“I missed you in the hall,” she said tentatively. “I hope you are not unwell.”
Perversely, even when he most wished to keep his distance from everyone, including her, he longed for her voice and company. She soothed him, much like an experienced groom could quiet a skittish stallion. That bothered him, too, because it spoke of a dependence that weakened him.
He managed a smile. “I apologize for abandoning you, but I’m not keen on all this Christmas business. As you know,” he finished, all too aware he sounded like a mutton-head.
She nodded. “I understand. I am sorry to have dragged you here, but I am so very grateful to have the chance to spend some time with the family.” She gazed up at him, not a shred of judgment in her expression. “Thank you, Lucas. It was very kind of you to bring me to the abbey.”
He exhaled a sigh. “Phoebe, I truly wouldn’t mind if you ripped up at me. I’m sure I deserve it.”
She blinked in surprise, then her eyes filled with unexpected amusement. “If that would please you, I will be happy to oblige once we return to our room. I daresay by the time I am finished, you will regret that suggestion.” She wagged her finger at him. “I can be quite terrifying, you know.”
He laughed. How could he not when he had a wife who constantly surprised him? “Then I shall look forward to it. Thank you, love. I certainly don’t deserve your consideration.”
“No one would disagree with that,” Silverton’s voice interjected from behind them.
Lucas swung around to meet his cousin’s challenging gaze. Irritation flared, but he managed to hold back a retort. Not for Silverton’s sake, but for Phoebe’s. Lucas had inflicted enough trouble on her for one evening, and he’d be damned if he’d make a scene in front of her.
Not unless his cousin forced him to.
“Cousin Stephen,” Phoebe said, stepping between them, “what a lovely scene in the hall. As you know, this is my first real Christmas and I am thoroughly enjoying it.”
Silverton unleashed a charming smile. “I’m so glad.” He flicked a glance at Lucas. “How unfortunate your husband can’t say the same.”
Before Lucas could respond, Phoebe’s chin went up in an aggressive tilt. “I am sure that is not the case. Lucas has been most helpful with the Christmas preparations at Mistletoe Manor. In fact, he told me just this morning how much he is looking forward to our own celebrations. He is convinced they will quite exceed the festivities at the abbey.”
Lucas had to choke down a laugh. He would have been shocked that his sweet little Quaker had told a bold-faced lie, but he was too busy enjoying her impassioned defense.
Silverton’s jaw dropped for a brief moment, but he quickly recovered. “I stand corrected, Cousin. Please forgive me.”
She returned him a dignified nod, then switched her attention to Lucas. “Aunt Georgie wishes you to sit with her. She says she has been missing you greatly these last few weeks.”
As Phoebe practically dragged him off, he couldn’t help throwing Silverton a taunting grin. His cousin narrowed his gaze, but Phoebe tugged him away before anything could happen.
“Behave yourself, Lucas, or else,” she threatened in a low voice.
He widened his eyes at her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She shook her head, muttering imprecations under her breath.
His mood improved another notch. Clearly, he had been a terrible influence on her. He couldn’t wait to get her alone so he could spend more time corrupting her morals.
His aunt, seated on a sofa before the fire, greeted him with a gentle smile. “Ah, Lucas. We are so honored you have decided to grace us with your presence, despite your well-known boredom with these occasions. We must count ourselves grateful you have put away your scruples in order to visit with us.”
Christ. The royal we had come into play. Obviously, it was time to bow and scrape. “I don’t know how you’ve tolerated me all these years,” Lucas said in a contrite voice. “Since I’m such a very bad seed.”
She laughed and patted the seat next to her. “You’ve been horrible, but I forgive you. Phoebe, come sit next to your husband. We’ll have a nice chat while we’re waiting for tea.”
Once they’d all settled themselves, Aunt Georgie let out a comfortable sigh. “I’m sorry the other guests had to leave early, but I must confess I’m relieved to have only a family party tonight. Well, except for the Blackmores, but one counts them as family.”
Lucas glanced around at the elegantly decorated but comfortable space, one of the smaller drawing rooms in the sprawling pile that made up Belfield Abbey. He was torn between pleasure at its refined sense of comfort and annoyance that everything in Silverton’s home was always so bloody perfect. He and Phoebe couldn’t possibly receive guests at the manor, given that the windows in the large drawing room leaked and the new furniture for the family parlor had yet to arrive.
