Christmas Carol

by Speer, Flora

  “But you did not frighten her by telling the truth, did you? I wonder why. Could it be that you felt a faint glimmer of sisterly tenderness toward her?”

  “Don’t get your hopes up,” Carol responded. “She’s nothing to me. By the way, what is her name? And why did she keep calling me Caroline?”

  “If she means nothing to you,” said Lady Augusta, “then why do you care what her name is?”

  “You brought me here against my will,” Carol said, “and apparently you have given me a new identity. I am wearing clothes that look like something a character in a Jane Austen novel would wear, and a girl who claims to be my sister tells me that tonight is my big engagement party. I don’t even know who my fiance is supposed to be! If you don’t want me to make some dreadful mistake in public that will embarrass you and that poor girl down the hall, then you had better provide a bit more information.”

  “Shall I wear the rubies or the sapphires tonight?” asked Lady Augusta. “I originally thought the sapphires with this deep blue dress, but I have no wish to outshine you on your special night. Your necklace is quite remarkable, isn’t it? I remember when Montfort’s late mother used to wear it. Did you know that she was one of my best friends?”

  “No.” Carol gritted her teeth in exasperation. “I did not know. How could I?”

  “Well?” Lady Augusta held up two necklaces, one glittering with rubies and diamonds, the other a heavy gold chain boasting three large sapphires set in gold with diamonds around each stone. “Which do you think?”

  “Wear the damned sapphires. Just tell me what I need to know to avoid making a fool of myself at this ball I am expected to attend. Or better yet, send me back where I am supposed to be.”

  “You are entirely too impatient,” said Lady Augusta. She held first one, then the other necklace up to her throat, testing the effect of each in her dressing table mirror. “I do believe you are right. Very well, it shall be the sapphires.” She fastened the necklace, then rose and approached Carol.

  “At the moment, you are exactly where you are supposed to be,” said Lady Augusta. “The year is 1818. You are living in Marlowe House as it was at that time.”

  “Who am I?” snapped Carol.

  “You are Lady Caroline Hyde. Your younger sister is Lady Penelope. You two have always been remarkably close, and have grown closer still since the death of your parents in a carriage accident four years ago. As your aunt, I have seen to your education since that time, and have sponsored you in society. Though at four and twenty years of age you are considered a little old for such good fortune, you have succeeded in making one of the great matches of the year. You are to wed Nicholas Marlowe, the Earl of Montfort, who, incidentally, is a distant cousin of my late husband.”

  “Is he any relation to the Nicholas Montfort who is your nephew?” Carol asked, her full attention caught by the repetition of the same name.

  “Who will be my nephew in the next century,” Lady Augusta corrected. “My future nephew is a direct descendant of Lord Montfort.”

  “Then these people you have been telling me about are all real.” Carol paused to think for a moment before continuing. “Does this mean that you and I are inhabiting the bodies of other people? If we are, then where are the personalities of those people now? Have you hurt this Lady Caroline in any way? Or her Aunt Augusta?”

  “While we are in this time, you and Lady Caroline, and I and the earlier Lady Augusta, are one and the same. You need have no fear for their safety. The One who sent me on this mission will allow no harm to come to either woman through us. However, the emotions you experience will be entirely your own. That is, after all, the purpose or this visit to the past—to stir up emotions long dead in you, to raise feelings you never knew you possessed.”

  “This whole arrangement strikes me as highly immoral,” Carol insisted, unappeased by an explanation that made little sense to her practical mind. “Couldn’t I ruin Lady Caroline’s life by doing something stupid that would make her fiance decide he doesn’t want to marry her after all?”

  “Have no fear on that score. Montfort will not break off the engagement,” said Lady Augusta. “Nor, while you are here, will you be able to alter the overall course of history in any way unless you reveal that you are from the future.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Carol demanded, recalling a science-fiction novel she had once read that involved creating major changes in the future by making the most minute changes in the past.

