Spirits of the Season: Eight Haunting Holiday Romances
Page 2
Now my spirits lifted. With Amelia in a friendlier disposition, it seemed I would not find this house party as lonely as the Season had been.
“It was the most diverting thing to watch you try to be dignified with Sir James,” she told me with a giggle. “You haven’t the face for it.”
“What is wrong with my face?”
“You needn’t sound so injured, Felicity. Perhaps it is because of your dimples, and your nose is so pert. One simply cannot take you seriously. It doesn’t help that your hair is always mussed.”
I stole a glance at my hair in the mirror and saw that she was right, for the bright yellow locks were springing free from their chignon. My nose I could not help, of course, and my chin was probably a bit too sharp to bespeak womanly reserve, but it struck me as rather disloyal of her to have pointed these defects out to me.
“I shall tidy my hair before we join the others,” I said. “But you haven’t explained what on earth he is doing here. You must remember on what terms he and I parted. He is the last person I expected to find in your house party.”
She shrugged, unruffled by my indignation. “It was Mama who invited him. I suspect it is because he is a near neighbor now that he has come into his property. He turned twenty-one last month, you know. Now he is master of Evenvale and all the land that goes with it.”
“How charming for him. What a pity he could not have remained there instead of inflicting himself upon us.”
Amelia giggled again. “How tenacious you are at bearing a grudge, Felicity.”
“You of all people know why I detest him. It was you who told me what he was saying about me.” The memory made me tighten my lips, and I bent over my toiletry case so that I could hide my face for a moment. After so many months, no doubt the matter should not still be capable of causing me distress, but… I had liked Sir James Darrington. I had thought him an intelligent, forthright, honorable man. To have been deceived so completely still rankled.
Was his presence here another omen? Perhaps I should take it as a warning of some dark fate yet to come.
Scarcely had the thought taken form, however, before I brushed it aside. The company of Sir James was a dark enough fate on its own. There was no need to suppose that it portended something even worse. Indeed, at that moment I could not imagine that anything could be worse.
Amelia had lost interest in the topic by now and had wandered over to the dressing table to poke through my jewelry, which the maid had unpacked. She opened the case containing my pearl parure, a gift from Papa last Christmas, and held the necklace up to herself to gauge the effect in the mirror. I bit back a plea to her to be careful with this treasured possession.
“What are you planning to wear tonight?” she asked carelessly. “Your gray silk?”
“I thought the salmon-pink faille. It’s my favorite.”
“No, you can’t wear that, for I’ll be in my rose moiré. Here, Jane,” she told the maid, “give Miss Reginald’s gray gown a touch of the iron. Quickly, mind you.” As the door closed behind the maid, Amelia grabbed my hand and drew me to sit with her. “Now, listen, for I have the most diverting idea for a prank,” she commanded. “You must be my accomplice. Do you recall how Marian is always going on about how she longs to see a ghost?”
I shook my head. But then, Marian Brownlee and I had never exchanged more than a dozen words on any given occasion. “Do you think to do some table-turning?”
“No, something much better. Tatham is haunted, you see.”
“Well, that is convenient, but I scarcely see how my help is required. Simply put her in the haunted chamber, if there is one.” My thoughts were returning to Sir James Darrington. Why was he not spending Christmas at his own property? Was he hoping to marry Amelia? A union of their estates might be very desirable, a fact that surely had not escaped Mr. and Mrs. Tregonne. Perhaps the possibility of a match was already under discussion. The idea was strangely depressing.
My friend swatted me on the arm, none too gently, to recall my attention. “You goose, you are to be the ghost! You must dress up as Lady Garnet and surprise Marian in her room tonight after everyone has retired.”
“Why am I to do it? And who is Lady Garnet?”
“A many times great-aunt-by-marriage with a tragic history. You rather resemble her—her portrait, at least. But you’ll hear all about her soon enough. I shall tell everyone the story after dinner, so Marian will have the thought of her fresh in her mind. Then when you appear at the foot of the bed she will be certain you are the ghost!”
I felt a dart of sympathy for Marian, who did not know that her wish was going to be granted in so immediate a manner. But Amelia’s enthusiasm was warming. It was unusual for her to involve me in her activities, and I took this as another omen—but this time a propitious one.
Chapter 2
To my surprise, there were only twenty or so at dinner. “I thought we were a bigger party than this,” I said to the young man seated on my right.
“The real festivities begin on Christmas Day,” he said. “That is when most of the guests arrive.”
“How interesting. I wonder if—”
But he had already turned to address the girl on his other side, and that was the last he said to me. The gentleman on my left was similarly absorbed in the lady on his left and resisted all my efforts to engage him in conversation. When I tried to make pleasantries across the table, I was met with stony looks.
Repressing a sigh, I took up my knife and fork to start on the roast quail. It looked as though it might prove to be a long evening.
