The Christmas Carrolls

by Barbara Metzger

  “Who knows? I might end up following the drum. Officers’ wives do not live in tents, nor do they wash their linens in rivers, contrary to what some people”—a glare at Evan— “would have me believe. What if our position was overrun by the enemy? How could I defend myself?”

  “With your pistol, blast it! You’re already a better shot than a female has a right to be.”

  “One pistol, one shot. Am I supposed to put it through my own heart, then?”

  That was too much for even Ren’s control. He’d seen war, and he’d seen its innocent victims. “I’ll teach you.”

  All the ruffled feathers were smoothed by teatime the next day. Evan had apologized handsomely to Holly for losing his temper, and also to Merry, though it went against his grain. In return they’d let him win at spillikins last evening. Today, while the Carroll ladies were inspecting the village church to see what decorations would be needed for Christmas and the wedding, he’d gone shooting with the viscount. Killing a number of small, defenseless creatures had him in a better frame of mind, that and not knowing that Holly hadn’t gone along with her mother and the others. If he thought at all about his father’s comments on the advantages to Holly in their union, he merely counted fencing lessons in with not having to attend any more tedious debutante balls. If that was what she wanted, well, the old girl always had an odd kick to her gallop. It wasn’t as if any Bond Street beaux were going to see her in men’s garb, anyway, only his father.

  After dinner, which included partridge pie, Evan was quick to point out, they all stood around the pianoforte singing. Holly played, but everyone joined in, the earl and countess included. Evan’s contentment rose a notch, since his was far and away the best tenor voice. Why, his father could barely carry a tune and didn’t know the words to half the songs. Evan grinned. Finally, finally, at last, Evan had found something he could do better than his father. The poor pater was reduced to sitting next to Holly on the bench, turning her pages. How boring. He mustn’t be doing such a good job of that either, for Holly kept missing notes.

  When they’d performed all the songs they knew, Lady Carroll declared it time to retire, with a busy day planned for the morrow: inventorying the linen closets before the wedding houseguests arrived. Her daughters groaned but dutifully said their good-nights. The countess herded her youngest girl upstairs with her, quickly followed by the earl, who gave a five-minute nod to Bartholemew. The butler was feeling mellow from the lovely singing, so decided to give the young couples ten. Joia and her viscount walked toward the stairs, just happening to find an opened door to an unoccupied parlor. They ducked inside as Bartholemew consulted his watch.

  Rendell felt decidedly de trop. “I have some work to finish in the library. Good night, and thank you for a delightful evening, Lady Holly. Rest well, Evan, we’ll practice with sabers tomorrow.”

  After his father left, Evan said, “It’s early yet. I suppose I’ll toddle off to the billiards room. Got to keep on top of my game if you’re going to take up a cue stick, Hol.” His smile showed he’d forgiven her for invading his domain.

  “I’ll walk with you.” Holly removed her spectacles and fiddled with closing them as they went down the hall, past a frowning butler. “I think we should talk.”

  Evan selected a cue stick. He did not invite Holly to play, she noted. “If you think you can convince me to help your mother with the linen, you’re dicked in the nob. I did that once, remember?”

  “Yes, Mama made us both help after we put a frog in the governess’s bed.”

  “I didn’t put it there, and you know it.”

  “Yes, but you found the frog for me.” Before he could claim that frightening the governess was her idea, which it was, and they got started on another brangle, she laid a hand on his arm. “That’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

  “Deuce take it, Holly, you ruined my shot. And I don’t see why you have to count linen, anyway, with a houseful of servants.”

  “The servants all have chores of their own, and Mama thinks— Oh, it doesn’t matter. I wished to thank you for bringing Merry the collar for her dog. That was kind and thoughtful of you, Evan.”

  He made a shot from the other side of the table. “Devil take it, I never meant to make the chit cry. You never get weepy when we argue.”