  “Absolutely,” said Lady Augusta. “Though I am pleased to hear you voicing concern about the lives of people you do not yet know, I assure you that all you have to do is say nothing about your true origin, keep your eyes and ears and, most important of all, your heart open, and go with the flow.”

  “Go with—?” Carol broke off with a surprised laugh. “Now, there’s a phrase I never dreamed I’d hear from you.”

  “Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Lady Augusta looked pleased with herself for a moment, before she turned businesslike once more. “Listen carefully, Carol, for there is a great deal you need to know before the ball begins, and Penelope may join us at any moment. You will find the house somewhat different. The original Marlowe House is twice as large as the one you know. It was remodeled after the Second World War and turned into two houses so one of them could be rented.” There followed a barrage of information on the Marlowe and Montfort families as they were in the early nineteenth century, along with a list of the rigid rules of etiquette at that time.

  “You can’t possibly expect me to remember all of this,” Carol cried after ten minutes or so.

  “If you become confused, I suggest that you take a deep breath, relax, and let Lady Caroline’s instincts guide you,” Lady Augusta advised.

  “This is crazy,” Carol protested. “You know that, don’t you?”

  “It all seems perfectly simple to me.” This was said with airy complacency as Lady Augusta turned back to her mirror to don sapphire earrings that matched her necklace. A gold and sapphire bracelet followed, worn over her long white gloves. Holding out her arms, she spun around to face Carol again. “How do I look? I do so love the clothing designs of this period. A high Empire waistline can disguise those unpleasant problems of expansion about the midriff that all middle-aged women inevitably develop.”

  “You sure don’t act like someone who is desperately trying to save her soul. I think you are actually enjoying this!” Carol surveyed the tall, slender figure garbed in deep blue. The twinkle in Lady Augusta’s eyes effectively softened the harsh words that Carol might have spoken—indeed felt she had a right to speak, considering what was being done to her against her will. “You look very nice. Your hair is a different color now. It’s not so gray. It’s more salt and pepper. Lady Augusta—I mean, Aunt Augusta—are you sure I won’t make some idiotic mistake tonight?”

  “I have every confidence in you, my dear.” At the sound of a light tap on the bedroom door, Lady Augusta looked over Carol’s shoulder. “Ah, here is Penelope now. You are late, miss. Shall we go down? Our guests will soon begin arriving.”

  As they trooped down the stairs, Carol could see what Lady Augusta had meant when she said Marlowe House was different. The entrance hall, with its black and white marble checkerboard floor, was twice as large as Carol remembered. Off to one side of the hall was a reception room, which was entered through a wide, arched doorway that did not exist during Carol’s twentieth-century years in the house. Beyond this reception room lay the ballroom, a glittering splendor of cream walls, gold-leaf trim, mirrors, and chandeliers decorated with holiday greenery and blazing with hundreds of fine wax candles. Gilt chairs lined the walls to provide seating for the chaperones and for those not dancing. The parquet wood floor was waxed and polished to a brilliant shine.

  Double doors at the back of the ballroom opened into a grand dining room, where a late supper would be served. Another room was set up with small tables for card games. Next to the dining room, in the section of the h
ouse that Carol knew well, the library offered a quiet retreat for anyone weary of the crowd. A large walled garden lay behind the house.

  Gazing around this earlier version of the mansion, Carol understood why the upstairs hall was unfamiliar to her. Lady Caroline’s bedroom belonged to this other half of the building, and in Carol’s own time it was no longer a part of Marlowe House.

  “What a pity it had to be changed,”’ she said softly.

  “Taxes.” Lady Augusta’s equally low response was crisp. “Death duties when my grandfather died. The intrusion of the modern world on ancient privilege. As you say, a pity, and the more so since my father later made a huge fortune that would have allowed him to keep the house as it was. Still, at the end of the twentieth century no one holds great balls anymore.” Raising her voice, Lady Augusta added, “Caroline, I do believe your fiance is arriving.”

