A Christmas delight

by Anthea Malcolm

  "Don't be so ungallant, Henry! I know you tire of having all the ambitious mamas chasing after you, but that is the cost of being such a prize on the marriage mart. If only you could gamble away your fortune, you would have no more cause for complaint!"

  Mr. Talbot's faintly aloof expression was warmed by a slight smile. "Speak for yourself, Eugenia. A rich young lady with no overbearing mama is quite a catch, especially when she is not precisely ill-favored."

  "Oh, you!" Eugenia cast him a teasing smile that, in a man not sworn to preserve his bachelor freedoms, might have stirred some degree of amorous interest. As it was, however, Mr. Talbot and Miss Foxworth got on well simply because neither one was interested in forming any serious connection. They could flirt with each other at ease and in so doing keep other matrimonial prospects at a distance.

  None of this was apparent to curious onlookers, however, and as they danced, familiar speculations arose. They made a striking couple, given his blond handsomeness and her red-headed beauty, and no one watching them would have guessed that Miss Foxworth and Mr.

  Talbot were now discussing nothing more exciting than the composition of poultices most effective for a hunter's strained fetlock.

  It was not until some time later, as Eugenia was seated beside Mr. TMbot in the supper room, that she glanced across the room and saw a man seated, his back to her, with coal black hair cropped fashionably close to a well-shaped head. He turned his head in response to a question, and she saw the outline of a long, straight nose balanced by high cheekbones and a strong chin. In a most uncharacteristic moment of weakness, Eugenia dropped her glass of ratafia.

  It was fortunate for Eugenia that Lady Wellthorpe had just indulged herself with the purchase of several Aubus-son carpets, so that the consequence of her faux pas was merely a dull thud and not a mortifying crash. It was also fortunate for Lady Wellthorpe's carpet that the glass was nearly empty, not full. But Eugenia was in a state of shock. She had spent too many months torturing herself with imagined glimpses of darkhaired men with laughing eyes, berating herself for her own folly; nonetheless, her gaze was riveted upon the unknown stranger's head as he nodded in a movement that was somehow familiar.

  There was a roaring in her ears, not entirely due to the noise in the room, although that served to mask her sudden silence. Mr. Talbot, who was engaged in recounting a humorous anecdote, did not immediately find anything amiss until he glanced her way and noted her sudden pallor.

  "I say, Eugenia, are you all right?" he inquired solicitously. "You look as though you've seen a ghost!"

  "No. I don't know, perhaps I have. Henry, who is that man over there, the dark-headed one speaking to Colonel Taggart?"

  Mr. Talbot obediently looked. "I do not know, but I can inquire."

  "I shall come with you." Eugenia moved to her feet,

  almost as though in a trance. "It looks like someone I once . . . knew."

  Together they approached the table where two men were seated, the elder of whom Eugenia recognized as an old friend of the family.

  "My dear Miss Foxworth, you're looking splendid as usual," Colonel Taggart blustered affectionately, rising to his feet and taking her hand in his usual firm grip. "Evening, Tklbot. I see you've snared our charmer for this evening, lucky dog. Here, here, there's someone I would like to present to both of you."

  Feeling as though she were in a daze, Eugenia slowly turned her head and stared at the other man, who stood looking down at her. The man's features were shockingly familiar, but his brown eyes were icy cold with no warmth of recognition.

  "Miss Foxworth, I would like you to meet Major Stan-field; Major, I present Miss Foxworth, and this young rascal here is Henry Talbot."

  Eugenia could feel the blood rushing back into her pale cheeks. "Major Stanfield." A whisper was all she could manage.

  "You will forgive me if I do not shake hands." The man's voice was deep and crisp as Mr. Talbot instinctively gestured forward, and it was not until that moment that Eugenia registered the fact that the major's right sleeve was pinned shut, hanging empty below the elbow. A shocked, involuntary gasp escaped her, drawing his cold gaze back upon her.

  "Miss Foxworth and I have met," he drawled, "though I doubt if she remembers me."

