No, that was the hearty slap on the back from his old friend, Lord Iverson, jarring Adam’s still-sore ribs.
“Move along, man,” Ivy teased. “No ogling the hostess, pretty as she is. I want to make you known to my wife. Darling, here is my friend Standish, the one to whom I owe that hundred pounds.”
Ivy’s wife was a petite redhead with freckles and a radiant grin. She was dressed in the height of fashion in ecru satin, with a strand of pearls so large and heavy that she might have fallen over on her elegant little nose, but for her arm tucked comfortably, lovingly, possessively in the crook of Ivy’s elbow. Adam could instantly see that his friend was smitten, and wished them every joy of— “What hundred pounds?”
“Why, the wager we had about which one of us gudgeons would marry first. Don’t you recall?”
Adam remembered something about a Benedict’s bet while they were just out of university, in London, on the town. They were foxed, and if he had the right occasion, Ivy had a buxom blond barmaid on his lap, swearing he would never step into parson’s mousetrap, that bachelorhood was simply too much fun. Of course he would marry, Adam had countered. Ivy needed to ensure the succession to his title.
He, on the other hand, would never take a wife to live in genteel poverty. Ivy had laughed that Adam was too tenderhearted a chap to live his days alone—and the bet was on, with the first to wed having to pay the forfeit.
“I forgot that silly schoolboy twaddle entirely until now,” Adam confessed. “So must you. Consider it a belated wedding gift.”
“Nonsense, man. It’s a debt of honor, and one I am eager to pay, seeing how I am reveling in my wedded state. Lud, what fools we were.”
Adam’s eyes followed Miss Relaford around the room as she greeted this guest or that, making certain everyone’s needs were seen to. “No, we were just young.”
Ivy watched him watching her. He smiled. “I was right, though, was I not? You do not wish to live your life as a lonely old bachelor, with a cat for company.”
“A dog,” Adam murmured without looking at his old friend. “I have a dog now. Lucky.”
“Yes, you are,” Ivy said. “She is a fine girl. Not to compare with my own bride, of course, but a perfect choice.” Lady Iverson was speaking with an older couple a few feet away, but not far from her husband’s side.
“What? Oh, no, you misunderstand. There is no… That is, I have not…Mr. Beasdale…”
Ivy was still smiling. “I understand, all right. You always were the slow, deliberate one of us. It was Johnny Cresswell who fell in love every other week.”
They both picked the lieutenant out of the small crowd, an easy enough task to do with the laughing officer in his dress uniform and a handful of young ladies in their pastel gowns surrounding him. “He has not changed, has he?” Lord Iverson asked. “But you, Adam, do not wait too long. You’ve selected the prime blossom, but others will be buzzing around the nectar if you don’t pick it soon.”
Sure enough, Leonard Frye was hovering at Jenna’s shoulder, casting surreptitious glances down her décolletage. “Excuse me, will you, Ivy? Tell Lady Iverson…a pleasure. I need to go strangle someone. That is, I need to straighten my neckcloth.”
Ivy took his arm. “Not in Beasdale’s parlor, you don’t. That will not win his favor, you know.” Then, to distract his old friend from the sight of that mushroom Frye holding a glass to Miss Relaford’s lips, Lord Iverson went on: “I say, you are looking quite the thing for a turnip-grower. Mind telling me the name of your tailor?”
“Johnny’s attic, and Johnny’s batman. I do not even have the wherewithal for a valet of my own,” Adam despaired.
Ivy slipped a folded note from his pocket into Adam’s. “Now you do. Our debt is paid.”
Another hundred pounds! What he could do with that! For a start, he could tip Hobart the butler to rearrange the dinner seating.
Hobart might like the coins and he might like the young man, but he liked his job better. Mr. Beasdale himself had altered the seating chart from Miss Relaford’s original plan, and so it would have to stay, so that Hobart might stay in his comfortable post.
Lord Iverson, as guest of honor, sat to Miss Relaford’s right. Mr. Frye, as Mr. Beasdale’s choice for nephew-in-law, sat at her left. Jenna scowled down the entire length of the flower-decked table at her uncle.
