A Seduction at Christmas

by Cathy Maxwell

  “She just recently started these tantrums,” Nick said.

  “I’d heard she stopped after your father died,” Aunt Agatha said. “But before that, she made his life miserable.”

  He was conscious of Fee’s presence. “Aunt, we should leave this conversation.”

  Aunt Agatha dismissed his concerns with a lift of one shoulder. “Talk to Brandt and Maven. They’ve witnessed a number of her scenes. But she didn’t dare carry on that way with them.”

  “We’ve discussed this enough,” Nick answered.

  His aunt didn’t agree. She opened her mouth to argue but Fee took her arm. “Do you have everything packed, Lady Kensett? I believe the duke wishes to leave within the hour.”

  “I do,” Nick said, thankful for her interruption.

  “I am ready to travel,” Aunt Agatha said.

  “Unfortunately, I’m not,” Fee answered. “If you will excuse me?”

  “I also have a few things I need to see to before we leave. Aunt, do you wish to wait for us in the drawing room since the breakfast room is indisposed?”

  His aunt took a glance inside the room and frowned. Master Rockford had moved on to sniff at more delicacies on the floor. Still sitting by Fiona’s side, Tad watched him with more than a little jealousy on his face.

  “I’ll wait in the drawing room,” his aunt said. A maid had come from the direction of the back stairs and she waved her toward the small dining room. “Girl, see to that, will you? And help me down the hall, Holburn.” Aunt Agatha took his arm.

  As the maid looked into the dining room and discovered the damage, Nick led his aunt and Fiona toward the other side of the house. He was pleased that Fee waited for him to settle his aunt comfortably before the fire.

  As they walked up the stairs, Tad trailing behind, she said, “I couldn’t pull your aunt away from the door, but she is strong for an old woman.”

  “And proud of it,” Nick agreed. “I have to admit, I hadn’t realized what a bold old buzzard she was. She showed no remorse for listening at the door.”

  “Well, one didn’t have to put her ear up to the door,” Fee said with her usual tactfulness.

  As they reached the top of the stairs, he said, “Go ahead, ask. I can hear your mind work. You are buzzing with questions about Mother.”

  “Does she always lose her temper with such violence?”

  Nick leaned a shoulder against the stair post. The servants were all busy and they were alone. “Not as often as she has lately.”

  He hesitated a moment and then continued because he did need to talk to someone about this. “I seem to remember her having fits when my father was alive. But after his death, she rarely carried on in that manner. Of course, I was away at school.” He studied the weave of the hallway runner before confiding, “She was always one to horde things. She’d build piles of possessions, much like her growing mountain of luggage downstairs in the hall. I suspect her need to gather her belongings has something to do with her past. She went from a commoner—an actress, no less—to duchess almost overnight. The two of them had eloped and no matter how hard my grandfather tried, he couldn’t break the legality of the marriage, especially after I was born.”

  “You must have felt an outsider, too, since they were so critical of your mother.”

  For the first time in his life, Nick felt someone understood. “It’s hard when you sense something is wrong with your family, but don’t understand.” Needing to justify emotions he’d struggled with most of his life, he said, “Mother doesn’t fit in with the ton. She has friends, most as nervous as herself. They are the sort who live on the fringe of society and they always lead her in the wrong direction. After Father’s death, my uncles were named my guardian and had control of all my affairs, including those affecting Mother. They are overbearing, arrogant men. They wear their disapproval like coats and can make a person feel like the worst failure.”

  “Are you speaking for your mother or for yourself?” she wondered.

  “Both. When I had to tell them that Ramigio had stolen the ring, they acted as if I’d committed an act of treason.”

  “And that is why you are so determined to find it?” she asked.

  “I’m determined because the ring is a symbol of my birthright and stealing it was a betrayal of a friendship. I trusted Andres. I liked him. Mother wasn’t the only one who felt alone after Father’s death.”

  “What is your relationship to your uncles now?”

