A Christmas delight

by Anthea Malcolm

  "Mama is right, you know. We could have waited until tomorrow to come here," Jeffrey said coolly, "but I wanted us to have a chance to talk away from the others. We've seen so little of each other. The other day I counted it up. and we've met just three times since that first meeting in Bury. And here we are, practically married! I think it's important for us to become better acquainted, and soon, don't you agree? We wouldn't wish to meet at the altar as strangers, after all."

  "Oh, no." What was the matter with her? She had the curious sensation that she and Jeffrey were drifting closer and closer together, when, in point of fact, neither of them had moved an inch.

  "Unfortunately, we won't have many opportunities to be alone until the New Year," Jeffrey continued. "The house will soon be full of neighbors paying calls and guests arriving for

  the Christmas Eve party. So I thought tomorrow we might go for a drive so that I can show you the estate. We'd have a little privacy, too. There's a folly in the park you might like to see — "

  "Folly? Oh, do you mean the little classical-style building we drove past on the way to the house?"

  "That's the one. The village is also considered very pretty. It's a pity we're in the middle of winter. The countryside in this part of Oxfordshire is lovely in the warmer months."

  "Oh, well, I can see the scenery later, can't I? Summer always comes eventually." Charlotte bit her lip. She was babbling again. Never in all her life had she sounded so inane. To hide her confusion, she bent over a rose bush, murmuring, "What a heavenly scent."

  "Here, allow me." Jeffrey leaned down to twist a half-opened rose from the bush, muttering a stifled exclamation as' his thumb jammed on a thorn. He held the rose out to her, and then, when she didn't take it immediately, he tucked the bloom into the cluster of curls on the crown of her head. Cocking his head to study the effect, he smiled, saying, "It looks very chic. You have beautiful hair, Charlotte."

  Putting out his hand, he slowly ran his fingers through the springy masses of her hair. Mesmerized, scarcely breathing, Charlotte stood motionless as those long capable fingers moved down to stroke her face and throat caressingly before settling on her shoulders. Slipping his arms around her waist, he brushed her mouth in a featherlight kiss, his lips fluttering against hers as he murmured, with a shadow of a laugh in his voice, "I can't think of a better, easier, more enjoyable way to get acquainted, can you?"

  Her heart was thudding, and her bones had turned to jelly, and Charlotte wanted nothing more than to surrender to the sweet, unfamiliar, enticing feelings sweeping through her body as Jeffrey's arms tightened and the pressure of his warm, clinging lips became more demanding. Instead, she pushed so hard against his chest that, caught by surprise, he nearly lost his balance and fell.

  He exclaimed incredulously, "Good God, Charlotte, what's the matter with you?"

  Her back half turned to him, she stood silently, fighting for calm. She'd so nearly made a fool of herself. She knew that Jeffrey hadn't simply given in to his emotions when he kissed hen He'd never given her any reason to believe that he had any personal feelings for her. From the very beginning, the arrangement between them had been purely business. His love-making a moment ago had been just as premeditated, just as practical as his original proposal of marriage had been. He'd probably reasoned that, even in a marriage of convenience, their relationship might progress a little more smoothly if he injected a bit of romance into it. Perhaps he even thought she was expecting, wanting, him to kiss her. Perhaps her face had given her away when she'd observed the affectionate spontaneity of his kiss to Arabella.

  She turned back to Jeffrey. "Nothing's the matter with me"

  "Well, but . . ."He stared at her in bewilderment. Suddenly he said, "You're not—you can't be offended with me for kissing you, surely?"

  Charlotte said coolly, "Offended? No, not really. However, I do think you were—what's that hunting expression some of my friends use? Oh, yes, I have it. I think you may have been rushing your fences. As you pointed out a few minutes ago, we're still practically strangers."

  Even in the dim light, she could see his lips hardening. "I'll also point out that we're strangers who are about to be married. Let's understand each other, Charlotte. You say I've been 'rushing my fences.' Does that mean I'm not to touch you in any way during the course of our engagement?"

  Charlotte swallowed hard. "I merely meant to say that I think it's hypocritical to pretend to—to romantic urges that neither of us feels."

