The Christmas Visit: Comfort and JoyLove at First StepA Christmas Secret

by Moore, Margaret

  “Investigation takes a certain subtlety, Sir Andrew. You cannot simply ask straight out if someone has given birth to the groom’s illegitimate baby.”

  Now Sir Andrew looked annoyed. “Do tell? I would never have suspected as much.” He reached down to cup her elbows and lift her to her feet. “Are you saying you do not think I possess the necessary subtlety or discretion?”

  Charity’s cheeks burned with the rebuke. “I only meant…well, how do you plan to question the women on the list?”

  He led her onto the ice and linked arms with her in the traditional couples manner, leaving her hands free to push back into her muff. “I confess I hadn’t given it any thought at all. Perhaps I shall employ the services of a female sleuth.”

  Charity glanced up at him. He wore a solemn expression, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. She tried not to smile. “I may know just the person.”

  “I thought you might.”

  She wobbled slightly, her ankles unaccustomed to balancing on the single narrow blades. He quickly slipped one arm around her waist to support her. Snug against his side, she was surrounded by his strength and warmth. She was a little disconcerted by how safe and secure she felt. She began to suspect that Sir Andrew would be a good man to have in a crisis. And almost certainly a good man in a waltz.

  “So, how shall I assist you, Miss Wardlow?” he asked, guiding her into the stream of skaters gliding in a wide circuit of the frozen pond.

  “There are a few women on the list that I do not know. I was hoping you might be able to tell me something about them.”

  “Who are they?” he asked.

  “Lady Louise Elmhurst,” she said, “and Miss Gwendolyn Lindenhouse. I know the others well enough to strike up a conversation and invite confidences, but I do not know those two at all.”

  “Sorry. I was presented to Lady Louise many years ago, but a duchess is not likely to recall a lowly soldier home on leave.”

  Charity doubted anyone meeting Sir Andrew would ever forget him. “She will remember you well enough for you to introduce me, Sir Andrew. I’ll make myself agreeable to her, and then—”

  “And then, when she has been lulled into trusting you, you will…what, Miss Wardlow?”

  “I shall invite her confidences,” Charity admitted. “I do not know precisely what I shall say, but I shall lead the conversation toward the topics that will be useful to me.”

  “Ah, you will use your instincts.” Sir Andrew nodded.

  She could not tell if he was laughing at her. He looked quite serious. “Do you doubt that I have good instincts, sir?”

  “Not at all. In fact, my instincts tell me that there is much more to you than anyone knows. Am I right, Miss Wardlow?”

  More to her? Charity thought of her own deepest secret. Yes, she supposed he was right. Only one dear friend knew that, through a series of wise investments, she had rebuilt the fortune her father had lost to the debt collectors. For all the ton knew, she and her mother were one step from destitution. And that was the way she wanted it.

  She’d had dozens of suitors in the days before her family’s financial fall. But when the debt collectors took everything and her father had shot himself in shame, all those suitors had disappeared. Charity had learned her lesson—a woman was nothing without her dowry. That was when she had vowed she would marry only for love, because only love could survive physical or emotional loss. Of all the young men who had declared their undying love, only Julius Lingate remained. And since he believed she was impoverished, when he finally proposed she could be certain it was for love. In her opinion, that was what made him so eminently suitable.

  “Miss Wardlow?”

  The soft voice recalled her to the present. “Yes, you are right, Sir Andrew. There is much more to me than one might suspect.”

  “Blast! Here comes Lingate.”

  Charity looked around to find Julius skating toward them, having deposited Miss Tuxbury with a group huddling around the bonfire. She smiled a welcome, despite Sir Andrew’s obvious dismay. “Never mind,” she said, glancing up at him. “Tomorrow morning, sir, you may introduce me to Lady Louise. Once the conversation is underway, excuse yourself. I will find you afterward and tell you what I have discovered.”

  “Take your time, Miss Wardlow,” he murmured, looking toward Julius. “There’s a name or two I think I shall investigate.”

