Christmas Delights

by Heather Hiestand

  She went to bed with the copy of Ivanhoe that was on the shelf in her room. It didn’t hold her attention long, and the candle was still burning on the wall above her when she was awakened by a knock at her door. She bolted upright, breathing hard. Her hand was over her heart when she heard the scratch, not nearly the verbal assault her dreams had made it seem. Had she locked Penelope out?

  Still half-asleep and rubbing sand from her eyes, she rose to unlock the door. Instead of her diminutive cousin—or, even better, Lewis—she found Ernest Dickondell smirking at her.

  She glanced down and nearly shrieked when she discovered she had forgotten her dressing gown. Her nightgown, made from thin cotton since she slept warm, did not leave much to the imagination.

  He held up a bottle of corked champagne and two glasses. “I overheard that your cousin was feeling a bit poorly and was put to bed in the nursery. Care to celebrate?” His voice slurred a bit on the last word.

  She slid behind the door, only allowing her face to peer out. Her hair had half fallen down, drifting to one shoulder. The weight of it pulled her head to the side. “No,” she said. “Don’t be indecent. I will see you at our picnic tomorrow.”

  “Come now,” he coaxed. “It is the holidays. Relax a little. I know you like me.”

  “Not that much,” she whispered. “Go away, Mr. Dickondell, or I shall be forced not to take you seriously.”

  His lips curved. “You should take me very seriously.”

  As she watched, he flexed his hips, as if to bring his male appendage in closer proximity to her. “I was not looking for an assignation,” she hissed, aware of the irony, given that if he’d been Lewis, she’d have been all but overeager. What would her lover think if he saw another man enter her room? She’d lose all hope of another sensual experience with him.

  “One can be seriously inclined and have a bent for fun,” he told her. “One is not exclusive of the other.”

  Yes, and she could just imagine five years hence, when she had lost his marital interest after a child or three and a couple of stones returned to her hips. At some future house party, he’d be drunkenly holding up his bottle of champagne for some other woman. He wouldn’t be the worst choice in a husband, but hardly the best either.

  With a painful rush of longing, she wanted her awkward, distracted, beautifully muscled Lewis. One thing she was certain of was that he would never be so louche. Champagne and hip thrusting indeed. “Good night, Mr. Dickondell. Might I opine that you have already imbibed enough for this evening?” She shut the door in his face and went back to her bed.

  Once there, she found her dressing gown and secured it over her person instead of getting back into bed. Mr. Dickondell had woken her fully and now she knew Penelope would not be returning. Did she dare go on the hunt for her man?

  She dithered over her prospects for a good ten minutes, until the clock marked the eleventh hour. Most of the house should be abed by now, and Mr. Dickondell was certain to be long gone. She crept out of her room and down the hallway, then scratched at Lewis’s door. After about thirty seconds, it was opened by the freckled Eddy Jackson, Lewis’s assistant.

  “Hello, my lady,” he said with unusual cheer for the hour. “Wot can I help you with?”

  She cleared her throat. “I was, err, looking for your master.”

  “Down at the stables,” the lad said cheerfully. “The earl was forced to attend dinner by his mum’s orders, but they are back at work now. Trials tomorrow, you know.”

  “They work very long hours,” she said for want of anything else to say.

  “I was sent back because I have a sniffle,” the lad said, scrunching up his nose for effect. “Bloody boring in here, pardon my manners.”

  “Best to rest if you aren’t feeling well,” Victoria offered.

  Eddy sighed, then brightened. “Fancy a game of chess? Lewis has been teaching me.”

  Victoria glanced down at her dressing gown. So inappropriate, yet Eddy was little more than a child, and she still felt electric prickles of excitement racing through her body. They would take time to dissipate, but how thrilling it had been for those few moments when she had walked to the door, hoping for Lewis. A game would calm her. “I’m not very good.”

  “Neither am I. Best we both practice, then.” He opened the door wider and she stepped inside.

