A Yuletide Treasure

by Cynthia Bailey Pratt

  “I must speak very strictly to Nanny Mallow,” Mrs. Twainsbury said. “I don’t like the thought of her being all alone here. If an accident may happen once, it may happen again with graver consequences. There is an almshouse for the care of aged menials not too far from our little village. I happen to know the director quite well. I am sure with a word from me, Nanny Mallow might have the next vacant bed.”

  “No, Mama,” Camilla said, looking up at this. “Nanny Mallow would hate it there.”

  “Camilla, child, you interrupt.”

  “I beg your pardon, Mama,” Camilla muttered to her plate.

  Philip took a sip of cold water, hoping it would douse the flare of anger suddenly blazing in his chest. He would not begin his first acquaintance with his future mother-in-law by brangling. However, in the future, he’d have something to say to Mrs. Twainsbury on the subject of respecting one’s child.

  “As I was saying, it’s a well-run institution. The elderly ladies are all set to some useful stitching, and the meals are regular. Best of all, Nanny Mallow need never be alone. The dormitory is visited regularly throughout the night by matrons so that nothing untoward may ever happen.”

  “Mama, I don’t believe that Nanny Mallow wishes to give up her home and all her possessions in order to be sleeping in a drafty room with twenty other women. I remember visiting that place with you. Everything was run by bells. Up with a bell, eat with a bell, bed by a bell. Nanny Mallow would be miserable.”

  “It does sound dreadful,” Tinarose said.

  “Discipline is necessary at every stage of life. Young girls frequently cannot see where a person’s best interest lies. Were Nanny Mallow at the alms-house, I should be able to visit her frequently to assure myself of her continued health.”

  “There’s no need for that,” Philip said. “I intend to interest myself in Nanny Mallow’s continued good health. I have already given instructions for one of my servants to visit her daily, once she can return to her home.”

  “Don’t send that Mavis creature,” Mrs. Twainsbury said with a sharp smile. “She’d drive any sane woman mad in a week.”

  “She needs a trifle more training, perhaps,” Philip conceded. “But we are all very fond of her.” Under the table, he gave a sign for Samson to send Mavis’s sister, serving tonight, out of the room. She went, leaving a growl behind her.

  Philip did not stay for brandy after dinner, however badly he needed one, but accompanied his lady guests into the drawing room. Mrs. Twainsbury settled herself comfortably and called Tinarose to her side. “Camilla, I trust you haven’t been neglecting your music while you are here. That looks a very fine instrument. Play for me.”

  “Very well, Mama,” Camilla said. Though she gave him a strong indication not to seek a private moment, Philip joined her by the piano as she sought through the manuscripts in the bench.

  “What’s wrong, Camilla?” he said softly. “Why didn’t you want me to kiss you?”

  “Mother wouldn’t understand.”

  “Why not? We’re to be married.”

  “Here’s one I know,” she said brightly, pulling out a sonata. “She doesn’t know that,” she added hoarsely. “I haven’t told her yet.”

  “Didn’t she receive my letter?” He spread open the book. “I’ll turn for you if you like.”

  “No. And there hasn’t been a good opportunity for me to tell her. I’ll do it tonight, when I go in to wish her pleasant dreams.” She smiled brightly at him, her eyes haunted. “When I nod?”

  “Let me tell her, Camilla. Whatever you’re afraid she’ll do, she can’t do it in front of me. Even if she does enact me a scene, I shan’t be impressed. I’d rather we were married with her blessing, but I’ll marry you without it if I must.”

  “You forget,” she said, starting to play. “I need her consent. Even if there were no other reasons, I must have her approval before I’ll marry anyone.”

  “Oh, she’ll grant it.”

  “Braggart,” she said with a flash of the first genuine smile he’d seen from her all evening. If he hadn’t already been in love with her, the acknowledgment of how cold he felt without her smile warming him would have given him the hint, just as his desire to warm her and keep her safe had informed him of his feelings the day they’d all gone sledding.

