A Grosvernor Square Christmas

by Vanessa Kelly

  Only then, after a week or so of that bucolic atmosphere would he be bored enough to come back to town for the Little Season. Then he would be happy to flirt with debutantes and have hushed conversations with double meanings. Then he would enjoy having his blood stirred by the sight of lowered lids and a small, promising smile on a full-lipped mouth.

  But only once he’d had his fill of home.

  “If we don’t reach the front of the line soon, we will miss the ball simply by it ending before we get in the door,” he grumbled.

  Unfortunately, he’d had little sympathy from Jude, who already was home and able to enjoy the comforts of family (and the food his mother stuffed into him, which Jude enjoyed immensely) as well as the stimulations of society at the same time.

  “First you want to avoid the ball, now you are impatient to arrive,” Jude replied, mocking. When Sebastian sent him a look, Jude threw up his hands. “You are stuck here, Bass. Might as well try to enjoy it. Mother tells me that this particular ball will be worth our while.”

  “Your mother prays it will be worth your while, given its history.” Even Sebastian, from a small country village, knew of Lady Winterson’s Christmas Ball, and how seemingly every year, there would be some couple or other that found romance there. Sebastian had no doubt Lady Winterson or her storied butler, Philbert, perpetuated the myth. Indeed, it was practically printed on the invitations. And if Lady St. John could have her food-loving, adventure-seeking son find a young lady of quality there to make his bride and settle down with, so much the better in her eyes. Sebastian had only known Jude’s mother for two days, and he knew that much without a doubt.

  But Jude shrugged off his mother’s secondary motives. Indeed, he even seemed to play right into them. “I hear that every young lady worth meeting this season is there. And some shine especially bright. There’s one my mother says was such a success this season, she turned down seven marriage proposals. Even one from an Earl!” His eyes glittered, his voice became wistful. “A lady like that must be incredible.”

  Jude got his love of gossip from his mother.

  “Or incredibly silly,” Sebastian argued. “Who turns down an Earl?”

  “Someone who is waiting for love,” Jude considered. “Or someone who can afford to be particular.”

  Sebastian was about to debate the point further, although he was only doing so because he was in a dark mood, but at that moment their carriage jerked forward one last time and rolled to a stop in front of No. 3.

  “Time to find out if it is worth our while.” Jude grinned at him as the carriage door swung open, letting in a rush of chilly air. “Could you do me a favor?” Jude asked then. “Could you try to have a good time?”

  “Yes,” Sebastian relented, knowing now that his glum behavior so far that night must have been abominable to make Jude turn serious, even for a moment. “I can try.” And he pushed out into the cold.

  Luckily, the cold only lasted as long as it took to hop from the carriage and up the stairs of No. 3, but it was still harsh enough to sting at Sebastian’s nose. After three years in sunnier climes, he was beginning to wonder how he had survived English winters his entire life. But all that chill melted away as soon as they entered the huge marbled foyer of Lady Winterson’s house.

  It was a complete crush. Which no doubt added to the steaming warmth. A good dozen groups waited ahead of them in the receiving line, divesting themselves of cloaks and greatcoats, arranging skirts and cravats to perfection, and throwing elbows out and squishing everyone else as they did so. Some people who had already been received chatted and lingered on the grand curved staircase that dominated the entrance, pink-cheeked ladies in white being pressed against dark clad young men as servants in green and red livery tried to wend their way past, carrying trays of champagne and treats.

  “The ballroom and dining room must be packed full, if people are mingling out here,” Jude whispered, as he spotted someone he knew and gave a cheerful wave of greeting. They made their way to the formidable – and formidably beautiful – Lady Winterson.

  “Young Lord St. John – so recently returned from your travels!” Lady Winterson greeted them with cheer. “And how does your mother?”

  “Wonderfully!” Jude replied, giving excuses for his mother’s inability to attend. She had recently entered her tenth confinement. No wonder she was eager to get Jude married off and out of the house – even a large house like theirs would be pressed for space.

