Lord Lansbury's Christmas Wedding

by Helen Dickson

  Jane was aghast. ‘You have told Lady Lansbury.’

  He nodded. ‘Don’t look so worried. She approves absolutely.’

  ‘But—she has nothing to approve of. I am flattered that you have decided to do things properly, but please don’t imagine for one minute there will be any gain by it. I have not committed myself to anything and no matter how attentive you may be, I will not change my mind.’

  ‘You will,’ he told her with absolute confidence. ‘I see you are ready for our drive,’ he said, his eyes admiring of her light blue V-necked dress and darker blue short pelisse. Perched cheekily on her head she wore a small straw hat with a flat crown and long blue ribbons.

  ‘I think I should be accompanied by a chaperone—that’s the way it’s done, isn’t it? I know the rules of etiquette are necessary to protect young women entering society, but considering my background and the fact that I am not about to be launched into society, I do not think the rules apply to me. Aunt Caroline is visiting friends and her maid is going home so there is no one who can accompany me, which is unfortunate, but I am not going to forgo an outing to the park to appease society’s narrow-minded sense of propriety.’

  Taking her hand, Christopher escorted her out to the carriage and ordered the driver to head for St James’s Park.

  Jane sighed, relaxing into the upholstery and tingling with exuberance. Fresh, cool breezes floated across the park and the trees were changing to every shade of gold, bronze and brown. ‘It’s such a lovely day,’ she said, looking about her. ‘Autumn is such a glorious season in England, don’t you agree?’

  Seated across from her, quietly and without emphasis, he said, ‘You have a lovely smile, Jane, one that could light up a room.’

  * * *

  The park was lovely and milling with people, some strolling whilst others gathered and sat in clusters to gossip. There were swarms of rosy-cheeked, excited children playing all manner of games. Flowers in beds and borders added a vivid splash of colour to the park and the grass was like soft green velvet.

  Christopher suggested they leave the carriage to stroll along the paths, which they did, her arm in the crook of his elbow.

  After a few minutes, acutely conscious of the attention they were attracting, Jane kept her eyes lowered.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I feel conspicuous. Everyone is staring at us,’ she whispered apprehensively.

  Completely impervious to the stir they were creating, Christopher flicked a glance around them, then shifted his gaze to Jane’s flushed face.

  ‘I see that,’ he agreed. ‘Don’t let it worry you.’

  It’s a good thing I’m a nobody, otherwise my reputation would be destroyed.’

  Christopher gave her a long, meaningful look. ‘A countess may do as she pleases.’

  ‘I am not a countess,’ Jane returned.

  ‘But you’re going to be,’ he said with absolutely finality.

  Jane opened her mouth to argue, but he turned his head to acknowledge an acquaintance in a passing carriage. Sternly, Jane reminded herself of the arrogant, tyrannical and high-handed way he had negotiated this carriage drive, then she shrugged the thought aside. He was all those things and more, yet she cared deeply for him, too, and there was no point in denying it.

  ‘Are you to return to Chalfont?’ she asked.

  ‘Eventually.’ He looked at her and smiled. ‘But not yet. I shall return to Oxfordshire before the charity ball—I think Mother can manage that without me. So while I am here I shall show you London.’

  ‘I am no stranger to it.’

  ‘I mean the real London. I can think of so much I want you to see.’

  ‘But I have my work at the exhibition...’

  ‘Look on this time as a holiday. Plenty of time for work later.’

  Christopher was determined they were going to be married. He had decided that and his indomitable will was going to prevail as surely as the moon was going to rise in the east.

  Chapter Eleven

  As the days went by there were more carriage rides and strolls in the park, places of interest to see and explore. Jane particularly enjoyed the evenings Christopher escorted her and Aunt Caroline to the theatre.

  He was always politely attentive and indefatigable in his attempts to please her and the days were a kaleidoscope of shifting emotions. He knew exactly how to treat a woman and to adjust his attitude to what he believed would please her best. In fact, he was patience and courtesy personified. He did not mention his marriage proposal nor did he kiss her or attempt to kiss her and Jane found herself wishing he would.

  She was as happy and carefree as she had never been, aware of his moods, but always at the height of her pleasure she was aware of a warning voice telling her to have a care. She knew she was falling completely under his spell, but she need have no fear, she told herself firmly. She was not an innocent girl. She would always remember the sort of man she was dealing with—worldly and determined—and she would always pride herself on her common sense.

  She learned a great deal about him. There was a serious side to his nature. He was extremely knowledgeable. He was something of a connoisseur of music and art and he was well versed in England’s history. In London she was seeing much which she had seen before without noticing. He brought a new light to everything and that which had been insignificant had become of absorbing interest.

  They were happy days. She would never forget them. But, she reminded herself many times a day, it was ephemeral. There had to be an ending. But she clung to each moment, savouring it to the full, although she had an uneasy feeling that she was becoming his victim as he had all the time intended that she should. She had lost sight of that fact in discovering this new side to his nature.