  “Concentration, my dear one,” Mrs. Twainsbury trilled from the sofa as Camilla’s fingers faltered. “I’m afraid you haven’t practiced very much at all, but: still how delightful. Camilla’s sister, Linnet, plays also but not just lately. Linnet has a more delicate touch upon the keys, but Camilla’s gifts are accuracy and speed.”

  But there was to be no quiet talk that night. Camilla had reached an exquisitely slow and romantic passage when rapid footsteps approached the drawing room door. “Ah, that will be tea,” Mrs. Twainsbury sighed, sitting up expectantly.

  But Samson bore no tray. He approached his master, his round face pale and sweating. “It’s begun, Master Philip. I’ve sent Merridew to fetch Dr. March. Nanny Mallow is with her now, sir.”

  “What’s that?” Mrs. Twainsbury demanded.

  “Lady LaCorte’s going to have her baby,” Camilla said with a joy not even her mother’s glance could quell.

  “Oh, no,” Tinarose said, pressing her hands together as if to pray. “Remember you said you’d sleep in the nursery if the baby came at night.”

  “I remember. Well go up now. The little girls will be worried.” She turned toward Philip and gave him her hand. “Tomorrow,” she said with special intensity. “Without fail.”

  “Without fail.” Seeing that she would prefer no other sign of affection, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze which should have communicated all his feelings. But perhaps, he reflected later, that was too much to ask of any simple gesture. Her eyes spoke so much more clearly.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dr. March arrived within the hour, limping a little as he came up the stairs. Camilla and Tinarose were watching him from the next flight up and saw him shake hands with Philip. “Thanks to your riding lessons,” he said, “I’m here in one piece, but, damnation, I wish you’d shown me the gallop. I’m shaken to bits.”

  “A brandy, then?”

  “Thanks, no. Not the sort of thing you want on your breath while delivering a baby. Keep it warm for me, though, for afterward. I’ll need it.”

  “You anticipate difficulties?”

  “She is nearly forty, you know. But I’m sure between myself and Nanny Mallow, all will be well.”

  Philip sighed. “I only wish my brother were here. He had plenty of experience at this damned waiting.”

  Dr. March clapped him on the shoulder and went into Lady LaCorte’s bedchamber.

  Camilla had to all but pry Tinarose’s fingers off the balustrade supports. “What shall I do if anything happens to Mother?” she asked.

  “Don’t worry. All will be well. It’s not as if she’s never had a baby before.” Camilla continued talking soothingly to her friend as she helped her rise. Telling her not to let her sisters see her concern seemed the best way to steady her nerves. By the time she sat down to help them with their dolls, she had herself in hand.

  Camilla wanted to slip out in search of Philip, but having promised to see Tinarose through these difficult hours, she didn’t feel she could leave the nursery. However, after half an hour of pacing, of picking up books only to toss them aside, Tinarose took her a little apart from the others. “Go see Uncle Philip, Camilla. I’ll stay here.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “I’m worried but not panicked. Come back as soon as you know anything, will you?”

  When she entered the library, Philip gave her the tender smile that he seemed to keep for her alone. His cravat hung loose while his hair showed every sign of having been roughly handled. “How are the girls?”

  ‘Tinarose is nervous, but the younger girls don’t seem to be worried. They are too excited about having a baby in the house to think of anything else.” />
  “And how are you?” He drew her to his side in the shadows between the lights of two candles.

  “Happy. I think she liked you. She wouldn’t have spoken so kindly about you if she hadn’t.”

  With gentle fingers, he tilted her face so the candlelight fell on it. She tried to smile, but her lips trembled. “Camilla, dearest, can you tell me, do you think, why she frightens you so?”

  “She ... She doesn’t. Of course she doesn’t. She’s my mother.”

  “But ever since she entered this house, you’ve been so different,” he said, his voice so warm with concern and love that she felt her heart turn to melted butter. “You don’t smile; you don’t laugh; you’ve hardly uttered a word beyond common politeness. I can’t imagine why. Nothing has changed between us, unless I’ve hurt you in some way. If that’s the case, pray tell me so. I’ll make it right, Camilla.”

  She caught his hand and kissed it, leaving a smear of ink against her lower lip. “Not that. I am still of the same mind and know that I always shall be.”

