Christmas is in the Air

by Cary Morgan-Frates

  But how in the world could he thank Amanda?

  The Flemings stopped, and Cam introduced them to his brothers and their wives, and then watched in amazement as Amanda and Perdita exchanged compliments on their gowns. From their smiles and soft laughter, one would never suspect a near disaster had been averted. Thanks to Amanda.

  Cam glanced at Oakley who tapped a gloved finger on the side of his nose to show that all the guests had arrived.

  From the upstairs gallery, a waltz began, and as if by an unspoken signal, the guests stepped back to watch Cam put his arm around Perdita’s waist and sweep her out onto the floor for the traditional opening dance.

  “Do you suppose,” he said, his heart nearly breaking with brotherly pride, “that the patronesses at Almack’s will be upset for our waltzing in public before you make your bow?”

  She wrinkled her nose in true Perdita fashion. “Silly old tabbies, trying to spoil people’s fun. Besides, you’re my brother, and this is our ball, so who will care? But I shan’t tell if you don’t.”

  “I’ll take it to my grave,” he said and her bright laughter rang out over the ballroom. No one, not his mother, not an army of governesses or even her finishing school teachers, had ever been able to quell Perdita’s laugh.

  And for that, Cam owed them a million thanks.

  The waltz ended and after kissing her hands, the guests joined them on the floor. Cam spent the next half hour dancing with his sisters-in-law, and his other guests. Country dances, cotillion and even a reel. Between dances he discussed the upcoming race with the gentlemen and listened to the ladies swap the latest on-dits from London.

  And all the while, Amanda seemed to keep her distance, managing not once to be in his set during the country dances. It was the hardest thing he had ever done not to seek her out with his eyes.

  Another waltz began and he sought out Lucy. The other guests—as if to acknowledge their approval of the future uniting of the houses of Pembroke and St. Cloud—let them have the floor to themselves.

  “When does your Aunt Adelaide arrive?” he asked. Her gloved hand in his was warm, her face held the usual serenity. Cam could not imagine this exquisite and perfectly-behaved creature ever riding neck or nothing, or arguing with the Vestry and their wives.

  Or giving away a ball gown.

  “Any time now,” she said, smiling up at him. “We pray she’ll be here by Christmas. It wouldn’t be the same holiday without her.”

  “I hope you’ll let me know the moment she arrives,” Cam said.

  She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “The very moment. I promise.”

  The music ended and he led her back to her chair and her smiling mother. Another waltz began, and Cam made his way to stop before Amanda’s chair and bow.

  “Miss Fleming, if you are not otherwise engaged, I should like to dance with you.”

  The open fan she held began to beat a little faster, and her eyes lowered to stare at it. “Thank you, my lord, but—”

  Cam bowed again. “I insist.”

  She raised her eyes and regarded him solemnly. Then she closed her fan, and stood to take his hand. He swept her out onto the crowded floor, maneuvering them close to the French doors that lead to the garden.

  “I don’t know how I can thank you.” Cam saw no reason not to get to the point. “Perdita told me everything.”

  “She was so worried,” his partner said softly. “Worried that she would embarrass you and your family by not looking well on this night of nights. Indeed, I think she would have gladly worn the orange gown at her court presentation rather than at her first Winter Ball. And so—”

  “You gave her your gown,” Cam interrupted. “There is not a single woman of my acquaintance who would have made such a sacrifice.”

  “It’s not nearly so important that I look fashionable tonight, Cameron. I’m only a clergyman’s sister; not a young woman preparing to enter Society.”

  Her self-deprecation nearly caused Cam to miss a step, and her hushed pronunciation of his name sent a wave of affection surging over him.

  “I must disagree with that,” he said at last. “I’m beginning to think you are one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met. Miss Fleming—Amanda—”

  The waltz ended and she gave a quick curtsey, murmuring something about a headache before she hurried away. Cam stared after her but any plan to engage her once more was stopped by a gentle hand on his arm.

  “I do think that tonight is already a success,” Emmaline Guest was saying. “Oakley has just sent word to Lady Perdita that the buffet supper is ready. I’ve no doubt its richness will only add to the evening’s enjoyment.”