  They played for an hour and a half. He’d won two matches to her one by the time she yawned and noticed his eyes were at half-mast. “Let us say good night,” she said. “Time for you to get some rest.”

  He nodded and stretched. “I’m sorry Lewis didn’t come back. I thought he might, if he remembered he was meeting you.”

  She shook her head. “We didn’t have plans to meet.”

  “Then why did you come?”

  His gaze was so clear-eyed and probing that she didn’t quite know how to treat him like a child. “I missed him, I suppose. I find myself drawn to him, even though he scarcely notices me some days.”

  “Always proving himself,” Eddy said.

  “To whom?”

  Eddy shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, does it?”

  She schooled her expression to be as probing as his. “I think it does. Is he in love with someone?”

  “It would only hurt you to know, since you’re in love with him.”

  “I haven’t said so,” she protested. She couldn’t love him; he was almost a stranger.

  “I wasn’t born yesterday.” He lifted his eyebrows with disarming humor. “I’m not even all that young.”

  “You’re too young for this conversation,” Victoria said in her tartest voice. “You needn’t tell him I stopped in.”

  “I think I shall tell him you spent the night pining away, sobbing on my shoulder.” His grin offered the shadow of a future rake.

  “You’ll do no such thing.” She stood, as did he, and she saw he was taller than her by at least three inches. Not such a boy after all. “Now, get some rest. Do you want me to ring for tea or a mustard plaster or anything?”

  “No, I’ll be fine.” He paused. “My lady.”

  She patted his shoulder. “Good night, Eddy.”

  “G’night.” He reached for the door, with arms that were longer than hers, and opened it.

  She nodded to him and went into the deserted hallway, making it back to her room before anyone saw her, though she heard footsteps on the stairs at the far end. They sounded too light to be Lewis’s, though. He would probably be in heavy workman’s boots rather than some light evening shoe.

  Lewis caught an earful from Eddy the next morning, about a certain lady’s visit to their rooms the night before, and why was he working on the submarine in the middle of the night when he could be trysting as a man should during an upper-crust house party.

  Only the boy’s raspy cough ended his tirade, and Lewis gratefully escaped to the breakfast table, where he expected to discuss final details with the earl over oatmeal and toast. If he had known Lady Allen-Hill was planning to visit him the night before, it would have only made matters worse, given that he couldn’t disappoint the earl, who was, after all, paying him for his labors. And on a submarine, no less. Lewis might have paid for the privilege of working on one himself.

  Still, he found himself ruminating on the might-have-beens with the lady. He was gratified to know that while she might have been flirting with her various suitors, at night she wanted him. His body did not agree with the conclusion his mind had made to choose submarine construction over sex, and he found his nether regions at an uncomfortable half-mast at the mere thought of what the lady had intended as he entered the dining room.

  Thankfully, a footman waited at the sideboard and he was able to slide into a chair and place a napkin over his lap without the embarrassment of making up a plate for himself in his condition.

  John Alexander, a Scottish baron whose title Lewis couldn’t remember, was already at the table, studying the local newspaper. He glanced up and offered a sheet to Lewis, but he shook his h
ead. His brain was full of diagrams for the submarine, and he decided they might as well stay at the forefront of his mind.

  Lady Florence came in, her hair pulled so tightly back at her temples that it revealed her true age rather than ridding her skin of wrinkles, chattering excitedly with Lewis’s cousin Rose.

  “Can you believe it? Found in her bed? I’m appalled at the chit, but I suppose she got what she wanted.”

  The baron’s head rose over his papers.

  “Shhh,” Rose hissed. “You mustn’t gossip. It’s unseemly.”

  “Come now, Miss Redcake,” Lady Florence said, putting her hand on Rose’s arm. “It’s too delicious.”

  Rose shook her head.

  Lewis noticed she was quite pale, but out of distress or because of her asthma he didn’t know. He stood and guided her to the seat next to his own.

  “I do not gossip,” Rose said. “I have learned it is never the pastime of a lady.”