  He smiled grimly. “I do as I please, and they disapprove of it. Of course, Mother isn’t as strong. They can crush her with one word of disapproval. That’s part of the reason she is so anxious to have her gambling losses covered. My uncles always find out what we are doing.”

  “The truth is I would be upset about such gambling losses,” Fee said. “You are right to stand your ground.”

  “Even when she is throwing sausages around?”

  “Especially then.”

  Nick frowned his concern. “She’s always played for high stakes but this past month her losses have been ridiculous.”

  “What has changed?”

  He smiled. “The Fiona Lachlan question—what has changed?” He considered the matter. “Colonel Swanson.” At Fee’s puzzled look, he told her about meeting the officer the day before. “However, I don’t know how long she has known him. The only other change is one that has no effect on Mother now. I established a trust for her in my will.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “She feared being left under my uncle Brandt’s protection if I died and he inherited the title. I don’t blame her,” he said with feeling. “Since I plan on outliving her, the trust seemed a simple way to ease her concerns.”

  “But if you die…” Fee let her voice trail off.

  Nick immediately rejected what she was suggesting. “I don’t see Mother hiring Irishmen or paying for my murder. She’s a distracted parent but not an unfeeling one.”

  “She was very angry downstairs.”

  “You heard my aunt. She’s had these tantrums for years without killing anyone.”

  Fee raised a conciliatory hand. “You are right. It was a flight of fancy on my part. I’m starting to imagine murderers behind every door.”

  “That’s why we are going to Huntleigh.” He took her arm and walked her to her bedroom door. “However, I am worried about my mother’s tantrums. She invited Colonel Swanson to join the family gathering over Christmas. His visit will give me the opportunity to know the man, and perhaps sound him out about this gambling. She often goes out with friends, but she must be meeting him.”

  “He may even be the one encouraging her to gamble so recklessly,” Fee suggested.

  “I’d like to find that out, too.” He opened her door for her. “Will you be ready within the hour?”

  “Of course, Your Grace. I can be ready sooner, if necessary.”

  “Then let us leave in the half hour. I’ll call the coach around.”

  As she started to enter her room, she asked, “How long will it take to travel the distance to Huntleigh?”

  “About seven hours if we stop for lunch, which we will. Aunt Agatha enjoys her meals.”

  Fee laughed.

  “You and my aunt will be in the coach. I prefer to ride.”

  A pleading look came to her eyes. “Could I ride? There is a riding habit in the wardrobe.”

  “Of course you may,” Nick said, pleased. Riding was one of his passions. “I’ll have a horse saddled for you.”

  The smile she gave him in return for this small gesture made him feel as if he’d just handed her the moon.

  Maybe he was falling in love.

  But instead of being frightening, it was rather nice.

  “I’ll let you change,” he murmured—and almost tripped over Tad who had laid down behind him.

  After that embarrassment, both he and Tad escaped as quickly as they could.

  The footmen Williams and Larson rode as outriders and two armed men rode
with the coachman. Sarah, Fiona’s maid, traveled inside the coach with Lady Kensett and Gannon, Holburn’s valet.

  The day was overcast but there was no danger of rain and Fiona’s spirits were high. The riding habit was a lovely emerald-green velvet trimmed in black braid à le militaire. On her head she wore a black beaver riding hat accented with one green pheasant feather. She’d even been outfitted with black riding gloves that fit perfectly and a pair of half boots that were a touch too large but she didn’t care.

  She loved to ride. Holburn had given her a handsome, well-behaved gelding named Monty. His horse was a dark bay with four black legs and a massive chest. Tad ran along with them.

  Within an hour, they’d left the city behind and Fiona felt she could breathe freely again.

  Holburn nudged his horse beside hers. “You are a good rider.”

  “I used to hunt,” she admitted proudly. “I could take a hedgerow as well as any man.”

  “Could you now?” he said as if not quite believing her.

  “Do you wish to test me?” she challenged.