After dinner we gathered in the long gallery on the first floor, where many groupings of comfortable chairs and settees offered cozy places to converse. The parents and older adults gathered at one end of the gallery, scarcely within earshot but plainly in view, so that they could chaperone the younger guests but still afford us some privacy.
The prime places close to the fire were soon claimed by Amelia, Marian, and their close friends. The billowing crinoline skirts of all of the young ladies meant that a divan could seat no more than two ladies at once, and though I hovered close by, no one made a space for me. Instead I found myself being gradually squeezed out of the group.
Resigning myself to a chair well away from the warmth of the fire, I looked on as the girls whispered to each other. I wondered what delightful secrets they shared and what the gentlemen were murmuring to them to make them giggle and blush. The men seemed to be competing with each other to win smiles from the girls.
No such hopeful suitors approached me, however, nor even a fellow wallflower. Perhaps I should have agreed to spend Christmas with my sister’s family after all. It would have been such fun to help my little niece and nephew prepare for Father Christmas’s visit. They were a lively, affectionate pair, devoted to their auntie, and my heart gave a painful little twinge at the thought of them.
Excluded from the flirtatious banter, I settled for examining the participants. Among the young men I recognized several, including Amelia’s younger brother, Freddie, who at sixteen showed signs of restlessness that might vent itself in mischief unless watched carefully. I found myself comparing the range of chin whiskers on display. One of the gentlemen who had been in the Crimea sported a luxuriant moustache and spade-shaped beard, but for the most part these adornments were still sparse, more wishful than actual, mere sketchy foundations upon which the real structure had yet to be built. Images of seaweed and tree moss sprang to mind.
In contrast, Sir James’s close-cropped beard and moustache bespoke restrained strength, as did his manner. While many of his peers sprawled about and roughhoused, even in evening clothes giving the impression of cavorting colts, all unrestrained energy, his manner was contained… but aware. That was part of what made him such a good horseman: he focused his attention wonderfully and was economical in his motions.
But my own attention was seized now as I heard Lady Garnet’s name. Amelia had not forgotten her intention after all.
“Then how do you know she exists?” a young man objected.
She shook her head chidingly at the interrupter. “I should not dare to go against family tradition! The story is that Lady Garnet was quite a belle in her day. She was famous for her wit as well as her beauty, and Tatham used to be full of her friends and admirers. There was hunting and dancing—she adored dancing—and all the great people of the day used to visit: Mr. Garrick, Mr. Cibber, Dr. Johnson. Invitations to Tatham were prized.” A trace of smugness in her voice implied that the cachet still existed.
“What happened to the lady?” Marian Brownlee asked. She did not look as enthralled as Amelia had led me to expect.
Amelia’s voice became hushed and grave. “A terrible wasting sickness. First she began to weaken, and then she was unable to leave her bed at all. No more riding, no more dancing—she could only look on from the window of her sickroom as the world carried on without her. Instead of being the center of everything, she was pushed to the outskirts, an onlooker in her own life.”
Involuntarily I felt a pang of empathy. Ever since making my debut I had felt the same way—pushed out of the leading role in my life, only a spectator as others danced and flirted and formed friendships. It was a role that chafed me, for I was of a sociable disposition. I wanted to be a participant in the fun and surround myself with friends and perhaps a suitor or two. But instead I was made to feel out of place, unwelcome, as everyone carefully placed me at arm’s length due to circumstances not of my own making.
The only time I had not felt this way was riding with Sir James. During the Season, debutantes and gallants alike filled the parks, on horseback or in carriages, developing their acquaintance (and, in the case of the debutantes, showing off their figures in tightly fitted riding habits). It was during these times that Sir James and I became better acquainted, discovering in each other a similar passion for riding. Though always suitably chaperoned, we were able to speak at length, something that was impossible in the crowded, chaotic conditions of parties and balls, when conversations had to be snatched during the figures of a reel or a quadrille over the sound of the orchestra, the footfalls of the other dancers, and the other conversations taking place all around.
I had been impressed by his maturity and his sense of responsibility as he anticipated inheriting the property that had been held in trust for him. “I have no intention of being an absentee landlord who spends all his time in gambling dens,” he told me one day as we walked our horses in Hyde Park, Mrs. Tregonne watchful at my side. “On the contrary, my first concern is to improve the conditions in which my tenants live and work, and then to strive to bring those advances into widespread use. I imagine that sounds rather eccentric to a young lady of your background.”
“Not at all,” I assured him. “My father was for years the land agent for his late brother, the duke. I always enjoyed visiting the tenants with him and listening to them discuss how innovations could be introduced to Ellsmere to everyone’s benefit.”
“Then you understand what an exciting time this is,” he exclaimed, his voice warming. “Did you attend the Great Exhibition? Some of the technological advances I saw there have remained imprinted in my mind ever since.”
Although most young women probably would have found discussions of housing renovations and farming equipment fatiguing, his admirable aspirations rendered him so appealing that I could have spoken with him for hours even without the added inducements of the splendid figure he cut on horseback, straight of spine and broad of shoulder, and the glow of enthusiasm that lit his remarkable eyes to the clear, vivid blue of the summer sky above us.
