Lady Osbaldestone’s Christmas Goose

by Stephanie Laurens

  “In that case”—Therese turned to Jamie and George, who were awaiting orders—“I rather think you two should go around to the terrace as you did this morning and inform his lordship that I have arrived and wish to speak with him. We will be waiting in the hall.” She met both boys’ eyes. “Make sure you get him to come out of the library.”

  “Yes, Grandmama!” they chorused.

  At her nod, they took off around the house.

  Jiggs watched them go, a slight frown on his face.

  Therese touched his sleeve. “You couldn’t have stopped them, and you need to wait here and look after our gigs.”

  Jiggs met her gaze and nodded. “Aye, ma’am—my lady.” He duly moved to stand between the gigs and accepted the reins of Eugenia’s from her.

  Eugenia looked inquiringly at Therese. “Now what?”

  “Now, my dear, you keep to my shadow until we get inside and have Lord Longfellow before us.” Therese took Lottie’s hand and, once again, marched to the porch, climbed the steps, and halted before the front door.

  “May I?” Lottie pointed at the bell chain.

  Therese nodded. “Go ahead. Nice and firmly.”

  Lottie stretched up, gripped the chain’s triangular handle, and all but swung on it. From where Therese stood, with Eugenia directly behind her, she could hear the pealing deep inside the house. Even Christian must know he had visitors at his front door.

  Heavy footsteps approached, and the door was wrenched open. Hendricks saw Therese and Lottie and blinked.

  “Good afternoon, Hendricks.” Therese swept past him and on into the hall proper. “I have brought Miss Fitzgibbon”—with an imperious wave, Therese indicated the young lady who had stuck close behind her and was now standing on the hall tiles, too—“who has a matter of some importance to discuss with his lordship.”

  Hendricks had taken in the vision that was Miss Eugenia Fitzgibbon. With an expression caught between fascination and disbelief, he asked, “What should I tell him?”

  Sounds emanated from farther down the hall as the library door was opened.

  Therese looked that way. “I don’t believe you’ll need to summon his lordship. I’ve arranged for him to be fetched.”

  At that moment, Christian Longfellow emerged from the shadows, being all but propelled by the two youngsters at his back. His head was turned as he remonstrated with them. “All right, all right, you terrors. I’m here, aren’t I? Now”—Christian turned to face Therese—“what does your grandmama want with me this time?”

  Eugenia took that as her cue. Stepping out from behind Therese, she faced Christian, still three yards away. “Actually, Lord Longfellow, it’s I who must speak with you.”

  Immediately he’d seen her, Christian had planted his feet and refused to budge another inch regardless of the boys’ prodding. He swung slightly so the left side of his face was half hidden.

  For a long moment, no one in the hall moved or spoke. Therese watched as Eugenia and Christian stared at each other.

  She hadn’t actually known, but she’d made enough matches in her time to wonder…and if her eyes didn’t deceive her, and they rarely did, there was more than enough attraction here for her to work with.

  Eugenia cleared her throat. “I daresay you don’t remember me—”

  “You’re Eugenia Fitzgibbon. Young Henry’s older sister.”

  Eugenia nodded. “Yes, that’s right. And as it happens”—her chin set more firmly—“it’s due to Henry that I’m here. I’m afraid I have to inform you that Henry crashed his curricle into one of your gates.” She waved in the general direction. “The one on the village lane. I’m afraid the gate is smashed and needs repair. I came to let you know that, of course, we—the Fulsom Hall estate—will take care of repairing or replacing the gate.”

  Christian’s frown had been steadily deepening. “Where’s Henry? If he’s old enough to drive a curricle into a gate, then he’s old enough to face the consequences…” He paused for only a heartbeat, but his voice sounded hollow when he went on, “To face me and make his own apologies.”

  Eugenia’s head rose. “As to that, my brother is still a minor, and I manage the day-to-day running of the estate. It’s in that role that I’m here, purely to let you know that Fulsom Hall will, naturally, bear full responsibility for fixing the gate.”

