Emily's Christmas Wish

by Sharon Stancavage

  Susan blushed prettily, basking in the attention. "Of course not, Henry," she replied, and riffled through the music, looking for another piece to showcase her angelic voice.

  Emily sighed in relief. So that's the way it's going to be. Lady Markston has taken me in some sort of freakish dislike and is going to use my lack of womanly accomplishments to make her daughter look more attractive.

  When Susan's performance ended, Emily abruptly stood up and excused herself, heading down the hall toward the warming fires in the library.

  The roaring fire in the fireplace cast just enough light for Emily to start reading the ghastly Minerva Press novel she had found on one of the lower shelves. Wellington was at her feet, asleep, and she was curled up on a mahogany chair that was quite comfortable, despite its stiff back. The fire was warm, it was still snowing, and for once that evening, Emily was contented.

  Nigel walked into the library a short time later, dashed tired of Lady Markston and Susan. All he really wanted was to escape from the debacle that they called a musical evening and to find some sort of book to read to get his mind off of his problems.

  So when he glanced over to the warm, welcoming glow of the fireplace and saw Emily curled up in a chair, asleep, his breath was all but taken away.

  Her thick mane of dark auburn hair glowed in the light of the fire, creating a golden halo around her head. Her skin was the color of porcelain, and her long, artistic fingers were wrapped around the novel that was sitting in her lap. To make the picture complete, Victoria's puppy was curled up at her feet, also oblivious to his intrusion.

  Nigel stood staring at her for a long time, his heart pounding in his chest. Emily wasn't nearly as beautiful as Susan; her kind heart, the sparkle in her eyes, and the way she treated the people around her made her stand out from the usual sort of female one encountered in Society. He had no doubt that she was adored by her servants, and her personal friends were probably as fiercely loyal to her as she was to them.

  The gentle rise and fall of her breasts kept him transfixed until he finally decided that it wasn't terribly proper to stand about watching someone sleep. So he decided to exit the library gracefully and leave Emily to her slumbers.

  That is, until he turned and unceremoniously walked into the zebrawood inlaid writing table that he really hadn't noticed before, knocking a small wooden statue onto the floor.

  "Damn," he muttered as he picked up the statue, and when he looked over at Emily, she was sitting up in her chair, regarding him with large, sleepy green eyes.

  "Emily," he said with a soft, sensual smile, "I'm sorry I disturbed your rest."

  Emily blushed prettily and noticed how tall and forbidding he looked in the firelight. "You must think me rather cork-brained to be dozing in the library. Actually, Lady Markston rather wore me out and I thought this was the last place I would ever encounter her," she said, still blushing.

  Nigel crossed the room and seated himself in the mahogany chair opposite her, next to the fire. "Lady Markston can be a bit of a harridan, can't she? You shouldn't let her bother you, though—she just thinks she's helping her daughter," he explained, staring into the flickering depths of her green eyes.

  Suddenly shy, Emily looked away and into the fire. "It's not very charitable to admit it, but I do hope the weather clears so Lady Markston and her daughter can get on with their trip," she said in a voice that was as smooth as silk.

  "If you'd like, I could have a word with Lady Markston and Susan. They both tend to treat anyone who isn't a proper member of the ton abominably, and I'd hate to see them continue treating you badly," he said, leaning forward in his chair.

  "It's very kind of you to offer, Lord Stratford," she began, and he immediately interrupted her.

  "Nigel, not Lord Stratford."

  "It's very kind of you to offer," she began again, glancing at him shyly, "but I'm accustomed to people like Lady Markston. Although my grandfather is a duke, my father is still connected to trade so I'm not quite respectable enough for many people. That's why I rather avoid English Society. It's different on the Continent, at least in my experience. You're judged more on your accomplishments than strictly on your birthright," she concluded, shocked at her own words.

  Nigel's look was unfathomable as he replied, "It's not so much different for those of us who are fully accepted by the Upper Ten. I've been judged as Lord Stratford rather than on my own accomplishments for years, and have had all of the matchmaking mama's sending their daughters after my fortune for years. That's not a particularly pleasant experience, knowing that one's chief asset is one's blunt," he concluded, wondering why he was confiding some of his innermost thoughts to a female who was practically a stranger.