  “I can’t—I’m not ready—”

  “Ready or not,” said Lady Augusta, “here he is. Good evening, Nicholas.”

  “My lady.” Nicholas Marlowe, Earl of Mont-fort, bent over his hostess’s hand, then kissed her cheek.

  “You ought to be doing that to Caroline instead of to an old lady like me,” Lady Augusta told him, rapping his arm with her closed fan.

  “It will be a pleasure, ma’am.” Montfort turned from Lady Augusta to Carol and fixed his sparkling green eyes on her.

  Carol nearly fainted from the impact. He was tall, a broad-shouldered, slim-waisted man. His black evening clothes were perfectly tailored in the severe style made popular by Beau Brummell. His black, curly hair was cut short, his nose was long and aristocratic, and his mouth looked made for laughing. Or for kissing.

  He took Carol’s gloved hand in his and bent forward to kiss her cheek as Lady Augusta had commanded. Carol caught a whiff of lime cologne.

  “Will you please try to smile? I am not a monster, you know,” he whispered into her ear. Through the spotless white kid of his glove she felt the strength and the heat of his fingers around hers. When he straightened, Carol stared back at him, unable to speak.

  “How romantic,” cried Penelope, her hands clasped at her bosom. “My sensible older sister is struck dumb at the sight of her true love.”

  “Hello, Penny Sweet.’ Montfort grinned at her. “I need not ask how my little sister-to-be is this evening. Looking as you do, you will surely send all the young men into veritable paroxysms of romantic passion.”

  “Montfort,” snapped Lady Augusta as he chucked the giggling Penelope under her chin, “I will thank you to confine your attentions to my elder niece. Unless, of course, you intend to set up a harem.”

  “Oh, Aunt Augusta, what a shocking idea,” cried Penelope, still laughing. “I am certain that Nicholas has eyes only for Caroline.”

  “For no one else, I promise you.” Nicholas was drawing Carol’s hand through his elbow as he spoke. “I do believe if I had proposed to you, Penny, instead of to your sister, you would have broken my heart by refusing me. If I am not mistaken, your affections are engaged by young Simmons, who, as I understand it, plans to attend tonight with the express intention of dancing the waltz with you.”

  At this Penelope began to blush furiously, but Montfort did not see it. His own attention was on Carol, and she had the feeling that it was not because he was smitten with her charms. There was something calculating in the way he regarded her.

  “Caroline, you seem somewhat distracted. Is anything wrong?”

  “I am just a little giddy with excitement.” In fact, Carol was wondering exactly what this man’s feelings were toward Lady Caroline Hyde. It was plain to her that he held Lady Augusta in real affection, and his easy, teasing manner toward Penelope revealed all the fondness of a much older brother-in-law-to-be toward an innocent young girl, but Carol could not make out what the relationship was between Lord Montfort and Caroline. She wished that she had thought to ask Lady Augusta if Caroline Hyde was an heiress—or if Montfort was rich.

  “I am pleased to see you are wearing the necklace I gave you.” Montfort’s eyes were on the pearls and the sapphire clasp. Then his gaze moved lower, toward the deep neckline of her gown, and Carol knew he was admiring the swell of her breasts. She sensed a slight tremor in the muscular arm where her fingers still rested. The involuntary motion communicated itself to her and ran through her body so that she began to tremble.

  Ye gods, Carol thought, what has Lady Augusta gotten me into? How can I possibly resist this man if he has decided that he wants to make love to his fiancee before the wedding? Or are Montfort and Lady Caroline lovers already? Why do I care? These people are nothing to me.

  She did not have long to worry over the problem for their guests were beginning to arrive. Lady Augusta shepherded her nieces into the reception room, where they formed a line to greet those who were invited to congratulate the newly betrothed couple. Montfort stood between Lady Augusta and Carol, with Penelope on Carol’s other side. Carol was not pleased by this arrangement, since it provided no opportunity for Lady Augusta to whisper information to her about the various people she was meeting, most of whom she was apparently supposed to know by sight. Carol took refuge in polite chitchat, which seemed to her to be remarkably similar to the conversations held at the large cocktail parties her parents had once given.

