Miss Amelia's Mistletoe Marquess

by Jenni Fletcher

  ‘I have.’ George paused in the act of pouring brandy from a decanter. ‘Decent fellow. A bit melancholy these days, though I can’t say I blame him under the circumstances.’

  ‘If he were decent, then he would have escorted Millie home the other morning and explained himself!’

  ‘He couldn’t.’ She winced, aware of how incriminating the words sounded. ‘I crept out of the house while he was still asleep.’

  ‘You crept?’ Alexandra’s eyebrows almost disappeared into her hairline.

  ‘I thought I’d inconvenienced him enough during the night.’

  ‘Was he at church this morning?’ her mother asked Alexandra.

  ‘No, although his cousin’s widow and their daughters were both there in the family pew. Her aunt, a Mrs Moore, I believe, was there, too. She moved in when Lord Falconmore returned from abroad for propriety’s sake.’

  ‘Oh, yes, the old lady sitting with the very pretty blonde lady and the two sweet-looking girls? Yes, I saw them, but they didn’t give us any strange looks, I think.’

  ‘Perhaps they didn’t know anything about it at that point, although they certainly will by now. I’m afraid to say it was the talk of the churchyard.’

  ‘Maybe I ought to go and call on Falconmore, eh?’ George handed his wife a tumbler. ‘Ask him what he intends to do about the situation?’

  ‘No!’ Millie sprang back to her feet. ‘There’s no situation and definitely no need to talk to anyone. All Mr Whi—Lord Falconmore, that is, did was offer me shelter in a blizzard. We didn’t do anything wrong.’

  ‘Of course not.’ Her mother’s expression was sympathetic. ‘In that case, that’s what we’ll say and what we’ll keep saying until we’re blue in the face, if necessary. People just like to gossip.’

  ‘Thank you, Mama.’ Millie subsided back on to the sofa gratefully. It was all too, too awful. Worse than that, it was all her fault! If only she hadn’t decided to be impulsive and walk home in the snow that night. If only she hadn’t tried to be someone she wasn’t any more. Now she’d brought disgrace on herself and her whole family. ‘I’m sorry for involving you.’ She looked up at her cousin apologetically.

  ‘Oh, never mind that.’ Alexandra tossed back the contents of her tumbler in one gulp. ‘The day I stand by and let people criticise my family is the day I sprout wool from my ears. Now, let’s put the subject behind us for a while and have some luncheon. Judging by the smell, it’s roast beef. And don’t say you’re not hungry! If we’re going to defeat the gossips, then we’ll need all of our strength, believe me.’

  * * *

  Cassius glanced at the library door. As far as he could tell, Sylvia and her aunt and daughters had arrived home almost a quarter of an hour ago and so far none of them had come to disturb him. Which was definite progress, he thought optimistically, even despite the high-pitched, keening wail that seemed to be emanating from the direction of the hallway.

  He turned his attention back to the ledger book spread out on the desk in front of him. His real estate manager, Linton, had provided him with all of the accounts for the past ten years and he was working his way through them methodically. Not that he didn’t trust the man, but since the estate was now effectively his job, he wanted to do it properly and he couldn’t do that without understanding how things worked. It was actually quite fascinating, or it would have been if the wailing wasn’t distracting so much of his attention. It seemed to be getting louder.

  ‘I’ve brought your coffee, my lord.’

  He jerked his head up in surprise as his butler laid a small tray on the edge of the desk. The man’s preternatural ability to pass through closed doors without making a sound never failed to amaze him.

  ‘Thank you, Kendrew.’ He gestured in the direction of the hallway. ‘I might regret asking this, but would I be right in assuming that charming noise is somehow related to Lady Falconmore?’

  ‘Indeed so, sir. I believe that she’s been in some distress since returning from church.’

  ‘Do we know what the matter is?’

  ‘I couldn’t say for certain, sir, but if you’ll permit me I might hazard a guess.’

  ‘And what would that be?’

  ‘I believe she might have become aware of certain, ah, rumours.’ Kendrew’s usual impassive features looked somewhat pained. ‘On a not-unrelated note, I feel it my duty to inform you about some rather salacious gossip below stairs.’

