A Christmas delight

by Anthea Malcolm

  "Your one-two combination was better," the major allowed, his features softening into a smile.

  "There, you see, Fanny? Now he is using that horrid boxing cant in front of us. You are all witnesses to Major Stanfield's shockingly improper behavior!"

  The major's attention, meanwhile, was captured by the slender chain that lay against the pale column of Eugenia's throat. He reached for it, tugging gently until the seed-pearl ring came into view.

  "You have worn this all along?" he murmured incredulously.

  "Next to my heart," she whispered.

  The major looked deeply into her eyes, and then slowly he smiled, and her heart turned over. "I see that I have been well and truly outflanked on all counts," he said gravely. "How may I atone for my breach of conduct, Miss Foxworth?"

  Eugenia turned toward her audience. "Well?"

  Charles shook his head. "You'll have to marry her, old man."

  Miss Wellthorpe nodded motirnfully. "Nothing less than marriage will serve."

  Mr. Talbot opened one eye. "If you want my opinion, a glass of brandy would do the trick. But if you are going to marry her, you had better do so straight away, before anyone else gets hurt!"

  Major Stanfield bowed solemnly toward Eugenia, and only the laughing glint in his eyes gave him away. "Well, Miss Foxworth? Will you give me a happy Christmas by doing me the honor of becoming my wife?"

  "I will," Eugenia replied, moving into the warmth of his embrace, "if you would only be so good as to compromise me a bit further, just to make sure ..."

  And so he did.

  @FZ

  aam

  "I wish you wouldn't try to make me feel guilty, Mama. I do not intend to present myself when Ryven and Miss Darcy arrive. That's all there is to it." Miss Anthea Thome's blue eyes snapped with irritation. "Ryven means nothing to me one way or the other."

  "And I suppose Mr. Wolcott does?" her mother suggested, moving her footstool so that her feet were closer to the fire. "Don't try to cozen me, Anthea. I know exactly why you refused Vincent Wolcott's offer. For the four years past, you've been comparing every man you meet with Ryven and, although you won't admit it to me or to yourself, you've found every other man sadly lacking."

  Anthea's cheeks burned and she turned to the window to keep her mother from seeing her. "Chatwin says it's going to snow," she said finally, idly watching the heavy black clouds pile up in the sky. "It would be nice to have snow for Christmas."

  "I agree, however, Christmas is two weeks away and, besides, Chatwin's always predicting snow. I'd almost believe he'd predict snow in July. It might serve to keep him from tending the garden properly."

  "Chatwin's a wonderful gardener, Mama." Anthea turned to look at her mother in surprise. "Thornedene's gardens are the pride of the county."

  "I know," Lady Lynden said complacently, "and that's all because of my doing, I assure you. If I weren't here to nudge

  Chatwin at every opportunity, the gardens would be a weedy mess."

  "You're very good at nudging, Mama," Anthea said with a laugh, turning away from the window.

  "Thank you, my dear. One of the lessons every lady should learn is how to manage people properly. Of course, I assure you that I nudge only when necessary. I believe," she added with a smile, 'that your father calls it meddling, but even he must admit that I always get results." There was a short pause as she waited for Anthea to cross the room. "Sit here by me, Anthea." She patted the cushion beside her. "We need to talk."

  "Don't try to nudge me, Mama." Anthea sat, but there was a stubborn set to her mouth. "It's no use to discuss Ryven. I do not wish to see him while he's here. His letter said he and Miss Darcy were only going to stop by on their way to Morven Hall so they could drop Dickon off to spend Christmas with us. At most, they should be here perhaps an hour or so."

  Lady Lynden rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. "And to think my own flesh and blood is such a coward. You should be down here, Anthea, dressed to the nines, reminding Ryven what he could have had."

  "If not having to look at that odious creature is cowardly, then so be it," Anthea said. "Besides, rumor has it that he's going to offer for Miss Darcy at Christmas. I heard that they'll announce their engagement at the New Year's ball at Morven."

  "I see you've kept up with that 'odious creature' enough to know about his comings and goings, not to mention impending engagements." Lady Lynden's tone was dry.

