Christmas Delights

by Heather Hiestand

  “We could all five of us stroll,” Mr. Dandy-Hill said, a bit too loudly. “Parker-Bale and I could do with a walk after so much time on the train.”

  She could do with some fresh, even accompanied, air. Both ladies were peering in their direction and she mimed wrapping her neck in a scarf and putting on a hat. They both nodded happily.

  “You are in luck, gentlemen. I leave it to the two of you to figure out how to entertain three ladies.”

  Both men laughed heartily.

  “Always ready to rise to the occasion, my lady,” Mr. Dandy-Hill boomed.

  With her current bent toward amorous congress, Victoria could not help but lift a brow at the man’s phrasing. A large man in frame, she wondered what else might be large. Alas, she could not assuage her sexual curiosity with a man from Liverpool. She’d just wind up married to him, even if she decided he would never do.

  CHAPTER 6

  Though it was Boxing Day and the servants should have had the day to relax, the countess had persuaded her staff to take their half day in the morning and spend their afternoon preparing a feast and their evening serving it to the house party guests and a number of other visitors. She had confided to Victoria at tea that she’d done this for years and could count on a selection of interesting people at the party because she would be the only person in the area having one. Victoria, however, would not mar Boxing Day for her servants if she had her own home. She’d even kept her maid in Liverpool because the girl was recovering from measles, effectively giving her a two-week holiday.

  This left Victoria with the haphazard assistance of Lady Florence’s rather decrepit maid and her cousin Penelope as she struggled into her dinner dress, constructed mainly of black velvet with white cashmere accents. While the dress was appropriate for half-mourning, it exposed far too much skin to the castle drafts.

  “I shall need a heavy shawl,” she told Penelope as the exhausted maid pinned holly to either side of her head.

  One of Victoria’s black silk gowns had torn at the hem in London just before she’d arrived. She had the gown with her and had decided to give it to the maid in thanks at the end of her stay. The woman could do it over to suit herself, or sell it for quite a bit of money. Mourning clothes were of necessity a popular item in secondhand stalls.

  “The holly looks well wi’ your hair, my lady,” the maid said.

  “Thank you.” Victoria would rather it have been mistletoe, though such things often attracted the wrong man’s lips.

  Lewis had barely noticed her when she’d visited the stables with her two suitors. In fact, she’d wondered if he deliberately hid away. The earl had shaken hands with the two men and welcomed them, but it was obvious they, and their assistants, were completely focused on their submarine project. The earl had said something about “trials” coming soon.

  Victoria had looked at the long, iron cylinder with its mushroom-style windowed front and thought of something far different from marine exploration. At least the men weren’t building the aquatic vessel to fire torpedoes, which is what most governments wanted them for. At one time, she recalled, the Fenians had been working on them to harass the British Navy. The Irish rebels had been of special concern in Liverpool ever since they had tried to blow up Town Hall earlier in the decade.

  She had brought up the subject on the way back to the Fort and her suitors had been kept busy arguing the merits of the Irish question until teatime. After congratulating herself on a successful diversion, she had enjoyed some time with Lady Barbara, dissecting the merits of the Dickondell brothers. Her friend preferred Samuel for personality but thought Clement the best-looking.

  “Here is your shawl,” Penelope said, fingering the creamy white wool.

  “Don’t look so downcast. At least there will be other children at the nursery dinner tonight.”

  “Babies,” Penelope said with a frown.

  “Some of them are old enough to talk. They will be fun to play with,” Victoria assured her. “They will idolize you. Also, your dress is very pretty.”

  The girl’s costume was black velvet with a green collar and trim. “Mummy made it for me.” Her lower lip trembled.

  Victoria needed to get to the bottom of the situation with her aunt and uncle. Penelope missed her mother, so there was no lack of affection there. Why had they been separated? She glanced at herself in the mirror, knowing it was a problem for another day. Holding out her arms until Penelope came to her, she folded the girl into a hug, then offered her a dab of rose-scented Creed eau de cologne on each wrist as a special treat.