  “No, but I’m used to your shouting,” Holly said, following him around the table. “Merry’s not. She didn’t understand that you didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Fact is, I did, Hol. The chit’s too forward by half. She hadn’t ought to be working with the grooms in breeches, or riding with the hunt. And she shouldn’t be playing billiards with the men.” He held one hand up before she could interrupt. “I don’t mean your father or Comfort. That’s family. Like m’father showing you how to hold a sword. But that redheaded vixen is going to bring scandal on the house, you wait and see.”

  Holly supposed he thought Merry should be locked away in some man’s pretty castle, too, raising sons and roses. Boredom would lead the minx into trouble that way for sure, but Evan was never going to understand. “Evan, kiss me.”

  The cue ball skipped off the table. After one lesson, Holly knew that wasn’t good. “Dash it, Holly, don’t say things like that. It’s not proper.”

  “But I don’t think it’s proper to marry a man without knowing if you’ll suit.”

  “Of course we suit, goose. We wouldn’t be friends, else.”

  “I don’t mean as companions, Evan. I mean as lovers.”

  Evan looked over his shoulder to make sure no servants were lingering in the vicinity. “You shouldn’t be knowing anything about lovers.”

  “I know enough to understand that the heir your grandfather wants so badly isn’t to be found under a cabbage leaf. And if... if two people do not care for each other in that way, they will both be unhappy in the marriage.”

  Evan’s neckcloth appeared to be strangling him. His face was red and his hands were fumbling at his collar, billiards forgotten. “You’re too bookish for your own good, Holly. You think too much, is what.”

  “I’m surprised you want to marry me, then.”

  “It’s not a matter of wanting to, dash it. It’s what all the parents and grandparents want. And there’s Squire, saying I can’t join up without starting a family.” He noticed her picking up the discarded cue stick and backed out of range, though he could still feel the sparks from her eyes. “I mean, I like you, Holly. Always been my friend, don’t you know.”

  “I have never made love with one of my friends.”

  “You haven’t made love to anyone, goose. Uh, you haven’t, have you?”

  “Don’t be more of a nodcock than you already are. If I knew how it was supposed to feel, I wouldn’t be asking you.”

  His neckcloth was in tattered shreds, along with Evan’s composure. “Thunderation, Holly, you can drive a fellow to Bedlam. First you don’t know if you want to marry me, now you don’t know if you want to make love with me.”

  “So kiss me.”

  So he did, a brief pressing of lips that left Holly unmoved. “That’s it? That’s what has Joia acting like a mooncalf? What poets write about? Bah!”

  This was far worse than falling off a horse in front of one’s prospective bride. This was falling off and getting kicked in the head. Evan tried again, harder. He pressed his lips harder to hers, he pressed her body closer to his. Holly felt nothing except her glasses breaking in her pocket. There was nothing offensive about Evan’s kiss, no slobbering or pawing, no repulsive roughness. Nothing. She stepped back, having no inclination to continue the experiment, which, she decided, was conclusion enough.

  “There,” Evan was saying, proud to have left her speechless for once. “Told you we suited like cats and cream.”

  Holly squinted at him as he reracked the balls. Surely she hadn’t missed something, had she? “Don’t you think there should be more, ah, passion?”

  “What, with one’s wife? I should say not, Holly. A lady doesn
’t experience passion anyway. It’s not the thing, don’t you know. Didn’t your mother tell you anything, old girl?”

  When she wasn’t disappearing around corners with Papa.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Kiss me, Ren.” Holly had left Evan in the billiards room, saying she needed to think. Then, before she could lose her courage, she hurried past a disapproving Bartholomew into the library, without knocking, without stopping to consider her actions. “Please.”

  He’d risen at her entrance, but now sank back into his seat behind the desk. His coat was draped over the chairback, and his neckcloth hung loosely around his neck. Even so, like his son’s before him, the blasted thing was suddenly too tight. Ren could barely swallow. “Excuse me?”

  “I asked you to kiss me, sir.” Holly was beside the desk, nervously rearranging the inkwell and the blotting paper. “And don’t say you don’t wish to, for I know otherwise. You’re always so careful not to show your emotions, but I can tell by how you stared at my ... person when we fenced, and tonight, when you were sitting next to me on the music bench, I know you felt the warmth when our thighs touched. And when you assisted me off my horse, you held me longer than necessary.”

