The Twelfth Night Wager

by Regan Walker

  “I rather think you like him.”

  “I do not! He lives in Scotland and builds ships.”

  “Oh. And what does he look like?”

  “Well, he’s tall and handsome with chestnut-colored hair and… Oh, what does it matter?”

  “Hmm. For a man that does not interest you, there is much to commend him.”

  “Enough about William Stephen. What about you? What are you doing for Christmas?”

  “David and I are planning a quiet day. Perhaps after church and dinner we’ll sit in front of the fire enjoying each other’s company. He will be joining friends later.”

  “No mummers? No carolers?”

  “I imagine we’ll have both passing by, but we’ll not be going out.”

  In fact, after she returned from shopping Grace didn’t leave the house again. Really, she hadn’t wanted to. The house was full of good smells from Cook’s baking and the wassail. Though she had servants to do it, Grace placed the final sprigs of holly and greens herself, together with enough candles to add a glow to every room. Even the chandeliers were subjected to red velvet bows.

  Sir Alex came for dinner one evening along with a few other friends, but she did not encourage him further in his suit. They were friends and would remain so. After all this time, there was only one man her heart longed to see. Where was Eustace spending Christmas? She would bet in the arms of another, perhaps the bubbly Miss Wentworth.

  On Christmas Day, Grace and David went to services at St. George’s in Hanover Square, where Muriel, Emily and Mary usually attended. The red carpet between the two rows of dark wooden pews and the gilding on the high arches and pillars seemed perfect for the occasion. The nave was decorated for the season as well, with greens and flowers.

  Arriving a bit late, they took a seat in one of the rear pews as the choir sang “While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks.” Ahead of them several rows, Grace saw her friends Muriel and Emily sitting with a rather large man with chestnut-colored hair. Emily’s Scot, Grace realized, and she smiled, pleased to see her friend attending church with the man. But it also reminded Grace of the auburn-haired man she was missing.

  The vicar’s words were simple but beautiful reminders of the importance of the day and the gift of God’s love that sent the Christ child. Christmas would not be Christmas if they had not gone to church.

  She glanced at David, who was watching a very pretty girl a few rows up. Soon he would be attending balls and courting young women, and pride welled up inside her. Grace was so glad his future would not be at risk from Pickard’s threats or the letters he had held. She wondered what happened to the one they’d never found. Had it been destroyed as Eustace suggested?

  After the service concluded, they lingered in front of the church long enough to bid a happy Christmas to their friends, Lord and Lady Ormond, Lady Claremont and Lady Picton. Grace and David were introduced to the Scot, William Stephen. What a fine-looking man he was. Emily seemed flustered in his presence, which Grace took as a serious sign of the woman’s attraction.

  Because it was Christmas dinner, though it was only the two of them, following soup and baked oysters she and David dined on roast beef and venison with roasted potatoes and squash with carrots. When finally they had eaten their fill, David took a last drink of his wine and leaned back in his chair. “I must save room for dessert. I know you’ll have gingerbread.”

  “Of course, it’s your favorite. And we’ll have Christmas pudding, too.”

  “Anything but mutton!”

  They laughed together, enjoying each other’s company.

  When dinner was finished, Grace thanked Cook for a wonderful meal and wished the servants a happy Christmas. Grace and David retired to the parlor for wassail, where they spent a comfortable hour in front of the fire.

  Late in the afternoon, a carriage came for David. When the footman opened the front door, David’s friend Julian picked up David’s small satchel, bid her a happy Christmas and the two young men were away.

  Grace returned to the parlour and poured herself another drink from the wassail bowl. It was a fitting way to end Christmas, she thought. Taking a sip of the mixture of sherry, ale, sugar and spices, she set one hand on the mantelpiece and looked up at her late husband’s painting. Perhaps she should move the painting to the attic, to save it for David where it would no doubt one day hang in his home. As for her, she couldn’t look at it without thinking of Pickard and the murder and all that had occurred since. Her life with Charles was over, had been for well over a year. Yes, a gilded mirror would do quite nicely in its place.

