“Miss Wardlow!” a voice called from behind her in the corridor. “Could you spare me a moment?”
Her heart fell. “Not at the moment, Mr. Lingate. I am already tardy for an appointment. Later perhaps.”
“That is what you said yesterday.”
His voice was petulant and she wondered why she had never noticed before how peevish Julius could be. “The…the chill quite did me in, Mr. Lingate. I stayed abed,” she said, proudly realizing she was not, strictly speaking, lying.
“Sorry to hear that, my dear,” he said, looking properly chagrined. “But I must speak with you. Now.”
“Now? But what can be so urgent that it cannot wait until after my appointment?”
“It concerns us. You and me, dear…Charity.”
Gads! Here it was—and at the worst possible moment! The tall grandfather clock at the end of the hall struck half past three. “I really must go, Mr. Lingate. Olivia’s seamstress is so busy that I will be tripping over my hem tomorrow if I miss this appointment.”
“When—”
“Before the feast,” she promised, already rounding a corner. “I will find you, Mr. Lingate.”
And, half an hour later, as she left the seamstress, she ran directly into Miss Tuxbury. Before the woman knew what had happened, Charity linked arms with her and led her toward a quiet corner of the great hall where they could sit and watch the harried preparations for the medieval feast. Even more garlands of evergreen were being draped from every available surface. A yule log was laid on the hearth and fresh white candles were being placed on the table and in the chandeliers above. Everywhere she looked, there were kissing boughs and mistletoe. No maid would escape unkissed tonight.
After a few preliminary pleasantries, Charity sprang her trap. “I must say, Miss Tuxbury, that I was amazed when I learned your secret. I never would have thought it.”
“You…know?” she asked, wide-eyed. “Oh, I suppose Mr. Lingate told you. He has always said what a dear friend you have been. I used to be quite jealous, you know.”
“Jealous? Whatever for?” Charity asked.
“How you two always have your heads together and seem to be having such a merry time. I thought he might have more special feelings for you than mere friendship. I feared his only interest in me was my dowry.”
Charity blinked. What had she missed? Why had Miss Tuxbury thought she had any right to be jealous? And why had Julius told her their relationship was “mere friendship”? He’d kissed her, for heaven’s sake, and had been trying to propose.
“But now, of course, I know better,” Miss Tuxbury continued, “and I hope you and I can be friends, too.”
“Certainly,” Charity responded, more confused than ever. “If your secret does not make that impossible.”
“I cannot think why it would. Within the next month, everyone will know. I believe it is my father’s intent to begin by announcing it to this assemblage tonight.”
A cool draft from the foyer claimed Charity’s attention. Drew walked in, scanning the hall. When he saw her, he gave her a slow smile that made her mind go blank. When she gathered her wits again, Miss Tuxbury was smiling, too.
“But I collect you will be making your own announcement soon,” she said.
“A-announcement, Miss Tuxbury? About what?”
“Why, your own betrothal, of course. I have seen the way you look at Sir Andrew. It is love, is it not?”
“Mmm,” she sighed, unable to tear her gaze away from him.
Miss Tuxbury laughed. “Yes, I can see that it is.”
Charity came back to herself with a start. Betrothal? Miss Tuxbury was betrothed to Julius? Absurdly, she giggled. So that was what he’d been trying to tell her. How droll. And what a relief.
Poor Julius, how he must be dreading to tell her that he’d fallen in love with someone else. And that explained his urgency—he wanted to tell her before Mr. Tuxbury made the announcement tonight. But she would not make it easy for that rascal! He deserved to suffer just a little for leading her on for the past years when he likely had no intention of ever proposing. Oh, this was going to be fun! She would find Julius at once and allow him to “break her heart” with the announcement.
Drew waited impatiently for Charity to finish with Miss Tuxbury. By now she would know that none of the women on her list were the mother of Mackay’s baby and would be preparing to tell Olivia of Edward’s deceit. Thank heavens, he had arrived in time to prevent that.
