Peering into the room, she saw him partially bent over, examining something beneath the decorated tree. No doubt getting into mischief, searching for a gift for himself.
As quietly as a mouse, she tiptoed in, and when she was near enough, reached out and pinched his bum. “What are you”—he spun around and she gasped, pressing her hand to her mouth—“oh, my dear Lord!”
She found herself staring into the face of Lord Lynnford. She curtsied. “My lord, please forgive me. I mistook you … oh.” For my husband. No, she couldn’t say that.
He laughed. “It’s quite all right, my dear. The blond locks, I’m sure, confused you. Although from the front, I do have some gray showing up.”
The blond hair, the height, and the form. The way he stood, the way he moved. She shook her head. It made sense that Stephen would mimic the only man who had been in his life for any length of time. Because to consider anything else … that this man and the duchess … it was not possible.
“Again, my apologies.”
He bowed. “And again, no need to apologize. I’m glad to see that things are so … well between you and your husband.”
He gave her a knowing look and she felt the heat swarming her cheeks.
“I’m sorry we weren’t able to attend your wedding,” he said.
“No, that’s quite all right. We all understood. And it came about rather quickly and unexpectedly.”
“But you’re happy.”
“Extremely so. Yes.”
“And you knew Stephen in the Crimea.” He rubbed his jaw. “I heard Stephen was a remarkable soldier.”
“He was very courageous, yes. I did not know him on the battlefield, of course, only in hospital, but he always put the other men first.”
“I sometimes doubted he would ever grow up.”
“It must be very difficult to raise another man’s sons.”
He touched one of the presents, shifting it into another position. “Yes, it is.”
Yet she was raising another woman’s child. “But I could see where it would be easy to forget that they were not yours, and to love them as though they were.”
He smiled. “Indeed.”
“Ah, Lynnie, I see you got caught,” the duchess said as she waltzed into the room. “He has a habit of shaking the gifts. Most impatient, this man.” She patted his arm with a familiarity that spoke of doing so a thousand times. “Don’t you look lovely, my dear.”
Mercy curtsied. “Thank you, Your Grace. I should probably find Stephen.”
“He finished with his breakfast and went for a walk with Westcliffe. You can probably catch sight of them from the terrace.”
“Thank you.” She nodded toward Lynnford. “My lord.”
“Mercy, it’s a pleasure to have you in the family.”
“I’m very happy to be here.”
Then she was bustling out before she said something else to get her in trouble. She made her way down the hallway to the door that opened on to the terrace and had just opened it when Stephen rounded the corner with Westcliffe. She didn’t know if she’d ever seen two brothers who looked so different. The thought running through her head, that the brothers did not in fact have the same father, was preposterous.
“Hello, sweetheart,” Stephen said, smiling at her. “It’s too cold for you to be out here without a wrap.”
“I just … I just wanted to see you.”
Opening the door, he drew her back inside. “Missed me, did you?”
Westcliffe stepped in after them. She felt a little self-conscious saying, “Very much so.”
He furrowed his brow. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, I just … had an embarrassing encounter. I mistook Lynnford for you. I pinched him.”
Both brothers laughed, which served to only humiliate her further. She was grateful she’d not revealed exactly where she pinched him.
Finally, after their laughter died down, Stephen smiled broadly at her and said, “No need to be embarrassed, sweetheart. I suspect he jolly well enjoyed the attention.” He squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry about it.”
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to find Claire,” Westcliffe said. “Lynnford is no doubt opening presents already.”
Mercy watched as Westcliffe strode down the hallway.
“What were you and Westcliffe doing?” she asked.
“Just looking over the grounds, reminiscing about childhood. Strange to find myself enjoying talking with him when we had so little in common growing up.”
“You seem close.”
“Not particularly, but we tolerate each other better.” He skimmed his finger along her chin. “Something is bothering you. What is it?”
“No, I … Lynnford and your mother seem to have quite an affection for each other.”
“He’s always been there for her.”
“Were they ever … lovers, do you think?”
“God, no, Lynnford is devoted to his countess.”
“Oh. That is unusual among the aristocracy, isn’t it?”
“The royal family is setting new expectations. They frown on promiscuity.” He narrowed his eyes. “Are you striving to determine if I’ll be devoted to you?”
“No, I … I want your devotion, but ours is a forced marriage. Still, I am hopeful that you will come to care for me.”
He skimmed his fingers along her hair. “Well, then—”
“Stephen!” Emily cried. “Come along. Everyone is waiting to open presents.”
“Ah, then, we must not keep the family waiting,” Stephen said with an elaborate bow. He wrapped his arm around hers, and began escorting her to the parlor. “And what did you get me, wife?”
“You shall just have to wait and see,” she said teasingly.
It was a gold timepiece and chain.
“I noticed you didn’t have one,” Mercy said. “It seemed like the thing to pass down to your son.”