  Colonel Taggart laughed. "Since you've been away awhile, my boy, I doubt that she does; Miss Foxworth here has quite a reputation as our local breaker of hearts." It was the colonel's little joke, and he patted Eugenia's hand fondly as he spoke, but it was the sense of the words that registered upon his listener, drawing forth a

  sardonic expression that was not quite a smile.

  "How long have you been in town, sir?" Mr. Talbot inquired politely, but Eugenia could not hear him, nor was she aware of the reply. Will was alive! Or was he? This man bore the same name and looked alike enough to be his twin, but his manner was so very different, almost disapproving. And how could he be alive when Charles had told her of his death more than a year before?

  She forced her jumbled thoughts aside when she heard herself being addressed.

  "Miss Foxworth, we should not keep you from your supper," Major Stanfield was saying. "This military talk cannot be of any interest to you."

  "Oh, it is," she stammered. "But I — " There was only one way to find out his identity, and she cast her manners to the winds. "Forgive me, Major, but may I ask, what is your Christian name?"

  He lifted one dark brow. "I was right, then; you do not remember me."

  "Please, sir, your name?" she insisted.

  "My name, Miss Foxworth, is William Arthur Stan-field."

  It was he! Will was alive! She felt faint. Never before in her life had she felt so constrained by social convention, when her every instinct was to fling herself into this man's arms.

  "It is you, Will," she breathed, and she actually took a step forward before she recollected herself. "I thought you were dead!"

  "Indeed, that's what we all thought," Colonel Taggart interrupted, oblivious to any undercurrents of emotion. "But Stanfield here outsmarted his doctors, and here he is, promoted to Major and back in one piece."

  "Slightly less than one piece, Colonel," Major Stanfield amended. "After all, Boney managed to keep my arm as a souvenir."

  Eugenia could not prevent the shocked exclamation that

  rose to her lips or the look of horror that leapt into her eyes as she comprehended the magnitude of what he must have endured. But Major Stanfield's mouth curved into a bitter smile of comprehension at her apparent disgust.

  "Pray forgive my blunt way of speaking, Miss Fox-worth. I am afraid I am unaccustomed to the delicate sensibilities of a lady. My only regret is that I cannot add myself to the ranks of those competing for your favors upon the dance floor." His tone, however, implied not so much regret as disdain, and Eugenia could feel the enormity of the distance that her thoughtless reaction had created between them.

  "Would you instead call upon me, Major Stanfield?" she implored, paying no heed to Colonel Taggart's har-rumph of disapproval at her boldness. "I will be at home tomorrow, and there is much that I — I mean, my brother and I —would like to ask you."

  "I make very few social calls, Miss Fox worth. But I am of course honored by your request."

  At that moment, the noise of the musicians striking up anew came as an unwelcome interruption, and Eugenia was left with no more than that politely ambiguous reply before she was approached by another gentleman for the next dance and was obliged to make her adieu. The next time she was able to look back in Major Stanfield's direction, he was gone.

  As Eugenia danced and chatted politely with one partner after another, her inner thoughts were in turmoil. Will Stanfield was alive, and yet he was not the same man he had been before. It was indeed a stranger whom she had encountered. Oh yes, he had been matured by time and experience, and heaven only knew what he must have endured with such a grievous injury and many slow months of recuperation.

  But why, if the report of his death were false, would he
have made no effort to contact her in all this time? And why the cynicism in his present manner toward her? She

  knew that her reputation was that of a social butterfly, and Colonel Taggart's lighthearted words had certainly not aided much in that regard, but there was nothing of which she knew that could have earned Major Stanfield's apparent censure. And was there nothing at all left of his regard for her?

  It was at that moment that she saw Charles and Miss Preston-Smythe dancing together, and as she observed her brother's rather preoccupied expression, something clicked in her memory: that "rumor" that had nothing to do with her. As soon as the dance was ended, she excused herself and headed straight for the settee where Charles and his betrothed were taking a moment's respite.

  "Charles, I have something particular to discuss with you. Would you excuse us for a moment, Miss Preston-Siiiythe?" Eugenia asked, the unsettled state of her emotions making her tone more peremptory than she would have wished.