  “Then why... ?” He pressed his lips to her temple. “Why such a change in you?”

  “It’s true I am not so prone to talk in my mother’s company, but that is less her doing than yours.”

  “Mine?”

  “I have been spoiled here at the Manor, I think. From the first, you have laughed at my jokes—a very heady experience. Before, whenever I spoke with jocularity, people would ask me what I meant. You never have.”

  She reached up and smoothed his tousled hair. ‘You have never seemed to find anything strange in my outspokenness, and so, I began to indulge my liberty to be more and more conversational.”

  Then continue to do so, Camilla. You have every right to express yourself with whatever freedom you wish. Especially,” he said softly, “when expressing your feelings for me.”

  He caressed her lower lip with his thumb, wiping away some of the ink. Her eyes drifted closed, and she rose up slightly, seeking his kiss. As with her words, he didn’t seem appalled by any boldness on her part but accepted her affections with a joy that made her feel whole.

  “Are you certain you don’t want me to tell her? I can be diplomatic about it.”

  Camilla laughed, the softly intimate laughter of a lover. “You’re a brave man, Philip, but that’s too great a task for even a knight in invincible armor to undertake to prove his love. I’ll go now, shall I?”

  “No,” he said huskily, drawing her closer yet. “Not just now. I’ve been three days without the taste of you, and I’m not letting go so soon.”

  Sometime later, adjusting her hair before a mirror, Camilla noticed her softly swollen lips and the bemused expression in her eyes. Her mother was no fool. As soon as she laid eyes on her, Mrs. Twainsbury would know what Camilla had been doing.

  Philip escorted her to her room which Mrs. Twainsbury had suggested they share for this last night under the Manor roof. He smiled down into her eyes. “You blush more becomingly than any woman I’ve ever seen. To say your cheeks are like pink roses may be a cliché, but I’m dashed if it isn’t true.”

  “Hush,” she said, for he’d spoken in normal tones. She glanced toward her own door while Philip looked down the hall.

  “I’m glad you’re sleeping in the nursery tonight. This floor is apt to be bustling all night.”

  Now Camilla looked toward Lady LaCorte’s chamber. “I shall,” she said. “But first...” She laid her hand on her doorknob. “Good night, my love. I shall be first down to breakfast tomorrow to tell you what has occurred.”

  “I’m not tired,” he said, laying his hand over hers so that she could not turn the knob yet to leave him. “Come back to the library as soon as you have the word. I’ll be there until Evelyn comes down with the news of what he’s brought into this world.”

  “If it’s a boy...”

  “Can you bear to marry an ordinary ‘mister’?”

  “Whatever you’ll be, it won’t be ordinary.” She received a swift kiss for that. “If I can come down again, I shall.”

  “I can’t ask for more than that. ‘Til then.”

  Camilla waited until he was out of sight before she entered. Mrs. Twainsbury bustled about in the midst of Camilla’s clothing, borrowed and personal. “Ah, there you are. What news of Lady LaCorte?”

  “Nothing yet, Mama.” She picked up a pair of stout leather shoes and put them back in the wardrobe. “Those aren’t mine. Neither is that pink Indian muslin.”

  “Are you certain?” Mrs. Twainsbury asked, holding up the thin nightdress. “To be sure, you had nothing in such a color when you left, but laundresses are so careless. They can’t seem to be taught not to mix other colors with white.”

  “No, Mama. It’s something Lady LaCorte lent me. She’s been so kind. Everyone has been so kind. Especially Philip.”

  “Sir Philip,” her mother corrected. “Remember it’s vulgar to call people by their first names unless they are particularly well known to you and have asked you to do so. Salting a conversation with the personal names of public or exalted figures is nothing more than fraud since it indicates a closer relationship than exists. Just because you have been on terms of some intimacy these last few weeks is no reason to drop the barriers of propriety. I’m sure he doesn’t call you Camilla behind your back.”