And he could hardly invite anyone to sit on chairs that had been found to conceal more than one rodent’s nest. Not to mention the dismaying state of most of the chimneys, belching smoke back into the house every time the wind came from the north.
“Why did the other guests leave so early?” Phoebe asked.
“It’s starting to snow,” Aunt Georgie replied. “The roads can turn bad very quickly out here in the country, and the squire’s wife thought it best they not linger. The other guests agreed.”
Lucas almost groaned. Snow. If it came down heavily and they got trapped at the abbey for more than a day, he would likely shoot himself. Or Silverton.
Phoebe’s face, however, glowed like a branch of candles. “I love snow. It makes everything look so different, especially the formal gardens. The statues wear white velvet coats and cone hats, and the hedges are iced cakes.”
Aunt Georgie smiled at the imagery. “I agree it’s lovely, but we’re fortunate the snow rarely lingers in Kent. At your uncle’s estate in Yorkshire, we can get snowed in for weeks.”
“God help us all,” Lucas muttered.
His aunt laughed. “You spent more than one winter holiday snowed in with us, and I clearly recall you quite liked it. You and Silverton used to spend hours tramping over the downs and skating on the village pond, or sledding down the hill behind the house. I don’t remember you complaining one bit at the time. Oh, wait. One winter, you tumbled down the icy hill and broke your wrist. Then you complained loudly because you were trapped indoors for the rest of the holiday.”
A reluctant smile tugged his lips at the distant memories. He’d enjoyed the fun back then, when life was uncomplicated and straightforward.
They chatted for several more minutes while Meredith served tea and the men drank their brandies. No one seemed in the mood for cards or games, preferring conversation instead. Lucas found himself gradually relaxing, even starting to enjoy himself. Bathsheba was her usual witty self—although a loving marriage had obviously taken much of the amusing acid from her conversation—and Robert kept everyone laughing with his ridiculous jokes. Cantankerous Uncle Arthur was in good humor, and even Silverton had the grace to sit quietly and not ruin things.
And Phoebe was having a grand time as she chatted with her aunt and cousins. For once, it seemed they might get through a holiday without any kidnappings or poisoning, or without him and Silverton tearing up the dining room.
“I say, Lucas,” piped up Robert. “I hear you’ve got a smuggling problem down your way. Damned impertinent of the blackguards to use manor lands, if you ask me.”
“Language, Robert,” Aunt Georgie admonished.
Uncle Arthur, dozing in a comfortable wingback chair, came to full alert. “What’s this? Smugglers on the manor’s lands? Not that I should be surprised, given the way Merritt ignored the problem. Ridiculous, turning a blind eye to it like he did. But he insisted it was better to leave it alone than confront the gangs. Some claptrap about protecting the locals. Personally, I always believed he allowed them free passage because they kept him well-supplied with French
brandy. Bloody fool.”
“Language, Arthur,” Aunt Georgie said in a long-suffering voice.
“What’s that? Oh, sorry, my dear. Well, out with it, boy,” he demanded of Lucas. “Are the smugglers still at it?”
So much for a pleasant evening in the Stanton family bosom. Lucas dodged the question. “Robert, how did you come to hear about this?”
Robert blinked. “Oh, Meredith told Belle, and Belle told me. Can’t keep a thing like that a secret, old man. Not in this family.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Lucas caught Phoebe and Meredith exchanging a guilty look. Obviously, his interfering wife had written to his equally interfering cousin, who hadn’t been able to keep the news from her sister. Now he’d have the entire family weighing in on his problem, which was exactly what he’d been trying to avoid. “It’s nothing I can’t deal with. I should have the matter resolved to my satisfaction within a few weeks.”
Next to him, Phoebe made a little squeaking noise and went as stiff as a board. Understanding suddenly lit up his brain.
Oh, good Christ. Could that be what she’d been hiding from him? Something to do with the smugglers? He might have known she couldn’t keep her inquisitive little nose out of it.
“How bad is the smuggling?” Silverton asked.