  * * *

  The day before Lady Lansbury was to arrive in London to prepare for the charity event, Jane sat on a park bench next to Christopher. ‘These past days have been wonderful,’ she said, watching a rather handsome peacock strut across the grass.

  ‘It pleases me to know you have enjoyed yourself.’

  ‘Very much, but I am afraid I have taken up a lot of your time.’

  ‘The days have been spent in the way I wished them to be.’ He looked at her. ‘It need not end, Jane. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Be frank, Christopher. You have a motive.’

  ‘My motive is to give you pleasure. Where would you like to go tomorrow?’

  ‘Tomorrow I will help Finn. The exhibition opens next week. I have taken up enough of your time. I imagine you will find some other diversion.’

  ‘Is that how you think of yourself? A diversion?’

  ‘It is not what I intend to be.’

  ‘But you have enjoyed our outings.’

  ‘You know I have. I shall miss them.’

  Christopher looked at her sharply. ‘Are you going away?’

  ‘There is a team of archaeologists going to Greece. Finn will be joining them when the exhibition closes. He—has asked me if I would like to go with them.’

  ‘I see.’ Christopher took her hand. ‘What are you afraid of, Jane?’

  ‘Afraid?’

  ‘Afraid of letting me come too close.’

  Jane sighed. ‘Christopher, I’m different from most of the women you know.’

  ‘You are. That is true. That is one of the things about you which I find so attractive.’

  ‘I do not react as you are accustomed to.’

  ‘And how do you know what I expect?’

  ‘Because I have come to know a little of the life you have led. These past days I shall always treasure. You have taught me so much. I know you are passionate about English history, the kind of music you like, the books you like to read, but I know very little about your past—about your father a
nd what has made you what you are. I wish you would open up to me about yourself.’

  Christopher sat up straight and his eyes darkened. Suddenly agitated, he got to his feet. His expression became guarded, his eyes as brittle as glass. Casting his eyes skyward, he said, ‘I think it’s going to rain.’

  Jane watched him, her heart aching. ‘Why will you not talk about him? I do not care if he was a gambler, if that is the reason you keep silent—’

  ‘We should go,’ he interrupted. ‘Your aunt will be wondering where we have got to.’

  Jane remained where she was. ‘Why will you not speak about him?’ she persisted.

  Christopher’s face was impassive, but inside everything was shattering. ‘‘There are some things I don’t want to talk about. You know absolutely nothing about me, Jane. Nothing.’

  Jane got to her feet, smoothing down her skirts. ‘No, I don’t.’

  Taking a moment to compose himself Christopher looked at her. ‘What will you do about Greece? Have you decided?’

  ‘No, not yet.’

  ‘But you think you might go?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied quietly. ‘I think I might.’

  ‘And if I asked you not to?’

  Jane shook her head, nonplussed. What was he asking? Marriage? She was silent. She could hardly refuse him that which he had not asked for. But he hadn’t asked her again. Why had she let this go so far? She hoped she didn’t show her feelings. She was suddenly so wretched.

  She watched the peacock arrogantly spread its bold blue feathers for a much less beautiful peahen. ‘It’s late. We should get back.’

  * * *

  For the next two weeks Jane’s time was taken by the approach of the opening of the exhibition and Aunt Caroline’s charity event. She had not intended to become involved in this, but she found herself being drawn in. She had not seen Christopher since the day she had asked him to tell her about his father. He had decided to return to Chalfont until the charity ball was over, leaving his mother to oversee matters.

  Jane was invited to have lunch with Lady Lansbury and Octavia. It was clear to Jane that Christopher’s mother had something on her mind she wanted to discuss with her, which was why she asked Maisie to take Octavia to the park.

  ‘Walk with me in the garden, Jane. The weather is exceptionally warm for September. It’s such a shame to be indoors on such a day.’

  Jane followed her on to the terrace and fell into step beside her as they walked round the small rose garden.

  ‘So, Christopher had proposed marriage to you, Jane. I can’t tell you how disappointed I was when he told me you had turned him down.’

  ‘You were?’

  ‘Absolutely. It is my opinion that you would be good for him—good for each other. Ever since he took over the reins of Chalfont—which, as you know, was almost bankrupt when my husband died—he has struggled to carry on. Work was always paramount to him, society and the major social events that are the life of many of his friends were of no interest.’

  Walking slowly on, Lady Lansbury looked straight ahead. ‘But that didn’t stop people treating him with the deferential respect that his title commands—more so in America, where he abhorred the attention he drew, for he understood and despised the reasons why he was coveted. As a result his attitude towards any respectable female of his own class became cynical and jaded—which was the case with Lydia Spelling, I’m afraid. Those wealthy young women who trailed after him he treated with amused condescension—if one irritated him, he would deliver a crushing set down that was guaranteed to reduce the unfortunate young woman to tears.’

  ‘Oh, dear. He is that bad? Well...’ Jane sighed ‘...I am not intimidated by him, nor am I in awe of him, and I am certainly not dazzled by his rank or his power.’

  ‘I know that, Jane. Would you mind if I ask why you turned him down?’

