One Foggy Christmas

by Barbara Miller

  "By waiting here for you to die and all your plans with you."

  His father stood slowly and leaned his hands on the desk. "How dare you?"

  "I have dared worse and have the scars to prove it. Do you really think you can plan everything? You cannot control people no matter what you offer them. If you can't accept change and the decisions of others you will end up destroying the family."

  "You are not even part of this family."

  Stephen came to lean on the desk. "If you truly believe I am not your son, you should have had the honesty to tell me to my face?"

  His father stepped back. "That would have created the scandal."

  "Much like the one Mother will create when she comes to live with Jane and me? You have finally lost her. You've lost everyone. How can a king imagine himself in control when all he has left are servants?"

  "I never accused your mother of infidelity." His father's gaze avoided his, shifting to the window.

  "Not publicly but you said it to her." He did not want his anger to get the better of him, but his father must admit the wrong he had done.

  "That's not what I said."

  "She is innocent."

  "People still talk about your appearance," his father insisted.

  "So you withheld my letters from her. You sent me away to die then denied her news of me."

  "You never wrote me," he countered.

  It surprised Stephen to hear hurt in his father's voice. "I did once and no reply came. What would have been the point? I had no idea my offense was being born. What happened? You used to treat me like Henry."

  "Unfortunately, you cannot prove you are a St. Giles." The older man turned away and thrust his hands in his pockets.

  "And you cannot prove otherwise."

  "You never stood up for yourself like a St. Giles."

  Stephen gave him a menacing glare. "I am doing so now. I never understood the accusation."

  "I couldn't make any. As I said, not without a scandal."

  "Tell me, who put the thought into your head that I might not be your son?"

  His father looked away again. "It's obvious you bear a resemblance only to your mother."

  "Just as Henry looked only like you. One would never know he was Mother's child unless told so."

  For the first time doubt crossed his father's face. And something else, possibly regret.

  "Now tell me who planted that wicked thought." Stephen's fist came down on the desk in spite of himself.

  Summerhill flinched and said, "It was Agatha who noticed you do not look like any of us."

  "Except I favor Mother. And Bertram looks like Agatha, not his father. Have you thought about that at all?"

  Lord Summerhill glanced up as though something was finally dawning on him. "It was merely an observation she made."

  "Probably on every occasion she saw me," Stephen said, not hiding his bitterness.

  "It was difficult to ignore."

  "It was a veiled accusation made by a woman who had everything to gain. If she could shove me out of the way and anything happened to Henry, which it did, then Bertram was next in line. I never liked Aunt Agatha and now I don't feel badly about it." He turned on his heel and strode out of the room. His father made no move to stop him.

  Chapter Seven

  Stephen went to the drawing room, but the vicar and his wife had gone home after dinner rather than stay to witness a family row. Since the fog was creeping in again, the Chadwicks excused themselves. Stephen and Bertram walked them to the door. Mr. Chadwick begged Stephen once again to see him at noon on the morrow at their house since paperwork needed to be completed.

  Bertram looked like a trapped mouse as they bid farewell to the company in the hallway.

  "Where is your mother?" Stephen asked. "I need to talk to her."

  "Closeted with Uncle. I saw her go into the office. That can't be good news for me. They'll both think I botched my pursuit of Jane's hand, but truly I am not ready for marriage. It's all turned out right with you engaged to her. Why can't they leave things alone?"

  Stephen clapped him on the back. "They are plotters, Bertram. That's how we got into this mess."

  "Do you know what Mother told me? That you are not his son. I never heard such a whopper in my life. Do you think she is quite sane?"

  "I'm not sure, but don't let it concern you. You will always be a welcome visitor to Jane and me. Your mother is another matter."

  "She does not make many friends even among family. I'm not sure why Uncle allowed us to come live here."

  "About four years ago, wasn't it?"

  "Yes, just before you went to the army."

  Jane came into the hallway. "What shall we do? It seems sacrilegious to play billiards on this day."

  "We can't walk," Bertram said. "We'd get lost in this fog which is creeping back over the grounds again."

  "I could play the pianoforte for you," Jane suggested. "I brought sheet music."

  Stephen smiled. "That would be a wonderful relief."

  While Jane sorted her music, Stephen built up the fire in the drawing room. Bertram volunteered to turn the pages. It turned out Bertram had a respectable tenor voice. The impromptu concert pleased Lady Summerhill and the Faradays. All looked happier than they had at dinner.

  Besides his aunt's gossip, there was another matter niggling at Stephen's mind. Henry was gone, but Stephen hoped it was not because of anything anyone had done. He was sure Bertram was innocent of any wrongdoing and Agatha could not have killed Henry, though she might have wished him dead. He refused to believe their father have driven Henry to kill himself. Stephen thought Henry was made of sterner stuff. His death had to be an accident.

  Agatha and his father never joined them in the drawing room.

  Stephen planned to help old Bossley with the stable work that afternoon. It would give him time to think about the letters. He was unnerved when Jane appeared in her cloak and half boots to help. Bossley dissuaded her from mucking stalls so she distributed grain, then sat and watched them finish the chores.