  Growing more aware with every passing moment of Montfort’s masculine presence at her side, Carol listened with a polite smile and a definite lack of serious attention while an elderly gentleman, whom Montfort addressed as Lord Falloner, informed her that the weather was unusually cold for so early in the season. He could tell from the aching of his gouty big toe, said Lord Falloner, that a heavy snow would fall before Christmas Day dawned.

  “Dear me,” Carol said to the aged lord, “I have been so busy lately that I have quite forgotten the date. How long is it until Christmas?”

  “Just three more days,” came the response. “I’ll wager Montfort, here, has some special gift planned for you. Hah! Hah! I know what I would give you if you were my wife-to-be.”

  Carol did her best not to blush at this, and she carefully did not look at Montfort to see his reaction. Instead, she gave her hand to the next person coming along the line. There were so many guests that she thought she would faint from sheer exhaustion before they all passed through the receiving line and into the ballroom. She began to wonder if her face would crack from the effort to keep smiling. At least she could do little to embarrass herself or anyone else while she stood in line. Her first real difficulty arose when it was time for her to open the dancing with her fiance. Taking her hand without a word, Montfort led her to the center of the polished ballroom floor.

  “I hope this is a waltz,” Carol said to him, annoyed by his continuing silence and worried about what would happen in the next few minutes.

  “You know perfectly well that the first dance at any ball is always a minuet.” Möntfort’s voice was frosty. “I believe the exact music for the opening dance was decided upon some days ago.”

  “If it was, no one told me about it.” Carol stopped right where she was, with all the guests staring at them. She did not know how to dance a minuet. Nor did she know what other kinds of dances were popular at this time in history. She imagined complicated steps involving groups of people, and she was certain if she were to attempt such a dance, she would make a complete fool of herself. She would probably also annoy her fiance. However, she did know how to waltz.

  “Caroline.” Montfort’s eyes were dark with anger, and now Carol was sure that he did not care about Caroline Hyde. He was marrying her for some other reason than love. Carol did not have to look far into her own past to decide what that reason must be. She drew herself up, lifted her chin, and looked Montfort square in the eye.

  “I will dance a waltz, or I will not dance at all,” she said. “This is my betrothal party. I will begin it as I wish.”

  She could see he was furious. She could see something else, too. There was a faint spark of humor deep
in his eyes, and perhaps a gleam of dawning respect.

  “Madam, will you also try to change the vows we take when we stand at the altar?” he demanded.

  “We shall see about that,” she said. “And about what happens afterward, too.”

  “Indeed?” After studying her face for a few moments, Montfort turned on his heel and strode away from her. Not knowing what to do, fearing that he meant to leave her there alone in the middle of the dance floor, Carol remained where she was standing while Montfort spoke to a servant, who hurried away toward the musicians’ gallery. Then, to Carol’s great relief, Montfort returned to her.

  “If you will but grant the musicians a moment to make the substitution,” he said, “they will play a waltz.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” Carol tried to keep her voice level and unwavering. Then the music began and she was swept into Montfort’s strong arms. Now she was forced to follow his lead, but she did so gladly, for he was an expert dancer.

  “You amaze me,” Montfort said as they whirled across the ballroom floor.

  “Why is that, my lord?” Carol decided the safest course for her to follow with this man was to maintain a cool, detached attitude toward him. She had known since the first moment of meeting him that Nicholas Marlowe was a danger to her. If she was not careful he could shatter the emotional stability she had achieved with such difficulty after being badly hurt by a man she loved. She had vowed long ago never to allow that to happen again. Even if she were to relent and allow herself to feel something for another man, it would be the height of lunacy to let her emotions run wild in her present situation.

  “I believed I knew you well/’ Montfort said in answer to her question. “Now I find you behaving like someone else.”

  “How so, my lord?”