  “Why, Miss Redcake, I think I should be offended,” Lady Florence drawled, sitting down. “Toast and coffee, please, Jeremy.”

  The footman nodded. “And for the young lady?”

  “The same, thank you,” Rose said. “I am sorry to offend, Lady Florence, but telling tales never did anyone any good.”

  “I disagree. It is so amusing.”

  Rose pursed her lips, then turned to Lewis. “How is the submarine? I saw the earl walking out the front door muttering to himself as we came down the stairs.”

  Lewis groaned. “I’d better eat quickly and be on my way. Trials today, but if he’s thought of something else, we’ll have work to do first.”

  “Oh, is everyone invited to watch?” Lady Florence cooed.

  He took an enormous bite of oatmeal and swallowed without chewing. “We’ll send someone to the house if it actually happens today. Then you can bundle up and come down.”

  “How charming,” the woman said in the same syrupy voice.

  He decided he was lucky Victoria came to his door at night, rather than this lady.

  Just then, that lady herself entered the dining room. His intention to shovel down his oatmeal and bolt for the stables fell away when he saw how charming she looked in a dress of dark blue velvet. He could well imagine peeling away the formfitting garment from her marvelous breasts, exposing the tips, which would already be puckered and waiting for him.

  “Are you well?” Lady Florence inquired.

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “I thought I heard you groan, sir,” she said sweetly.

  He glanced up and saw Victoria regarding him curiously. While he wanted to go to her, he could not; his erection had taken another leap in turgidity when his imagination flowered. Good God, he was stuck here, between his desires and this shrew of a woman.

  “Lady Allen-Hill, did you hear the news?” the older woman brayed. “A tryst, at our very own house party!”

  The lady’s glance went immediately to Lewis. He shook his head slightly, hoping to indicate it was not their lovemaking that had been discovered.

  “I see,” she said slowly. “I hope it is not too scandalous, for the countess’s sake. She seems to me a very moral lady.”

  Lady Florence snorted. “Her legs were all but glued together years ago.”

  If anything, Rose went even paler at that coarse remark. Lewis rose, forgetting the condition of his lower body, and turned to his cousin. “Let me take you to your room,” he said into her ear.

  She looked at him gratefully, and it wasn’t until he caught Victoria staring at him in bemusement that he realized she had probably caught sight of the state of his trousers. He shook his head ruefully as he went out, hoping she was intrigued rather than horrified by his condition.

  CHAPTER 10

  Victoria had gone to church with the rest, it being Sunday, but the mood of the house party had been far from pious that morning. The guests of the Gill family—and, indeed, the family members themselves—glanced around, looking to see who was missing. Victoria noticed Ernest and Clement Dickondell were both absent, as was the Scottish baron. Lady Florence was in attendance, along with Lady Barbara, but the earl, his mother, and Lady Rowena were absent as well. Rose Redcake had not walked through the frigid air to the church, but Lewis had. He had not spoken to Victoria when their party assembled in the front hall, though his cheeks had colored slightly when he saw her. She wasn’t sure why.

  Now, he sat in front of her. In fact, she spent the service staring at the back of his neck. The church was frosty cold and he kept his coat on but didn’t have a muffler, so she could see how his blond hair curled against his neck. She imagined he had been a very beautiful child, with ringleted hair and round, rosy cheeks. If they had a child together, would it have his blond hair or her brown? Perhaps some kind of sandy compromise? Foolish to imagine, but every woman was guilty of such fancies when considering a handsome male specimen.

  Soon, her thoughts turned from babies to more sensual longings. She thought of what caresses she might offer to that vulnerable nape. Her fingers itched to carve their way along his scalp again, as they had in a passionate moment. She wanted to hold that head in her hands as she reached the fulfillment only he had ever offered her.

  Her thighs twitched as her center heated, dampened. So close to him, yet so far. The vicar droned on and on, his muffler half-covering his lips so that all his words during the service were indistinct. She could smell paint, as if the damp in the air had kept the church’s walls from ever drying, and wet wool from the coats around her. More snow could come today; it was nearly cold enough. She wondered if the submarine test would be delayed. Would Lewis have more time for her, then? Did it matter? She had arrived on a Monday and there was a week gone already. The house party was nearly half over.

