by Wilma Counts
Justin went on, “Do you feel up to having Joy come to say good night? I told her she could come see you if you awoke before her bedtime.”
“Of course.”
He left as Betsy returned, bearing a tray. “I know you must be starving, ma’am.”
Meghan pushed herself to a sitting position, aware of her throbbing head as she did so. “I would welcome a cup of tea, certainly.”
Betsy set the tray over her lap, poured the tea for her, and removed the cover from the plate to reveal an appetizing serving of fish in a white sauce with side vegetables. Meghan drank the tea and nibbled at the food only briefly before pushing it away. Betsy removed the tray, straightened the covers, and fluffed her pillows before leaving.
Joy came bounding into the room with the kitten peeping from the folds of her ever-present blanket. Her father strolled in behind her.
“Are you all well now, Auntie Meg?”
“My head hurts, but I will be fine,” Meghan assured her, reaching to touch the kitten.
“And you, missy, are to stay in your own room tonight,” Justin said to Joy. “Do you ha-h-h-achoo! Do you hear me?” His voice sounded rather watery.
Meghan gave him a sympathetic look and smiled at Joy. “You have Snowflake for company tonight, though, right?”
Joy nodded. “Hm-mm. Snowflake is very sorry he ran away. He was so scared of that dog an’ he was quite hungry, I must say.”
Justin and Meghan shared a smile at what was obviously an attempt to sound very grown up.
Justin nudged his daughter. “It is time to say good night, poppet.”
Joy thrust the blanket-clad kitten into Justin’s hands and climbed upon the bed to give Meghan a clumsy hug. “I love you, Auntie Meg.”
Meghan felt tears spring to her eyes. She hugged the child fiercely and kissed her cheek. “I love you, too, dearest Joy.”
She looked over Joy’s head at Justin, but she could not read his expression. She heard him draw in two strong breaths and then let forth a powerful sneeze.
“Come, Joy.” He helped her off the bed and hastily handed her the kitten as another sneeze came upon him.
“G’night, Auntie Meg.”
“Good night, dear.”
“We shall see you in the morning,” Justin said from the doorway and promptly sneezed again.
Meghan lay back against her pillows. It was true. She did love that child—with the same kind of protective warmth with which she had loved Stephen. Despite her conviction that such would never again be possible, here she was, loving a child wholly, without reservation. She had not learned to love Joy; it had just happened. Yes, she was fond of Irene’s children, too, but she loved Joy.
And if she were capable of loving a child again, could she also love a man?
Justin Wingate’s image flashed across her mind.
No. Children were innately open, not given to dishonesty and betrayal, as adults were.
Oh, for heaven’s sake, came an impatient voice from within. How can you possibly dump all adults into a box like a bunch of broken toys?
You know many people of deepest integrity. Richard. Irene. Robert. Eleanor—to name only the most obvious. Mr. Layton undoubtedly belonged in such company.
And Justin Wingate?
And Justin Wingate.
She had seen nothing in the last few weeks that put him into the mold she had previously fashioned for him from her own misinformation.
But, no!
She could never again subject herself to possible humiliation and betrayal, to the pain of rejection.
The next morning Justin was surprised to find Meghan already seated at the breakfast table when he came down. She sat next to Layton and was clearly the focus of attention as others asked after her welfare and how the accident had happened.
“Should you be up and about so soon?” Lady Helen asked.
“I feel fine,” Meghan insisted. “I have lump on my head and having my hair combed was a bit of an experience, but I am sure the inconvenience is only temporary.”
“Gel’s got stamina,” Travers observed to his betrothed, but in a voice heard by everyone at the table. “A real thoroughbred.”
This brought a general laugh, and Justin smiled at Meghan, holding her gaze momentarily. He quickly filled his plate and took an open place at the other end of the table.
“Our goal for the day,” Irene announced, “for whichever of you gentlemen who might care to participate, is to bring in the Yule log. But first, of course, you must find it.”
“Never fear, my dear,” her husband assured her. “One has already been found. ’Tis only a matter of dragging it in. However, we shall take our guns and see if there is any game left in our woods, too.”
“I strongly suspect there will be a jug of brandy involved, as well,” Irene said in an aside intended for the ladies.
“In that case, I shall gladly participate,” young Islington said playfully.
“Just see you do not overdo it, son,” his usually quiet mother admonished. This, too, brought general laughter, especially among the gentlemen. It was well known that David Islington had been sent down from Oxford after a prodigious drinking bout. He took their teasing with equanimity and gave them all a cheeky grin.
It was some time before the excursion got underway, and Justin observed that Meghan and Layton lingered over extra cups of coffee in animated conversation. He tried to avoid making too much of this in his own mind. Out on the trail, he and Layton ended up some distance behind the others.
“So,” Justin said, a shade too heartily perhaps, “is Travers the only man we shall be wishing happy this holiday season?”
“I don’t know. Is he?” Layton challenged,
“You and Mrs. Kenwick—maybe?”
“Me and Mrs. Kenwick? Doing it too brown, Justin,” Layton said harshly. He paused and then added in a tone tinged with regret. “I tried. But it just was not there for her.”