  A knock came at the door and the maid, sweaty and with her cap askew, opened it. When Rupert Courtnay was revealed, the maid bobbed a swift curtsy and disappeared, no doubt to visit yet another guest who was in need of her services.

  “Another night, another party,” her father said, rubbing his hands together. “Who is on the guest list this time?”

  “Many of the same faces as the masquerade ball two nights ago,” Victoria said. “But Lady Barbara said Lord and Lady Judah Shield are coming down from London. Their new heir is staying at the nursery at Hatbrook Farm, though.”

  “Member of my club,” Courtnay said. “I always like the soldiers. Practical lot.”

  “Yes, sir,” Victoria agreed. “Lady Barbara also said the Baron of Alix has recovered from the chest cold that has left him out of the festivities until now, so we shall finally meet him.”

  “A Scotsman.” Her father nodded thoughtfully and rubbed his chin. “What about all those Redcakes? Coming along with Hatbrook and his lot?”

  “Mr. Noble is staying here for the duration,” Victoria said. “As there are no other eligible gentlemen in that family, the subject of the Redcakes did not come up.”

  “Still, rather likely we’ll see them,” her father said with a thoughtful look.

  Victoria stood and took Penelope’s hand. “Run along to the nursery, darling.”

  Penelope’s expression was mulish until she caught sight of her uncle’s stern expression. “Yes, Victoria.”

  They followed her out of the room. Victoria wondered if her cousin would fall asleep up there before the long dinner was over. Might she have a room to herself that night? As far as she knew, her father hadn’t given any orders about the girl.

  “We are early,” Victoria realized as they reached the main staircase. “Why don’t we go into the picture gallery for a few minutes? I believe they have a Rubens Venus, as well as a number of paintings done in his workshop.”

  “I don’t wish to look at paintings of chubby nudes with my daughter,” her father said in a dry tone as she led him through the door into the long gallery.

  “Would you rather visit the mirrored gallery? I understand they have quite a fine one, a small version of the Hall of Mirrors in Versailles re-created by a countess who fled the Revolution and married an Earl of Bullen.”

  “No, this will be fine.”

  The space had been improved with gas lighting, but it was not bright enough to do the paintings justice. The moon was a mere sliver in the sky seen through a trio of small windows set into the wall and didn’t lend any brilliance to the room.

  “We need a lamp,” Victoria muttered.

  “Come back tomorrow,” her father advised.

  Instead, she sat down on a bench in front of what she dimly thought was a Cromwell-era family portrait. She patted the bench next to her.

  Her father sighed audibly and seated himself. “What is it, Victoria? Are you planning to berate me for inviting Dandy-Willow and Parker-Bale? Because I will not apologize.”

  “You want either of them managing your business interests?” Victoria asked.

  Her father ran his tongue over his upper lip. “I can train anyone with a good brain. They are both well-educated.”

  “Nincompoops,” Victoria said.

  “Give them a chance. I’ll take a look at this Scotsman.”

  She nearly blurted out Lewis’s name, but there was no point. Her father k
new him already. “Very well. I shall do as you ask.”

  “Anything else, my dear?”

  She couldn’t stop herself. “Find out if Lewis Noble would relocate from Battersea. He has just the kind of scientific mind you could use at your factories.”

  “I will investigate. Anything else?”

  “Yes, Father.” She drew herself up. “Tell me what is going on with Penelope.”

  “She’s visiting you for the holidays. Her father didn’t want to leave her home with the staff when she had a perfectly nice party and cousin to come to.”

  “Why isn’t she with her parents? She is an only child. Surely they want to see her.”

  Her father pulled his watch from his pocket and glanced at it. “We do not want to be late, my dear.”

  “Why won’t you answer a simple question? You do realize having her underfoot disrupts your desire for me to husband hunt.”

  “On the contrary, it makes you seem more feminine,” her father said. “It softens you.”

  “You think I appear hard?” The thought was beyond comprehension.

