Philippa as he drew her forward to follow the others, “He is nearly burnt to the socket, I fear, but he insisted upon being present for the festivities tonight.”
“Dear me, I hope he won’t become quite ill,” she said.
“Devil a bit, he’s enjoying the attention. ’Tis merely that he has allowed himself to become overtired. A few days’ rest will see him right again, I promise you. He’s a number of years left in him yet.”
She could see that he truly was not concerned about his father’s health and so she was able to greet the earl with her customary poise. He looked up at her, grimacing.
“Hope you’ll forgive an old man, my lady. Promised my overconcerned family I’d slow the pace tonight. I am even to permit my butler to do the carving.”
“And rightly so, sir,” she said, daring to tease him a little. “Why, in days gone by you should have had a proper carver at your side, wielding a half-dozen knives, you know.”
“Surely not all at once, Philippa,” said Rochford in the same bantering tone.
“Well”—she wrinkled her nose—“I do not know precisely how the business was achieved. I believe he had some sort of carver’s apron in which he kept his knives. We must ask my cousin or your uncle to set us straight on the matter.”
“Good God, Rochford,” protested the earl in crusty tones, “don’t let her set Archibald off on some dashed historical point. He’ll keep us up all night with his prating.”
Philippa joined the general laughter, but Mr. Drake, entering the drawing room just at that moment and demanding to know what was the jest, found nothing particularly humorous in it when it was explained to him.