It was also a reminder, Stephen thought as he sat in a chair by the window and gazed out on the drive, that minutes ticked forward and not back, and that he needed to concentrate on the moments to come, not those that he couldn’t remember. She must have spent every farthing she possessed to purchase this for him.
“Now for my sons,” his mother said, handing small packages to him and his brothers.
In the chair beside him, Mercy looked on. His mother had given her a lovely lacy shawl, which she now wore draped over her shoulders. She still wore the pearl necklace, and he was half tempted to lead her back to bed, wearing it alone.
“Open it,” she demanded with impatience.
He did so and discovered a miniature of his mother, a perfect likeness. Leo was skilled with the brush. He handed it to Mercy that she might see it.
“Oh, he did a wonderful job,” she mused. She was holding John, who was gripping a wooden rattle that Ainsley had given him. He seemed quite fascinated by it, blinking in wonder each time it made a sound when he waved it around.
Stephen understood his son’s wonder. He was still amazed to find himself with a family. He glanced back out the window.
“What do you keep looking for?” she asked.
Grinning, he shook his head. “Oh, nothing.”
“You’re simply bored with opening presents?”
But he wasn’t going to tell her. He was waiting for another surprise to arrive.
“Leo, please fetch my gifts for my grandsons,” the duchess ordered.
Instantly he left, and returned pushing two contraptions that looked like boxes on wheels.
“What the deuce … ?” Stephen murmured.
“They’re perambulators,” his mother said. “So you can push the babies through the park. They’ve become quite popular of late.”
Claire, Mercy, and the other ladies went to inspect them.
“I’ve been thinking of getting one,” Claire said.
And Stephen wondered if Mercy had wanted one as well. He’d had no idea there was such a thing. He glanced over at Westcliffe, w
ho seemed as baffled as he. Ainsley, standing by the fireplace, appeared bored. And he discovered Lynnford was watching him, although his gaze shifted away quickly enough.
Stephen glanced back out the window and saw the approach of the coach before he heard the horses and wheels bringing it nearer. Rising, he walked over to his wife and placed his hand on her waist. Smiling brightly, she looked up at him with such joy in her eyes.
“Isn’t this wonderful? I’ll be able to continue to take John outside, even as he gets heavier.”
“Marvelous, but I have another surprise for you. Come along.”
He passed John off to his grandmother, who eagerly welcomed the boy, then Stephen guided Mercy through the parlor, entryway, and front door, until they were standing at the top of the steps leading up to the house.
“Whatever is it?” she asked as the coach came to a halt.
He placed his arm around her to shield her from the cold and to protect her from hurt if need be. A footman opened the coach door and a man stepped out. Mercy gasped.
“My father. Whatever is he doing here?”
“I invited him.”
She jerked her head around to stare at him. “Why?”
“I thought you might like to see him. If he doesn’t behave, he’ll be back in the coach and on his way home.”
Mercy was torn between joy and trepidation as she watched her father slowly walk toward them. When had he aged so much, and what did his presence signify? Had he forgiven her?
Breaking free of Stephen’s hold, she rushed down the steps, halting on the cobblestones near enough to her father that she could smell his familiar tobacco scent. She was aware of Stephen suddenly standing behind her, and she realized that he was just as wary as she regarding how this encounter might go.
“Father.”
He looked so stern and forbidding. He nodded, suddenly not looking quite so bold. “I was told I’d be welcomed.”
“You are,” she assured him.
“I see he did right by you.”
“He married me, yes.”
“You didn’t invite me to the wedding.”
“I didn’t think you’d want to come … and it all happened very quickly.”
“As it should have.”
“Would you like to come inside, sir?” Stephen asked, and there was an undercurrent in his voice that issued a warning along with the welcome.
“No, I won’t be staying. I just wanted to see that you were well. And I wanted you to have this.” He removed a brown parcel from his pocket.
She opened it to discover a silk handkerchief that smelled of roses.
“It’s your mother’s. It’s all I have of her.”
“Then you should keep it.”
“She’d want you to have it.”
She crushed it to her bosom. “I’ll treasure it. Would you like to see John?”
“No, I must be going.”
Her heart nearly broke. He turned away. Reaching out, she grabbed his arm, felt Stephen’s hand fold around her shoulder—to stop her or offer strength, she wasn’t certain until she felt him squeeze gently. Strength, then, as though he knew what she wanted. “Please stay.”
He glanced back. “You’ve always been far too compassionate for your own good. I treated you shabbily, daughter.”
“I disappointed you. I do not regret the decisions I made regarding John. It would be a shame, however, if he did not have an opportunity to know his grandfather.”
“Well, then,” he grumbled, “perhaps I could stay for a bit.”
Mercy was not surprised that everyone welcomed her father. As she watched him holding John on his lap, she leaned against Stephen, fighting back the tears in her eyes.
“I never thought to see that,” she whispered. “It is a far greater gift than the pearls.”
She felt the press of his lips against her hair. “I have learned of late the value of reconciling with one’s family. It’s not always easy, but it’s worth it to make the effort.”
“But you did nothing as egregious as bringing your father shame.”