  Knowing he could hardly refuse to dine at his own party, or not escort the highest-ranking lady present into the dining room, Cam forced his lips into a smile of acceptance. “Then let’s go see what my kitchen staff prepared for us.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I say, Amanda, it’s not like you to go all faint and delicate—especially at a ball,” Stephen said, as he stirred up the fire in the rectory library. “Did something happen between you and St. Cloud?”

  They had asked Oakley to give their apologies to St. Cloud and Perdita, and returned to the rectory. Hamish slept in his basket, snoring softly. The only other sound was the crackle of the fire. Stephen put down the poker, turned, cocked his head, and watched her.

  “Does this have something to do with you giving Perdita your gown?” he asked “And I must say again, even if you are my sister, I think that was the most unselfish thing I’ve ever known anyone to do. But you looked wonderful in that ivory gown.”

  “It wasn’t the gown, Stephen.”

  “Then what? Was St. Cloud rude to you? Was anyone rude to you?”

  The sorrow in Amanda’s heart grew to an almost unbearable heaviness. “No,” she said. “I mean, yes. I mean—oh Stephen, I’ve done it again. I’ve cost you your living here at All Souls.”

  Confusion and astonishment narrowed his eyes. “Mandy, what in the world are you talking about? Your behavior here has been blameless.”

  “People are talking about us,” she choked. “Or they will.

  And when that happens, then Perdita and Cameron’s future prospects for marriage will be ruined.”

  “I don’t understand.” The tenderness in Stephen’s voice nearly brought her to tears.

  “Then sit down, please.” Tension spread throughout Amanda’s body, tightening her muscles into a painful coil as she watched him sit in the high-backed chair and stretch out his legs.

  “I’m listening,” he said.

  She told him of the triumvirate’s visit after his departure yesterday and their veiled threats and insinuations. “We can’t let Cameron and Perdita be hurt by us, Stephen,” she choked. “We must leave Huntingdown after Christmas.”

  “But we’ve done nothing wrong!” An unfamiliar anger laced his voice. “This is all nonsense!”

  “But some people are angry at us, Stephen—especially the Triumvirate and their husbands. Or rather, at me. Perdita and St. Cloud don’t deserve to be made unhappy by scandal or even idle gossip. And those women are just the ones to start it. Perdita hasn’t even made her debut yet. I would never forgive myself if her chance for happiness was spoiled by my being even slightly indiscreet. And St. Cloud is only waiting for Lucy’s great-aunt Adelaide to return before he proposes. Everyone at the ball said so. A scandal would ruin that too. Don’t you see? We must leave Huntingdown after Christmas?”

  “Does your being in love with St. Cloud have anything to do with this?”

  His question jerked Amanda’s gaze up from the carpet to his face. There was no sense trying to pretend she didn’t understand his question or deny what he obviously knew. He was her twin and he knew her as well as she knew him, so she could only nod in miserable silence.

  “I wouldn’t want you to have a moment’s sorrow, Mandy,” Stephen said at last. “I’ll write to Master Phillips the day after Christmas and tell him if he
hasn’t found someone for the position at Oxford I would like be considered. I’m sure he’ll agree.”

  “Thank you.” Amanda managed not to strangle on the words.

  “There’s one thing I don’t understand, though,” Stephen said, untying his elaborate cravat and tossing it aside. “It’s not like you to give up without a fight. Why are you letting these women push you around?”

  “I haven’t anything to fight with,” Amanda said. “St. Cloud and Lucy—”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Mandy, call him Cameron. You’re having a conversation with me.”

  She bowed her head again. “I’ve never been in love, before,” she said. “I don’t think I could stand to stay and listen to you read out Cameron and Lucy’s banns. It would break my heart.”

  “Ah, Mandy.” Stephen rose and came to put his arms around her. His brotherly warmth spread around her and Amanda gave herself up to tears. She cried for a long time, listening to the slow, calm beating of his heart.