  A wry, sad smile appeared on Emily's face. "I understand completely. Before I decided I didn't want to participate in Society, my only recommendation was my fortune. And my father would not sanction an alliance with a gamester in dun territory, no matter what his title," she concluded, perfectly at ease talking with Nigel.

  "I think you're gammoning me, Emily. I can't believe a young woman as beautiful as you are didn't have the bucks in town begging for a dance," he said with all sincerity, completely forgetting about Roger, the mermaid pendant, and everything else except the beautiful woman in front of him.

  As Emily gazed wistfully back at him, neither one noticed that Henry had joined them in the library. He coughed discreetly and brought them both out of their firelight trance.

  "I should have thought I'd find you both in here—it's the only place you can be assured of refuge from Lady Markston," Henry replied, sitting down in the chair next to Nigel.

  "She's usually not this bad. I don't know what kind of maggot is in her brain, but I hope she'll be more congenial tomorrow morning," Nigel replied, cursing Henry's interruption. He was enjoying his tête-à-tête with Emily, and didn't want it to end.

  "I hope so, too. Harriet has some grand plans for tomorrow, if the weather clears. She wants the servants to drag in some of the greenery we have in the barn so we can start making ropes to decorate the house," he said casually, beginning to relax in the comfort of the library.

  With a small smile, Emily stood up and replied, "Then I'd best be retiring for the evening. I know how ambitious Harriet can be, and I'm sure I'll need the rest for tomorrow's activities," she said, her eyes lingering on Nigel.

  "Good evening, Emily," Nigel said in a sultry, intimate voice that caused a delicious shiver to run up Emily's spine as she left the room, Wellington trailing after her.

  "Emily has Nigel's family heirloom? That's why you invited them both here for the Christmas holiday?" Henry asked incredulously, taking a helping of kippers from the bowfronted, satinwood-inlaid mahogany sideboard.

  Harriet looked up guiltily from her rasher of bacon. "Yes, I know it sounds horrible, but there is an explanation," she protested, a blush staining her cheeks.

  Henry joined her at the circular table inlaid with brass and stared at her intently. So intently, he failed to notice, as did Harriet, that Aubrey had come up to the door of the small breakfast room and was eavesdropping on their conversation.

  "So, my dear, what is your explanation?" Henry asked, delving into his breakfast.

  "Well, I wasn't sure if I should mention it at all, but when Nigel's father, the marquess, wrote, he mentioned that Roger had accidentally sold a piece of the Manning jewelry. He said it was bought by Emily's grandfather, who promptly gave it to her as an early Christmas present. The marquess would like the pendant back in the family, you see," she explained, her round morning dress of green merino wool complementing her skin color.

  "And so?"

  "Roger couldn't buy it back from Emily—she still detests him. So the marquess sent Nigel to buy it back from her. There's the matter of the curse, you see," she explained, as if they were discussing something as commonplace as the weather.

  "The curse? Harriet, that's a Banbury story if I ever heard one," Henry proclaimed, chewing on a crisp piece
of bacon.

  "I know it sounds rather out of the ordinary. But the marquess claims that the family will be plagued by bad luck until the Manning Mermaid is back in the family. I thought it was a cock-and-bull story myself until Nigel started telling me all of the ghastly things that have been happening lately," Harriet finished, gazing steadily at her husband.

  "Does Emily know any of this?"

  "Not at all. I don't know if she'll agree to sell the pendant, since she does seem to be dashed fond of it. I do hope that Nigel isn't being solicitous to her just so she'll willingly sell him the pendant back," Harriet said, finishing up the last of her food.

  Henry frowned. "I don't think so. Nigel seemed to be quite taken with Emily from the start, even though he thought that she was Miss Turner," he concluded, staring out the window. It was still snowing so hard one couldn't see much outside.

  "I hope you're right," Harriet added, and was startled when, out of nowhere, Aubrey appeared.

  "You both keep early hours," he proclaimed, helping himself to the food on the sideboard.

  "It is the country," Henry proclaimed, not noticing the worried look on his wife's face.