“Oh, I think Westcliffe would disagree.”
She peered up at him, and he gave her a wry grin. “It is a tale I will not tell. Suffice it to say, it is also one I’d not mind forgetting.”
“I would not think you’d want to forget anything else.”
“A pity we cannot pick and choose what we remember.”
“You’ve had no success recalling anything that you’ve forgotten?”
“No.”
“I thought being here might rekindle—”
“No such luck. I spent an hour sipping tea on the terrace in the cold this morning. Nothing stirs. Westcliffe found me there, invited me for a walk. We spoke of the past, all that happened when last I was here … but nothing.”
She hated it for him, but was relieved for herself. Did it make her a horrid wife to wish that her husband never acquired what he so desperately desired?
The remainder of the day was filled with silly parlor games that Stephen refused to be drawn into. He used to participate with vigor, but now he felt remarkably old. Mercy found one excuse after another not to be involved as well. She spent a good deal of time visiting with her father.
“Hmm,” Stephen’s mother muttered at one point, coming to stand beside him. “I’d never expected to see her father again, especially in such a forgiving temperament. Whatever did you say to him?”
“I may have mentioned that certain family members with access to the queen’s ear might not take it kindly if he continued to ignore his daughter.”
“Considering how much you always resented that they had a title and you did not, I never thought you’d use your brothers’ titles in such a dastardly manner.”
“I was referring to you.”
“Of course you were, darling. Marriage becomes you.”
“She’s not like anyone I’ve ever known.” He grimaced. “And yet I have known her, haven’t I?”
“It bothers you that you don’t remember her.”
“I can see forgetting battles, blood, and death … but her? She is nothing at all like any of the other women I …” He let his voice trail off.
“Entertained?” his mother asked pointedly.
He shook his head. “You are unlike any mother—”
“I’ve earned the right to do as I please and say what I will. People act as though what happens between a man and a woman is something of which to be ashamed, something to be hidden, not spoken of. In truth, it can be the most beautiful part of our lives. I see no reason to pretend otherwise.”
“Obviously you’ve had some influence on my wife. She asked me this morning if you and Lynnford had been involved in an affair.”
“Did she?” his mother asked quietly, in such an unnaturally reserved tone that Stephen shifted his gaze away from his wife and studied his mother. “What did you tell her?”
“I laughed.”
“Good for you.”
She left it at that, walking away, leaving him with his thoughts.
Dinner was served promptly at four. The seating arrangement was once again informal, people sitting where they pleased. Stephen sat on one side of Mercy, her father on the other. His mother sat beside him, with Westcliffe and Ainsley at opposite ends of the table.
Westcliffe stood and raised his wineglass. “Before we begin, I’d like to make a toast. Last year was the first year, in large part due to the efforts of my wonderful wife, the family celebrated Christmas here since the death of Stephen’s and my father. I recall making a toast last year that this year would find Stephen here with us. Brother, I don’t imagine the journey to get here was one you would have wished for and certainly your being wounded was not what I had in mind when I made my toast—still we’re ever so grateful that you’re with us.”
“Hear! Hear!” chorused through the room as glasses were lifted and sips taken.
Westcliffe again raised his glass. “Mercy, I don’t know how you manage to pu
t up with him”—Stephen heard Ainsley laugh, and beneath the table, Mercy’s hand came to rest on his thigh. He wrapped his fingers around it, astounded to realize the rightness of it, unable to imagine how his life would be now if she weren’t in it—“but bless you for doing so. We’re—all of us here—delighted and honored to have you and John in the family.”
More cheers followed. Stephen caught his brother’s eye and lifted his glass in a silent salute and an acknowledgment of appreciation. He knew the words had been spoken for the benefit of Mercy’s father, so he might understand how much she was valued within his family.
Stephen had never cherished his family as much as he did at that moment.
The conversation at the table was a bit more subdued, no doubt in deference to their guest. Ainsley was given the honor of carving the goose, which he did with considerable aplomb.
“I daresay, Ainsley,” Mallard said, “if you ever lose your title, you’d make a fine servant.”
“Pox on you, Mallard.”
Everyone was giddy from too much wine and fine company by the time the plum pudding was served. As fate would have it, Ainsley was the one who spooned out the ring that had been cooked within it.
“Oh, Ainsley, you’ll be married by next Christmas,” Emily crowed.
“I will not. I’m all of three-and-twenty. Far too young for such a drastic measure.”
“Come on, brother,” Stephen cajoled. “With your responsible attitude, you might find it to your liking.”
“And then I might not. Emily?”
She glanced up at him. “What?”
He tossed her the ring, which she caught, nearly knocking over her wineglass. “You’re having your coming out. You’re more likely to get married than me.”
“Getting rid of it won’t change your fate, Ainsley.”
“I’m not getting married.”
“Methinks thou doth protest too much, Ainsley,” Westcliffe said. “Is there someone you’ve not told us about?”
“No one.”
Pleasures of a Notorious Gentleman Page 22