  She was about to ask him his meaning when Julius halted before them with a little spray of ice from his blades. “Here you are, Miss Wardlow. I’ve been looking for you.” He bowed stiffly to Sir Andrew and asked, “Do you think you might spare Miss Wardlow for a turn or two with me.”

  “Miss Wardlow.” Sir Andrew offered his own bow and skated toward the bonfire. She found herself annoyed by her feeling of abandonment. She had wanted him to leave her alone with Julius. Hadn’t she?

  Julius took her hand and skated backward, facing her. He led her into a wide figure eight and Charity suspected he was showing off. Sir Andrew hadn’t shown off, despite his confidence on the ice and his quick steadying of her.

  “Tell me, Miss Wardlow, are you developing a tendresse for Sir Andrew MacGregor?” Julius teased.

  Charity wondered why she hadn’t noticed before how sure Julius was of himself. And of her. “He was just telling me how he would…ah, like me to meet his friend, Lady Louise Elmhurst. He thinks we would be compatible.”

  Julius looked very pleased. “Such a friendship could be beneficial to you, Miss Wardlow, and to your family and close associates. A duchess wields considerable influence. You’d have entrée into certain circles currently closed to you. Yes, I think it would be a very good idea to make yourself agreeable to Lady Louise.”

  Beneficial to family and close associates? Could Julius possibly be referring to himself? And why did that suspicion annoy her? When they were married, she would want to help him advance in society, wouldn’t she? And had she not just vowed to “make herself agreeable” mere minutes before? Heavens! What was wrong with her?

  Julius released her hand and skated circles around her, finally coming up behind her to take the place beside her that Sir Andrew had vacated. “I can see that you will be an asset to…to anyone you choose to honor…that is…”

  Charity’s hopes soared. Was this it? Was this finally the moment when Julius would say the words? “Anyone I choose to honor…? Honor how, Mr. Lingate,” she led.

  “Why, er, in any way you chose, Miss Wardlow.”

  “Hmm,” she replied. Perhaps Julius was right—this was not the moment for a tender proposal. Still, she could execute her little fall so that Julius could catch her in his arms. They could share a blameless moment of intimacy even though they were public.

  She saw a twig on the ice just in front of her. Instead of lifting her blade, she skated directly into it. When the tip of the blade caught and held, she lurched forward, dismayed to realize that Julius had let her go the moment she had begun to topple instead of steadying her as Sir Andrew had done. Trying to correct her forward momentum, she threw herself backward and flailed her arms wildly.

  Three simultaneous impressions would be forever etched in her memory. Julius’s shocked expression, her sinking feeling of betrayal that he had let her go, and the long helpless fall before the stomach-turning sound of a crack just as the back of her head hit the ice and everything went dark.

  Cold. Bone-chilling cold. The world swam back into focus. Charity blinked, trying to make sense of the jumble of faces and sounds. Something had gone dreadfully wrong, but she couldn’t remember what.

  “Who was supposed to be sweeping the ice?” she heard Edward Mackay shouting in the distance.

  “…don’t know what happened,” Julius was saying, nearer at hand. “When she started to fall, she just pulled away and—”

  Lie. That was a blatant lie. He had let go of her. But it wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t been prepared for her abrupt stop. He’d been as surprised as she. No, more surprised. She, at least, had seen it co
ming, had known she was about to fall.

  She moaned and tried to lift her hand to touch her head.

  “Charity! Oh, thank God!” Grace Forbush exclaimed. “Say something, dear. Anything.”

  “Cold,” she managed to murmur.

  “For the love of God, get her off the ice,” Sir Andrew’s dark voice snarled. “She’s going to freeze. Has anyone looked to see if there’s a cut?”

  She closed her eyes again and felt slightly nauseous as she was helped into a sitting position. She clenched her jaw as Grace removed her bonnet and examined her head. “No blood, but she has quite a lump.”

  “That’s good, is it not?” Olivia asked, an edge of panic in her voice. “That means the swelling is on the outside and not the inside. Is that not right?”

  “Aye. With luck she will not be concussed.” Strong arms lifted her and cradled her against a warm, thickly muscled chest. She turned toward the warmth and buried her face in soft wool scented with a citrus-and-clove sachet. Much nicer than camphor, she thought.