  Unfortunately, Miss Preston-Smythe did not care to be dictated to by her future sister-in-law. "Charles and I have no secrets from each other, my dear Eugenia. Whatever you have to say to him may be said to me."

  "Very well, then," Eugenia responded. "Damn you, Charles!"

  Miss Preston-Smythe gasped, but Eugenia's glittering gold eyes were fixed upon her brother's face.

  "You knew that Will Stanfield was alive, didn't you?"

  Charles's suddenly heightened color was a dead giveaway. "I had heard that he was, yes, and I knew it was possible he would come back to London. But I did not wish to upset you with the news when it could have proved to be false."

  "Upset me!" she exclaimed. "Did it not upset you to learn that he was alive when you had known for a year that he was dead?"

  Charles cleared his throat. "Well, in point of fact, I did not ever know it for certain."

  "You told me he was dead, Charles." Her voice dropped to scarcely above a whisper. "How could you do that?"

  "I am sorry, Jen, but it was Will himself who begged me to do it. His batman sent me a letter telling me that Will had lost an arm, and, according to the doctors, the risk of infection meant that he had virtually no chance of surviving beyond six months. His last wish, he said, was to spare you the agony of waiting for the inevitable. He wanted you to move on with your life, and because you were so young, he was convinced that you would fall in love again quickly. Frankly, I had to agree with him."

  "How dared you do such a thing, Charles!" Eugenia dashed away a tear with the back of her hand.

  "You must not presume to criticize your brother," interposed Miss Preston-Smythe. "He was your guardian and knew what was best for you. And we all know how flighty you are."

  Eugenia clenched her fists, and only the recollection that they were at a public gathering prevented her from making a most impolite retort. She turned back toward her brother.

  "Perhaps you felt you were right at the time, Charles. But you must admit that things are different now."

  "That is true enough," he agreed, more cheerfully. "You are not in love with him anymore."

  And as he spoke, that notion was being shared by Major Stanfield as he stared into the fire of his bedroom in Berkeley Square. Throughout the long, agonizing months of his recovery, as he had fought against the horrors of infection and bloodletting, he had clung to his memories of Eugenia as a laughing young girl. He could not remember precisely when his fondness for Charles's sister had grown into something more profound; it was simply as though one day he had truly looked at her for the first time and seen the radiant beauty of her face. He, who was naturally of a serious bent, had felt his heart soaring

  in a giddy spiral, and when he had finally taken her in his arms that Christmas Eve, he had felt a passion for her that was almost frightening in its intensity.

  But Eugenia had been young, not just in years but in the lightheartedness of her temperament. Her professions of love could have been the outpourings of a transient infatuation, and with acute consciousness of the five years' difference between them, Will's innate caution had prevailed. No formal betrothal would be announced until his return, so that Eugenia could have the opportunity to meet other men and to decide whether or not her feelings for him were real. Later, when he had believed himself to be dying, he had been comforted by the thought that she would quickly find a new life for herself.

  Now, as Will sipped from the brandy snifter held in his left hand, it seemed that his suspicions had been justified. It surprised him that Eugenia was still unwedded; moreover, he had assumed that she would be sobered and matured by the intervening years, much as he himself had been. Miss Foxworth, however, had not truly grown up after all but had remained the superficial creature he had always suspected her of being.

  She had grown even more beautiful with time, of course, but by all reports she treated no man seriously, least of all those who were ensnared by her flirtatious-ness. It was said that she had refused a number of offers and that she had declared herself to be uninterested in marriage. He was fortunate, he supposed, not to be bound by any formal vows to such a shallow creature!

  But his expression was grim as he continued to watch the flames, long into the night.

  "I simply cannot understand men," Eugenia declared as she paced back and forth across the Wellthorpes' morning parlor. The gown of fine merino swishing about her was a deep sapphire blue that made her golden eyes seem to

  sparkle even more furiously. Miss Frances Wellthorpe watched in sympathy with a slight frown knitting her fine brows. She herself was the picture of a gently bred young lady, a panel of embroidery resting in the lap of her cream-colored muslin frock. The edifying volume that the two ladies had intended to discuss as part of their weekly reading circle, a treatise on female suffrage, lay forgotten upon the sewing table.