  He introduced her to Bart and Ruby, his two hunters, and she smiled when he described them as their mode of escape if things got to be too much. He thought Jane would like nothing better than to ride off with him, convention be damned.

  He recited the history of each horse in the stable and they stood talking to old Bossley for as long as possible to delay their return to the house

  "It's a relief you've spoken to Father," Jane said.

  "Yes, and after the toast I don't think he will change his mind even though we have not discussed settlements."

  "Is that the only reason for delay?" she asked.

  "We need time to mourn Henry."

  "I agree. We can delay our happiness. I came here not knowing what to expect. I never received a single answer to any of the letters I sent you. I feared you dead until your mother mentioned Henry had heard from you."

  Stephen looked at her, hoping his worry did not show.

  "Don't look so downcast. I don't blame you for not having time to write me with all your duties."

  He glanced aside, hoping for some distraction. "I received a letter from you, one that was posted from Hastings."

  "That was when I visited my sister. But nothing else from me?"

  "I fear not."

  She looked puzzled and her delicate brows puckered over her expressive eyes. "Did you answer?" she asked.

  "Yes. Of course." Stephen did not want her to puzzle this out but could not lie to her.

  "I received nothing." Her lips had a delicious pout to them. "How many letters did you send me?"

  "Four or five… dozen."

  She stared at him. "I did not get a single one. That means…"

  He put down the pitchfork and embraced her. "We don't know what it means."

  "I would suspect Mother, but Father is the one who franks the letters. He must have thrown mine away and destroyed yours to me as well."

  She spun on her heel and marche
d toward the door, but he caught up with her and hugged her, turning her in his arms. "Let it go."

  "How could they?"

  Stephen blew out a breath and shook his head. "I don't know, but we have a chance at a future now, so forget the letters."

  "But it was a part of your life and mine they destroyed. Four years when we could at least have had the letters."

  "We have each other now or almost."

  "I'll never forgive them." Jane's gaze took a determined set that he knew he could not kiss away.

  "If you knew what war was like, you would be willing to forgive a great deal more just to have a life again. Promise me you will not argue with them."

  "You don't know what it's like to feel powerless, to have someone else decide your future for you and not even listen when you express an opinion."

  "I think I do know. If I did not want to be a cleric, I had no other choice, but to go into the army where I had to follow orders."

  A tear ran down her cheek. "Of course you had more to bear than I did, more uncertainty."

  "Not more, just different."

  "Holding out against all of them became so worrisome."

  He gripped her elbows and pulled her into a hug. "They did not break your will after all. You held out and we are together again."

  Jane sighed. "I still have the awful feeling something will go wrong."

  "Do not fret. I will know more once I talk to Mr. Chadwick. Please say nothing to your parents until then."

  "You are right." She dashed a hand across her eyes. "I am acting like a spoiled child. I will hold my peace, but they had better not stand in our way."

  Chapter Eight

  Jane changed into a green silk dress and stole a sprig of holly to clip in her hair. The songs they'd sung earlier had made her realize she missed the festivity of the season. Henry would understand their need for normalcy, and in a sense it honored the seasons of old where Henry sang beside them. They needed to celebrate his life as well as mourn his loss.

  She was surprised to see Lord Summerhill and Lady Agatha at supper that evening. The atmosphere between the two appeared as frosty as the air outside. Her own parents sent each other worried glances since Summerhill's gruff attitude toward them and his lady proved difficult to ignore.

  To fill the awkward silences, Bertram asked Stephen about the war and looked so expectant, Stephen told him about the battles he'd been in, careful, Jane thought, to edit out anything that might give someone a turn during the meal. He talked about the food and the wine, comparing it to the capons and pear wine they had tonight, and pointed out how blessed with plenty they seemed to be.

  "And none of your doing," his father said.

  Jane cleared her throat. "Stephen was one of many who fended off Napoleon's advances. We cannot minimize his role."

  Lord Summerhill stared at her as though she was an ant who learned the art of speech. "What has that to say to the state of things here?"

  "England is unlikely to be invaded now," Jane answered.

  "It was never a possibility," Lord Summerhill said.

  "I have followed the war in the papers and it was Napoleon's aim."

  Her own father stared at her. "You followed the war. Why?"

  Jane looked across the table at Stephen. "Because I am interested in such things."

  "Young ladies should not be," her mother said.

  "Nevertheless, I have read about the battles and the aftermath." Her voice dipped as though she were speaking of something forbidden.

  "I still don't see why." Her father shook his head.

  Stephen's sharp intake of breath drew their attention. "Oh God, you were looking for my name among the dead or wounded."

  Jane shifted in her seat as all eyes fell on her. She blinked back a tear. "Yes, I was," she said. "I had feared the worst."

  "But you were supposed to marry Henry," Lord Summerhill said. "He was courting you."

  "We were never in love, and I believe Henry kept up the pretense of courting so I could wait for Stephen's return."

  "So it was all a ruse." Faraday seemed to be in awe of his daughter.