  “Here,” Julius said. “I can do that, MacGregor.”

  “I think you’ve done enough,” Sir Andrew said.

  “M-my fault,” she whispered.

  “I think not, Miss Wardlow,” Sir Andrew disagreed. “I am taking you back to Wyecliffe. You need a cup of hot cocoa and a good night’s sleep. You have much to do tomorrow.”

  She managed a nod, noting that things were not going precisely as she had planned. In fact, nothing had gone as she planned since running into Sir Andrew MacGregor outside the library door mere hours ago. She prayed this was not a trend.

  Chapter Four

  Charity’s slight headache the following morning was nothing compared to her night of fitful sleep. She’d had dreams, nightmares actually, of Drew MacGregor skating up behind her and sweeping her off her feet and away from Julius. Away from everything she wanted and had worked so hard to win.

  She dressed in her finest yellow silk morning gown and brushed her hair gingerly, avoiding the lump on the back of her head. She would like to blame Sir Andrew for that, too, but she knew full well that the fall was her own fault for trying to trick Julius. A gold ribbon embroidered with holly and berries completed her preparations for the day. The memory of the night before did not improve her mood and she was feeling quite foolish when Sir Andrew sought her out after her morning tea.

  “How are you, Miss Wardlow?” he asked, a look of deep concern on his face.

  “Well enough, thank you,” she said, unable to meet his eyes. What would he say if he guessed she’d been tricking Julius into catching her? He’d offer no sympathy and likely laugh at her.

  “Well enough to continue with your plan?” he asked with a note of reserve.

  “Our plan,” she corrected. “And yes, I am. I hope you are as committed to finding the truth as I am, Sir Andrew.”

  He arched one dark eyebrow and gave her a crooked smile. “Do you doubt me?”

  “Perhaps a little,” she confessed. “I fear your friendship with Lord Mackay could color your opinion.”

  He took her arm and led her toward the front parlor and the sound of lively conversation. “I wonder what I have done to earn so poor an opinion from you.”

  Startled, Charity stopped and looked up at him. “I do not have a poor opinion of you, Sir Andrew. Whatever gave you that impression?”

  “Your assumption that my judgment could be colored by a personal friendship,” he told her. “You must think me a very simple man.”

  “Simple?” she scoffed. “I would never make that mistake.” That was the very last thing she thought of Sir Andrew MacGregor. In fact, she believed he was a very complex man.

  “Then perhaps you are still angry that I kissed you yesterday. I will admit that was a bit of a liberty—”

  “Bit?” she huffed.

  “—but you were just so bloody irresistible that I had to challenge you.”

  Was that it? A simple challenge to her beliefs? Charity’s pride tweaked her. She knew she wasn’t irresistible, but she had hoped Sir Andrew…no! She had not. He was inferior in every way to Julius Lingate’s genteel behavior and faultless manners. What had gotten into her?

  “Ah,” Sir Andrew said as they entered the parlor. He nodded toward a pretty brunette in a lavender gown. “There is Lady Elmhurst now. Come along and I shall give you your introduction.”

  Drew watched Charity charm and disarm Lady Louise Elmhurst as he made his retreat. He had little doubt that, if the lady was the mother of a secret illegitimate child, Charity would have it out of her by the time the luncheon bell rang.

  And now that he knew she was occupied and unlikely to overhear any more conversations in the library, he headed in that direction. As he suspected, Edward Mackay was ensconced in a large club chair before the fire, a cup of hot coffee between his meaty hands and a sheaf of papers in his lap.

  “Drew,” he greeted, looking up from the fire, “come sit with me and tell me what you’ve been doing the last two years.”

  “Am I interrupting you, Mackay?”

  “Nay. Just some last-minute settlements I’ve been going over. Nothing of much interest.”

  “Settlements are not of interest?” Drew asked.

  “Olivia’s family does not have much,” Edward explained. “There is not much to settle, but it seems important to Olivia that I understand the extent of the obligation I am accepting when I say my vows to her. Completely unnecessary, since I’d take her with nothing but the clothes on her back.”