  “And how pleasant to make your acquaintance, Mr. Beckett,” Lady Winterson was saying, and Sebastian gave a graceful bow. “I hope your journeys of late have been pleasurable.”

  “Oh yes,” Sebastian quipped. “Although not half as long as the wait to get into your ball, my lady.”

  Jude sent him a hard look. “Bass…” he said under his breath, and Sebastian colored. “Don’t be so mulish. I apologize, Lady Wint—”

  “Oh, I am sure your friend means to compliment, even if he does it with a frown,” Lady Winterson interrupted smoothly. “After all, a lady likes to be popular.”

  Sebastian relaxed his shoulders, bowing again. His rudeness was unpardonable, and he was lucky to be pardoned. “Indeed, my lady. I should be mortified if you took it any other way.”

  Lady Winterson seemed to relax too. Then her eyes sparkled with something that might have taken Sebastian aback, if he hadn't been so preoccupied being mortified by his own behavior. “Not at all, Mr. Beckett. However, I am terribly affronted by the frown. I will not have frowns at my party, and especially not at Christmas. Philbert will declare the night a disaster if he sees you, and he’s already in a mood. I can only assume it has to do with the mistletoe arrangements. He has been terribly finicky about them.”

  Sebastian felt the corner of his mouth perk up.

  “There, that’s a start. I suggest you gentlemen have a drink of champagne and find some ladies to dance with. We have an excellent selection.” She winked, making Sebastian’s mouth tick up further. “And who knows? Maybe Mr. Beckett will find his smile.”

  With that, they were dismissed.

  “What is the matter with you, Bass? You weren’t so egg-headed on the continent as to insult our hostess first thing upon entering her home,” Jude chided under his breath as they squeezed past the throngs and into the ballroom proper.

  “I know,” Sebastian replied. “I apologize. It won’t happen again.”

  Jude just sighed, prompting Sebastian to slap him on the back.

  “It won’t! I promise, I will try to find a bit of holiday spirit. Look,” he said, pointing across the elegant room. “Isn’t that Parkhurst? I haven’t seen him since we left university.” Their old school chum stood with a group of young men, centered around someone. A female. Sebastian could see the swish of ivory silk skirts but nothing else.

  Jude’s face broke out into a grin. “Who’s he standing with? Parkhurst, old man! Happy Christmas!”

  A chorus of greetings came their way as Jude leapt forward to hail old friends and make new. And in that moment, Sebastian decided to be happy. Or at least try. Jude and Lady Winterson were right: he was here now, why not try to make the best of it? Try and find a smile and some Christmas cheer. Yes, he missed Custard House and his family. Yes, he missed the country, and his friends, and even little Susie Westforth running wild over the hills on her horse. But right now, there was wine to be had (as he grabbed a glass off a passing tray) and friends to reacquaint himself with (as he clapped Parkhurst on the shoulder), and apparently, a young lady that had captured everyone’s attention.

  Home would wait a few more days for him. It would not have changed.

  That was the last thought he could remember before Parkhurst turned to greet them, allowing Sebastian a peek at the young lady that was the center of all this male attention.

  He saw her all at once, but in that moment, it was as though his mind could comprehend her only in small pieces. Dark, silky hair, done up in intricate falling curls that touched against creamy so
ft shoulders. Her dress clung to the curves on her slim frame, making a man acutely aware of what was seen and what was unseen. Hooded eyes sparkling in the candlelight, a knowing smile painted on a full-lipped mouth that offered a hint of promise… hope for whispered conversation full of double meanings.

  And her voice… it was as familiar to him as a song, but somehow, he’d never heard it this way before.

  “Hello, Sebastian,” Susannah Westforth purred. Little no more. “Happy Christmas.”

  Chapter Three

  “Have you spotted them yet?” Lucy Frost, Lady Winterson, said in a rushed whisper.

  “Spotted who?” Philbert replied, distracted. She had found him in an intimate alcove just off the ballroom, blessedly empty, fussing with the mistletoe again. Making sure it hung perfectly, in the middle of the garland that decorated the close space.