“Oh?”
“Meghan has sworn off marriage. Or so she says. She probably really believes it. I think Kenwick hurt her very deeply.”
“Are you saying he abused her?” The idea infuriated Justin.
“I don’t think he beat her or physically mistreated her. But, you know, we rarely saw her after her marriage, though she often went about during her Season before. And from little things she has let drop, I believe he belittled her both in company and privately.”
“He could be a mean-spirited fellow at times.”
“I think,” Layton said, seemingly working it out as he spoke, “that Kenwick married the prettiest belle of the Season. Then he found himself leg-shackled to a woman with far more depth and intelligence than he possessed.”
“And he could not endure being second best. Is that it?” Justin asked.
“That’s what I think,” Layton agreed. “Especially to a woman. He just ground her down and robbed her of her spirit—which she has only recently regained.”
“That bastard!” Too late, Justin realized how much his vehemence must have revealed.
Layton gave him a knowing look. “Just so. Whatever you do, don’t hurt her, Wingate.”
Justin squelched the flippant reply he might have made and gave his friend a look of understanding and sympathy. “I shall try not to.”
The Christmas festivities proceeded on course with the Yule log, mummers’ show, and carolers. Father Christmas made his appearance in a long red robe trimmed with fur and passed out sweetmeats, nuts, and oranges. As an added treat, he had a small toy or a puzzle or a book for each child, that had been selected for that particular young person. Joy’s gift was a small ceramic kitten that bore a strong resemblance to her Snowflake.
Justin surprised Meghan by inviting her to meet him in the library, where he privately presented her with a duplicate of Joy’s ceramic kitten.
“To remind you not to go around climbing trees,” he teased.
“I should rather think of that incident as a good deed gone awry,” she replied.
&nb
sp; “Some good did come of it,” he said. “Whether it was the return of her beloved kitten or the shock of seeing her beloved Auntie Meg in danger, Joy started talking again.”
“Yes. Then, indeed, some good did come of it. And I thank you for this charming memento.”
He wanted nothing so much as to take her in his arms and kiss her till they were both senseless. But for the first time since he was a stammering, awkward youth in his teen years, Justin Wingate was unsure of himself around a woman. He had promised not to hurt her, and he sensed a vulnerability in her that fairly tore at his heart.
So the moment passed. She excused herself to continue helping Irene prepare baskets to be distributed on St. Stephen’s Day, the day after Christmas. And he was left to chastise himself for a missed opportunity.
Having discovered his error in thinking there was a romance brewing between Meghan and Layton, Justin had set about quietly wooing the widow himself. He deliberately sought her company—for a walk in the garden or a sleigh ride. They talked endlessly during these excursions, their topics ranging from the trivial to the profound. He was shameless in using Joy to spend time with Meghan. He timed his outings with Joy and the other children when he knew Meghan would be available to join them.
He had supposed his courtship to be subtle enough not to draw undue attention from others. He should have known better. That is, he should have known Irene better.
“Might I have a word with you, Justin?” she asked the second morning of his “campaign.” She ushered him into her sitting room and gestured to a seat as she took a chair opposite.
“What is it?” he asked, expecting a topic having to do with the nursery.
“What are you up to with my friend?” she asked bluntly.
“Your friend?”
“Don’t you play the fool with me, Justin Wingate. You know very well I refer to Meghan.”
He grinned. “Are you demanding to know whether my intentions are honorable?”
“In a manner of speaking—yes.”
“Well, in a manner of speaking—yes. They are. Why do you ask?”
“Because I would not have her hurt. Not again.”
“Nor would I,” he said simply.
Irene gave him a long, penetrating look, which he returned. “Good heavens! You are truly in love with her, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I fear I am.”
“Oh, Justin . . .” Her tone was more sad than glad.
“What? Is it so wrong?”
“Not wrong at all, but I am not sure Meghan is ready to love again.”
“She already loves Joy.”
“That’s different and you know it,” Irene said.
“Well, I am not Burton Kenwick,” he ground out.
“And Meghan is not Belinda.”
“What does that mean?”
“Belinda was a charmer. She loved the social scene, pretty clothes, her status as a belle of the ton. None of those things means much to Meghan. With Belinda what you saw was what there was. Megan has more . . . more . . .”
“Depth?” he supplied.
“Yes. And thus greater capacity for pain.”
“Or love,” he said quietly.
“Or love.”
For Megan, these days were idyllic. Her headache was gone after the first day. She enjoyed the Christmas preparations with the other ladies and her moments of companionship with Irene. She looked forward to time each day with Joy—even, or especially, to the child’s incessant questions. She took part enthusiastically in the games and singalongs of an evening. She found the mummers vastly amusing and the carolers’ songs very moving.
But most of all, she looked forward to moments with Justin. Merely being in the same room with him would send her spirits soaring. Chance physical contacts stirred her senses.
One evening during a sing-along session, Meghan sat on the sidelines with Layton as Justin and Mrs. Seagraves sang a duet, his baritone blending perfectly with the older woman’s soprano. The two singers enjoyed enthusiastic applause at the end.