  "I do not know what is worse," Eugenia continued, "to be told a lie or to be told nothing at all. In both cases, I was being kept from the truth."

  "It was a hurtful truth," her companion interjected. . "Major Stanfield supposed that he would die, and you would have suffered, knowing that he was in terrible pain and being able to do nothing about it. You cannot blame him for wishing to shield you from that torture."

  "Oh, Fanny, I know. But had I known that Will was alive, I could have found the camp where he was and helped nurse him back to recovery. I would have gone to any lengths to be with him."

  "Perhaps that was precisely what Major Stanfield feared," Fanny replied. "You mustn't forget how dangerous it would have been for you to attempt any such thing. He knew that you were impulsive and headstrong, and could not let you put your own life at risk."

  "But I am not like that!" She paused at her friend's skeptical expression. "At least, I am not the flibbertigibbet that Miss Priss and Charles seem to think I am. And speaking of Charles, his crime is really the worst of all."

  Miss Wellthorpe went a delicate shade of pink. "You cannot blame your brother for carrying out what he thought was his friend's last wish."

  "No, that is not what I meant. It is rather the fact that he failed to tell me as soon as he heard that Will might be alive."

  "I am certain that he meant only to protect your feelings."

  "Well, that was carrying his protectiveness a bit too far! And I do not know why you should try so hard to defend him!"

  Eugenia glanced petulantly at Miss Wellthorpe, but her expression altered as she noticed her friend's flushed cheeks and tightly clasped hands. All of a sudden, the oddest notion dawned upon her. "Fanny, do you have a tendre for my brother?"

  "No, no, do not say such a thing," Miss Wellthorpe stammered, looking away. "I did not wish—I would not for the world — "

  "Forgive me, my dear, I did not mean to pry." Eugenia sank into the chair beside Miss Wellthorpe's and leaned forward to take hold of her hands. "Your secret is safe. But why did you not tell me?"

  "He is engaged to Miss Preston-Smythe," was the simple reply. "Whatever feelings I — I might imagine myself to harbor
would be wrong to have."

  "But are you so certain that he could not return your regard?"

  "Oh, pray do not say such things, Eugenia. I have accepted that there is no hope for me, and you must do the same."

  A gleam entered Eugenia's eyes. Fanny and Charles? No, it would never work —he was too priggish, too formal. But then again, it was easy to overlook the attractive qualities in one's own brother, and presumably there was reason enough for Fanny to have fallen in love with him. He was, after all, a very eligible young man and good-looking in his own way. What was more, her friend would be just the sort of good wife Charles wished to have, while her gentle humor would temper his stubbornness and bring out the lighter side of his nature. Yes, Fanny and Charles! Of course, one could not forget his regrettable connection with Miss Preston-Smythe, but the date of the wedding would not be announced until Christmas, and that was still a week away. Many things might happen

  in the interim!

  "But, Eugenia, we were speaking of you, not of me," Miss Wellthorpe said, interrupting that train of thought. "You must accept that Major Stanfield did what he thought was best for you at the time."

  "How I loathe those words! 'What was best for you'; 'for your own good'! I shall never understand why men think that females are so witless, when most often quite the reverse is true. But Fanny, why would he be so cold to me now? How could he have treated me as though I were a stranger?"

  "You must admit, Eugenia, that two years is a long time and that Major Stanfield must have been changed by his experiences. It is only natural to expect some distance of feeling."

  Eugenia felt her heart constrict. "Not on my part. When I saw him, I thought that I — " She paused, biting her lip. "But Fanny, he was scarcely even polite to me. It was almost as though he —he disapproved of me."

  "Perhaps he wished to appear aloof to save his pride in the event that you no longer cared for him. My mother has often said that gentlemen are sensitive about their vanity and that sometimes a show of coolness means that they fear to be rejected. Or perhaps he was afraid that you would be repelled by his wound. Many injured people are sensitive in that regard, you know."