Perfect. His cousin had clearly deduced he wanted to cut off the conversation, so naturally he had to prod.
“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he grated out again.
“That’s not what Meredith said, old chap,” Robert insisted in his usual, ham-fisted manner. “Something about excise officers bursting into the house in the middle of the night, pistols at the ready. Sounds rather worrisome to me.”
“Robert, you’re exaggerating,” Meredith said with annoyance.
Storm clouds began to gather over Uncle Arthur’s head. “Lucas, what the devil is going on? Is Phoebe in danger from this business? Sounds to me like you should keep her here at the abbey until you track these blackguards down. It would not be well done to put your wife in danger, my lad. Not well done at all.”
Lucas clenched his fist, trying to keep his temper under control.
“Oh, no,” Phoebe broke in earnestly before he could respond to his uncle. “I am sure the problem is not nearly as alarming as it sounds. It is just that life has been wretched for the people in the district. Now that Lucas is restoring the manor and estate to prosperity, I am sure the problem will fade away on its own soon enough.”
Lucas gave her a disbelieving stare. She looked flushed and guilty, but she didn’t drop her gaze.
“I doubt it will be that easy,” he said.
“It won’t be,” said Uncle Arthur. “Smugglers are like rats. You have to poison them or flush them out of the nest, by any means necessary. You’ll never get rid of them if you don’t.”
Aunt Georgie’s mouth rounded with horror. “Arthur! That is positively uncivilized.”
The old man grimaced. “Just a euphemism, m’dear. You understand.”
“Grandfather’s right,” Robert said. “You can’t let those criminals get away with it. Why, look what happened to the Blackmores and me last summer with that bounder O’Neill. He almost killed all of us.”
A thug had attacked Blackmore, Bathsheba, and Robert five months ago, the night Meredith gave birth to her twins. But that situation bore no resemblance to what Lucas faced.
Bathsheba pointed that out a moment later. “O’Neill was a madman, not a smuggler. There’s quite a difference.”
“Mrs. Blackmore, your tolerance amazes me. What difference does it make? They’re all criminals in my book,” huffed the General.
“Uncle Arthur, these men are not criminals,” Phoebe said in a tight voice. “They are poor, struggling every day to feed their families. It is up to us as lord and lady of Mistletoe Manor to assist them, not resort to violence against them.” She turned pleading eyes on Lucas. “Isn’t that right, Lucas?”
He practically had to pry his clenched teeth apart. “Phoebe, I told you, we are not having this discussion, here or anywhere else.”
She flushed, but her jaw set in a stubborn line.
“Quite right, Nephew,” Uncle Arthur chimed in. “This business is best left to men. Don’t bother your pretty little head over it, Phoebe. Leave everything to Lucas.”
That resulted in the all too predictable and contentious response from the ladies until Phoebe’s voice cut through the tumult. “I will be involved, because I refuse to allow Lucas or anyone else to turn those unfortunate men over to a harsh and unfeeling justice.”
Lucas thought his head might explode, and when Silverton decided to open his mouth it almost did. “I have to agree with Phoebe,” his cousin said. He relaxed in his chair, the very picture of a wealthy, self-satisfied lord. Lucas wanted to plant a facer on his aristocratic chin.
“Things have been very bad in Kent since the end of the war,” Silverton continued. “So, it’s no wonder the smuggling has intensified. But with the return of prosperity to Mistletoe Manor, and with a judicious blind eye, I suspect you’ll see the gangs die out by themselves. I believe that would be the wisest course of action, rather than an intemperate rush to justice.”
“When I want your damned opinion I’ll ask for it,” Lucas grated out as his self-control finally snapped. “Until then, keep out of it. What the hell do you know about it, anyway? It’s not as if you have any smuggling on abbey lands.”
Phoebe groaned and even Uncle Arthur looked affronted. Lucas didn’t care. He only had eyes for his cousin.
And his cousin was currently rising to his feet, blue eyes shading dark with anger. “For the sake of the family, I will put up with much from you, Lucas. But I will not allow you to use insulting language in my house. Apologize to the ladies and to me, or I assure you that you’ll come to regret it.”