  “He just arrived! Young Mr. Beckett. Julia wrote me to be on the lookout for him, should he ever decide to return from abroad. And of course, he chooses tonight of all nights to do so!” Lucy could feel her face blush with giddy excitement. She knew that after all these years of hosting the Christmas Ball, she should be used to the rush of excitement, merriment, and joy it gave her, but instead it came unbidden anew, making her feel young again.

  But Philbert was looking down on her with concern. “Your face, my lady. You’ve become quite flushed.” He put out his hand to feel the side of her cheek, shocking her with his touch.

  “I, ah… I am merely pleased, is all.” She felt herself flushing more from his touch and told herself she was relieved when he put his hand down. “Mr. Beckett is here, Miss Westforth is here, and I am certain sparks will fly between them. That is, once we put them together.”

  Philbert glanced over her shoulder into the ballroom beyond. “I fear there is little we need to do for this couple.”

  She followed his gaze to where she could see Miss Susannah Westforth, the most sought after young lady of the past Season, surrounded by a sea of young men, giving Sebastian Beckett her hand to bow over. Startled, he did so. Then, a waltz began, and before the first three notes had been played, Susannah’s partner had stepped forward to claim her and lead her to the floor. The look on Mr. Beckett’s face fluctuated between completely shocked and utterly murderous.

  “Well, well,” she murmured. “That knocked his socks off. It will be a few hours yet before she has him smiling. Although, to hear Julia tell it, a little torture might be in that boy’s best interest.”

  “Hours of torture?” Philbert asked, shaking his now silver head. Lucy could remember when it had been a deep chocolate, thick and wavy. Of course, it was still thick, still waved. She raised her hand to her own light hair. Silver now too, she knew. But hopefully, still stylish.

  “Yes.” Lucy nodded. “Why, do you think that too much?”

  “It’s not for me to say, my lady.” The corner of his mouth went up. “Some men will break under hours of torture, wanting for a woman. Some men endure decades.”

  Something zipped through Lucy’s heart. Something uncomfortable, something wonderful. And when her eyes met his… something that made her flush all over again.

  Susannah could feel warmth spreading through her body, that odd tingling of awareness stretching over her skin like an invisible touch. He was here. Sebastian was here. Now. How long had he been back in England? In London? Why did she feel so ill-prepared for this meeting, when all she had been doing for the last three years was wishing for it?

  Wishing for a single kiss from him.

  As Mr. Parkhurst took her through another turn in the waltz, Susannah tried her best to compose herself, and to remember all her aunt had taught her. Oh, she wished Aunt Julia was there at that very moment! But of course, she could not be – the snow had stranded her in the North much the way everyone here was stranded in the South. As it was, Susannah was all alone in London – staying with friends while her family celebrated the holiday at Dewberry Manor. At home.

  First things first – never let your young Mr. Beckett see you unsettled. The phrase echoed in Susannah’s head. It had been early on in their lessons, when Aunt Julia had been trying to get her to sit serenely at tea, and not twitch her leg or fidget her hands.

  Susannah took a deep breath and let a serene smile bloom over her features. She would not let Sebastian know how her heart raced, how she could feel his eyes on her as she twirled across the room. He would not see her unsettled, nor let him know that he was the one doing the unsettling.

  “You have a very curious look on your face,” Parkhurst said, bringing her attention back to him. (Another rule long since drilled into her head popped up: When with a man, give him your full attention. Unless he does not return the favor.) And Parkhurst definitely was earning her attention, his eyes peering into her face, searching.

  “Do I?” she asked, turning the corners of her mouth up.

  “Yes. I would pay all the money I have to know what you are thinking.”

  “Oh, I should prefer not to bankrupt you, so I will happily tell you,” Susannah answered back coyly. “I was thinking about my aunt, and some advice she has given me.”

  “Advice?” Parkhurst’s (slightly bushy) eyebrow went up. “On what subject?”

  “Men.”

  Now his second eyebrow joined the first. “And what was the advice?”