Miss Tuxbury looked his way and smiled. Charity stood and started across the room toward him, a luminous glow in her eyes. She looked different today. Her hips had a soft sway and there was something less girlish in her bearing. His blood rose just watching her move.
He’d taken no more than two steps before Grace Forbush entered the hall, seized Charity by the arm and pulled her down the corridor. She glanced over her shoulder, shrugged and mouthed the word soon. He would have to be patient. Not his strong suit.
A clock chimed six times and Drew realized Mrs. Forbush had found Charity to dress for the feast. The guests had decided to dress in makeshift costumes. Mackay had told him not to worry—that he would provide something for Drew. He’d better find Mackay and change so he could catch Charity before the feast began, and before she could talk to Olivia.
Charity was scandalized by her costume. Grace dressed her in a long white nightgown, twined a golden cord with tassels around her waist and topped her unbound hair with a wreath that looked suspiciously like a kissing bough without candles. She was supposed to be the Christmas angel. She felt more like the Christmas tart.
She left her room in search of Drew as the guests began to gather for dinner. She hoped he would be waiting for her in the great hall. They needed to discuss what they should do about Olivia. If Drew could take Lord Edward aside and persuade him to confess all to Olivia, then there was a chance Olivia would understand and forgive him. But Olivia must know. And if Edward would not tell her, Charity would.
The moment she entered the great hall, she saw Julius Lingate pacing in front of the fire. He was dressed a tunic made from an old tapestry and long green hose. The moment he saw her he cut through the gathering crowd and hurried to her.
“Miss Wardlow! Thank heavens you are here. You promised to find me.”
There was something of an accusation in his words. Charity felt a guilty twinge. She had forgot all about him. Oh, well, how long could it take him to break her heart? She allowed him to take her arm and pull her into the music room.
“We really must speak, Miss Wardlow. There is something I must tell you, and a very important question to ask.”
She tried to look innocent. She knew she wouldn’t be able to muster tears, but she certainly knew how to pout, and his rejection would give her the perfect opportunity to storm out.
She sat in the middle of the hard piano bench, making sure there would be no room for him. He would have to pace or stand uncomfortably in front of her.
He paced. Looking down at his feet, he cleared his throat. “I regret having left this until the last minute, but I did try to speak with you several times, and—”
“Yes, I know, Mr. Lingate. I must bear a part of the blame,” she volunteered, hoping to speed him along.
“No!” He turned to her and fastened her with a worshipful gaze. “You are too kind, Miss Wardlow. The blame is all mine. I have been a cad, an absolute blighter, whilst you have been a perfect angel.”
Oh, dear. He really was trying to soften the blow.
“And when you hear what I have to say, you will, no doubt, despise me.”
“Come now, sir. It cannot be that bad. Tell me what has you so troubled.”
“How…long have we known each other, Miss Wardlow?”
“Nine years, I think. I met you in my first season. I was ten and six, if I recall.”
“Ah, yes. I was taken with you even then. On the verge of making an offer when your father…that is, when you withdrew from society in mourning.”<
br />
That surprised Charity. She had only noted Julius’s interest in the past five years.
He began pacing again. “Such a tragedy, that. Had I known the implications, I might have pressed my suit anyway. But when my father found out about…”
“My father’s insolvency?” she supplied, growing impatient.
“Yes,” he nodded. “Yes, precisely. At any rate, my father would have none of it. Still, I couldn’t abandon hope. Had it not been for money, I might have persuaded him.”
Yes, she had suspected that money was the culprit. But she always believed that Julius would overcome that obstacle. That he would find some way to make his father listen, or find the courage to defy him. She had sadly overestimated him.
Then another thought occurred to her. Laura Tuxbury. She would never know that Julius had chosen her because of her dowry while Charity would be left to wonder if Julius, had he known about her money, would have wed her as much for that money as herself. And just how much could he love her if he was not willing to stand up to his father?
“Such is the uncertainty of life, Miss Wardlow,” he was saying. “And now…”
“Now?” she encouraged, preparing to look heartbroken.