  "I see. So something like a chaste peck on the cheek might be permitted?"

  Goaded by the cool irony in his tone, Charlotte snapped, "I have no objections to that."

  "Splendid. For a moment, I feared you were implying that our courtship and our marriage would be of the mind only."

  Charlotte's voice matched his in coolness. "Indeed, not. I'm

  quite aware that you must have an heir to your estate, and I've long since ceased to believe that babies are found in the cabbage patch."

  "You relieve my anxieties no end," he said dryly. He paused, studying her in the dim light. After a moment, he said, "Well, Charlotte, I'm glad we had this little talk. It's cleared the air as far as Pm concerned. And now, my dear, I daresay I should heed my mother's advice and not keep you from your bed until all hours."

  He extended his arm politely, and Charlotte, without speaking, placed her hand on his sleeve. In silence, they walked out of the conservatory and up the stairway to her bedchamber. Charlotte's thoughts were chaotic. She'd mismanaged the scene in the greenhouse. She'd merely intended to prevent Jef 7 frey from realizing how vulnerable she was to his lovemaking. Instead, she might have damaged their relationship beyond repair. Stealing a glance at his polite, impassive features, she had no idea what he was thinking about.

  At the door of her bedchamber, he swung around to face her. Bending his head, he brushed her cheek with his lips. "It's permissible?" he asked. If he was angry, if he was mocking her, the expression in his dark eyes was unreadable.

  "Yes, of course. Good night, Jeffrey."

  "Good night. Shall we meet in the morning room about ten o'clock for our drive?"

  The next morning, Charlotte stood hesitating in the great marble hallway. A footman appeared out of nowhere and said politely, "May I help you, ma'am?"

  "I'm to meet Lord Sherborne in the morning room."

  "This way, ma'am."

  Charlotte felt, rather than saw, the inquisitive glance of the footman as he walked along beside her. Had the servants, by some mysterious process of mind reading, already grasped the fact that she was to be the new mistress of Cortona? Or— lowering thought —was she so obviously a guest from a different order of society that it had occasioned the servants' curiosity?

  The morning room was a pleasant room with comfortable, well-used furniture, a distinct contrast to the magnificence of the rest of the house, but Charlotte walked into it with a dragging reluctance. She hadn't slept well. Her eyelids felt grainy, and her stomach was still churning nervously at the memory of the scene in the conservatory last night. She dreaded being alone with Jeffrey on their drive.

  Lady Arabella was already seated in the room, reading a book, when Charlotte entered. Cicely's younger sister looked even more impossibly beautiful in the full light of day, her aureole of blond curls set off by pale blue ribbons that matched her gown of sprigged muslin. Being in the same room with her made Charlotte feel like a bedraggled jackdaw in her simple black dress and pelisse.

  Arabella put down her book. "Oh, good morning, Miss Kin—Charlotte. Are you exploring the house?"

  "No, I'm to meet Jeffrey here at ten. We're going for a drive around the estate."

  Arabella consulted the little jeweled watch pinned to her bodice. "You're very early. It's only a quarter of the hour. Come, let me show you some of the rooms on the ground floor before Jeffrey joins you."

  Having eaten a meal the evening before in the cavernous dining room literally walled with silver plate, Charlotte wasn't surprised
to find that the state bedrooms, the music room, and the chapel were on a similar scale. However, she was unprepared for the Grand Saloon opening directly off the entrance hall. It was a vast circular room with a soaring dome, floored in marble, with a gilded, coffered ceiling and a ring of antique paintings encircling the upper walls of the rotunda.

  "This is where the Christmas Eve ball will take place," said Arabella. Her face glowed with reminiscent pleasure. "It's always such a splendid affair. I've heard people say that no other yuletide celebration in England can match it. Next year, of course, now that Jeffrey's succeeded his father, you'll be the official hostess of the ball." She giggled. "Lady Sherborne will no doubt tell you she'll be happy to be relieved of all the preparations for the ball, but don't you believe her. She's always

  complaining that being the mistress of Cortona is a great deal of work, but secretly she loves it."