  How much did Aubrey hear, Harriet wondered, her blue eyes suddenly shadowed with concern. And if he did hear what we were discussing, how much will he tell Emily? Or anyone else, for that matter, she mused, her mind suddenly in a jumble.

  "Aunt Emily, wake up!" a small voice from the foot of her bed said eagerly, tugging at her thick covers.

  Emily opened one green eye and replied, "Victoria, my dear, I was up much later than you were last night and I would like to sleep."

  "Please, Aunt Emily? The snow has turned to ice and Miss Turner won't let me go outside to play. Please, will you get up?" Victoria asked in a pleading voice, walking over to Emily's side of the enormous four-poster bed.

  From the door, another voice boomed, "Victoria! There you are. How dare you bother Miss Winterhaven while she is still abed. You will come with me at once!" Miss Turner, Victoria's nanny, admonished from the doorway.

  Emily let out a deep sigh and sat up in bed, propping herself up on her pillows. "Good morning, Miss Turner," Emily said in an amiable voice, pushing her loose strands of hair off of her face.

  Miss Turner colored to the roots of her long, mouse-brown hair. "I'm terribly sorry for the intrusion, Miss Winterhaven. Victoria scuttled off when I wasn't looking. I do beg your pardon," she said nervously, glancing down the hall.

  A gentle smile appeared on Emily's face. "I realize it's not your fault, Miss Turner, and I enjoy spending time with Victoria. Tell me, what is the rest of the house up to today?" she asked curiously, beginning to wake up more fully.

  "I don't know, Miss Winterhaven," Miss Turner replied, stepping into the bedroom to collect Victoria.

  "I know," Victoria said eagerly, still standing next to Emily's bed.

  Emily smiled indulgently at the child. "Do tell, Victoria."

  "Mama and Papa are still in the breakfast room with Uncle Aubrey. Lady Markston is staying in her room all day—she's recovering from the trip. Uncle Nigel is in his room, too—his valet says he has a dreadful cold. And Lady Susan is just wandering around the house and seems to be out of sorts. And she doesn't like talking to me," Victoria finished in a rush.

  "Have you been pestering Lady Susan?" Miss Turner admonished, beginning to become quite cross with the child.

  "No, Miss Turner. I just said good morning to her and she ignored me, as if I were a servant!" Victoria proclaimed, the picture of outraged innocence.

  "You should not be bothering the guests," Miss Turner scolded, folding her hands in front of her angrily.

  Victoria turned her pleading blue eyes toward Emily, who smiled sympathetically.

  "She's right, Victoria. Not all adults care for children, especially if they're not accustomed to them," she explained patiently, inwardly amazed that anyone could be rude to Victoria, who was the sweetest child one could encounter.

  Victoria turned a charming shade of red and looked down at the floor, quite embarrassed. A moment later, she exclaimed, "Aunt Emily, there's something in your shoes!"

  Emily turned a deep shade of red, and was even more mortified when Miss Turner came over to the side of the bed and picked up her delicate kid slipper from the floor. "Why, you have rosemary in your shoe," she announced to no one in particular, a small smile appearing on her severe features.

  "Yes, and thyme in the other," Emily admitted reluctantly, still a slight shade of pink.

  "Why?" Victoria asked, and before Emily could answer, Miss Turner looked at her sympathetically and said, "If you don't mind, I'll explain to Victoria."

  "Of course."

  "Victoria," Miss Turner began, "Miss Winterhaven is practicing a fine old Christmas tradition. You see, when an unmarried young lady puts her shoes on the side of her bed, with rosemary and thyme in each shoe, the legend says that if she sleeps on her back, she'll dream of the man she is going to marry."

  Victoria looked up at Emily, her eyes wide with wonder. "You were sleeping on your back when I came in. Were you dreaming about anyone?" she asked shyly.

  Emily blushed and looked away. How could she tell the child that she had been dreaming about her Uncle Nigel since the moment she placed her shoes next to the bed?

  Five

  "You are a vision to behold," Aubrey proclaimed, staring at the blond goddess standing in front of the window of the study.