He dropped to his knees in front of her. “Now I must inform you that I am engaged to marry Miss Tuxbury.”
She tried to cover her sigh of relief with a gasp and a pout. “That is what you have been trying to tell me, Mr. Lingate? That you are going to marry someone else?”
“Yes,” he cried. He dropped his head to rest on her knees. “But I cannot give you up. I cannot!”
“What!” She was astonished as he continued to weep into her lap. She tried to stand, but he wrapped his arms around her legs. “Mr. Lingate! Collect yourself.”
“Not until you say you do not hate me.”
“I do not. I swear it. I am…ah, disappointed. But I understand. Your father wants what is best for you.”
“You! You are best for me, Miss Wardlow. I cannot—I will not—relinquish you! I must have you for my own.”
The door clicked as the latch was turned and she looked up, trying to unfasten Julius’s arms. Sir Andrew MacGregor stood there in a costume as strange as her own, looking for all the world like a thundercloud while Julius kept his face in her lap, oblivious to the interruption.
“I knew it,” he cried. “I knew you loved me.”
Drew’s jaw tightened and he gave her such a dark look that said she would answer for this little tableau. He pulled the door shut and she was alone with Julius again.
“It is too late for us, Mr. Lingate,” she said as gently as she could. “Release me while I yet have my pride.”
“No, it is not too late,” he said, looking up at her at last. Hope lit his eyes. “I only ask this, Charity, because I know your poverty will preclude any good offers for your hand. Be my mistress. Once I am wed to Miss Tuxbury, I will have enough money to set you up in a cottage of your own in Saint Albans. We could be together every weekend.”
“Mistress?” Her pity turned to anger in a flash. “You want me to be your mistress?” What kind of man would use his wife’s money to support his mistress? This was appalling!
“Yes, my love. If you truly love me—”
Truly loved? She pushed Julius away and stood, no longer concerned for his feelings. In fact, she could only think of the look on Drew’s face. She needed to talk to him at once.
“Miss Wardlow! Charity! Come back,” Julius called.
Chapter Eleven
Good God! Could he trust his ears? Had Charity declared her love for Lingate? Fresh from his arms, had she—no! He refused to believe that. It had given him a nasty turn to see Charity in her nightgown with Lingate’s face in her lap. Something odd was afoot or Lingate would find himself with a blackened eye and a hell of a headache.
As he entered the great hall, he noted the amused stares of several guests. What could Mackay be thinking to dress him in a harlequin’s outfit? All he needed was the belled cap and he’d be a complete fool. He advanced on Mackay, making no attempt to hide his disgust.
“What’s got under your skin, MacGregor?” he asked.
“Hard to know,” he answered. “It could be Miss Wardlow. It could be Lingate. It could even be this damned outfit you’ve put me in.”
Mackay grinned. “I’d vote for Miss Wardlow.”
“Maybe. Where’s your bride-to-be?”
“She’s around here somewhere. Saw her a moment ago.”
“Well, find her and do not let her out of your sight. Most importantly, do not let her speak with Miss Wardlow until I’ve had a chance to talk to her.”
Edward scratched his head. “Olivia or Miss Wardlow?”
“Miss Wardlow. She knows about the baby, Mackay, but she has her facts twisted. She thinks you are the father, and she intends to tell Olivia.”
“How the deuce—”
“Later,” Drew interrupted. “I spoke with Lavinia this morning. She left Great Tew and will not be back for a month or more. My wedding gift to you and your bride.”
Edward stared at him in disbelief and then guffawed. “Did you meddle in my business, MacGregor? Well, this is an interesting turn of events. The imperturbable, aloof Drew MacGregor turned meddler. Faith, I was feeling bad for what I am about to do to you, but now I’ll have a clean conscience.”
The fine hair on the back of Drew’s neck stood up on end. “Do? What are you going to do, Mackay?”