  Charlotte privately agreed that, after their marriage, she and Jeffrey would probably have Jo remove the dowager bodily from the premises and pack her off to the dower house, but she merely smiled politely at Arabella's facetious remark.

  Her eyes sparkling, Arabella added, "There's the most delicious rumor circulating in the county. The present Lord Lieutenant, Lord Ilworth, isn't expected to live very long, and the on dit is that the Regent will appoint Jeffrey to the post." Arabella's forehead furrowed in a thoughtful frown. "The appointment would mean that you and Jeffrey would be doing a great deal of official entertaining. And then there's the town house in London. Jeffrey's father was quite ill the past few years and rarely went up to Town. But I know that Jeffrey intends to be active in the House of Lords and will certainly open the town house for the Season. You'll be a very busy hostess."

  Arabella paused, looking even more thoughtful. "Have you considered how different your life will be, Charlotte? Jeffrey told us that you and your papa lived in quite a tiny house in Lancashire. I daresay you never sat down to more than a dozen at most at table? It would have been so much easier for Cicely. . . . Ah, well, I do hope you won't feel overwhelmed by all your new duties."

  Voice and expression reflected only a kindly concern, but Charlotte wasn't deceived. Lady Sherborne and Arabella had already displayed their lack of enthusiasm for Jeffrey's choice of a bride. Every word of Arabella's transparent little speech had been intended as a barb, to point out Charlotte's lack of qualifications to be Marchioness of Sherborne.

  Well, I won't let her see that she's drawn blood, Charlotte decided, lifting her chin. She said composedly, "I'll do my very best, Arabella, that's all I can say. If I need advice, I'm sure I can come to Lady Sherborne —or to you."

  "Oh. Certainly." Arabella sounded startled.

  "There you are, Charlotte. The servants told me you and Bella were taking the grand tour." Charlotte turned to see Jef-

  frey standing in the doorway of the saloon. He glanced up at the rotunda, grimacing. "Did Bella tell you the saloon is modeled on the Pantheon in Rome? Thank God my grandfather ran out of funds before he could make it as large! Are you ready to go for our drive?"

  When they reached the carriage, which was waiting in front of the house, Jeffrey handed her up the steps, tucked a warm robe around her legs, and placed some hot bricks at her feet. "Comfortable?" he asked solicitously as the carriage rolled down the driveway.

  "Very much so. Thank you." Charlotte stole a sideways glance at him. He looked and sounded very much as he had when she arrived yesterday, pleasant and friendly. Perhaps he'd put the scene in the conservatory out of his mind. In the course of a sleepless night, perhaps she'd been magnifying how disastrous the encounter had been. Charlotte began to relax. Soon she was enjoying the drive.

  They visited the little classical folly in the park. "Every person who ever made the Grand Tour of the Continent returned home bent on building one of these follies," Jeffrey said with a deprecating shrug that didn't quite hide a pride of ownership. The building, graceful with its columns and miniature dome, looked chilly and unwelcoming and out of place in the depths of winter, but, as Jeffrey remarked, it was a pleasant place in which to while away a hot summer afternoon. "My mother and my—" He caught himself. "Mama and Cicely were fond of taking tea here."

  To her horror, Charlotte found herself saying, "Do you miss her very much? Cicely, I mean?"

  He looked away. For a moment, Charlotte thought he wasn't going to answer. Then he said evenly, "Time has a way of taking the edge off sorrow. Cicely's been gone for two years."

  Charlotte wanted to sink through the ground. She'd resented the frequent references to Cicely on the part of Lady Sherborne and Arabella, and here she was, doing the same thing herself. Jeffrey probably thought her very forward or insensitive or both.

  Catching sight of a group of fallow deer quietly grazing near the folly, she hastily changed the subject. "What beautiful little creatures," she exclaimed, walking slowly toward them for a better look. She expected them to dart away at her approach, but they seemed quite tame, merely moving back a few feet to continue their grazing.