  ‘Salacious?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, sir. Naturally Mrs Turner and I have made it clear that such talk won’t be tolerated, but I fear the damage may have already been done.’

  ‘I see.’ Cassius put down his dip pen and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, aware of a tangible sinking feeling. ‘I hope this is strong coffee, Kendrew.’

  ‘Indeed so, sir. I made sure of it myself.’

  ‘Good.’ He took a deep breath, bracing himself for the worst. ‘All right, then, out with it. What are these rumours?’

  Kendrew’s gaze settled on the bookcase behind him. ‘I’m sorry to say that they concern yourself, sir. More specifically, your stay in the gatehouse two nights ago.’

  ‘I see. Not that it particularly matters, but might I enquire as to how these rumours began?’

  ‘One of the laundry maids who lives in the village passed the, ahem, lady in question on the road. She noticed that her footprints led away from the gatehouse and apparently felt compelled to share that information with others.’ Kendrew sniffed disapprovingly. ‘Mrs Turner and I are of the opinion that she ought to be dismissed.’

  ‘On what grounds?’

  The butler stiffened as if the answer ought to be obvious. ‘Betraying the secrets of the household, sir.’

  ‘That does sound serious.’ Despite the circumstances, Cassius felt a strong temptation to laugh. ‘On the other hand, she was only reporting the truth. Those footprints did lead away from the gatehouse.’

  ‘None the less, the family honour is at stake, sir.’

  ‘Family honour be hanged. Give the girl a reprimand, but that’s an end to it. I don’t want anyone dismissed, especially this close to Christmas.’

  ‘As you wish, sir.’

  ‘And for the record, Kendrew, the lady in question is a lady. You might mention that fact below stairs.’

  ‘I’ll make a point of it, sir.’

  ‘Good.’ Cassius drained his coffee and then pushed his chair back, tugging at the edges of his waistcoat as he stood up. ‘Well, I suppose there’s only one thing to do now.’

  ‘That wouldn’t be for me to say, sir.’ Kendrew’s expression was impassive again. ‘Shall I ask the stables to prepare a horse?’

  ‘I think you’d better. I probably ought to get changed, too.’

  ‘Forgive my contradicting you, sir, but it might be wise not to tarry within the house. And if I might be so bold as to suggest a departure via the orangery? Only Lady Falconmore is in the drawing room and the front windows are somewhat large. If she sees you preparing to depart and guesses the reason, I fear she might do something...dramatic.’

  ‘Good point.’ Cassius threw his butler a grateful look. ‘Remind me to increase your wages, won’t you, Kendrew?’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it, sir, only if you’ll forgive my presumption in mentioning it, the former Marquess always used to throw a party for the staff at this time of year.’

  ‘Ah. Yes, remiss of me not to think of it. By all means, have a party. Do whatever you like. I’ll pay for everything.’

  ‘Very good, sir. Mrs Turner will be most gratified to hear it.’ Kendrew held out a top hat that seemed to have materialised out of thin air. ‘Best of luck with the young lady, my lord.’

  Chapter Seven

  ‘Falconmore!’ George Malverly came striding across the hallway to greet him. ‘How d’you do? In good health and all that?’


  ‘Excellent health, thank you, sir.’ Cassius shook the older man’s hand. ‘I trust I find you the same?’

  ‘Eh? Oh, tolerable, I suppose. Better than I deserve, no doubt, but you’re not here to discuss rheumatism with me. You’re here about the rumours, I presume?’

  ‘Indeed. I’ve only just learned of them or I would have been here sooner.’

  ‘It’s a bad business.’ Malverly shook his head sympathetically. ‘Damned unfortunate for both of you.’

  ‘Naturally I’ve come to make amends.’

  ‘Well, of course you have! Never doubted that for a second, although what’s this about you being an estate manager, eh? Well, never mind. She’s in the library.’ Malverly stepped closer and lowered his voice confidentially. ‘The other ladies are in the drawing room, but I’d keep out of their way if I were you. We’ve just finished luncheon and they’re on the warpath, proverbially speaking.’