  ‘No, of course I don’t mind. It—it’s just that—his proposal took me by surprise—and I do not know him well.’

  ‘Has he told you anything about his early life?’

  ‘A little.’

  ‘So you know his father was a wastrel and a spendthrift,’ Lady Lansbury said, unable to conceal the bitterness she felt whenever she thought of or mentioned her dead husband.

  Jane nodded. ‘Christopher always avoids speaking of his past.’

  Sitting on a bench, Lady Lansbury drew Jane down beside her. The two sat facing each other.

  ‘Christopher is a private person, Jane. He will not speak of his personal life—not even with me, even though we are close. He is a man of impeccable integrity, honour, dignity and respect. He is a clever man and true to what he believes. His family means everything to him.’

  Jane smiled at her. ‘That is something I do know.’ On a more serious note, she said, ‘I do know he was let down by someone—a woman—very badly.’

  ‘Yes, yes, he was. He—he was quite young at the time. Nothing would have come of it, but he was deeply hurt by it. He has never spoken of it. In fact, when I look back, I can’t imagine how he’s survived everything that’s happened to him—to this family—and remained sane. You know, Jane, if you marry Christopher you could not be marrying a finer man. There is no reason why things won’t turn out for the best. You are a young lady of excellent character and breeding and excellent courage. There is also a gentle strength about you—a compassion and understanding that I believe will make you the perfect wife for my son. I know him very well. I have seen the way he looks at you. He cares for you a great deal and is in love with you—although he may not know it yet and may not even want to be.’

  Jane’s heart twisted. If only what Lady Lansbury said was true.

  Lady Lansbury took one of Jane’s hands and held it in her own. ‘Perhaps if you were to understand him a little more, what drives him, it might help. Things have not always been easy for Christopher. As a boy he was bright, with a thirst for knowledge that put others to shame. He is not like his father—if that is what you are afraid of. When my husband died and left us almost destitute, Christopher drove himself with a blind, instinctive faith as his only survival. At first he seemed to take one step forward and two steps back and our situation did not improve—which was why he considered marrying a wealthy heiress. But, as you know, that did not last.

  ‘Now his efforts are beginning to gain fruition. His newfound prosperity will bring him many luxuries, but little joy—not without the right woman by his side. That is something I would like you to remember, Jane, in the days ahead. Let yourself love him—I know you want to. And teach him how to love you. He has a great deal of love to give.’

  Jane’s eyes were cloudy with trepidation. ‘I am deeply touched by your faith in me, Lady Lansbury, but what makes you so certain this can all work out the way you hope it will?’

  ‘Because you are the person you are. You have warmth and courage and you can teach him how it feels to trust, to love and to be loved. Most men love easily and often, but Christopher will love only once. When he does it will be for ever.’

  Jane’s heart filled with warmth for the man who had asked her to be his wife. True, he was frequently distant and unapproachable, but the more she contemplated the matter, the more convinced she became that Lady Lansbury was right—he must care for her, or he would never have asked her to be his wife. He might not love her in the way she loved him, but the love she bore him would more than compensate.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Lady Lansbury asked as she watched Jane’s thoughtful expression. ‘Are you going to reconsider his proposal?’

  ‘I rather think I might—although the mere thought of taking on the role of countess is daunting for me to say the least—not to mention the many duties I would be taking on at Chalfont. I am far from qualified for such a role.’

  Lady Lansbury laughed. ‘You are, my dear, believe me, you are. Y
ou are more than capable—and you can begin by helping to put the final touches to this charity ball. If you can do that, then nothing is beyond you.’

  * * *

  Christopher returned from Chalfont unexpectedly. He was surprised to find Jane in the hall arranging flowers that had been delivered from Chalfont’s greenhouses in large vases and urns, praying they would not wilt before the ball the next day. She was unaware of his presence so he took the liberty of allowing his eyes to dwell on her.

  Their brief separation had given him time to consider what had to be done. One thing he was sure of was that he couldn’t bear to lose her, because he’d realised that he wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. She had become a part of him which he could not deny. Her heart was the sweet centre in the headlong strength of her mind and body and, quite simply, now that he knew her and could see her for what she was, he loved her—for he did love her—and his heart swelled fit to burst as he admitted the truth to himself. He could not lose her. He loved everything about her.

  Thinking of the woman he had so unwittingly fallen for, how could he not love her? Jane had drawn him from the darkness of his lonely world.

  After much soul searching he had decided to tell her everything about his troubled life. There could not be any more secrets to tear him apart and ruin his future. No matter how painful the telling would be, it would be difficult, for he found it hard to expose his inner self, but Jane would understand—like no one else she would understand. Holding nothing back, he would tell her every sordid detail of what life had been like living in the shadow of a man who had made his life and that of his mother hell and the shameful manner of his death.

  * * *

  ‘Ah, I see you’re busy, Jane,’ said a deep, unperturbed voice behind her.

  Jane whirled in surprise. The pleasure at seeing him again after days of not seeing him eclipsed everything else. He stood in the centre of the hall, a tall, slender-hipped, broad-shouldered man.