  All but scowling, albeit apparently not at them but rather at the absent Henry, Christian waved dismissively. “There’s no need to bestir yourself over such a thing. My people will mend the gate—it’s of no consequence and nothing Fulsom Hall needs to be concerned about.”

  Therese opened her eyes wide. “You haven’t even seen the damage yet.”

  “Regardless.” Christian bit off the word. His eyes met Therese’s, his expression one that stated he knew exactly to whom he owed the second interruption to his day. Then he transferred his gaze, hard and unyielding, to Eugenia’s face. “I neither wish for nor will I accept any reparation from anyone in this matter.”

  Therese bit her lip to stop her smile. Evidently, no one had taught Christian that making statements of that sort in such domineering and dictatorial tones, while no doubt very useful in the army, when directed at a certain type of female tended to convert the issue under discussion into an outright challenge.

  The equivalent of flinging down a gauntlet no red-blooded woman would let lie.

  Sure enough, Eugenia’s eyes flashed, and her chin rose another notch. “Nonsense! In this village—”

  Christian snapped his gaze to Hendricks. “See that the gate is repaired immediately.”

  Hendricks only just stopped himself from saluting. “Yes, sir—my lord.”

  Eugenia all but fumed. “Lord Longfellow—”

  “I’m afraid, ladies, that you’ve called at an inopportune time.” Ruthlessly, Christian gestured to the door and advanced—essentially forcing them to give ground. “I was engaged in a matter of business that requires my immediate attention.”

  His swift glance at Jamie and George didn’t escape Therese. Jamie looked at her, but she quickly shook her head. No need to give Christian away—he was doing an excellent job of infuriating Eugenia all on his own.

  That lady all but spluttered, but was forced to yield—to fall back toward the open front door.

  “Come, children.” Therese caught Eugenia’s eyes and signaled that this was not the right battleground on which to engage. “Come, my dear Miss Fitzgibbon. I can bear witness that you did your duty, even though your appropriate and generous offer fell on such deaf ears and stony ground.”

  Christian shot Therese a glance, but she had long been immune to such intimidatory tactics. Gathering the children with a gesture, she herded them, along with Eugenia, outside.

  Christian halted just inside the front door. He cast a swift glance at the sky, then looked at them as they formed up on the porch. “Good day, ladies.” There was a finality in his tone impossible to mistake. “And given the weather is closing in, I suggest you hurry to your homes.” With that, he shut the door.

  Eugenia glared daggers at the panel, then whirled and marched down the steps.

  Therese followed a great deal more calmly.

  “Wretched man! Whoever would have thought he’d turn into such a bear? And saying a smashed gate was of no account! What does he think we are? Or does he believe the Fulsom Hall estate isn’t able to stand the cost of the repairs? Huh! He all but insulted us!”

  “I don’t think,” Therese murmured, “that insulting you or your family was his intention. He wanted to get you out of his orbit as rapidly as he possibly could, and that was the fastest way.”

  “Humph!” After a moment, her color still high, Eugenia muttered, “He’s insufferable.”

  “Yes, indeed—it wasn’t well done, but I suppose one has to excuse him given it is the first time anyone has sought to directly confront him, and he was a soldier, after all—by now, barking orders like that comes naturally to him, I expect.”

  “Even so
.”

  They’d almost reached the gigs and Jiggs. In more pensive tone, Therese remarked, “Of course, there’s more than one way to make reparation, if you were of a mind to attempt an alternative approach.”

  Eugenia shot her a sidelong look. She halted by her cob’s head, accepted the reins from Jiggs, then, with a determined light in her eye, faced Therese. “What alternative approach?”

  Therese smiled. She nodded at Jamie to take the reins to their gig, then directed her smile at Jiggs. “Thank you, Jiggs. In the interests of deniability, I suggest you take yourself off.”

  “Not sure what that is, but if’n you mean so his nibs can’t ask me about what you’re going to talk about, then aye—I’ll be off.” After a brief bob to Therese and another to Eugenia, he turned and strode off.

  Therese seized the chance to look back at the Grange, at the two stories of rooms, all with their curtains drawn tight. “It looks like no one lives there, doesn’t it?”

  Eugenia had followed her gaze. “It was so gloomy in the hall—it must be just as bad throughout the house, at least in all those rooms.”