  ‘I appreciate the warning, sir.’

  ‘Jolly good, carry on then. The library’s that way. We were just about to play a game of backgammon, but I suppose this is more important.’

  Cassius bowed and then strode purposefully towards the door indicated. There was no point in dallying, after all, since walking slowly would only delay the inevitable. Just as there was no point in acknowledging his own reluctance to be there, let alone to ask the question he was about to ask. If a proposal had to be made, and there was no doubt in his mind about that, then it was better to do the honourable thing at once and consider his own feelings later. In all honesty, he didn’t dare think about those just yet. All he knew was that he had to do the decent thing and after his behaviour the other night perhaps it was only what he deserved. Still, it struck him as vaguely ironic that after all his efforts to avoid being trapped by Sylvia he’d walked headlong into a different trap. Not a deliberate one, he was certain, but still a trap none the less. For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, for as long as they both should live...

  He repositioned his cravat, adjusted his expression to that of a suitor rather than a man walking towards impending doom and lifted a hand to the library door. It was slightly ajar, allowing him a glimpse of Miss Fairclough curled up in a plump, button-backed armchair by the fireplace. Her face was averted and yet for a moment the scene looked so strikingly familiar that he felt a nostalgic tug in his chest as if, despite their situation, he was actually glad to see her again.

  He pushed the door open with one hand and propped his shoulder against the frame. ‘You didn’t say goodbye, Miss Fairclough.’

  If he’d launched a firework into the room he didn’t think she could have sprung out of her chair any faster or looked any more horrified to see him. He had the impression that if he hadn’t been blocking the door she would have made a run for it.

  ‘Mr Whitlock! I mean... Lord Falconmore?’

  ‘One and the same.’ He pushed himself upright again and made a formal bow. She looked markedly different from the way she had the other evening, dressed in a high-collared, dove-grey morning gown with her auburn hair tucked away neatly into a bun. Too neatly, in his opinion, without so much as a strand out of place. Not so much Titian as...well...tame. She looked exactly the way she’d described herself as, a prim, proper and somewhat dull model of respectability. He missed bedraggled. ‘I see that my secret’s out. I thought it might be.’ He forced a smile. ‘Forgive my simply walking in. I didn’t mean to startle you.’

  ‘How did you find me?’ She didn’t bother with pleasantries, her green eyes widening with a look of definite panic.

  ‘It wasn’t too hard. Even if I hadn’t followed you back here the other morning, there aren’t many young ladies from London staying in the village.’

  ‘You followed me?’

  ‘I wanted to make sure you’d got back safely, especially with it being so early.’ He advanced a few steps into the room. ‘I hope you at least waited until it was light before you left.’

  ‘It was just after dawn.’ She looked faintly sheepish. ‘I wanted to leave a note, but I couldn’t find any paper.’

  ‘Ah. Was I such an ogre that you were afraid to say goodbye face to face?’

  ‘Of course not. I just didn’t want to disturb you.’ She folded her hands neatly over each other. ‘I’m sorry if I caused you alarm.’

  ‘Apology accepted.’ He paused meaningfully. ‘Although I believe you know I have a different reason for calling.’

  ‘No.’ This time the flash of panic was unmistakable. ‘I don’t, but if it’s about the rumours then you’re being ridiculous.’

  ‘Ridiculous?’

  He lifted an eyebrow in surprise. After the way Sylvia had pursued him, he’d expected that any offer of marriage he might make would be snapped up in a heartbeat. Some maidenly modesty he might have anticipated, but he certainly hadn’t expected to be called ridiculous. He wasn’t sure whether to be offended or impressed, but he wasn’t prepared to be dismissed quite so easily. Oddly enough, her refusal made him want to convince her.

  ‘You don’t think we ought to discuss the situation?’

  ‘There’s absolutely no need.’ She shook her head and reached for a small bell on the table. ‘Now I believe that hospitality demands I offer you some tea. Would you care for a cup?’

  ‘Is that wise?’ He felt a sudden urge to provoke her. ‘After what happened the last time?’