Kind eyes I had thought them then. They had seemed in their clarity and candor to reveal a sympathetic heart and a soul that earnestly wanted to do good in the world. A soul that, I had thought, felt some kinship with my own.
This was why it had been such a nasty shock the evening that Amelia took me aside at a ball to tell me what he had been saying of me. Marian, her frequent companion, was at her side, and both wore expressions of concern.
“His friend Lord Vernon told me,” Amelia said, her eyes wide with the import of her message. “Sir James has made it known that he cannot wed a girl of—of dubious background. He is determined not to risk bringing infamy to the family name.” She gazed into my face with her brow drawn into a pucker of concern. “I fear he may have been referring to you, Felicity.”
My cheeks grew hot with embarrassment. “Naturally he feels a responsibility to his position,” I said, striving to speak lightly. “It is not news that a young man of his prospects and ambitions ought to be cautious in his choice of a bride.”
Amelia squeezed my hand. “I fear it is more than that, Felicity. There were—well—some rather significant comments about young ladies whose golden hair belies a tarnished character.”
“How could he say such a thing?” I exclaimed. “My character is not in any doubt. I have never done or said anything improper.” On second thought, that might not have been strictly true. My tongue did sometimes get away from me. But that was no reflection on my character.
“Forgive me, Felicity,” Marian said hesitantly, “but you have made your preference for him rather conspicuous, if you will pardon my saying so.”
While I was still burning inwardly with shame over this, and scanning my memories in an agonizing new light to determine if there was any truth to this charge, Amelia poured salt into the wound by saying, “It is quite reasonable for a suitor to look at your family’s history and be concerned that you may have inherited some less than suitable qualities for a proper wife. We know that isn’t the case,” she added as I began to protest, “but what I mean to say is, a gentleman does not want to risk his children turning out to be—well—”
“Corrupted,” Marian supplied.
Hurt surprise was giving way to indignation. So Sir James thought he was too good for me? Well, I would not be cast aside so. “A gentleman indeed,” I flashed. “As if a baronet even warranted the name. Why, he is not even a peer, and I am the niece of a duke!”
“Just so,” Amelia said warmly. “You must not let this slight from someone so unworthy—”
“So patently unworthy—” Marian put in.
“—make you think less of yourself.”
Think less of myself, indeed! The very idea that this man could make me feel that way fueled my anger. I lifted my chin and said distinctly, “Though Sir James may have flattered himself that I welcomed his attentions, I would never marry so far beneath me.”
Amelia gave an approving nod. “I admire your spirit, Felicity! I shall tell Lord Vernon at once, so that he can disabuse Sir James of any notion that you are breaking your heart over him.” With Marian at her side, she set out for the card room.
For a fraction of a moment, I wanted to call her back and admit that my words had been a lie born of injured pride. But that same pride made me stay silent. Let Sir James and his friends know what I had said. They would no longer make the mistake of thinking me someone they could sneer or poke fun at.
However, that meant the end of our rides in the park. Occasionally after that I would catch a glimpse of him, but only from a distance. Nor did anyone arise to take his place; my impulsive words had a chilling effect on the already tepid interest of the young gentlemen I encountered. Before the Season drew to a close, I heard that Sir James had left London altogether.
Now, as I brought my thoughts back to the present and to Amelia’s story, I thought with pity of the young woman who had seen her friends withdraw from her, who while still young had been shut out from the lively companionship she had once enjoyed. In my own place outside the circle gathered around the hearth, I shivered, feeling a chill in both body and spirit.
“Did she ever marry?” asked wistful Cecilia Humphries, and Amelia shook her head gravely.
“He was a blackguard to desert her,” I said, and faces turned in surprise toward the place in the shadows where I stood, as if they had forgotten I was present.
“I must disagree,” Sir James said in an even tone. “He needed to marry a lady who could give him heirs, naturally. To wed an invalid would merely have delayed him in that goal, and Lady Garnet clearly recognized that forcing him to honor her claim would have been selfish.”
“If he had truly loved her, he would have wanted to be with her for as long as fate allowed,” I snapped. “Perhaps she released him because his response to her predicament revealed his true nature. If he was so unworthy as to think only of himself when she was suffering and facing death, she was probably better off without him.”
“Never mind that,” Marian said before Sir James could respond. “Tell us about the ghost. Does she drag a clanking chain about?”
Amelia smiled mysteriously. “I’ve heard it said that she appears at the foot of one’s bed at midnight, a candle in her hand to signify the brief life she lived.”
“What did she look like?” asked Theodore Gibb, who had merry hazel eyes. “If the tragic lady appears in my room, I shouldn’t want to confuse her with a mere chambermaid.”
Young Freddie smirked. “Wandering into gentlemen’s rooms at midnight? Mortal or no, she sounds quite the strumpet.” He dug his elbow into the ribs of the fellow next to him.