  “Indeed. No light, no life. And certainly no Christmas spirit. So sad at this time of year. I daresay even the staff must feel it.” Therese turned to regard Eugenia. As the younger woman looked away from the house, Therese continued, “From what I’ve gathered, if some determined and resolute lady were to arrive and insist on opening up the curtains and placing holly and fir on the mantels and so on, the staff wouldn’t object. Indeed, I rather think they would cheer such a lady on.”

  Glancing back at the house, Eugenia arched her brows. “We have plenty of holly and fir at the Hall.”

  Therese nodded. “Of course, it would require someone to distract his lordship and get him out of the house. As it happens, although he did get Hendricks to inquire of his staff, I’m fairly sure no one has undertaken a search of the outbuildings—not with sufficient thoroughness to be categorically certain the geese were never there.”

  The three children had been listening avidly. Now, Jamie piped up, “If we’re to track down the geese, then we need to be absolutely sure that they never came this way.”

  “Exactly.” Therese nodded approvingly and glanced at Eugenia. “As you can see, my three assistants and I are willing to get his lordship out of the house, thus leaving the way clear for some intrepid lady to bully her way inside and deck his halls.”

  For what might well have been the first time that afternoon, Eugenia grinned.

  They swiftly made plans for the next day, then, in companionable accord, climbed back into their gigs and drove away.

  From between the heavy curtains covering the drawing room window, Christian watched the two ladies disappear down his drive.

  He hadn’t liked the way they’d been conferring. He’d got the distinct impression they were planning, and their plan, whatever it was, had something to do with him.

  Worse, they’d both been smiling when they’d left.

  That, he felt sure, did not bode well.

  * * *

  After dinner that evening, Therese allowed the children to follow her into her private parlor. Although the room had originally been the manor’s morning room, she considered it her personal sanctum to which she admitted only her closest confidantes.

  Realizing that she’d elevated the three imps to that restricted status, she inwardly smiled. Settling into her favorite wing chair beside the hearth, she watched the trio amble about the room, examining this and that before gravitating toward the nice blaze that leapt and danced in the hearth.

  Outside, the wind had risen to a mournful howl and was blowing sleet against the windowpanes. But the curtains were drawn, and it was warm and cozy inside.

  One by one, the trio came to sit on the floor before her feet.

  Settling, their expressions childishly open and eager, they looked up at her, clearly expecting some further discussion of their plans.

  “I believe,” she said, “that for our purposes, the best time for us to call at Dutton Grange will be eleven o’clock. No later, or Miss Fitzgibbon won’t have time to do all she needs before his lordship’s stomach reminds him of the advancing hour.”

  “But we’re going to go to the Hall first, aren’t we?” George bounced on his legs, folded beneath him. “To help Miss Fitzgibbon gather holly and ivy and fir?”

  “Indeed, we are,” Therese replied. “And that means you three will need to bestir yourselves in good time. Breakfast at eight, I think. Then we can be at the Hall before nine, which should give us and Miss Fitzgibbon plenty of time to gather the required amount of greenery.”

  She regarded her three helpers. “I wonder,” she continued, “aside from holly, ivy, and boughs of fir, what other Christmassy greenery the Hall woods might offer us.”

  Jamie sat up. “We should hunt for mistletoe.”

  “Yes!” George and Lottie chorused.

  “Mama hangs mistletoe all over our house,” Jamie went on, “at least in the rooms downstairs. She hangs bits over every doorway—she says it’s important to have the white berries on the bits you hang.”

  “Mama says Christmas isn’t Christmas without mistletoe,” Lottie said.

  Pleased—quietly chuffed to hear one of her own sayings repeated to her after all these years—Therese nodded. “I’m sure there’ll be mistletoe if you look, but…it occurs to me that, being an unmarried young lady, Miss Fitzgibbon might balk at hanging mistletoe in Lord Longfellow’s house. A house not her own, you see. She might view it as not being appropriate.”

  It was Lottie who looked at Jamie, then George, then turned her face up to Therese and asked, “Miss Eugenia might not want to hang mistletoe, but is there any reason we can’t, Grandmama?”