  "Not really." Anthea wouldn't meet her mother's eyes. "Lizzie Bowen just happened to mention it in her last letter to me." She paused. "I couldn't believe it, Mama. Judith Darcy! 'Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under't.' That's Judith Darcy. Ryven doesn't know what he's getting."

  "You could do something about that if you wished, An-thea."

  "No, Mama." Anthea's tone was final. "I can't. Ryven made it perfectly plain that he doesn't care at all for me, and now I refuse to have anything to do with him. I despise the man." She stood up and shook her skirts.

  "Anthea, please sit back down." Lady Lynden's voice was mild, but there was a hint of steel under it. Anthea sat. "There. That's better." There was another pause while Lady Lynden thought. "We've needed to have this talk for a while, and I do admit to being remiss. I thought the problem would take care of itself, that you would develop a ten-dre for someone and settle down. But since you refused Wolcott's offer . . ."

  "Mama, this isn't at all necessary. I do not choose to be married."

  "Of course you choose to be niarried, Anthea. It's the only thing to do. When Ryven asked you to break your engagement to him four years ago, I didn't like it above half, but I could understand his reasons."

  "What?" Anthea's voice was fitter. "That he 'wasn't ready' to get married. Not ready at one and twenty?"

  Lady Lynden frowned a little, then patted Anthea's hand. "He wasn't ready, even though he was one and twenty. You, at seventeen, were more ready than he was. Yes, Anthea, it was the best thing that he asked you to break the engagement then."

  "And I suppose, Mama, that now he's quite ready to marry Miss Darcy." Try as she might, Anthea could not keep her voice from shaking. Lady Lynden glanced at her but did not remark it.

  "Yes, I think now that Ryven's ready for marriage," Lady Lynden said placidly. "Hold up your hands." She began winding her wools around Anthea's upraised hands, straightening the strands as she worked. "My point is, Anthea, that you've allowed this . . . this contretemps between you and Ryven to displace your whole life. You were but seventeen, but you insisted on returning to Thornedene. I

  was busy seeing your father off to Portugal, or I would have made sure you stayed in London and enjoyed yourself. As it was, you came to Thornedene and you've practically made a vocation of languishing on the vine."

  "I've done no such thing!" Anthea exclaimed. She tried to move her hands but had to keep them still to keep the wool taut. "Really, Mama! Languishing on the vine, indeed."

  "It's true, Anthea. You've all but retired from society and you're but one and twenty. Your brother's only twelve years old, but I believe he goes out more than you do."

  "At least Ned isn't thrown in the way of every single man in England," Anthea said heatedly. "It's embarrassing. The last time I visited Cousin Margaret, she had a different bachelor to supper every night."

  "I thought as much. If I recall, you feigned illness and came back to Thornedene."

  "I wasn't feigning. I was sick to death of being paraded in front of everyone like some calf up at auction." Anthea giggled at the recollection. "Mama, it was terrible. After the first fortnight, Margaret was reduced to bringing in whomever she could find—the only requirement was eligibility. When she brought in poor Hazel wood—the one with the terrible squint—I thought it best to put her out of her misery and return to Thornedene."

  "Then you aren't comparing all men to Ryven?" Lady Lynden rolled the wool into a ball, put it into her basket, and Anthea dropped her hands to her lap.

  "Of course not!"

  "Well, then
am I to conclude that you may reconsider and look favorably on Mr. Wolcott?"

  Anthea was visibly alarmed. "Mama! Really! Mr. Wolcott is very nice, unexceptionable even, but . . ." She let her words trail off.

  "I believe I understand, my dear." After a moment Lady Lynden patted Anthea's hand. "Yes, I understand - perfectly. Will you hand me my embroidery?"

  The door was flung open, and Ned ran headlong into the room. "How much longer, Annie?" he asked,

  hopping from first one foot to the other.

  "Not long. I can't believe you're this excited about Dickon coming to spend Christmas with you."

  Ned sprawled on the floor in front of the fire. "I am. I haven't seen him since he had to go to Italy with his aunt. I can't wait!" With that, he was on his feet again, running to the window.

  "Chatwin says it's going to snow," Anthea told him with a laugh, crossing to the window. She put her arm around her brother's shoulders, and they looked out. "You and Dickon can make snow angels and a snow fort."