  A competitive light came to his eye. He glanced at the footmen. “We’re going for a bit of fun, Williams. Keep an eye on us, but don’t stay too close.” To the coachman, he said, “See you at the Golden Stag.”

  With those words, he turned his horse and jumped the fence alongside the road. He looked across it to Fiona. “Well? Are you coming?”

  To the laughing encouragement of the others, Fiona cleared the fence and kept going, riding right past Holburn. The duke had no trouble catching up with her and for the next two hours they had a merry chase across the cold, bare fields and through the trees of the countryside with Tad trying to keep up.

  Fiona couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt more alive and excited about life. At one point, her hat had flown off her head and the duke had gallantly retrieved it. She’d noticed Williams and Larson then, dutifully riding at a distance. Tad had grown tired and fallen back to travel with them.

  “Should we wait for them?” Holburn asked.

  “No,” Fiona said and kicked her horse. They were off again.

  The Golden Stag was a welcoming inn along the road. The coach was waiting for them by the time they arrived. They had an enjoyable meal and then it was back to the road. This time, she and Holburn walked their horses.

  The duke liked her.

  There wasn’t a woman worth her salt on the face of this earth who could mistake the expression in his eyes every time he looked at her. And his affections were more than just physical lust. He liked her.

  And she couldn’t help but fall in love with him.

  The conversation between them was easy. They discussed everything from religion to social opinions to teasing remarks about their riding. The more she grew to know the duke, the more she admired him.

  He wasn’t the hardened rake as everyone had portrayed him. She found him intelligent and thoughtful. He was unafraid to be his own man, a quality she admired, and one that would give him the reputation of being a loner.

  Too soon they arrived at Huntleigh.

  She and Holburn had left the coach to take a shortcut across the fields. They rode around a bend and over a hill into a stable yard. The barn was of pale brick. It was larger than most houses and the yard was paved with cobblestones.

  Grooms came running out to greet them. Holburn tossed his reins to one of them, slid off his horse, and moved to help her dismount. He put his hands on her waist and swung her out of the sidesaddle and to the ground as if she weighed nothing.

  “You can ride,” he said with approval.

  Tad had followed them and now came panting up to join them. Fiona gave his ears a scratch. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

  The dog yawned an answer.

  “Come,” Holburn said, linking his arm in hers. “We’ll walk up to the house.”

  “My legs need the stretch,” she admitted, knowing that tomorrow she would pay for the day’s exercise. She gracefully caught the long skirt of her riding habit by the wrist band sewn in at the hem and let him lead her through the barn which was cleaner inside than most houses she had visited.

  On the other side were paddocks and a small pond with geese. “There are swans and wild ducks in the summer,” he told her, proud of his home.

  Tad started to chase geese. Fiona would have stopped him, but Holburn let him go. Of course, the dog was no match for a fat, angry goose. The goose’s hissing scared Tad back to hide behind Fiona’s skirts and there he stayed as they started up a gravel path built into the side of the hill.

  Even in winter, one could see that great care had been taken with the landscaping. Fiona was paying so much attention to her immediate surroundings that it wasn’t until they came out at the top of the hill that she realized the house was right there—and it robbed her of breath.

  She walked past Holburn, stunned by the size of the house built in the same pale brick as the stables. The windows sparkled in the late afternoon sun and the front of the house had a marble portico that was amazing in its size and the whiteness of its stone. The London house was a cottage in comparison.

  “This isn’t a house,” Fiona said, “it’s a palace.”

  “It was intended to be,” Holburn answered. He led her along a stone path from the hill to the front door. “My ancestors always had high hopes for advancement.”

  “And where does one go from duke?” she acknowledged.

  He smiled.

  Someone from the stable must have warned the serving staff that the duke had arrived. The front door opened and out poured a host of servants in the same blue livery worn by the London staff.

  Their enthusiastic greeting was genuine.

  Holburn nodded and accepted their warm welcomes as he gently guided Fiona through the door with a hand placed on the small of her back. “The coach is following,” he told the butler whom he introduced as another Docket. “They are brothers,” he explained, although this Docket had more hair than the other.

