“Good morning, Perdita,” he said. “You’re looking well this morning.”
“Hullo, Perdy,” Allister greeted, using her childhood nickname. “You’re doing your hair differently. Are you busy practicing your come-out curtsey?”
“Have you bankrupted us yet, choosing your debut wardrobe?” Richard teased. “Will there be any money left by next spring?”
“You shouldn’t be so quick with your teasing,” Perdita said demurely, taking her place at the table. “I looked in on both Rosalind and Gwenyth before coming downstairs and you are both commanded to bring them news of our racer as quickly as possible. Neither feels well enough to join us for the traditional drawing, but I suppose being with child might do that to a woman. At least they’re not casting up their accounts.”
“Perdita!”
She blinked at the trio of protesting voices. “What?”
“Language, Perdita,” Cam said sternly. “Language!”
“Oh, very well,” she said. “It is time, isn’t it?”
The wall clock chimed out the nine o’clock hour in answer. When it finished, Cam reached for the silver bell next to his cup and rang it. As if waiting behind the door, Oakley entered and asked, “Is it time, my lord?”
“Yes,” Cam said. “You may begin, Oakley.”
The butler departed, only to return seconds later, carrying a small flat box. After he chose a spot in the corner, he said,
“Lady Perdita, if you would be so good as to assist me?”
“With pleasure,” Perdita intoned. She went to join him and a series of whispers was exchanged. Then she returned to the table and cleared her throat.
“Gentlemen,” she said, continuing in the same lofty tone. “You will recall the rules. Each of you will pull one of the small sticks from my hand,” she said and held it out for them to see the small wooden sticks jutting up from her fist. “Hide it in your hand. Not until all the sticks are pulled, may you open your hand so we can compare and see who will be our racer. The one with the longest stick is the winner. Allister, since you are the youngest male, tradition dictates you will go first.”
Allister grinned at his brothers and drew his stick. Perdita moved about the table to Richard, her expression as solemn as a novice taking her final vows. After Cam pulled his stick, Perdita opened her hand. “As you see, there are no more,” she said. “Gentlemen, present your sticks!”
The brothers placed their sticks on the table side by side and Richard let out a whoop. “Strike me pink, I won!”
“Congratulations, Richard,” Cam said. “It’s been a while since you raced.”
“Good job, Richard, “ Allister added. “Now you can convince Gwenyth to let you buy that horse at Tattersall’s you want. You’ll just have to decide which one.” It was a tradition that the winner had the full support of his other brothers with no complaints or whining. Their parents had detested whining.
The door opened and the housekeeper, Mrs. Oakley, appeared, trying unsuccessfully to hide her smile.
“Excuse me, Master Richard, Master Allister,” she said. Your wives are asking for you. Somewhat stridently, I might add.”
“I think that’s the signal for us to leave and share your good news, Richard.” Allister patted his lips with his napkin and rose. “We’ll talk about the race later, Cam.”
“We’ll need to decide which of the horses to buy,” Richard said, also getting to his feet. “Let’s go for a short ride before we leave. Cam? Perdita? Will you join us?”
“If our wives will let us out of their sight for that long,” Allister called over his shoulder, and a laughing Richard followed him into the hall.
“You’re not still angry with me are you?” Perdita asked without preamble. “For going to the rectory last night while you were searching for Amanda?”
“I’ve never been angry with you longer than five minutes,” Cam said gently. No one could stay angry long with Perdita. He filled her coffee cup and asked, “You’re quite fond of Miss Fleming, aren’t you?”
Perdita nodded. “I like her better than anyone I’ve ever met. She’s fun and she doesn’t seem to care too much what people think about her.”
“Which could be a problem if she wants to marry a respectable man,” Cam told her. “A lady’s reputation as a lady is her dearest possession.”
Good heavens. I sound like Father! Am I getting pompous before I turn thirty?
“She’s a gentleman’s daughter,” Perdita countered, pouring cream into her coffee. “And there’s nothing wrong with her reputation. Why don’t you marry Amanda?”