  "Will you help us? You make the best snow forts of anybody, Annie." He looked at her, then back out the window. "Maybe it'll snow ten feet."

  "I certainly hope not," Lady Lynden said, putting aside her workbasket and looking fondly at the heir. "Don't get your hopes up, Ned. It probably won't snow at all—you know how Chatwin's predictions are." She stood. "Now run along, dears. Anthea, think about what I said, and perhaps you'll want to come down and meet Ryven and Miss Darcy, after all."

  "Of course she will," Ned said. "It would break Nicholas's heart if he doesn't get to see you, Annie. I'd wager he would."

  Anthea ruffled Ned's hair, a fine, silky blond like her own. "You're too young to wager, you imp, and don't you dare address Ryven as Nicholas. You're to call him by his style."

  "Why? He once told me to call him Nicholas. I remember that."

  "That was a long time ago," Anthea said, turning away.

  "Will we be expecting you down?" Lady Lynden asked.

  Anthea paused, thinking of an excuse. "I don't think so."

  Ned ran over and took her hand. "Of course she'll come down to see Nicholas — Ryven, I mean. Dickon told me that Nic — Ryven was looking forward to seeing you, Annie, and Dickon knows everything there is to know about Nicholas."

  "Brothers always know more than they should," Anthea

  said with a laugh. "If you promise to hush, I'll think about coming down." She went out, Ned dragging her along as he chattered on about plans for a snow fort and, if the gods of the weather proved benevolent, weather cold enough to freeze the pond so he, Dickon, and Annie could go skating.

  As a door shut behind them, Lady Lynden leaned back in her chair and thought a while. Finally, she wiggled her warm toes and sighed in satisfaction. "Just a little nudge in the right direction," she said aloud to herself. "I think that will do nicely." She smiled and rang for tea, quite pleased with herself.

  Outside, the first flakes began to float lazily down to the ground.

  After settling Ned down with chocolate and biscuits and placing him where he could see the drive, Anthea went to her room. Maybe, just maybe, Mama was right — perhaps she was taking the cowardly way out. She glanced in the mirror. She hadn't even seen Nicholas Moreland, Viscount Ryven, since the day he had asked her to break their engagement four years ago. Except once, she hastily reminded herself—once when she had been with Margaret and had seen him driving in the park with the Season's current lovely by his side. Anthea had moved away, and he hadn't seen her, but the sight of him had been so painful that she left London and hurried back to Thornedene. That had been two years ago. Since then, she had been careful to plan her visits to London. The world of the Ton was so small that it was almost impossible to avoid someone.

  "I am being a coward," she said to her reflation in the mirror. "Mama's right—I should show that odious man what he missed." She made a face at her reflection and rang for Parrish, her maid and dresser, a pearl beyond price when it came to working wizardry with the rouge pot and hairbrush. P&rrish had had several offers better than service with Anthea, but she preferred to stay at Thornedene. She said it was because she couldn't trust her dear Miss Thome to anyone else, but Anthea knew the real reason: Parrish and Chatwin had an "understanding."

  By the time Parrish had finished, Anthea felt she looked better than she had ever looked in her life. She hadn't told Parrish why she wanted to look good, it wasn't necessary— Parrish knew.

  Anthea went down, only to be met by an excited Ned. "Annie, its snowing! Did you see? If it keeps this up, we'll have enough snow for a little snow fort." He grabbed her hand and dragged her over to the front window so she could see for herself.

  Ned was right. IWo or three inches of fluffy snow covered the ground, and it was still coming down from a gray sky, although slowly and lazily.

  "Will they get here before it gets too bad to travel?" Ned asked anxiously.

  Anthea patted his head and hugged him. "Certainly. They should be here any time. Parrish told me that Chat win had told her that their baggage wagon had already dropped off Dickon's trunk. Dickon should be along presently."

  "Look, Annie, is that something?" Ned pointed to a smudge on the horizon, barely visible through the snow. Anthea peered out the window. "I don't know, Ned." They stood for a few minutes until they were able to see for sure that a carriage was coming up the driveway. Ned remained by the door, while Anthea went to the drawing room so she could be reclining prettily on the sofa when Ryven and Miss Darcy arrived. She would be the picture of someone without a care in the world.