  ‘Cassius!’ Her eyes flew to the door. ‘We agreed to forget about that.’

  ‘So we did.’ He shrugged, gratified to see her prim-and-proper demeanour lapse for a moment. ‘Only for some reason I don’t seem able to. I’ve tried and tried to no avail. I never realised my memory was so intractable.’

  ‘Try harder!’

  ‘Pity. I thought perhaps you might still remember it, too. I even thought it might have been the real reason you left so precipitously. You were afraid that you might be tempted to throw yourself at me.’

  ‘Throw myself?’

  ‘It seemed a logical explanation,’ he teased, pleased with the distinctly improper flash of her eyes. ‘It was a very satisfactory kiss, after all. We both agreed.’

  ‘I don’t recall saying any such thing.’

  ‘No. Illuminating was your word, I believe.’

  ‘Illuminating isn’t the same as satisfactory.’

  ‘It still sounds positive.’

  ‘Not necessarily. It could simply mean educational, no satisfaction implied.’

  ‘Ah.’ He put a hand over his heart. ‘Then I’m duly chastened.’

  ‘Lord Falconmore...’

  ‘Cassius.’

  ‘Lord Falconmore, as we discussed the other night, I don’t make a habit of kissing men I’ve only just met. Or men at all, for that matter!’

  ‘I never doubted it for a second.’

  ‘Furthermore, I’m sure that any gossip about us will blow over in time. As for our...indiscretion, nobody else knows about that and I’d prefer for it to stay that way. I implore you not to say anything else on the subject.’

  ‘As you wish,’ he agreed with faux solemnity. ‘In that case, I promise not to kiss you again. Today, that is, and not on the lips. I will, however, give you this.’ He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out her brooch. ‘Yours, I believe?’

  ‘My butterfly!’ She gasped and rushed forward, indignation evaporating as she broke into a smile. It was the same wide smile he remembered from the gatehouse and just as stunning as it had been the first time. ‘You found it!’

  ‘On the rug next to the bed. I presume it fell from the table.’

  ‘Thank you.’ The tips of her fingers brushed against his palm as she took it, their warmth searing into his skin and making it tingle unexpectedly. ‘I thought I’d picked it up, but I was in such a hurry. Then I was afraid I’d dropped it in the snow.’

  ‘Is it valuable?’ He fo
und himself swaying slightly towards her. Standing this close, he could smell orange blossom again. It made him want to stand closer still. Right up against her, in fact.

  ‘I doubt it.’ Her eyes looked suspiciously bright, a hint of moisture swirling in the green depths as she ran a finger over the jewelled surface. ‘But it’s priceless to me.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  She nodded, though her expression was bittersweet. ‘It was a present from my father on our last Christmas together. He gave one to me and one to Lottie. Schmetterling was his pet name for us, you see. He spent time in Germany when he was a young man and he liked the language. It means butterfly. Whenever he tucked us into bed at night he would say that the blankets were our cocoon and that we had to sleep so that our wings would grow. Then he’d blow out the candle and say that we’d fly away some day, but not yet, not until we were ready.’

  ‘That’s a charming story.’ Cassius held out a handkerchief, wanting to comfort her somehow. ‘I suspected you had hidden depths the first time we met, but now I’m even more impressed. Are there purple wings beneath that gown?’

  ‘Naturally...’ she dabbed quickly at her eyes and then peeked at him ‘...and antennae trapped beneath this bun. Don’t all ladies have them?’

  ‘I must have been spending time with the wrong ladies.’

  She gave a small laugh. ‘Thank you for returning it. I’m very grateful.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘Even so, I don’t think we ought to see each other again. My being seen leaving your house was regrettable, but I have a perfectly good explanation and I’m only here for Christmas. I’m sure any rumours will fade away once I go back to London.’

  ‘I’m afraid that may be overly optimistic. Rumours have a way of following people.’

  ‘Then I shall ignore them.’

  ‘What about your Gilbert? What will he think?’

  Her facial muscles all seemed to freeze. ‘I’ll tell him the truth. The whole truth.’