Only massive self-control kept Cam’s cup from falling from his hand to the table. “Perdita Louise Hunt,” he said sternly. “I will thank you not to make such suggestions out loud or in public. Lucy and I have an understanding—”
“An understanding?” Perdita frowned as she uncovered the toast and put a piece on her plate. “What kind of understanding? Have you ever actually asked Lucy to marry you?”
“Perhaps expectation would be a better word,” Cam amended. “And no, I have not asked Lucy to marry me. Not yet.”
“But she’s kept you waiting for three years.”
“While she was at school,” Cam reminded her. “As it was her dearest wish to attend the same finishing school her great-aunt Adelaide attended, I could hardly ask her to marry me until she finished.”
“And now Lucy is the perfect lady,” Perdita said crossly. “She’s so perfect I’d be afraid to sneeze around her. She’d never even think about trying to ride astride or race with me—”
“Thank God for that,” Cam interrupted. “Perdita—”
“—or make an Advent wreath for the church! Cam, Lucy’s not any fun! Not like Amanda. Don’t you like Amanda even a bit?”
“I knew sending you to that young ladies’ seminary was a mistake,” Cam muttered. “You’ve become far too outspoken and now you’re giving me advice on who I should marry?”
“But Cam—”
“That’s quite enough.” Cam shoved his chair back and rose so quickly it toppled over. “Perdita, I am not going to discuss this with you. My personal affairs, including my pending engagement to Lucy, should she have me, are none of your, or anyone else’s business. Is that quite clear?”
Perdita lowered her head. “Yes, Cam.”
“Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to talk to the gardening staff about the decorations you want for the ball.”
He had made it to the door when Perdita’s voice stopped him. A voice filled with a newfound confidence, one obviously gained from her friendship with Amanda Fleming.
“You won’t be happy if you marry Lucy,” her voice accused. “She may be suitable, but you won’t be happy.”
Her words sent a wave of doubt rippling through his heart, and he almost turned back to argue with her again. A lone bead of sweat broke out on the back of his neck to travel past his collar.
Marry Amanda Fleming? Incredible. Outrageous. Impossible. The image of her racing toward him and Lucy, hat gone and hair flowing down her back crashed into his memory. A Viking princess indeed.
Then sense and logic returned. Perdita was a child, and he was the ninth Earl of St. Cloud. Earls do not marry the outspoken, independent and totally unpredictable sisters of clergymen.
Especially when they look like Viking princesses.
And with the weapons of logic and sense on his side, Cam continued out into the hall and to the hothouses.
****
“And so you see, Miss Fleming, we’ve everything for the Christmas Eve services well in hand,” Mrs. Baker said proudly. “We three consider it our sacred Christian duty to keep things running smoothly at All Souls.”
You mean keeping others off the Altar Guild and other positions at the church to insure that you will maintain your grip on things. Amanda’s cheeks ached from forcing her lips to maintain a smile during tea, but she promised Stephen she would try to be nice to these women. She wasn’t about to ruin his first
Christmas at All Souls by making it his last.
So she would be nice to the powers of Tarwater, Baker and Hopewell even if it killed her.
“How very kind of you,” she said, filling her visitors’ cups once again. “I’m sure Mr. Smythe depended on you a great deal. Is there anything else we need to discuss about Christmas traditions at All Souls?”
“No, but my husband told me something very interesting last night,” Mrs. Tarwater said. “And as he is the Senior Warden, he is in a position to know.”
And of course he told you before he told Stephen. “Concerning All Souls?” Amanda said with as much innocence as she could muster. “May you share it with us?”
“Josiah Hawkins has decided to retire as verger.”
This was not what Amanda had expected to hear. “But hasn’t Mr. Hawkins been verger here for a very long time?”
“Too long if you ask me,” Mrs. Baker chimed in. “He’s nearly seventy and getting absentminded. Just imagine what might happen if he forgot to come to the service on Christmas Eve.”
“How odd,” Amanda said. “Stephen and I had lunch with Mr. Hawkins two days ago and he didn’t mention it.”