  “Look, here’s Hamish finally awake,” Stephen said at last. “Did we remember to feed him before we left?” The Scottie had come to sit at their feet, his stubby tail moving back and forth on the carpet.

  A hiccoughing laugh broke through the last of Amanda’s sobs and she leaned down to pick up the little dog. “No,” she said, “bad parents that we are.”

  Hamish barked in agreement, bringing the siblings to more laughter. “How can I be sad for long when I have a Scottie in my lap?” Amanda asked, rubbing Hamish’s back.

  “Not long,” Stephen agreed, standing up to stretch out his long body, his arms over his head. “I suppose we should go to bed. After all, the sleigh race is tomorrow.”

  “And you’ll win,” Amanda declared, putting Hamish on the floor. “You’ll even beat Richard Hunt, with that marvelous stepper Squire Beecham loaned you. I’d wager even money on it if it wouldn’t cause even more scandal. It will show all of Huntingdown that if they are to be rid of us, your winning the annual race instead of a St. Cloud, will give them something to talk about it for years.”

  “Say that again.” Stephen froze in mid-stretch.

  “I said you’ll even beat Richard Hunt and—”

  “No. That other thing you said.”

  Amanda squinted up at him. “About giving Huntingdown something to talk about?”

  A sly, most un-clergyman like smile crept across Stephen’s face. “Yes. Exactly.”

  ****

  Early the next morning.

  I’m terribly sorry, Lucy, but I can’t marry you.

  “No, that won’t do.” Cam stared at the penned words on the page, then squashed the paper and tossed it onto the floor. He had to be sure the words he spoke to Lucy were just right—if any words for breaking off a relationship could be right.

  He rubbed his sleepless eyes, reached for another piece of paper, picked up his pen and started again. The quill’s scratching was loud in the silence of his bedroom, drowning out the whispered tick of the wall clock.

  Our families have always been friends, Lucy, and I know our fathers thought we’d be a good match, but. . .

  “Damn!” Cam threw down his quill, shoved the single sheet along with a stack of paper aside, so that it drifted to the floor, and went to stand before the window. A lacy frost iced the windows and a new fallen snow covered the grounds as far as the eye could see. It should be a good day for the sleigh race.

  But what about the rest of the day and the rest of his life? Cam leaned his forehead against the glass. There was no other course open to him but to try to explain to Lucy Guest that he could not, would not, marry her. It was as simple as that, if something like love could ever be simple. But there it was.

  He was in love with Amanda Fleming. The realization lightened his heart and the weariness from the previous sleepless night, spent staring into the dark, left him. He was in love with Amanda Fleming.

  His brain sent out a howl of protest. Have you lost your mind? No breath of scandal has ever touched the St. Clouds. And you’re going to be the first? What about tradition and honor and dignity and keeping your word? What about the St. Cloud name?

  But you, Cameron Hunt, never gave any promise, his heart countered. You just went along because your father suggested it would be a good idea to marry Lucy and you knew her and like her. But you never gave your word or your promise.

  And then incredibly, he heard his mother’s beloved voice whisper in his brain. A voice that had been as much a part of raising him as his father’s. A voice he had loved just as much.

  Listen to your heart, my son. Listen to your heart.

  Damnation, why was he waiting? He sprang for the bell- pull, yanked it several times, then hurled himself into his dressing room and started grabbing blindly at his clothing. What did a man wear on such an occasion? Where the devil were Oakley and Higgens?

  He jerked the dressing room’s bell pull, and grabbing several suits from the rack, carried them back to the bedroom and threw them on the bed before lighting more candles and stirring up the fire.

  “Shoes or boots?” he muttered, returning to the dressing room to gather up an armload of both. Halfway across the room, his bare foot slid over a stray sheet of paper He opened his arms to steady himself and his foot ware fell to the floor, scattering around the carpet. He stumbled on to the bureau, yanked open the drawer and began to paw through his linen, undoing Higgens’s neat stacks.

  “Neck-cloth. Simple or elaborate?” Can asked the room. When several of those were collected and scattered on his desk like so many discarded sheets of paper, he went to stand in front of the full-length mirror in the corner and raked his hands through his hair. Should he let Higgens trim it a bit? No, wait. His valet did it only two days ago. And would there be time for a bath? No, just a quick scrub-up at the washstand and where the devil were his servants? “Oakley! Higgens!”