  “All men, whether they know it or not, desire manipulation. It is only charitable that we women manipulate them to our liking.”

  Parkhurst blinked twice and then burst out laughing. And Susannah glowed with pleasure, knowing that she had gained the attention of every man in the room – and cemented the gaze of one man in particular.

  After Parkhurst came Lord Trolley, and then Mr. Campbell for a reel. Thus Susannah did not have a moment to catch her breath for nearly a full hour. When one finally came, she was inundated with offers to fetch her refreshment. She directed the young bucks toward the punch bowl, letting them argue over who would bring the cup to her. What she really wanted was a respite. A few moments to breathe, to collect her thoughts. She knew Sebastian was here somewhere, and the next time she saw him, she had to be quick and clever, and – according to her aunt – completely alluring and unattainable at the same time, thus rendering him in her thrall –

  “I thought you’d never leave the dance floor.”

  She started, but quickly smoothed her features. Not only had Aunt Julia taught her how to dress and stand up straight, she’d taught her how to seem unruffled, even if you were ruffled quite deeply.

  He was standing by the Christmas tree. It was not the first Christmas tree that Susannah had ever seen, but it was certainly the biggest. When Lady Winterson adopted a new trend, she did so with aplomb. The branches of the fir fell out in a perfect conical fashion, the decorations and the little candles jostled only slightly when Sebastian removed himself from the wall.

  He moved gracefully, but then again, he always had. Even when they were young, Susannah’s heart had skipped a beat at just seeing his confident walk. But now, that walk had a bit more thud to it, and his brow a bit more thunder.

  “I try to honor all the dances I give away,” Susannah said simply, letting her smile come up again. Letting her eyes fill with the joy of seeing him again.

  Sebastian smiled, although it did not reach his eyes. “I remember when you could not do a simple reel without tripping over your feet.”

  She blushed, but held his eye. “And I remember that you were quite the gentleman, and never made me feel clumsy for it.”

  “Yes, well… you have improved since then,” he mumbled.

  “Three years is a long time.”

  “It’s not that long,” he replied, affronted. “Not long enough for…” His eyes raked over her, and she knew what he saw. The changes in her. The child gone and the young lady with learned wiles standing in her skin. The dress, the hair, the posture, the laughter, the joy, the little touches of womanhood must have been a bit of a shock.

  But that di
d not explain the look of disgust on his face.

  “Not long enough for what?” she replied. “It’s long enough for three Christmases. Three summer festivals in Hollyhock. Six birthdays, both yours and mine. Thirty-six months, one hundred-fifty-six weeks, one thousand, ninety-five days…” She ticked off on her fingers.

  “Alright, enough.” His hand reached out and took hers. Shocking her with the easiness of it. He chuckled lightly, shaking his head. “You were always more clever with numbers than I. More clever with most things, really.”

  She smiled then too, her nerves picking up every little thing about this moment. Locked in a glass bubble, they were, like the ornaments on the tree, the world moving around outside of them but as long as her hand was in his, they were alone…

  “But enough of this nonsense. What is a girl like you doing in London?”

  “A girl like me?”

  “Well, yes. I mean, Susie, I just never expected to see you here. You’re not exactly…”

  The glass ball began to crack. “I’m not exactly what?”

  “Well…” He gave her a look. “This party… this dress… you’re supposed to be riding your horse over the hills in the country, not dancing with idiots like Parkhurst.” He laughed then. “It’s a little bit ridiculous, come to think of it.”

  She felt her brow come down. Her body go cold. The cracked glass ball shattered, and the rest of reality slipped back in.

  “You’re angry,” she realized. Some part of her broke a little. After all this time, he’d been gone and she’d been so happy to see him and…

  He was angry.

  “No, I’m not,” he blustered.

  “Yes, you are. You are angry because I am somehow ridiculous for having changed. But what’s ridiculous about it?” she asked, unable to keep her voice calm and cool, as she knew her aunt would insist. “I dance quite well, as you see. I look lovely in this dress. And I enjoy Mr. Parkhurst’s company.”