  “I think you appear disinterested, and it won’t do. You need to remarry. I won’t have you wasting your best years. I expect to see you wed next year.”

  She wasn’t disinterested in men, just marriage. “Or what, Father?”

  “Or what indeed,” he rejoined. “You shall be very bored, living all year around in Liverpool with nothing to entertain you. I don’t need you to manage my household and I won’t have you near the factories. So unless you plan to engage in voluminous good works, you’re going to have nothing to do but pay calls and embroider.”

  She swore under her breath, not caring that her father could hear. It was his fault for saying such things in her earshot all these years.

  “You weren’t married long enough to have earned your freedom, Victoria. And you were robbed of children by the situation. Let’s remedy that in 1890, shall we?” He patted her knee and stood, then walked out without looking back.

  He wanted grandchildren. This torturing of her could have no more reason than that. But all she wanted was a little adventure before settling back into Liverpool. Really, the only thing being married would get her was a household to manage on her own. Other than that, it would be calls, good works, and embroidery regardless.

  “Blast it,” she said aloud. In the end, she probably would want children, if only to distract herself. But 1890 was only a few days away.

  Realistically, a Scottish baron would not be a suitable son-in-law for an English manufacturer, as he presumably had lands in the north, but to her, anyone would be better than the Liverpool suitors. And Lewis Noble . . . she had not gotten anywhere with him, not even as a successful partner in trysting. Those Dickondells were a problem, but she wasn’t prepared to avoid their company for fear of proposals quite yet. One of them might possibly become her lover. However, she was probably safe from an offer of marriage there, exactly as she wanted to be.

  She stood and searched for the Rubens, finally finding a Venus in the center of the far wall, opposite the fireplace. Caught by the image’s flowing hair, she realized the goddess had the same hair color and curls as Lewis Noble. Compared to the other men here, he was a god, though a much more physically spare one than this fleshy and bejeweled creature made from imagination and oil. Even Venus would probably want to toy with Lewis Noble.

  One more chance: that was all she would permit herself. One more chance to see if she could make her way past Lewis’s resolve. Then she would find an alternative.

  The countess had seen fit to seat her unmarried guests by alternating the sexes. Her Boxing Day feast must be a matchmaking party. Victoria found herself between Mr. Dandy-Willow and Mr. Parker-Bale, not the men she would have chosen. Lady Barbara was on Mr. Parker-Bale’s other side, her other dining partner the senior Dickondell son. Lady Rowena had Dickondell’s left, demonstrating the countess’s interest in the young man for one of her daughters. Seventeen-year-old Adela Dickondell had the earl as her first dining partner, and Lewis was far down the opposite end of the table, dining with Lady Florence and Maud Wilson. The countess must be trying to distract Clement away from Maud. She could hardly see Lewis over a clove-studded orange topiary.

  As a plate of raw oysters on crushed ice was placed in front of her, Victoria felt her left foot nudged and—for lack of a better word—tickled by, presumably, Mr. Parker-Bale. She kept her expression neutral as she slurped her first briny oyster. Her lack of notice emboldened the man, whose shoe dipped under her skirts and began to travel up her calf. He had never been so bold back home, but she didn’t want him as a lover.

  She bent forward slightly, trying to catch Lady Barbara’s eye in the hopes that she would distract the man. But her friend was deep in a conversation about cocker spaniels with Clement.

  Mr. Parker-Bale’s questing foot reached her knee. She jerked away. Her right elbow moved, cashmere landing in one of Mr. Dandy-Willow’s oysters.

  “I say,” he said.

  She whipped her head toward him, gasping a horrified apology.

  “Lady Allen-Hill, if you wanted to converse with me, all you had to do was ask,” Mr. Dandy-Willow said, his eyes dancing merrily under those absurdly bushy brows.

  “Perhaps you are quite a nice man,” she said aloud without meaning to.

  A grin appeared and widened. Oh, dear; she had encouraged the man. If only he didn’t have quite so much hair. She imagined birthing a baby that looked more like a bear cub than a human.