  Coming up to her, Jeffrey said, "Would you like to feed them? They're very fond of horse chestnuts." He took a small bag out of the pocket of his greatcoat and handed it to her. She looked down at the bag in her hand and then shifted her gaze rather apprehensively to the deer. "Go ahead," Jeffrey said reassuringly. "I swear they're not the least bit ferocious."

  To Charlotte's delight, several of the little creatures came slowly up to her to take the glossy brown seeds from her hand. Living in a town all her life in the midst of a grimy and congested milling district, she'd never had any contact with animals, save for a pet dog or cat. At one point, she glanced up to observe Jeffrey watching her, a smile of appreciative amusement on his lips.

  "Did you use to feed the deer when you were a boy, Jeffrey?"

  He laughed. "Indeed I did. Watching you brings it all back."

  For a fleeting moment, she felt a warm glow suffusing her heart. It was as if there was a sort of communion between them as they shared what was to her a unique experience.

  "Here, now, wot's this?" A sturdy man in gaiters and low-crowned hat, with a musket over his shoulder, suddenly appeared from behind a screen of trees.

  "Beggin' yer pardon, my lord," said the man in some confusion, touching his cap. "Didn't realize it was you. Them poachers, they've been mighty bad of late."

  "That's all right," Jeffrey told the gamekeeper. "I'd rather you were overly vigilant than not." He nodded a dismissal, and the man moved off.

  "You can't mean that anyone would want to kill these beautiful little things," said Charlotte indignantly. "They're so tame, it would be like slaughtering a friend."

  Jeffrey shrugged. "Poaching game is on the increase. I've been told it's mainly the work of ex-soldiers and sailors dis-

  charged after Waterloo and unable to find jobs yet." He glanced at the empty bag in her hand. "I see those greedy creatures have consumed your offering. Shall we continue our drive?"

  Outside the park, they drove through a country of low hills, undulating meadows, meandering streams now half frozen over, arid stretches of orderly fields edged by luxuriant hedgerows, which Charlotte thought would be quite lovely in the spring, starred with the white blossoms of the hawthorn.

  "All of this land belongs to you?" she asked at one point in awe after they had driven for what seemed like miles.

  Jeffrey nodded. "For about as far as you can see. I understand it looked much different years ago, before my father enclosed the estate. When he was young, the members of the hunt could sweep across the commons and the open fields without having to open a gate or jump a hedge."

  "Did the enclosure cause a great deal of hardship?"

  "Hardship?" Jeffrey looked at her blankly.

  "My grandfather lost his farm when the landowner terminated his lease and enclosed the property," Charlotte explained. "Fortunately for him, Grandfer had saved a bit of money from the weaving he'd done in his own home. He opened a small shop in Manchester,
and Papa eventually founded a mill with the nest egg he inherited from my grandfather. But most of Grandfer's fellow tenants were left destitute. No land, no cottage, no employment."

  Jeffrey shrugged. "I really don't know what happened at the time of enclosure here at Cortona. It was many years before my time. I believe my father was satisfied with the results. He often spoke of higher crop yields and healthier livestock."

  Jeffrey sounded almost indifferent, and Charlotte felt rather shocked. She was so accustomed to Phineas' absorbed interest, not only in all aspects of his business and the milling industry in general, but in every detail of his workers' living conditions.

  Leaning forward to peer out the window, Jeffrey said, "We're coming into the village. As I was telling you, it's considered very pretty. Most of the cottages are

  built of the local stone."

  The village of Westbridge was tiny, consisting of a single short street lined with small cottages constructed of mellow, rosy stone. The street was deserted except for a group of children playing at hopscotch, who glanced up curiously at the sound of the carriage wheels and then returned to their play.

  "I wonder why the children aren't in school at this time of day," Charlotte observed.

  "I'm not sure there is a school in Westbridge," said Jeffrey. "It's one of those things that I - "

  Charlotte interrupted him. "You're not sure if there's a school?" she asked indignantly. "But how can that be? This village is on your property. These people are your tenants. You certainly ought to know if the village has a school, and if there isn't one, you ought to provide it! Why, when Papa discovered that the mill children couldn't read and write, he promptly built a school for them and hired a teacher!"