Adam was seated between the new Lady Iverson’s hard-of-hearing aunt and her younger sister, who was barely out of the schoolroom. The chit not only had Ivy’s wife’s red hair and freckles, but she also possessed spots and a stammer. Adam scowled sideways at Frye, causing Miss Applegate to stutter into speechlessness.
Neither the baronet nor the banker’s niece enjoyed the meal. Everyone else seemed to, savoring course after course and glass after glass. The younger sister grew giddy and the elderly aunt dropped her hearing trumpet in the syllabub. At Miss Relaford’s end, Lord Iverson was everything polite, speaking of his honeymoon trip and his horses. For the first time Jenna found his lordship’s polished manners tedious, except when he spoke of his schooldays with Sir Adam. Mr. Frye was simply tedious.
At last it was time for her to lead the ladies from the room, with a last frown in her uncle’s direction and a whisper to Hobart to see that the gentlemen did not tarry long over their port and cigars. She wanted to dance. Soon. With the partner of her own choice.
Adam took Jenna’s chair at the end of the table near Ivy, and Lieutenant Cresswell took Frye’s seat when the young financier left to visit the necessary. Ivy’s new father-in-law joined them and, to Adam’s regret, so did Mr. Beasdale.
Five gentlemen of such disparate ages, backgrounds, and interests could have little common ground for conversation except the weather, which topic was quickly exhausted. It was December. It was cold. It was going to grow colder.
Then Ivy, somewhat in his cups, asked about Standings, trying to promote Adam’s courtship by recalling the mellow brick country home, the charming village and scenic vistas, the nearness to Newmarket. If Adam could have kicked his old friend under the table he would have, but Ivy had pushed his chair back. The last thing Adam wanted to speak of was his dilapidated estate, the fields left fallow for lack of funds to seed them, the boarded-up windows, the races that had taken all of his father’s money, or the needy townsfolk who went hungry because Standings could not provide employment. He could do more now, with his friends’ contributions to his coffers, but not enough. He wished Ivy would change the subject
Ivy did. “I say, Adam, do you still have those magnificent Thoroughbreds of your father’s?”
That was worse. The horses were the first thing to be sold at the previous baronet’s demise. Beasdale already knew it, of course, since he held Adam’s father’s notes. Still, Adam hated having to admit that the horses were gone these past years.
“What about that vast stable block?”
That was the only thing about the estate that his father had maintained. “It is in good condition, empty except for a few hens and the plow horses.”
“And the training oval?”
Adam kicked at Lieutenant Cresswell’s leg, to get him to get Ivy to put a sock in it. Instead, Johnny yelped.
“Sorry,” Adam said. “And yes, the track is still there, so overgrown I have been letting the cows pasture there. I hope to plow it under, perhaps next spring. Why?”
Ivy nodded toward his father-in-law. “I promised Mr. Applegate that I would find work. I am of a mind to raise horses.”
Mr. Beasdale made a rude noise. “Can’t make any money off the hay-burners. Standish here ought to know. Ruined his father, didn’t they?”
“He was betting on the horses,” Ivy replied before Adam could respond. “I intend to sell them. And making a fortune is not the point. I married one, along with my beloved wife. But my esteemed father-in-law is correct: a man needs some direction in life, a goal, a purpose. I bear a useless honorary title, with no seat in the Lords, if I were inclined toward politics, which I am not. I ha
ve no profession and few skills beyond the dance floor and the card room—but I do know good horseflesh.”
“Always did,” the lieutenant agreed, lifting his glass in tribute to Lord Iverson’s equine expertise.
“And my wife shares my interest in horses.”
“Always did,” Mr. Applegate echoed.
“So what are you getting at?” Adam asked.
Mr. Beasdale seconded that: “Standings is entailed so you cannot buy it.”
“Lud, I don’t want to purchase the place, I already have a country seat. I merely want to rent the stables and the training fields.”
“You have been drinking too much,” Adam told him, not daring to hope his friend was sober enough to make sense.