  “He has asked me to call him Philip, Mama, and I hope he will always wish to call me by my name.” Though her mother was frowning at her, usually enough to set her a-quake, Camilla was still buoyed up from Philip’s evident admiration and love, as well as from his remarkably effective kisses. She felt a sudden ripple of joy from somewhere under her ribs at the memory, as if her heart danced.

  “I hope you have not passed the line of what is pleasing,” Mrs. Twainsbury said, folding Camilla’s own nightdress with crisp little jerks. “Gentlemen are not to be trusted with young ladies fresh from the schoolroom.”

  “I know I can trust Philip to protect me even from myself,” Camilla said in a defiant whisper, hoping she’d not be called upon to defend that statement with charts and graphs. “As for propriety, Mama, as you know, Philip has removed to Dr. March’s house while the Manor has no mistress capable of her duties. His designs toward me are entirely honorable. In short, he’s asked me to be his wife.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Mrs. Twainsbury blinked as if she honestly hadn’t heard a word.

  “Philip loves me and wants to marry me. I have accepted him.” Camilla breathed again. There, she’d gotten all of her message out without resorting, as she had feared, to mime to cover her tongue-tiedness.

  Mrs. Twainsbury sat down on the bed, a clear infringement of her tribal laws. “I—I can’t fathom it,” she said. “You’re sure it’s marriage he’s offered?”

  “He’s too much of a gentleman to have offered anything irregular.” Camilla felt the tension leave her neck and shoulders. Strange to say, it had been harder to dread the telling than to tell it. “I hope we may hear that you approve of this step, Mama.”

  “Approve?” Mrs. Twainsbury appeared to be thinking of something else. “I never would have thought it of you of all people, Camilla.”

  Worried again, Camilla spoke more quickly. “I realize he should have asked you properly for my hand, but it really has only been a very few days since the subject first arose. He’s such a good man, Mama. If only you could know him better, I’m sure you’d think so, too.”

  “Of course, fate played a considerable part in this. You couldn’t have orchestrated Nanny’s accident; ‘twould be wrong, and you were miles away when it occurred. Yet to take such swift advantage of the situation in which you found yourself was really a stroke of genius that I had never expected lay within you. I never took you for such a downy one, Camilla.”

  Downy? Genius? These were not terms her mother had ever used for her. Her adjectives were “bluestocking” and “Miss Clever” usually prefaced by “Don’t be such a”

  “Who told you that the LaCorte fortune had passed to t
he younger son? And what a fortune! Sir Myron lived on his pay and prize money, but I’ve heard that they might have in the Bank of England as much as a hundred thousand pounds. A hundred thousand... yes.” She looked about her incredulously. “Yet they live with old pictures and old wallpaper in all their rooms. Even this coverlet is only silk on one side.”

  “I don’t know anything about that,” Camilla said, wondering if she should fetch a vinaigrette or some hartshorn. Her mother seemed to be wandering a little in her thoughts. “Then you do approve, Mama?”

  “Had you this plot in mind when you submitted with such a good grace to my sending you to Nanny’s? If I had but realized that Sir Philip was at home, I could have sent you here months ago. Heavens, you could already be settled as a LaCorte today. Well, there’s no use in repining over lost opportunities so long as you leap upon the next one.”

  “Mama,” Camilla said, narrowing her eyes. “Are you saying that you think I—I set my cap for Sir Philip because he’s wealthy?”

  “Of course, it would never do to admit such a thing outside of these walls.” She clasped her hands together and raised her eyes ecstatically toward heaven. “I thought I did well to marry your sister off so creditably. When your brother-in-law offered for Linnet, I counted it a personal triumph. Sir John Fuster’s son was the height of my ambition for you, you know. You both being so very blue. But this! My dear child, you may well find yourself presented at Court.”

  “I hadn’t given that any thought.”

  “No, how should you? You’ve had quite enough to plan here.” She laughed and rose. Embracing her daughter about the shoulders, she kissed her. “Now you must be cautious. Be advised by me.”

  “Mama, I assure you that I did not chase Philip. I never thought about money or title in connection with him. He is the man I love, so greatly, so completely. I should love him if he were a pauper.” Her voice quavered under the stress of her feelings, but her mother didn’t seem to understand.