  Rendell was sharpening his quill, down to the last row of barbs. “With all your experience with men, how do you know that means I want to kiss you?”

  “Because I feel the same way.”

  His sharp intake of breath was all the answer she was going to get. Holly couldn’t tell if her words had affected him or if he’d nicked his finger. “Do not patronize me, Ren. I am not a child.”

  As she leaned over the desk, the valley between her swelling breasts was at his eye level. “No, you are not a child, you are a beautiful young woman.”

  “And I deserve your honesty.”

  “I have never offered you anything but, liebchen. As I have never offered Evan anything less. Or did you forget about the whelp? I must admit I manage to ignore his existence for months on end, but not when his near-fiancée approaches me with such an outrageous request.”

  “I have just kissed Evan and we are not engaged.”

  “But you are as close to being betrothed as makes no difference. What kind of blackguard do you take me for, making advances to my son’s chosen bride?”

  “I am the one making advances, Ren, and I take you for an honorable man, which is why I asked in the first place.”

  “Do you even know what honor means, liebchen, to a man like me? A man who is not a gentleman?” He held up a hand when she would have protested. “I was not born a gentleman, one of the aristocracy. I was born on that thin line between gentry and tradesman. I had to be more honorable, more noble, than the bluest blue blood, just to join a schoolboys’ club. That’s why I was afraid to protest Blakely’s entrapment, why I wed a chit I disliked and distrusted, because I wanted to be considered one of them, a gentleman. Now I am wealthy beyond their imaginings and therefore acceptable amongst the so-called Quality. But I find that I no longer care for their approval. I live by my own conscience, which has higher standards than the flirts and philanderers of the ton. No matter what I feel, no matter what you think you feel, you are my son’s lady. So please leave me to my work. It’s late.”

  “No, Ren, I am not leaving. I’m not flirting, and I’m not yet Evan’s betrothed. I shall never be, either, unless you prove to me that passion is only a thing of poems, that intense emotions exist only in novels. Then I can settle for familiarity. What if I found out later, after I was wed, that I am of... of a warmer temperament than Evan? He assures me a lady does not entertain lustful thoughts.”

  “He is a jackass,” Rendell muttered under his breath.

  “I cannot go to a stranger with my doubts—that would truly land me in the basket—nor am I on such terms with Lord Comfort.”

  “I should hope not. As you guessed, passion should be reciprocal. I believe I heard Lady Joia threaten Comfort with a footstool if he so much as ogled a pretty serving girl.”

  “You see, you do understand. And you’re experienced enough, I’m sure, for me to judge if there’s more to kissing than lack of air, bumped noses, and bruised lips.”

  “The puppy really is a clunch if that’s all he can manage.” He smiled. “Perhaps Miss Blakely played me false after all.”

  “Then it will be perfectly acceptable for you to kiss me, as an experiment, a learning experience.”

  Like learning German and swordplay, the curious chit wanted to experiment with lovemaking. Ren eyed the open door, still seeking a reprieve. He was still a guest in her father’s house. Abusing such trust was abhorrent to his ideals, yet his own curiosity was aroused, along with other parts of him. Lud, how he was tempted.

  Holly went over and shut the door, turning the key in the lock before returning to his side. “I am not trying to trap you into anything, Ren. I am just trying to decide my entire future. I want to make a rational decision, evaluating all the factors, as it were.”

  “This is rational?”

  “As it were. Reasonable, logical ... lovely. Could we do that again, Ren? I’m not quite certain yet.”

  * * * *

  Bartholomew was quite certain that the library door ought to be unlocked. Five minutes and he’d go for the housekeeper’s keys. Then again, Mr. Rendell was the most generous of guests, a gentleman to the tips of his expensively shod toes, despite his lack of a title. And Lady Holly was the sensible, trustworthy daughter, wasn’t she?