“What, a paltry few glasses of wine? I can hold my liquor better than that.”
“Always could,” Lieutenant Cresswell chimed in, which earned him frowns from Ivy and Mr. Applegate both.
“Seriously, Adam, I would like to take a long-term lease on those portions of Standings that were always given to the horses. And perhaps the dower house for when my wife and I come to supervise the efforts. You have not rented out the cottage, have you?”
At Adam’s stupefied head shake, Ivy went on: “You would not be bothered, for I truly do not mind hard work, and can hire your extra laborers to help get the place in shape this winter. You won’t need them until spring, correct? After that, I’ll bring in my own grooms and trainers, unless you can recommend local men.”
Adam thought of the head stableman who had stayed on, simply because Adam could not pay him a pension. He thought of the villagers, and he thought of beautiful horses again running on his land. He thought of a steady income, and he thought of Miss Relaford. He thought he might stand on Mr. Beasdale’s dining-room table and crow like a rooster, if only his friend were not too castaway to remember in the morning.
“Sounds reasonable to me,” Mr. Applegate said. “My gal won’t be happy unless she has horses.”
Mr. Beasdale was doing mental calculations, coming up with numbers that made Adam’s head spin, but Applegate just nodded.
Ivy tried to convince Adam by saying, “You won’t have to do a thing except collect the rent.”
Not do a thing? Adam could do everything he had wanted to for years! He could fix his tenants’ houses, invest in modern equipment, refurbish his own home. He could make Standings a profitable, self-supporting establishment fit for a lady, even a wealthy one. He…could not take advantage of his friend’s state of mind. Newly married, recently made wealthy, buoyed by love and afloat in alcohol, Ivy might regret the whole scheme in the morning, if he remembered it at all. “I have a suggestion. Why don’t you and your lady wife come to Standings for Christmas to look over the situation for yourselves, to see just how much work will need to be done before you can bring a horse there? You are invited also, Mr. Applegate, and your family, to help your daughter decide if she could live, even part of the year, in the dower house. Standings is no elegant country mansion, and I can only offer plain country fare, but I will have a fortnight to decorate and make it festive for you for Christmas.”
Then he turned toward Lieutenant Cresswell. “And you, Johnny. You know you do not wish to spend the holiday here in town without your own family, so please come. There is good shooting, parties at the neighbors, and Squire has three pretty daughters.”
The lieutenant was delighted. “I can bring my father’s London staff, too, to help get the place ready for company. They’ll like the time in the country—and the raises I will see they get. And the chef likes nothing better than to show off for guests. Thank you. I accept.”
Adam looked at Mr. Beasdale. He cleared his throat. “I would be honored if you and your niece would come to my home, humble though it might be, for Christmas. We will have carols and skating and a Yule log, all the traditions of a country Christmas I think Miss Relaford will enjoy. And…and I would greatly enjoy having her there.”
What could Mr. Beasdale say, when his old friend Applegate was waiting on his answer, when Iverson was so eager to go, when they all knew Sir Adam for an honorable man—and when the baronet’s future was so suddenly turned rosy? If he said no, his niece would never forgive him and he’d lose her anyway.
“I do wish you would come,” Adam quietly urged.
“Well, then, ask the girl. It’s up to her. If she wants to go, I suppose the bank can get along without me for a few days. Frye can take my place. Looks like he won’t be taking anything else, deuce take it.”
Chapter Nine
Beasdale might have agreed to visit the rundown rural holding. He might have given his unspoken, begrudging approval of Sir Adam’s suit, but he had not given up. He insisted on leading off the first dance with his niece. Then he claimed she ought to dance with Lord Iverson, while he had a set with the redheaded bride.
Having done his duty by his goose-cap dinner partner and by an arrogant Iverson cousin who complained about the low company after eating at the banker’s table, Adam was free to seek out the partner he wanted.
Frye was there ahead of him. He wished…he wished… Before Adam could think of anything dire enough that would not set the house on fire or cause panic among the ladies, Jenna put her hand on his arm.