  No, she needed to forget her longings for Lewis and focus on getting to know the other suitors, in case her father presented a serious candidate. With a sigh, she wondered if her father’s businesses could somehow be moved to Scotland. Glasgow might be suitable. She didn’t like anyone here but the baron and Lewis. Time for a firm conversation with her father. She needed to make it clear that neither of his Liverpool-based choices were acceptable. In fact, she’d prefer to have them both chased out of the Fort. And Mr. Dickondell, so briefly a perfect candidate, had proven himself craven.

  She stared at Lewis’s curls again, biting her lip. Her hands pressed tightly against her abdomen so she could resist the urge to touch him. If she bent forward, would she smell that faint odor of sandalwood and machine oil? Or would he just be wet wool–scented like all the rest?

  Penelope, recovered from her indisposition, joined her on the walk back to the Fort, and they continued the fairy tale. She spun her way through ribbons and tapestries—nothing too exciting there—then talked at length about the six tarts untasted. Princess Everilda had decided to be as conscious of her figure as Victoria. She could not make herself fat while Prince Hugh suffered who knew how much.

  The five melting coins cold stymied her, so she was glad to make it into the Fort at just that moment. Her nose burned from the chilly air, a reliable signal that snow would fall within the hour. Hopeful, she looked around for Lewis, but he’d gone straight to the stables.

  Rose came down the hall, exclaiming her jealousy when Penelope told her that more of the story had been revealed. She made Victoria tell about ribbons, tapestries, and tarts all over again; then they worked on an enormous puzzle until it was time for tea.

  Victoria found the full complement of the household in the dining room, where they had been invited to assemble instead of in the parlor. All the men had arrived, not just the ladies. The earl looked solemn at the head of the table, his youngest sister at his side. Instead of making some grim announcement, he gestured to the butler, who crooked his finger at the doorway. Footmen came in with bubbling glasses of champagne.

  The ladies began to smile and whisper. Clearly, whatever had happened overnight had borne fruit. When Lady Rowena’s lips curved in a c
at’s satisfied smirk, Victoria knew what must have happened: Ernest Dickondell had been rejected by her for a tryst, then caught in another’s snare.

  She listened, her expression calm, though her heart was thudding, as the earl announced the engagement of his sister Rowena to Mr. Dickondell. The ladies would mutter on behalf of Lady Barbara later, for she was the elder sister and should have married first. Her family had not put her on the shelf quite yet. Victoria wished she could press her friend’s hand in sympathy, particularly because Mr. Dickondell had not been won in honest wooing but nighttime eroticism. Lady Barbara was standing next to her mother, though, too far away.

  It was possible no one but Victoria realized the true sequence of events. Everyone toasted the future bride and groom with their glasses. She noticed the earl and countess both drained their glasses instantly, while Lady Barbara barely tasted the liquid. Lewis, standing slightly down and across, lifted his glass to her, and she nodded back, gratified by the special toast, though she had no idea what he meant. Would he be in his room tonight? Probably he had no control over his plans. And not only that; Eddy, ill, would be there.

  Victoria ate more of the tea treats than she had intended, polishing off both a lemon and a jam tart, as well as several sandwiches. Thankfully, the earl announced, his chest puffed out with pride in a way it hadn’t been when he told of his sister’s engagement, that they were ready for their first submarine trial, and invited everyone to watch.

  Victoria looked out the window as she left the dining room and saw the snow had held off for now. It wouldn’t much longer. She went up to the nursery to collect Penelope, then bundled them both soundly in coats, gloves, mufflers, and hats. Then they walked hand in hand to the lake. Penelope was fascinated by a family of swans, the purity of their feathers set off by black masks over their eyes, but Victoria found herself distracted by the sight at the back of the barn.