  As she was pondering what kind of mirror she would purchase, from behind her Smithson said, “My lady, there is a messenger for you.”

  She had known the butler long enough to tell by his voice this was not just any messenger, and she turned to see a perplexed expression on the man’s face. “Yes?”

  “In the entrance hall, my lady. I wasn’t certain you would want him in the parlour.”

  Curious, she followed the butler to the front door where a young man waited just inside with a squirming springer spaniel puppy in his arms. The dog was mostly a deep shade of reddish brown, but his chest, stomach, paws and muzzle were white, and a white stripe ran down his forehead. Around his neck he wore a large red bow. He was the most adorable puppy she had ever seen.

  “He’s for you, my lady. A gift from his lordship,” said the lad.

  “His lordship?” she asked, wondering which of her friends had sent such a gift.

  “Oh, sorry. Viscount Eustace.” The boy handed his burden to Smithson, who reluctantly accepted the gift on her behalf. The puppy obliged by promptly licking the dignified butler’s pained face.

  “There’s food as goes with him, milady.” The boy pointed to a bag on the floor. “And a note.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out an envelope. “Here,” he said, thrusting it at her.

  She recognized the crest even as she opened the letter.

  My lady,

  I hope the pup brings you joy this day. When I saw him, I immediately thought of you and your love for another spaniel long ago. I’ve been thinking of you.

  Happy Christmas,

  Christopher.

  P.S. I’ve been calling him Rufus because of his color, but I’m sure he’ll come to any name you choose. He’s but two months old.

  Tears formed in her eyes as she thanked the boy and took the puppy from a grateful Smithson. “See about a coin for the lad, would you?” she asked the butler. “And food and some water for the puppy. I’ll bring him to the kitchen shortly.”

  “Yes, my lady.” Smithson brushed off his waistcoat and, handing the boy a coin, ushered him outside.

  Returning to the parlour with the puppy happily licking her chin, Grace smiled. She set him down in front of the fireplace and watched him run around the room. Finding a plant of interest in the corner, the pup tugged on the leaves with his small mouth.

  “Well, Rufus. It seems I have a new friend.”

  But, what was she to make of this? Was it a gift one gave a mistress? She had told Eustace she would never accept such a position.

  He could have been done with her, claimed he’d won the wager, but instead, according to Mary, he had said not a word and sent the one gift that would mean more than any other. He had listened to her at Wimpole. He had remembered her love for a puppy long ago. And, I’ve been thinking of you. Her eyes filled with tears of joy. If he lost the wager would there still be a chance for them?

  Hawkins appeared at the door. “My lady? Smithson says we have a new member of the family.”

  Blinking back tears Grace said, “We do indeed.” She smiled. “Come meet Rufus.”

  Spotting the maid, the puppy rushed to greet his new playmate.

  “Oh, my!” Hawkins exclaimed, bending to pet the exuberant young dog clamoring for her attention. “And where did the little fella come from?”

  “Viscount Eustace.”

  “Ah.”

  The mai
d picked up the puppy, which seemed eager to have another face to lick. His long brown ears trailed behind his nose as he tilted it to the maid’s face, his small pink tongue slurping at her chin.

  “I’m not surprised, my lady. The viscount does seem to favor you.”

  * * *

  The morning of Boxing Day the servants lined up in the parlour to receive their gifts and Grace’s gratitude for their faithful service. She loved the tradition and the smiles her presents brought to their faces.

  Smithson immediately donned his woolen scarf and smoothed it to his chest. “I needed one of these, but this is so much finer than I would have expected.”

  Hawkins wrapped her new paisley shawl about her shoulders, tearing up. “’Tis so lovely, my lady.”

  The others were likewise content with their gifts, and then they all had wassail and sponge cake and sang a Christmas carol as Grace played the pianoforte.

  Early in the afternoon, Lord Ormond sent a carriage for her, and Grace soon found herself riding through the streets of Mayfair. It was an unusually warm day. Smithson had told her that in Plymouth, where his sister lived, the gardens were in full bloom with jonquils, narcissus, hyacinths and anemone. How nice after the gloom of mourning for the queen that Christmas should bring with it the sun, though it was near twilight now. It was unfortunate that the ton was still wearing black. Full mourning wouldn’t be over until after Twelfth Night, a coincidence she had not failed to note.