  On her other side, Mr. Parker-Bale’s foot had returned to its original position under the table. She glanced around, hoping her disturbance had been unnoticed, but found her father’s gaze on her. He had Lady Florence on one side and Rose Redcake on the other. Rose gave her a little smile and turned back to Victoria’s father. Victoria wondered how Rose had managed yet another invitation to dinner, given that she could distract the available men from the Gill daughters.

  Thankfully, a footman removed her oysters and placed a clear soup before her.

  She had learned to fill up on soup so that she was not too hungry when later, more voluptuous courses came along. Applauding herself when she was able to keep herself to one small bite of fried fish in a rich white sauce during the next course, she initially did not think anything of a sturdy foot nudging her own on the right. Instead, she tucked one slipper over the other and continued eating.

  Next came potatoes, sweetbreads, vegetables, and, finally, one of the main courses, a stuffed game hen. She took one bite of the well-seasoned meat and closed her eyes. Heavenly. As she chewed her second bite, though, she found the tip of that interloping shoe on her ankle. She had no way to move unless she tilted her entire body toward Mr. Parker-Bale. Unfortunately, she had to speak to the man unless she wanted to visibly snub him, so she did just that, pasting a smile on her face as she slid as far to the left on her chair as she could.

  His piercing blue gaze held no hint of either mischief or reproach, and they spoke cheerfully of the sights in Sussex until a vegetable salad was served. When he turned to his other partner, she scooted back to the middle of her chair, forgetting Mr. Dandy-Willow’s foot. But there it was, back again. When she attempted to give him a setting-down glare, he smiled with the innocence of a child, just as his cold shoe tip found a sensitive spot at the center of her calf.

  “That’s quite enough!” She stood, dropping her napkin over her salad. Lady Barbara looked up at her, her blonde brows raised.

  “I am indisposed,” Victoria hissed and stalked off, her shawl dropping to the floor behind her. She was too embarrassed to pick it up. Her shoulders slumped as a footman opened the double doors of the dining room for her. Surely she was too mature to react so to a mere tickle? But the dinner had been so uncomfortable, she couldn’t stand it.

  If her father thought she would marry one of those two nodcocks he was a few pennies short of a pound himself. She knew a man who would woo by playing footsie under the table would be
doing the same to some girl at a house party a few years hence, married or no. They weren’t worth having, their educations notwithstanding.

  She wandered for a while, until she found herself in a corridor she didn’t recognize. Double doors were set into a recess in the middle and she opened them, hoping to find a library or some other place where she could compose herself. She turned a knob, hearing her fast breaths puffing against the door. How had those two suitors brought her to near hysteria? She pushed the door open, knowing it wasn’t the men but everything. Being back to where she’d started, forced onto the marriage mart again, when she had thought she was finally secure with a husband to please her father. Instead, she’d lost two years of her life with nothing to show for it. And now she had nothing to show for her bold attempts to lose her virginity with Lewis, either.

  All of a sudden, her stays felt much too tight, a sensation that had become unfamiliar since her figure had reduced. She bent as much as the steel would allow.

  “Who is there?” a man asked. “Madam, are you well?”

  She felt a firm hand at her back and was led deeper into the room, which seemed to be lit by a soft glow. A fireplace was lit at one end. The man pushed her down onto a cushioned bench. She attempted to compose herself and looked up into a sea of eyes.

  She cried out, hunching against the wall, and felt a cold, smooth surface against her bare shoulders. Opening her eyes wider, she realized she was staring into a wall of mirrors. The man next to her had strangely striated reddish brown and amber eyes reminiscent of tiger’s-eye gemstones.

  “Dear God,” she said, putting a hand to her heart.

  The man moved slightly, and he came into fuller relief. Either that or her vision was clearer. She had nearly swooned.

  “Lord Judah Shield,” she blurted, recognizing him.

  He bowed slightly. “At your service, madam.”

  “All those eyes,” she murmured. “I was quite taken aback for a moment.”

  “I understand. In the firelight, the effect is unnerving.”