  Anthea heard the voices in the hall and carefully placed herself to advantage on the sofa, holding a novel to read. In just a moment the door was flung open and two females rushed in. A very large, wet, bushy cat leapt from the older lady's arms and jumped right on Anthea's stomach, leaving the imprint of two muddy, snow-encrusted paws.

  "Oh, Puffy, you bad little baby!" Mrs. Darcy shrieked, snatching up the cat as it yowled and spat right in Anthea's face. "Mama's little baby shouldn't be bad!"

  Anthea leapt to her feet, trying to keep her temper as Puffy jumped to the floor and began arching its back and

  hissing while it clawed at Anthea's ankles. Anthea jumped back to avoid a second vicious swipe of its claws against her stockings and fell backward over Lady Lynden's footstool, landing with her legs on the footstool, her derriere on the floor between the chair and stool, and the rest of her propped inelegantly up against the front of the chair.

  "An interesting pose, Miss Thorne," a familiar, lazy voice drawled. "I did not recall that you were particularly afraid of wild animals."

  "Nicky, how can you malign Mama's poor little Puffy?" Miss Judith Darcy asked, a pretty, practiced pout on her face. She placed a hand on Ryven's arm, unmistakably signifying her claim, and smiled down at Anthea.

  Anthea did not smile back. Instead, she looked straight up from the floor right into Ryven's green eyes and quite caught her breath. Four years ago she had thought Ryven one of the handsomest men around, but now ... He had grown a trifle taller and filled out. His shoulders were broad under his bottle green coat and his brown hair was cut to frame his face. It took Anthea a second to realize the difference—four years ago he had been a good-looking boy, now he was the handsomest man she had ever seen.

  Ned and Dickon rushed in and saved Anthea from having to reply to him. "Annie, isn't this famous—Dickon has brought along his pet mouse." Ned set a cage containing a frantic mouse on the table. "Good Heavens, Annie," he said, staring at her as she tried to get in a more presentable position, "What happened to you? Your dress is all muddy, and you really shouldn't be sitting on the floor. Not with company here, anyway."

  Anthea's answer was drowned out as Puffy escaped his mistress once again and landed on the mouse cage, snarling, hissing, and yowling. Ryven took advantage of the confusion to offer his hand to Anthea and help her up. Anthea thought for a second about refusing but decided that would be churlish, so she took his hand. I
t was almost a jolt when they touched, rather like Mama's description of her electrical treatments at Bath. Anthea didn't dare look at Ryven.

  Instead, she busied herself with brushing off her gown as best she could and trying to fight down the blazing heat in her cheeks. "You're looking particularly fine, Annie," he said softly, close to her ear so she could hear him in the din.

  "Thank you," she answered stiffly, pulling away. She didn't want to say more. This had been a terrible mistake— she should have stayed in her chambers as she had planned. Instead of making Ryven realize what he had missed, the tables were turned. She glanced up to find Miss Darcy looking at the two of them. Miss Darcy stepped forward, neatly placing herself between Ryven and Anthea.

  "Nicky dear, I do hate to be impolite, but don't you think we need to leave soon? The weather looks so forbidding."

  "Judith, I simply cannot travel again until I have refreshed myself," Mrs. Darcy said, collapsing on the sofa. "Puffy is so out of sorts, and I need £ pot of tea and something to eat."

  Anthea, glad for a diversion, took charge, sending Ned and Dickon upstairs with the offending mouse, sending to the kitchen for cream and a treat for Puffy, ringing for tea and cakes, and having a footman fetch her mother. Lady Lynden came in just as everyone finally got quiet and settled down in front of the fire.

  "My dear Ryven, Mrs. and Miss Darcy. How wonderful to see you." Lady Lynden advanced into the room and glanced at Anthea. Her eyes widened as she saw the muddy pawprints on Anthea's gown, but, practiced hostess that she was, she ignored it and sat down beside Mrs. Darcy. "I have so wished to meet you and your charming daughter, Mrs. Darcy," she said, pouring tea and passing it around. "I know you must be fatigued from your journey."

  "It's been terrible, just terrible," Mrs. Darcy said as Puffy finished his cream and jumped up on his mistress's lap. "Look, my little darling is so tired and journeyworn."