  Stephen blew out a breath. "I had no expectations."

  "Neither had I," Jane reminded him. "I have had time to reflect on how Henry treated me, not as a future wife with words of love, but more like a…sister. We spoke of Stephen more than anything else."

  Lady Summerhill smiled at Jane and Stephen. "Taking it on blind faith."

  Her father frowned at them. "Were you carrying on a secret correspondence?"

  "There was nothing secret about it. Besides, Stephen got only one of my letters and I received none of his."

  She stared at her father who seemed merely puzzled, but her Mother overturned her water goblet. "Letters will be the death of us all."

  Stephen shook his head as his mother calmly leaned forward and laid her napkin over the wet place.

  "What promise did you make her?" Lord Summerhill demanded of Stephen.

  "Nothing, Father. I could promise her nothing."

  Old Foster dropped a bunch of silver in the pantry with a crash loud enough to make the ladies jump.

  "Clumsy fool." Even Lord Summerhill seemed relieved to remember servants could overhear them arguing.

  Stephen smiled. "He's probably just reminding us this is not the place for this discussion if there is a place for it at all." He looked around the table and no one but his mother, Jane and Bertram could meet his eyes.

  "Yes," Jane agreed. "We should let the past rest and focus on the future."

  * * * * *

  No more was said while the final course was served, a warm fruit custard. It was with relief that Jane rose with the other ladies and went into the hall. Instead of turning toward the drawing room, she went up to her room and gave in to another bout of tears. Now she knew. Her mother had betrayed her.

  She was done crying when her mother opened the door and let herself in. "You have to understand why I did it."

  "Are you planning to explain? That would be a feat."

  "Henry seemed perfect for you."

  "Because he had the best prospects. Do you know why Stephen was sent away?"

  Her mother shrugged. "The second son always goes into the military."

  "No, Lady Agatha came to live here with Bertram that summer. She convinced her brother that Stephen was illegitimate."

  "But that's absurd. I'm very sorry."

  Jane looked up and saw an unusual sincerity in her mother's face. "Did you burn them?"

  "What?"

  "The letters."

  "No I kept them."

  Jane jumped off the bed. "You mean I can have the letters?"

  "I do not keep such things on my person. They're at home. All is settled, isn't it?" her mother asked.

  "As far as Stephen and I are concerned."

  "He'll have the title at least."

  "Mother, if he was impoverished and had nothing but the two horses in the stable, I would marry him anyway."

  "Admirable, but let's hope this isn't the case."

  Jane groaned but her mother had already swept out of the room.

  Chapter Nine

  Lord Summerhill had abandoned his male guests as soon as the port was served, letting them all breathe easier.

  Bertram looked across the table at Stephen. "The newspaper reports the Battles of the Nive were closer run than you let on, particularly St. Pierre."

  Stephen thought his cousin did not sound like such a fool after all and answered his comment.

  "The French are more desperate fighting on home turf. They know they will lose. There should be no more action until spring. They will retreat and fortify somewhere in France and we will beat them again. Next year the war will be over."

  "You won't go back then?"

  "I doubt it."

  "Will you stay here?" Faraday asked.

  "Not in this climate. I might move to London. I'll know more after I speak with Chadwick tomorrow. Perhaps then we can discuss the fu
ture."

  Lord Faraday smiled and leaned back in his chair. "I look forward to it."

  Bertram sat up straight. "I say, could I run up to London with you?"

  Stephen smiled at him. "Your company would be most welcome, Bertram."

  "It's a bit too frosty here for me, and I don't mean the weather."

  Stephen laughed and suggested they join the ladies in front of the fire. That turned out to be only Mrs. Faraday and Jane. The servants had done wonders with the rest of the greenery, making a wreath of the leftover pine boughs for the front window, arranging ivy along the mantle and tying the remaining stems of holly to the base of the candelabra. The red berries and glossy green leaves glowed in the golden light.

  Finally his mother came in smiling, and he looked expectantly at her. "Your father wants to see you."

  "Again?"

  "Please be nice. He has apologized to me."

  Stephen was tired of confronting his father but entered the room anyway with a blank face. If he wanted peace for Christmas he could ill afford to judge the man.

  "Please don't loom over me," his father said. "Just sit down."

  He sat in the chair across the desk from his parent and sighed.

  "After talking to my sister and your mother again, I realize I should have confided my true concerns to your mother. I mentioned what Agatha had said to me, but I didn't say I believed it. I simply did not want it repeated everywhere."

  "I don't follow." Stephen was used to his father worming out of his mistakes and getting away with it. He did not believe his mother merely mistook his father's words, but he bit his tongue on the matter. He would listen to what his father had to say and relinquish judgment until all was said. He recalled his mother's smile and decided to listen to the small voice that warned him to let it go.

  "I never wanted you to die." There was anguish in his voice and the desperation of someone who has been misunderstood. "I just wanted you away from Agatha and her poisonous tongue."

  His words finally sunk in and Stephen heard the meaning behind them. "Ah, that's why you let them move in here. She couldn't gossip about the family in the household the way she could have in London."