“He only decided yesterday,” Mrs. Tarwater said hastily. “He feels badly about leaving All Souls just before Christmas, but he received a letter from his daughter, asking him to come and live with her in Plymouth. She especially wants him there for Christmas.”
Suspicion curled around the base of Amanda’s spine. “But why didn’t Mr. Hawkins tell Stephen himself?”
“Josiah and my husband have been friends for so long, it was just habit to tell him first.” Mrs. Tarwater might have been explaining a very simple lesson to a stubborn child. “I’m sure Josiah will tell your brother sometime today. And Mr. Tarwater even has a suggestion for a replacement.”
Recalling Hattie Nichols’s description of how the vestry had dashed her grandson’s dreams of being trained for verger, rang a warning bell in Amanda’s head. “And who might that be?” she asked. “I’m sure Stephen will want to meet with him.”
“My husband,” Mrs. Hopewell said proudly. “And since Mr. Hopewell is on the vestry and attends church every Sunday, there is very little need for training. He’s watched Mr. Hawkins perform his duties hundreds of time. I’m sure Mr. Hawkins can have him ready by Christmas Eve.”
“I see.” Excitement quickened Amanda’s heart as an idea began to take shape in her mind. But she managed to smile at her guests and ask, “May I offer you some more cake?”
Chapter Eleven
Several days later.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to wrap this one too, Miss?” The woman slid the second small, flat box across the counter and handed Amanda her change. “There isn’t any charge to wrap them both.”
“No, thank you,” Amanda told her, slipping the boxes into her cloth shopping bag. Stephen desperately needed new gloves. These would make the perfect Christmas present and he could wear them during the sleigh race.
But she had also just done something outlandish, something a single lady should never do for a single gentleman of her acquaintance.
She had purchased a new pair of gloves for Cameron Hunt.
After all, she argued with herself as she left the men’s haberdashery, she was partially responsible for his ruined gloves. Her and the rabbit. Hamish would get no blame. Hamish was a Scottish Terrier, and everyone knew terriers chased things.
So it wasn’t as if she were buying St. Cloud a gift.
Recalling his irritated expression as he rose from the mud, Amanda’s cheeks burned. Weeks ago, she would have laughed at the memory of his affronted dignity. But now? Oh dear.
Because now she was falling head over heels with the earl of St. Cloud. Any day now, she would be called upon to smile and wish him joy when his engagement to Lucy Guest was announced.
And she wasn’t sure she could watch that without it breaking her heart. She just hoped her guess about St. Cloud’s glove size was correct.
Withholding a sigh, she continued down Chastleford’s High Street. Situated five miles from Huntingdown, it offered a larger selection of shops and specialty stores. This was the first time since taking up the living at All Souls that she and Stephen visited Chastleford. It was pretty enough, but she realized she much preferred Huntingdown’s slower pace, and the beauty and quiet of its surrounding countryside. But then, she grew up in the countryside and always found city life to be wanting.
An ornately carved sign hanging over the sidewalk ahead, proclaimed the establishment below it to be Cardshaw’s Books and Fine Things. The late morning sun hit the sign’s gold letters giving them a lustrous sheen that tempted the viewer to enter.
And there in the shop’s large front window was displayed another present she could give Stephen. Smiling, Amanda pushed open the door and entered.
“Good morning, Miss.” A bearded man stepped from behind the counter and bowed.
“Laurence Cardshaw, at your service. Welcome to Cardshaw’s Books and Fine Things. Is there something in particular I might help you find?”
“Yes, please,” Amanda said. “I would like to purchase a copy of Southey’s Life of Nelson, like the one you have on display.”
“Oh, dear, I’m so very sorry.” Mr. Cardshaw shook his head. “We’ve just sold our last copy.”
“But the one in the window?” Amanda said, her excitement fading. “Surely you would be willing to sell that one?”
“I’m afraid we need to keep that one for display.” Regret colored Mr. Cardshaw’s tone. “The book has been so popular, we’ve not been able to keep it in stock.”
“I wanted to purchase it for my brother for a Christmas present,” Amanda said sadly. “He’s so been wanting to read it, but with us just moving to the area, he simply hasn’t had the time to purchase his own copy.”