Hell. Lucas already regretted his outburst, but it was too late to back down now. He would not be intimidated by Silverton or anybody else. When he rose, Phoebe grabbed his sleeve, but he shook off her hand. “Is that so? And how do you intend to put your threat into action?”
Bathsheba and Blackmore exchanged exasperated glances and Annabel dropped her head into her hands. “Not again,” she moaned.
“Cheer up,” Robert said to his wife. “At least it won’t be our furniture that’s destroyed this time.”
It might come to that, since Silverton was still glaring at him with murderous fury, and Lucas imagined he looked much the same. But beneath the anger he felt a weariness tugging at his soul. How in God’s name had they let this happen again?
“I forbid either of you to say another word.” Aunt Georgie’s frigid voice sliced through the escalating tension. She came slowly to her feet, as angry as Lucas had ever seen her. “I am disgusted with both of you,” she snapped, “as is every other member of the family. You are grown men, blessed with good health, fortune, and wives who love you. And yet all you can do whenever you meet is fight like spoiled children. For what? Over the memory of a woman utterly unworthy of either of you? Lucas, will you not look at your wife and realize how lucky you are?”
Phoebe, who had risen, made a distressed noise in her throat. Startled, Lucas peered at her. Her face had paled, and tears glittered on the end of her lashes. The next instant, she blinked them away, regarding him with an expectant gaze, clearly waiting for him to make a decision.
The right decision. And gazing deeply into her beautiful eyes, he finally understood what that entailed.
But Aunt Georgie wasn’t finished. She turned her guns on Silverton. “And you, Stephen. You are the head of this family. Shame on you for acting in so selfish a fashion. Time and again, you have wasted the opportunity to forgive the actions of youthful folly.”
Silverton winced, his shoulders edging up around his ears. Lucas understood. His aunt had reduced them to the level of disobedient schoolboys with a few choice words, and they richly deserved it.
She pointed a finger at each of them in turn. “You
and you, come with me now.” She spun on her heel and headed out the door.
Lucas and his cousin glared at each other for a moment before Silverton shrugged and followed Aunt Georgie out of the room. Sighing, Lucas went, too, with Phoebe and Meredith trailing in his wake.
His aunt was waiting across the hall at the door to Silverton’s library. She opened it and stepped aside. “The two of you will go in there right now and you will not come out until you have apologized to each other and put this dreadful business behind you. I will keep you in there until Twelfth Night if I must, but you will forgive each other.”
She scowled at them with hands fisted on her hips, a tiny, elderly woman who would put them over her knee if she could. Somewhere deep in Lucas’s chest, a bubble of laughter began to form. When Phoebe and Meredith flanked Aunt Georgie, adopting identical postures, he had to swallow hard to keep the laughter from bursting forth.
“Listen to your aunt, Lucas,” Phoebe ordered, looking like an angry kitten.
He glanced at Silverton, recognizing the telltale twitch in his jaw. His cousin was also trying not to laugh as he took in Meredith’s imperious glare.
Silverton then glanced at him, and with a slight jerk of the head gestured Lucas into the room. Shrugging, Lucas walked into the library, and Silverton followed. Aunt Georgie slammed the door shut. A moment later, he heard the key rotate in the keyhole, locking them in.
Chapter 31
Silverton strolled across the library to a tall cabinet and retrieved a bottle of what looked to be very old French brandy.
“I think I could use something special,” he said. “Join me?”
Lucas gave him a nod, wary of his cousin’s casual demeanor. Long ago, he and Silverton had spent countless hours here, in study or in companionable conversation. But now the shared memories of those days, even the room itself, seemed to rebuke him for his role in the long deterioration of what had once been the closest of friendships.
Silverton handed him a generous glass, then headed to a set of leather armchairs in front of the fireplace. Lucas followed, glancing around him. He had never forgotten the quiet beauty of the spacious, elegant room. Its walls were lined floor to ceiling with an unparalleled collection of exquisitely tooled books, and the furniture and art spoke to wealth and taste passed down through several generations. It made Lucas’s study at the manor shabby in comparison, but it surprised him to realize he preferred his study’s modest yet solid comforts to the grandeur of Silverton’s lair.
His Mistletoe Bride Page 31