  Watching the people in their dark garb strolling the streets, she thought, In recent years I have been an observer. And yet, for at least a short while, she had been more. She’d left behind her role as observer to participate fully in life. She had embraced the change Muriel encouraged upon her and rediscovered the girl she had once been, riding wild and free over the hills with a man with whom she’d fallen in love—despite all she had known of him before they had become acquainted, yet because of all she had learned afterward of man he really was.

  She had been truthful when she’d told Mary she had her little rebellions. Leaving Eustace before he could leave her was surely one of them. Particularly when her heart told her to stay. When she’d very much wanted to stay. And now he’d given her a spaniel puppy.

  Suddenly, there was a smile on her face.

  * * *

  Christopher arrived intentionally early at Ormond’s town house for the Boxing Day dinner. He wanted to be there when Lady Leisterfield arrived. He’d asked Ormond to send a carriage for her so that he could see her home, himself. He was nervous, which for him was new.

  “Good-day, my lord,” said Jenkins, taking Christopher’s hat and gloves. “His lordship is awaiting you in his study.”

  “Happy Boxing Day, Jenkins. I trust it has been a good morning?”

  “Yes, my lord.” A small smile crossed the butler’s face, which was quite a relaxation of his otherwise solemn demeanor. “My lady has seen that all the servants have been well taken care of.”

  “Well deserved, I’m sure.”

  The butler smiled again. Eustace could only attribute it to the season and hoped there would be more mirth as the day went on.

  Ormond was already drinking brandy when Christopher joined him. The marquess poured another. Christopher took the offered drink.

  “Might I inquire who the other guests are to be?”

  “Well, in addition to my wife and I and Lady Leisterfield, there will be my good friend Griffen Lambeth and his wife Elizabeth. A small group. Mary and I decided the children could have their dinner in the nursery since Christmas was such a grand affair for them. Henry is still tired.”

  Christopher took another swallow of his brandy. “Thank you for including Lady Leisterfield and me.”

  “We would not forget you, Eustace.” Taking a long look at Christopher, he added, “If you don’t mind my saying so, old chap, you seem a bid frayed at the edges. Worried about being with two married couples and the lady?”

  “Not worried, no,” said Christopher. “I had hoped for this meeting, as you know. I am hoping to win the lady, and you were kind to indulge me. I’ve only spoken to Lady Leisterfield once since we returned from the hunting lodge, and I wasn’t certain how I was received. Then, too, I’ve yet to learn if she liked my gift.”

  “I commend you on that touch. The way to the lady’s heart may just be by way of a puppy. Though you know if you prevail, it will cost you the wager,” he teased.

  “Damn the wager, Ormond. Does she know you invited me?”

  “I made a point of asking my wife not to tell her,” said Ormond.

  Christopher looked up at him in question. “I was concerned Lady Leisterfield might decline.”

  “Oh, yes,” the marquess admitted. “She might have done.”

  His friend seemed amused at his anxiety. A well-deserved comeuppance, Christopher supposed. He had told Ormond that he meant to win the lady, which had won him a grin from his friend, which had stopped Christopher from revealing that the lady had left him in the first place.

  The Lambeths arrived with smiles on their faces. Griffen and his wife Elizabeth were an amenable pair. A second son free to indulge in his favorite pastimes, the fair-haired friend of the marquess had once been a scholar but now worked with Ormond in some capacity for the government.

  Married shortly after the Ormonds, the Lambeths seemed quite content with each other. So, there would be two sets of lovebirds, a bachelor and a reluctant lady. What was the word Lady Claremont had used?

  Interesting.

  * * *

  Grace was late, owing to a problem with the carriage. Like Lady Claremont’s, the Ormond conveyance was a landau drawn by four horses, and it had been a comfortable ride until the mishap. But once the broken trace was repaired, they made the short final journey to the town house.