“I am sorry, Mr. Frye, but I did promise this set to Sir Adam.”
Lud, Adam wondered, why had he not thought of that, merely wishing that she would choose him?
She had, and the small orchestra started to play a waltz.
“Do you think we might sit this dance out? That is, not sit, but stroll a bit, perhaps to the library?” Adam asked.
What, after she had been waiting all week for this dance? Jenna refused, saying it would not be proper for the hostess to disappear on her own.
It would be proper enough if she returned as an engaged woman. Adam could not ask for a private conversation of that nature here, though, not with so many eyes on them. “But I am not a very good dancer.”
“Gammon, I saw you with Lord Iverson’s cousin.” Jenna was careful to keep her jealousy of the elegant, well-bred female out of her voice. “You did very well.”
Adam made a last try. “But that was not a waltz. The dance is slow to catch on in the country, you know, so I am woefully inept.” He was clumsy at wooing, too, it seemed, if he could not get her to go off with him.
“The waltz is quite simple, and I really would like to dance.”
“Well, then, I can only hope I do not disappoint you.”
He did not. With Jenna in his arms, even as loosely held as society dictated, his feet found the rhythm on their own, while his mind’s attention was on how glorious she felt, how her perfume teased his senses, how the velvet gown made soft swishing sounds as she moved in the turns of the dance. He twirled more, just to bring their bodies closer together.
As for Jenna, she felt as if her feet barely touched the ground, as if she were dancing on clouds. She forgot the party and the guests, and forgot to step out of Adam’s embrace when the music ended. Luckily, the orchestra struck up another waltz.
Frye came toward them, noted their matching starry-eyed expressions, shrugged his shoulders, turned, and asked another heiress for a dance.
Without asking, Adam swept Jenna into their second waltz, but this time he turned and twirled, dancing right out the drawing-room door, down the hall, and into the softly lighted library.
They could still hear the music, and danced on until it ended, but close enough to shock any would-be witnesses. The only one to see, though, was the dog Lucky, which was curled up by the fireplace, waiting for the scraps after supper. Adam and Jenna ended the dance with a kiss that would have sent Beasdale into apoplexy for certain. Lucky wagged his tail once and went back to sleep.
“I should not have done that,” Adam said in apology, although he did not regret the kiss one whit.
“I am sure there must be a bit of mistletoe around, so it is perfectly acceptable. A Christmas kiss, you know.”
Was that all she thought it was? Lud, Adam was going about this all wrong. He took a step away from her, so he could think better. “I, ah, brought you here to ask a question.”
Jenna’s smile could have lit a hundred libraries. “Yes?”
“Would you come to Standings for Christmas? Your uncle says he will, if you will. A few others are coming, a small gathering only, nothing formal, you see, for I cannot provide… That is, Ivy is thinking of renting my stables to set up a racing stud, and so I can…” He took a breath and started again. “Well, he is coming to see if he likes it, with his wife, of course, and her family, so then I invited Johnny Cresswell, who would be alone in town otherwise, and he will bring his chef so we don’t have to eat mutton every day which is about all… Um, I was hoping—”
“Yes, I would be pleased to come visit at your home.”
“—That you might come to see if you like it, and might want to stay. Did you say yes?”
“Yes.”
So he kissed her again, mistletoe or not, and soon had her seated in a big leather armchair that was not really designed for two people, but was more than comfortable, with Jenna sitting in his lap.
“You do know,” he said, “that if you come, I do not think I can ever bear to let you go again?”
“Where would I go, when I only wish to be by your side?”
That called for more kisses, until Adam recalled the rest of his mission. “You do know how much I love you, don’t you?”
“Tell me.”
He showed her instead, whispering soft, tender words between kisses. “And we can be married there? Yon will make me the happiest of men, if I am not already?”
“Uncle can procure us a special license. We can be married anywhere you wish.”
“Lud, I never thought so many wishes could come true. Do you know that almost the first time I saw you I wished I could take you home with me as a present, a perfect Christmas angel to keep for myself.”
“What, to unwrap and put on a shelf?” she said with a laugh.
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