  * * * *

  Luncheon at Winterpark was an informal meal, with cold meats and cheeses placed on the sideboard for family and guests to help themselves. With the coming of winter, a tureen of soup or stew appeared, or a kidney pie. Today there were all three, since there were extra gentlemen in the house. Lord Carroll couldn’t decide which he preferred, so he was having a helping of each. That was going to make Cook happier, since none of the younger men were present for the meal. Evan had taken himself hunting—no one had bothered to ask what—and Comfort was escorting Joia on social rounds, now that the linens were counted, with a maid and a footman in attendance. Mr. Rendell must be busy with his papers, the earl thought, knowing Bartholemew would see the man didn’t go hungry.

  “Well, this is nice for a change, just the family.” He beamed at his wife and two youngest daughters. “We’ll have to get used to being without our Joia soon anyway, won’t we, Bess?”

  Lady Carroll dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “We wouldn’t be missing her so soon, if I had my way.”

  “Now, Bess,” he began, but Holly started to say something, thank goodness. “You go ahead, poppet.”

  Holly took a deep breath. “Papa, Mama, I have decided to accept Rendell’s proposal of marriage, with your permission.”

  “You’ve got it, my dear, of course. Couldn’t be happier, in fact. Isn’t that so, Bess?”

  The countess was trying to put a good face on her disappointment. Merry didn’t bother. “I think you could have done a lot— Ow.”

  “Your pardon, Lady Meredyth,” Bartholemew said. “I must have stumbled against your chair. More tea?”

  The earl was beaming. “So what finally made you see reason, poppet?”

  “Reason had absolutely nothing to do with my decision, Papa, and I’ve come to see that it shouldn’t. In fact, one kiss”—Holly didn’t try to hide her blushes—”or perhaps more than one, and reason flies out the window. You never told me that, Papa.”

  “Meredyth, leave the room,” the countess ordered, and was ignored.

  “Eh? What’s this? If that young jackanapes has been taking liberties before the vows are spoken, I’ll—”

  “No, Papa, not the young jackanapes. Didn’t I say Rendell? Evan’s father is the man I love and wish to marry.”

  Lord Carroll jumped to his feet, then sank back at the agony in his gouty big toe. “I’ll see him dead first! That man is old enough to be your father, girl.”

  “Mr. Rendell is younger than you were when you married Mama. And I’
m a year older than she was. Isn’t that so, Mama?” Holly looked to her mother for support. She couldn’t look to Merry, whose head was swiveling back and forth between Holly and their father, nor to Bartholomew, who was hiding his delight behind the serving dishes.

  Lady Carroll answered, “Hollice is correct, Bradford. And she is a great deal wiser than I was at eighteen.”

  “Wiser? To throw her bonnet over the windmill for a regular here-and-thereian? The man is never in one place long enough to get his own mail!”

  “Yes, isn’t that glorious, Papa? I am finally going to see the places I’ve only read about, dreamt about. India, the Orient, the Indies. And Greece, Papa. Just think, I’ll actually get to see the Acropolis. Perhaps Africa.”

  “He doesn’t have a title.” Lord Carroll conveniently forgot that Evan had been good enough for her without one.

  “But he does have an outrageous amount of money and Prinny’s ear if it matters so much to you. It doesn’t to me, as long as I can be Mrs. Rendell.”

  The earl’s face was turning an alarming purplish shade, so Lady Carroll hurriedly asked, “Do you love him then, my dear?”

  If the stars in her eyes didn’t tell the tale, her words did. “Oh, Mama, when I see him I can feel my heart beating faster. I want to be next to him, to touch him, to make him smile. He makes me want to write music, not just play it, so I can show him how much I do love him.”

  “And what about Evan?” her mother wanted to know, to make sure her daughter was certain. “What do you feel when you see him?”

  “I feel like straightening his neckcloth or correcting his grammar. He’s the best of good friends, and there is no better partner for charades. But I don’t want to play games or act out what I am not.”

  “What about Evan’s feelings?” the earl snapped. “You had an understanding.”

  Holly got up and went to her father’s side, sitting on the arm of his chair as she used to do. “Papa, you and Squire Blakely had the understanding, not Evan and me. I love Evan like a brother, but I can talk to Ren, share my interests with him, and know he is going to respect my opinions. Isn’t that a better foundation for marriage than lands marching together?”