“I would be glad to take your order for the next shipment,” Mr. Cardshaw offered. “But we would not have them until after Christmas.”
“Then it would seem the only thing to do is to give the lady my copy.”
Cameron Hunt emerged from the stacks, two volumes tucked under his arm. Immaculately turned out as always, it was amazing that even with Lucy Guest his prospective bride how, he could have stayed a bachelor for so long. He was quite simply, breathtaking.
Somehow her brain remembered how to work and she curtsied. “Good morning, my lord. I hope I find you well?”
He bowed in return. “Very well, Miss Fleming,” His baritone voice spread over her, warming her skin while his eyes’ assessment only added to the throbbing of her pulse. “And yourself?”
“I am well,” she said. “Stephen and I came into Chastleford to do some Christmas shopping. He’s out buying a present for me, so of course I was told to make myself scarce and here I am.”
“Perdita said the same thing,” St. Cloud said. “She has George in attendance at some undisclosed location. And so, here I am. Did I hear you say you hoped to purchase Southey’s Life of Nelson for your brother?”
Amanda’s disappointment returned. “Yes. Stephen has wanted to read it for ages, so I decided it would be the perfect Christmas present. But its popularity is my undoing. Mr. Cardshaw says the next shipment will not be here until after Christmas.”
“It’s very hard to find copies in London as well,” Mr. Cardshaw added. “I visited several bookstores there last week, but there wasn’t a single copy to be had.”
“Then there’s only one thing to be done, Miss Fleming,” St. Cloud said. “You must take my copy and give it to your brother.”
“My lord!” Amanda was aghast. “I can’t let you do that!”
He raised a single eyebrow. “Why not?”
“Because—because it’s yours.”
“And as such, I am free to do with it what I like. Mr. Cardshaw?”
“Yes, my lord?” Curiosity danced in Cardshaw’s eyes.
“I insist you sell Miss Fleming the copy of Life of Nelson that I just purchased,
please. Her brother is the new rector at All Souls in Huntingdown and regarded as a very fine scholar. You may apply the price of that to these.” St. Cloud held up his two books.
“As you wish, my lord.” Cardshaw’s gaze traveled back to Amanda. “Is there anything else I might find for you, Miss Fleming?”
“Well,” Amanda hesitated. “How very fortunate we should meet like this, my lord. I planned to buy Lady Perdita a book as well. Perhaps you might help me in my selection? That is, if you think she would enjoy a book.”
The mention of Perdita brought a smile to St. Cloud’s features. “A book would please her greatly, Miss Fleming. In fact, might I suggest these?” He handed her the two volumes.”
“Oh, excellent choice,” Amanda praised. Pride and Prejudice as well as Sense and Sensibility, both by the lady whose name is unknown to us. Has Lady Perdita not read them yet?”
“I don’t believe so, but I have read them both and I think she’s old enough to appreciate them,” St. Cloud said. “You’ve read them?”
“Yes, and enjoyed them very much. Although,” she laughed, “her descriptions of clergymen are not at all flattering.”
“Ah, the repulsive Mr. Collins.” St. Cloud made a face. “Perhaps the lady knows clergyman very well.”
Amanda laughed at his dour expression. “But if you were planning on giving Lady Perdita these books—”
He cut off her off with a wave of his hand. “Miss Fleming, I have a vast number of other presents to give my sister this year. I think two novels about love from a lady friend would tickle her fancy like nothing else. She is supposed to meet me for refreshments at Sanford’s in ten minutes. Would you and your brother care to join us?”
“Thank you, my lord.” Do I sound delirious with joy? Think of how Elinor if not Marianne would behave. “I should enjoy that very much. Stephen and I also planned to meet at Sanford’s.”
“Then fate must have determined that we meet like this,” St. Cloud said. “And it is never wise to tempt the Fates, or so the Greeks would have us believe. Shall we go?”
They went to the counter to pay for her purchases. Mr. Cardshaw placed St. Cloud’s copy of Life of Nelson on the counter and Amanda sighed in pure pleasure.
Christmas is in the Air Page 20