  Jenkins greeted her at the door. “Allow me to show you into the parlour, Lady Leisterfield. I believe that is where you will find his lordship and Lady Ormond and their guests.”

  She entered the parlour, accepting a cup of wassail from the footman standing just inside the door. Mary and her close friend Elizabeth stood to one side, chatting with Elizabeth’s husband Mr. Lambeth. Grace breathed in the wonderful scent of spices that went with the warm drink and turned toward the fireplace—

  For a moment she just stared. Directly in front of her was Eustace talking with Ormond. He lifted his head to look at her, and in his eyes she saw a welcome as warm as the wassail in her hand. Her heart missed a beat.

  Ormond, whose back had been facing her, turned. “Lady Leisterfield,” he said. “Do join us.”

  Somehow she found her voice. “Please forgive me for being late.”

  “No matter,” the marquess assured her. “We are only into the preliminaries. I see you’ve some wassail. Very good.” Gesturing, he said, “You know Eustace, of course.”

  “Yes.” She smiled at both men but said, “I must thank you for the kind gift, my lord. Rufus has become a member of the family already. He is quite adorable.”

  “I’m delighted you are pleased with him. I confess I was rather trying to bribe you.”

  Grace felt a moment of horror. Bribe her for what? Was it simply to lure her to his bed? If that was the case, though it would pain her to reject him, she vowed she would.

  Mary and Elizabeth, followed by Lambeth, walked across the room to greet her.

  “Happy Boxing Day,” said Mary. “It’s one of my favorite days of the season.”

  It was an attestation to her nervous state that it took a moment to reply. “I enjoyed my morning with the servants,” agreed Grace, remembering how bright had been Smithson’s eyes as he thanked her for the woolen scarf.

  “Did you have a happy Christmas, Lady Leisterfield?” inquired the redheaded Elizabeth. Her husband moved his hand to her shoulder and dipped his head in greeting.

  “A quiet one for the most part,” Grace replied. She darted a look at Eustace, who smiled wryly. He well knew the puppy he’d given her would have rendered her
evening hours most eventful, but Grace had not been unhappy with the change from the original evening she’d planned. The puppy was now firmly ensconced in her life—and in her heart—though it had been less than a day since his arrival.

  “You should have been here yesterday,” said Ormond. “’Twas chaos as Henry had too many sugarplums and too many toys, keeping him up very late. But it was a good day for all. Cook outdid herself with the roast goose.”

  “I love roast goose,” said Lambeth, “but sometimes for Christmas dinner we dine on pheasant. It’s a favorite of Elizabeth’s.”

  Grace noted the man’s hand tightening on his wife’s shoulder, and the couple shared a look of fond affection. She sighed. Such marital bliss was unknown to her. The closest she’d come was her time with Eustace at the hunting lodge.

  She stole another glance at Eustace only to encounter his cinnamon eyes fixed upon her. She felt a strong current of emotion running between them, just as it had that night at the lodge, the night she’d welcomed him to her bed. Now, having shared their passion and their bodies, she did not think she could ever again look at him without feeling unsettled.

  I’ve been thinking of you. What did he mean for her to make of that?

  The tension thick between them, Grace was relieved when the butler suddenly appeared at the door and announced that dinner was served.

  Chapter 11

  Had he seen a longing in those beautiful blue eyes? Or was he only imagining what he most fervently wished to see? Before the night was over, Christopher vowed he would know the truth of it.

  He thought the dinner would be sweet torture when he took his seat next to Lady Leisterfield, but when, in an impulsive moment, he surreptitiously reached his hand to cover hers resting on her thigh, she did not withdraw but turned instead and smiled at him. It sent a sharp stab of desire straight to his loins. There was hope after all.

  He barely tasted the splendid repast Ormond laid out for his guests. Nor, he noticed, did Lady Leisterfield consume much. Still, he managed to sample the salmon trout with shrimp, the curried rabbit and the saddle of mutton. The lemon ice that followed was sweet and very cooling to his mouth. He imagined tasting it on Lady Leisterfield’s lips as he watched her capture an errant drop with her tongue.