  “You rang, my lord?”

  Cam spun on his heel to find both men behind him, their eyes wide with surprise and shock as they took in the avalanche of disordered clothing and their equally disordered employer. Of course they would be shocked. Cam had never raised his voice to them, much less thrown his clothing around the room.

  But then today was going to be a day like no other day.

  “Oakley, wake George,” Cam ordered, walking to the bed. “Tell him to get my smaller carriage ready to go to the Pembrokes as soon as possible.”

  “Th-the P-Pembrokes?” Oakley stuttered. He glanced at the wall clock and looked back at Cam. “But it’s five o’clock in the morning, sir.”

  “I can tell time, Oakley!” Cam shouted. Then a tiny bit of reason entered his brain. “Sorry. Just tell him to do it, please. I won’t need Quinn. Then bring me a cup of very strong tea. I’ve no doubt Cook is already preparing the post-race breakfast. Hurry, man!”

  “Yes sir.” Oakley nearly fled from the room.

  “Higgens, which of those suits do you think would be suitable?” Cam took his valet by the arm and dragged the man to the bed. “I’ve half a dozen here and I can’t decide.”

  “For an early morning call, my lord?” The usual placid calm had returned to Higgens’s face. He studied the array of clothing with narrowed eyes and frowned thoughtfully. “I would say the black with the golden waistcoat. Shoes, not boots.”

  “Black, golden waistcoat, shoes,” Cam agreed, like a child reciting a lesson. “Good. Very good.”

  “Very good, my lord,” Higgens repeated. “As to your neck-cloth, sir, might I suggest something simple but elegant?”

  “By heaven, of course. Brilliant!” Cam praised. “Remind me to raise your salary, Higgens.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” Higgens said, as he began to gather up the other clothing. “Ah…my lord?”

  “Yes?”

  “May I be the first to wish you joy? I have no doubt that Lady Lucy will make a splendid countess and you will know every happiness.”

  Oakley returned with a tray bearing a jug of hot water and the requeste
d cup of tea. He poured the water into the washbasin, handed Cam the cup and asked, “Is there a note you would like George to deliver to the Pembrokes before you call on them, my lord?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “But isn’t that rather untraditional, my lord?” Oakley exchanged glances with Higgens. “Given the hour?”

  By heaven, it’s only the first tradition I’m going to be breaking today. “The element of surprise has its advantages, Oakley. Especially where women are concerned.”

  “I see,” Oakley said, and this time he and Higgens exchanged smiles and nods of understanding. “Will you announce the first banns this Sunday?”

  “I hope so,” Cam said. “I sincerely hope so.”

  “My lord?” Higgens said. “I know you always shave yourself, but just this once, would you let me do the honors? We wouldn’t want your hands…ah…how should I put this? In your excitement—”

  “Anticipation,” Oakley corrected, rocking back on his heels.

  Higgens snapped his fingers in agreement. “Much better. We wouldn’t want your anticipation of the morning’s upcoming events to unsteady your hands.”

  Would my hands really tremble so much? Gratefully, Cam drank his tea, handed Oakley the cup and said, “Yes, thank you, Higgens. I would appreciate that.”

  And as Cam sat down for the most important shave of his life, he listened to the joyful beating of his heart. Amanda. Amanda. Amanda.

  ***

  Lights blazed from every window in the Pembrokes’s home, and apprehension tightened Cam’s body into pulsing knots as his carriage made its way up the long drive. It was well-known among the ton that the Pembrokes were notoriously late sleepers, seldom rising before ten o’clock in the morning, and yet it appeared that everyone was up and awake at the unspeakably early hour of six. Something had happened.

  Aunt Adelaide has arrived. It was the only answer. Trying to ignore the furious knocking of his heart, Cam brushed the front of his coat, took off his hat to smooth his hair and filled his lungs with air. His long, slow exhalation brought no relief, but rather increased his sense of foreboding.