“You should give him a chance,” Layton said quietly.
“Give whom, what?”
Layton nodded toward Justin. “He is interested, you know. And since you won’t have me, you might as well have second best.” He grinned.
“Arrogant beast,” she said with a laugh. “But I have told you—”
“I know. I know. You say you aren’t interested, but then Justin comes into a room and you can’t take your eyes off him.”
“Oh, come now. I do not behave quite so ridiculously.”
“Well,” he conceded, “I doubt many others notice it as I do.”
“I admit that Justin Wingate is a very attractive man, but . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“He is not like Kenwick.”
“What do you mean?”
Layton gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I don’t say this to hurt you, Meghan. Justin was unfailingly faithful to his wife—though Lord knows he had ample opportunity not to be. Nor was he—is he—the gamester Kenwick often led you to believe Justin to be.”
“How do you know—”
“How do I know what Kenwick told you?” Layton gave a harsh, mirthless laugh. “Because he used to tell us what excuses he had given you.”
She gazed into his eyes for a moment, then sighed. “You must have all thought me the veriest fool.”
“No. We thought him a fool for thinking he could behave that way with impunity. Now we know him to have been pathetically stupid in not recognizing what a treasure he had in you.”
She smiled at that. “Careful. You will make me hopelessly conceited.”
Later, she thought over what Layton had said.
It was true that Justin had singled her out for attention of late. It was also true that her own observations of the man belied her previous view of him. Had her father not taught her years ago that one could judge a man by the people who loved him? With the exception of her own husband, Justin’s friends were of the highest caliber—and, in this regard, she accorded Robert and Irene as his friends as well as his relatives.
Yes. She could love him. She did love him. But had she not sworn she would not be open to more pain?
What a cowardly approach, that devilish inner voice chided. Yes, cowardly. Being alive means to feel. One must be vulnerable to pain in order to appreciate life’s pleasures.
Had she not learned as much from the unconditional love Joy gave her—and which she returned in kind?
Love always carried a risk of pain, but it had to be offered unconditionally despite that risk.
With this revelation giving her the most optimistic outlook she had had in years, she finally drifted off to sleep.
The next morning she discovered Justin had returned to London.
Nine
He had left her a note asking her to explain to Joy that he would be gone for three or four days, that urgent business called him back to town.
Meghan feared that having her father leave so precipitously would cast Joy back into her world of silence. Thus she was surprised when the Joy accepted the news with great equanimity.
“Yes, I know,” Joy said. “The lady told me not to worry.”
“The lady?”
“The lady in white. She said when Papa comes back something wonderful will happen.”
“Something wonderful?” Meghan felt foolish merely echoing the child’s patter.
“It’s a secret, though,” Joy said very matter-of-factly.
“A secret. Very well. Then, shall we continue our journey to the stables so that Snowflake may visit his brothers and sisters?”
“Oh, yes, please.”
“Can you really credit this nonsense about ‘the lady’?” Meghan asked wonderingly of Irene later.
“Yes, I can.”
“Irene! Surely you do not believe in ghosts?”
“I think I believe in this one, though she never shows herself to adults. Robert swears she came separately to him and Justin when t
heir mother died. Robert was only five and Justin was three. Justin barely remembers it.”
Meghan shrugged. “Well, if ‘the lady’ comforts Joy, so be it.”
“At least Joy is continuing to talk. That awful silence in a child . . .”
“Joy has the idea her father will return with some wonderful surprise,” Meghan said. “Have you any idea what it could be?”
“Well, not another kitten, I am sure.”
“Oh, be serious.”
“Hmm.” Irene thought for a moment. Then her eyes opened wide in surprise and she grinned.
“What?” Meghan demanded.
“I am not positive—but if I am right—it is a secret.”
“Are you quite sure you are not masquerading as Joy’s lady in white?”
True to his word, Justin returned late one afternoon, two days before the new year. He seemed exhausted from what amounted to nearly four days in the saddle.
He greeted Meghan warmly and seemed vastly amused when she failed to conceal the fact that she was somewhat miffed over his abrupt departure.
“Come with me,” he demanded, drawing her hand into the curve of his elbow and propelling her from the drawing room to the neighboring—empty—music room.
He closed the door firmly and took her in his arms.
“Justin! What has come over you? Do you realize what a scene you just created?”
He smothered her last syllable with his lips on hers. It was an unexpected, but not unwelcomed action. She put her arms around his neck to draw him closer and leaned into the kiss.
“Ah. You did miss me,” he murmured into her hair.
“Well, of course I did,” she said, impatient with a statement of the obvious. “And so did Joy. You might have given us some warning.”
“Show me again,” he whispered against her lips.
And she did. His lips were firm and demanding, his tongue gently probing. All her senses leaped to full awareness, and her response mirrored the yearning and passion he offered.
“I love you, Meghan.”
“I love you, too, Justin. But I really think we had better return to the others, lest our absence be remarked upon—and lest we both lose what little common sense we may have left.”