  The inside of the house was more magnificent than the outside. The floors were a dark wood, polished to a high shine, and covered with patterned carpets. The high ceilings were painted with scenes from mythology and the cream-colored walls decorated with family portraits and landscapes.

  A tall woman with laughing eyes and hair the color of honey came forward to greet them. “Holburn, I am so glad you came early. It’s rare that we have time to spend without the rest of the family.”

  “Only because you refuse to come to London, dear cousin,” he said, leaning for her kiss on his cheek. He straightened and looked around the house. “I see you have been busy decorating for Christmas.” Garlands of holly were everywhere, over the doorways and down the staircase. Red velvet bows and holly nosegays were arranged on the tabletops.

  He introduced Fiona. “Gillian, this is my—” He paused, smiled at Fiona and said “My ward. She saved my life, Gill. Fee, this is my second cousin Gillian Ranson, Lady Wright, and every year she spends days upon days decorating the house for Christmas.”

  “It’s only a little holly,” his cousin answered.

  “It’s like this all over the house,” Holburn assured Fiona. “Even in the water closet. Gillian must have the servants cutting holly for days.”

  “No, Holburn, I’m not that carried away,” Lady Wright said, laughing.

  “You are,” he assured her and Fiona found herself smiling with them. They had the easy banter of true respect for each other, the sort of thing found in the best of families.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lady,” Fiona said.

  “She’s Scot,” Gillian said with surprise. “What a lovely accent. And, please, don’t be so formal. I’m Gillian here. I can’t stand my title because I never could stand my husband.”

  Her bluntness caught Fiona off guard.

  Gillian frowned. “Have I startled you? I’m sorry,” she replied without any true apology. “We who live in the country have a tendency to speak bluntly.”


  “You have not offended, my lady,” Fiona said. “Blunt speaking is a way with us Scots. I was surprised to hear it from an Englishwoman.”

  “I can’t be any way other than outspoken,” Gillian admitted.

  “I have the same flaw,” Fiona answered. “Although I refuse to think of it as a flaw.”

  Gillian laughed and took her hand. “Then we shall be friends. I can’t tolerate anyone who doesn’t speak her mind. For that reason, Holburn is the only one in the family I trust. Come, let me show you to your room. You must be exhausted if you rode alongside Holburn. He has a bruising hand with the horses.”

  “I’m a fine horseman,” he countered.

  “Bruising,” Gillian insisted and Fiona laughed. It had been a long time since she’d felt enveloped in the warmth of family. After her experiences with Holburn’s mother, she had not anticipated Gillian to be so welcoming.

  Gillian led them to the back stairs. This house lacked the formality of Holburn’s London residence. The carpets were as thick and the floors as polished, but the furniture was more comfortable. The chairs and sitting arrangements were testimony to countless evenings spent over a chess board or listening to conversation or music. And, of course, everywhere, on mantels and tables, were arrangements of holly. Fiona wondered if there was a holly tree left with branches within a mile of the house.

  “Are you musical?” Gillian asked as they passed the door to a large music room with the chairs arranged around a pianoforte.

  “Not very,” Fiona admitted.

  “Good, neither am I. But everyone else in the family sings, including Holburn who has a passably fine voice.”

  He winced. “Gillian, must you tell all my secrets?”

  “Every one of them,” she answered with unconcern, leading them up the stairs to their bedrooms.

  Fiona’s room was done in a fresh mixture of greens. The spread on the bed was white but the rest was as relaxing as an oasis. “I feel as if I’m walking into a garden,” she announced, pleased with her accommodations.

  Holburn nodded, looking around the room as if he’d wanted to confirm for himself all was as it should be. “I’ll let you have a moment to yourself,” he said. “The coach should arrive momentarily and I’ll help Aunt Agatha. If you need anything, Fee, ask Gillian.” He ducked out of the room before she could give a saucy reply.