  Susan tossed her artfully styled blond curls and gave him a magnificent smile. "You are much too forward, Aubrey. It's good that Mama isn't here or she would give you a dressing-down you wouldn't soon forget."

  Aubrey, clad in a blue jacket with a willow-green-and-blush-colored waistcoat and buckskin breeches, seated himself on the large sofa near the fireplace. "Yes, I'm horribly forward, but you're dashed attractive, Susan, and I think you enjoy hearing accolades to your beauty."

  The smile remained on Susan's face as she sat down on the small mahogany chair across from the sofa, adjusting the golden patterned Turkish shawl that covered her softly flowing gown of pale blue. "You're quite the rake, aren't you? That's why I haven't seen you around Town," she concluded, still very confident of herself.

  A leisurely smile appeared on Aubrey's face. "You haven't seen me about Town because I travel in different circles than you do. I am a titled man about Town, not a young girl that hasn't taken in… how many Seasons have you had?" he asked, shocking Susan as he knew he would.

  "That is dashed impertinent of you, sir! I demand an apology," Susan said passionately, her perfect porcelain skin becoming a bit pale at Aubrey's proclamation.

  "No need to get on your high horse—I'm not planning on informing your intended of the facts. And I'm not planning to apologize. I just thought we might get on better if we realized where we stood. I still find you stunningly attractive, despite your lack of success about Town," he concluded suavely, taking a bit of snuff.

  Susan was at a complete loss for words. Finally, after looking at the Aubusson carpet for the longest time, she finally said, "Please don't tell Nigel I'm not a success. Mama is expecting a spring wedding, and the truth might make him think that our marriage would be a misalliance," she concluded, unable to meet his eyes.

  "Of course it would be a misalliance," Aubrey proclaimed, and smiled in delight as she raised her stunning blue eyes in protest.

  "I disagree, sir! I will make a splendid marchioness some day!" she proclaimed defiantly, her eyes blazing.

  "I don't doubt that," he said immediately, then added, "but not for Stratford. You don't care a farthing for him, and he isn't particularly attached to you, either."

  "Sir, you have no knowledge of the situation. Nigel will offer for me before the Twelfth Night," she said, practically shouting.

  "There's no need to get a feather in your bonnet. A beautiful woman like you would be bored to tears with Stratford. Why do you insist on marrying him?" he asked casually, leaning back on the sofa to study the b
eauty before him.

  Susan stared at the carpet once again, deep in thought. Finally she replied, "Nigel is quite wealthy and has a tract of land adjoining ours. It would be a fortuitous match."

  "And I am just as plump in the pocket as Stratford. Are you really so determined to spend your life with a serious member of Parliament who doesn't appreciate the fact that you are the goddess Venus incarnate? Do you really wish to be shut away in some god-awful house to rear a passel of drab children? Is that what you want, Susan?" he asked, knowing fully well that he was really trying the bounds of propriety.

  Susan looked into his large blue eyes and asked in a soft, barely inaudible voice, "Does what I want matter?"

  Aubrey leaned forward and used all of his rakish charm to seduce her. "What you want is of tantamount importance, Lady Susan Claredon," he declared in a serious voice that made a shiver of excitement ripple through her body.

  "Will you require anything else, my lord?" Hughes asked, handing Nigel a teacup full of some sort of potion that Harriet's cook had brewed especially to cure his cold.

  Nigel took the teacup filled with an extremely hot, foul-smelling liquid and sipped it slowly, a look of extreme distaste present on his pale features. "No, I don't expect I will need anything else right at this moment, Hughes. I feel dashed miserable and at any moment I fear I'll be screaming at you like my father screams at his valet. So why don't you find yourself something to eat below stairs and I'll try to rest a trifle," Nigel said, then sneezed into his handkerchief.

  Hughes, his tall, thin valet, frowned noticeably. "Are you certain, my lord? Would you like a poultice from Miss Turner? The staff claims that her home remedies have helped them immensely," he said in a worried voice.

  "I think not. No, I've simply caught some sort of freakish cold and need to tough it out. I'll be fine tomorrow," Nigel claimed, once again sneezing so the entire bed shook.