He went to his place at the head of the table and hit a small brass gong to quiet the gathering crowd. “Honored guests,” he began, motioning Drew to his side, “please take your seats and meet your host for tonight, MacGregor, Lord of Misrule.” He turned and bowed to Drew as he passed him the leather-wrapped mallet and a belled cap.
Drew was still standing there with the mallet and cap in his hand when Charity rushed into the hall. Her eyes widened as she looked at him and covered her mouth to hide her laughter. He wanted her instantly, his body firming with no more than her smile. He could not wait to get her private later tonight.
She took a place beside Mrs. Forbush halfway down the table as servants dressed in costume carried in a roasted pig complete with an apple in its mouth. Other servants bearing all manner of delicacies and footmen dispensing an endless supply of wine, cider and hot buttered rum followed them. A moment later Lingate entered and sat with a group of his friends. Drew hit the gong once to signal the beginning of the feast and then sat beside Mackay.
“I haven’t the faintest notion what I am supposed to do,” he muttered to his friend.
“Preside over the feast and the merriment after. Everyone must do as you tell them,” Mackay grinned.
That was a heady notion, and he planned to have fun with that before the night was over. But there was still the matter with Charity to take care of. Pray she had not yet found Olivia. He had to find a way to make her understand that all was well with the bride and groom. He glanced down the length of the table to see her rising from her seat, her attention fastened on Olivia, who was just entering the hall.
He stood and rang the gong. “You!” he said, pointing to Olivia. “Yes, you coming late to my table! Come sit by me.”
Mackay grinned as he made a place for her between them. “You are taking to this quite well, MacGregor.”
Drew shot him a disgruntled look. He could not think of a way to let Charity know that her concerns for Olivia were unfounded. And if he called her to his side, she might say something to Mackay or Olivia over the roast pork. No, he would have to speak publicly, couching his words in a game.
He tossed his buttered rum down his throat and stood. “Time to sing for your supper,” he announced. “We shall have a game of discovery—each of us must tell what we’ve learned during our stay at Wyecliffe Manor.” He paused for only a moment. “What? No one rushing to be first? Very well, I shall—”
“Me! I will go first,” Charity stood. She wanted him to understand that she knew he’d been rig
ht all along. Not all secrets were bad. Some were worth keeping. And omission was not a lie. She needed him to know she would not expose his friend.
“No, Miss Nightgown. Sit down or I shall banish you from your supper.”
“I shall not, my lord. Not until I’ve told what I’ve learned.” She cleared her throat as her gaze swept the guests. “I have learned many secrets over the past few days, and that things are not always what they seem.” She wondered if he would recognize his own words from the first time they’d met.
A collective gasp seemed to suck the air from the room. Drew groaned. How many people here lived in fear of her knowledge? The time had come to reassure them all.
“I have learned that not all secrets are bad.”
“Miss Nightgown, I’d advise you—”
“I’ve learned that some secrets are generous, loving gifts, given to spare feelings, or to protect pride, preserve friendships, or avoid hurting loved ones. Some—” she glanced toward Miss Foley “—are even kept for the sake of modesty.
“I had thought that all secrets were bad and that, if something could not stand up to scrutiny, it was wrong. But I was wrong. And I will never reveal anyone’s secrets.”
Sighs of relief exhaled around the room. Would Drew recognize that her little speech was her way of telling him that she would keep Mackay’s secret? He nodded to her and waved his gong. “Very well, Miss Nightgown. You may sit.”
“I am not done, Lord MacGregor.” She moistened her lips, gone dry with anxiety. “I have learned secrets about myself, as well. I learned that I did not want what I thought I wanted. And that I want what I denied myself for the past five days. So, you see, what I’ve really learned is that the worst secrets, the most damaging lies, are the ones we tell ourselves.”
Drew stared at her as she dropped her napkin on her chair, curtsied and hurried from the great hall. She did not care in the least what sort of scandal this would cause with the meddling gossipmongers of the ton.
Drew caught up to her in the hallway and pulled her into the library, locking the door behind them.
The Christmas Visit: Comfort and JoyLove at First StepA Christmas Secret Page 26