  Therese smiled her approval and leant forward to ruffle Lottie’s curls, released from their plaits for the evening. “No, dear, none at all. Your mama has it right—Christmas isn’t Christmas without mistletoe, and our purpose tomorrow is to bring Christmas to Lord Longfellow and the household of Dutton Grange.

  “However,” she went on, sitting back in her chair to survey her troops, “that means you’ll have to exercise discretion regarding the mistletoe. Firstly, while gathering it—as it grows higher in the trees, I suggest Jamie should take a large satchel and collect it while you, Lottie and George, help me keep Miss Fitzgibbon occupied gathering the holly, ivy, and fir. As you’ll be journeying to the Grange with me in our gig, transferring the mistletoe to the Grange will not be a problem. But once at the Grange…again, I think Jamie will have to do the honors. I’ll be herding Lord Longfellow around his outbuildings, and again, Lottie and George, you will need to ensure Miss Fitzgibbon is absorbed with laying out the other greenery.”

  Understanding by their nods and eager expressions that the younger two were willing to allow Jamie to be responsible for the special mission, Therese turned her gaze on him. “You, meanwhile, can hang as much mistletoe as you can carry into the house. Don’t forget to get pins from Orneby in the morning. I daresay Jiggs, and even Hendricks, might be prevailed upon to help you pin the pieces over the doorways.” She smiled. “Unless I miss my guess, they’re sensible sorts—I rather think they’ll help if they can.”

  At that point, Mrs. Crimmins and Orneby arrived. The children readily scrambled to their feet and went off, happily chattering, to wash and be put to bed.

  Therese sat and stared at the flames and felt her own expectations for the morrow swell. It was, she reflected, nothing short of amazing what benefits accrued from having three small persons to guide and mentor through having them join her in furthering her aims.

  Chapter 6

  The following morning dawned cold and clear, with a crisp frost limning every blade and branch. But the clouds had vanished, and the sun shone steadily if weakly from a sky of pale cerulean blue. It had been chilly in the shadows of the Fulsom Hall woods, but by the time Therese turned her gig into the Grange’s drive, the sunshine had melted the ice, and the grave
l crunched softly under the gig’s wheels.

  At eleven o’clock on the dot, devoid of her usual entourage, she drove into the forecourt of Dutton Grange.

  She’d dropped off her grandchildren thirty yards down the drive, where a bend gave them cover from the house. Lottie and George would wait for Eugenia there, while Jamie was already making his way into the gardens. He would keep watch and go into the house once he saw Therese exit with his lordship in tow.

  Christian Longfellow was not going to know what had hit him.

  Smiling, Therese drew up with a flourish, and as soon as Jiggs appeared, she handed him the reins. “I expect to be here for an hour or so, Jiggs.”

  “Very good, my lady. I’ll take your beast around to the stable yard. Just have them send when you’re ready to leave.”

  “Thank you.” Therese was already on her way to the front door.

  At her peremptory tugging on the bell chain, Hendricks opened the door, saw it was her, and immediately stepped back. “My lady. His lordship is in the library.” The large man paused, then inquired, “Would you like to wait here, or should I announce you?”

  Therese beamed. “Good man—indeed, there’s no sense in wasting time. Do simply announce me.”

  Hendricks bowed, closed the door, and led the way down the hall to the library. He opened the door, walked in two paces, and declaimed, “Lady Osbaldestone, my lord.”

  Christian jerked to attention, his gaze rising from contemplation of the chessboard laid out on the small table before his armchair. He was playing against himself. Hardly exciting, but none of the other males in the household had mastered the game well enough to provide any decent competition.

  As Hendricks’s words sank in, he didn’t even have time to roll his eyes before her ladyship swept into the room. Her black gaze skewered him. Perforce, he pushed awkwardly to his feet.

  He hadn’t been walking enough lately, the weather being what it was, and his leg was stiffer than it should have been, leaving him feeling unbalanced even when he was not. He planted his cane and made it to his feet without toppling over. “Lady Osbaldestone.” He sketched a bow, then bluntly asked, “How can we help you today?”