  Drew smiled. “It’s a love match, then?”

  “Aye.”

  “That is good to know, Mackay. You deserve every happiness.”

  “And what of you, Andrew MacGregor? Why do you not have a wife? Is it not time for you to get an heir?”

  Laughing, Drew shook his head in denial even as the quick vision of Charity Wardlow flickered across his mind. “I fear the shackles will close around me too soon for my taste.”

  “I cannot wait,” Mackay confessed. “I’d have wed Olivia a year ago, but she’d have none of it. She wanted me to be certain, and there were some loose ends that needed tying up.”

  “So, you will come to each other with clean slates, eh? Nothing held back? Nothing hidden?”

  “She knows all about my misspent youth, if that is what you mean.” Mackay tossed the papers on a nearby side table and put his coffee cup down. “God knows she is acquainted with my faults better than most.”

  Drew suppressed a niggling feeling of betrayal at this line of questioning. Mackay was his friend. He said he’d held nothing back, and Drew believed him. “Then there is nothing left to say,” he concluded, dismissing the subject.

  “Did you manage an introduction to Miss Wardlow?”

  “Aye, I did. She’s as waspish as she is lovely.”

  “Waspish? Miss Wardlow?” Mackay looked surprised. “I’ve always found her to be the most pleasant and meekest of women. You must provoke it, Drew. Come, tell. What did you do?”

  “Nothing unusual,” he said.

  “For you? Gads! That could mean just about anything. You did not seduce her, did you?”

  Drew affected a wounded look. He and Mackay had both been known as cocksmen in their younger days. From tavern wenches to merchant’s daughters, the female gender had been generous with their charms to two well-favored lads away from home. He shook his head in denial. “That would be a sore abuse of your hospitality, Mackay. Besides, I haven’t indulged in that sort of excess since I was out of Eton.”

  “You had more tupping at Eton than most men have in a lifetime. The other lads and I marveled that you had time to study at all.”

  “Well, Miss Wardlow needn’t worry on my account, Mackay. She’d set me down if I so much as tried. Besides, I’ve learned to control my baser impulses.” All the same, when he’d seen her in that lovely yellow confection with the lace trimmings this morning, he’d been taxed not to touch her.

  Mackay gave him a disbelieving look. �
��Have a care with her, Drew. She has little but her pristine reputation. If you should compromise her, she wouldn’t even have that.”

  “Poor, is she?”

  “As a church mouse. Her father squandered the family fortune, and then put a gun to his head.”

  Drew’s conscience bit him and he vowed he would not take the last thing she had. He’d rather give her everything he had. “I’ll leave her in peace. You know how I hate meddling. But, um, I’d like to know more about Julius Lingate.”

  “Lingate? Did the man cross you?”

  “Not me, but perhaps a friend of mine. I’ve met Lingate on one or two occasions when I’ve been in London, though I know little about his family or background.”

  “Well, he comes from a well-to-do family. His father is a banker. As a second son, there is an expectation that Julius will marry well and improve the family’s financial and social standing.”

  “He wouldn’t be able to accomplish that with Miss Wardlow as a bride, would he?”

  “Socially, perhaps. Financially, certainly not.” Mackay tilted his head to one side, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

  “Is he the sort to disregard his family and make his own way?”

  “So we are still talking about Miss Wardlow?”

  Drew merely shrugged. He was not prepared to discuss his feelings for Miss Wardlow, nor was he prepared to speculate on Julius Lingate’s intentions yet.

  Mackay grinned and slapped his knees. “For someone who everlastingly vows that he doesn’t meddle, this sounds mighty like meddling to me, MacGregor.”

  Charity was not surprised that the duchess was only a few years older than herself. After all, if she had borne Mackay’s baby, she could not be a crone. But that she was so lovely and gracious surprised her. She would not be the first well-born woman to hide an embarrassing birth, but she did not seem the sort who would make extortionist threats.

  The duchess was married to a man she appeared to adore. She spoke of him frequently and in glowing terms. If ever there was a woman who did not appear to have a secret, it was Lady Louise Elmhurst. Nevertheless, Charity was committed to her course.