by Mary Birk
The other woman sniffed, accepting the apology. “Likely the ground will soon be frozen anyway—so he won’t find much more mud to get into. It’s starting to snow, if I’m not mistaken.” She pointed out the back windows to where snowflakes were starting to lightly fall.
Juliette smiled. “This is simply perfect. Snow for Christmas and a lovely baby to christen.” Her eldest son’s first child. She’d wondered when she would ever see this day.
“Mum, I should be miffed at you being so excited over Terrence’s baby since I’ve already given you three grandchildren, but I’m just as thrilled as you.”
“Who would have thought Terrence would come up with such a surprise? Especially with everyone saying he and Anne were separated. It seems she really was just busy working in the States as he said.”
Mrs. Paulson took the pot off the stove and set it on the counter to cool. “Not that it’s any of my business, but if she’s had a baby, they can’t have been too separated.”
Pippa frowned. “I think they have been somewhat off and on. Mostly off, though.”
Juliette tried to push away her worry. “I do think Terrence could tell us a bit more about what’s going on.”
“Good luck with that. Has he ever?”
“He’s so much like your father. Close-mouthed.” Juliette started to set out some of the pastries and other food to be served at tea. “Terrence and Anne are going to have to make a better arrangement now they have a child.”
“Not to change the subject, but who’s picking up Anne and her sister from the train station?” Pippa asked.
“Your father. He took your husband with him for help with the luggage. And I think for moral support.”
“Moral support? I thought Father liked Anne.”
“He does, but you know your father, chérie. He’s not happy about the two of them living in different countries. Nor am I, for that matter. I want my son to have a wife in his bed at night making love to him.”
“Mother, really.”
“Oh, Phillipa, don’t be naïve. You wouldn’t want your children lonely either. I notice you don’t let that husband of yours far away from you. Obviously, you’ve got some French in you.” Juliette wiped her hands on a kitchen towel. “Your father’s pleased Terrence has a son, but he’s concerned the child could end up being brought up in America if Anne insists on living there. He doesn’t want Michael so far away from Dunbaryn.”
“I would’ve thought Terrence could have arranged to meet them at the station. I can’t believe he’s having Father do that.”
“He’s been so busy. Perhaps he couldn’t get here in time.” Juliette knew she didn’t sound too convincing, as she was by no means convinced herself.
“I’d have killed Thomas if he’d done that to me, no matter how things were between us.”
Juliette turned to the cook, “Mrs. Paulson, will you be quite all right with getting everything ready for tea? I’m going to check on the flowers and other decorations, and make sure the rooms are ready for everyone.”
“Certainly, my lady. Greta should be coming from the village any minute. I’m having her help with tea, and she’s going to stay through the week to help out. I know we already have Violet and Grace in the kitchen, but we’ll have a houseful of people needing this and that.”
“Thank you so much.” Juliette took her daughter’s arm, “Come with me to check on things please, Phillipa.”
Pippa grabbed a chocolate biscuit from the kitchen worktable and went with her mother to the drawing room to inspect the preparations. “I gather I was talking too much in front of Mrs. P.”
Juliette folded her lips together, then sighed. “I think we both were, although we don’t have many secrets from her at this point. I imagine we’re not the only ones who are surprised by this little baby’s arrival after everything that’s happened. You know how devoted Mrs. P. is to Terrence. I’m certain she’ll give him a piece of her mind.”
“I’d love to be a big-eared fly on the wall when that happens. She’s the only one he lets talk to him like that. Not even you.”
Juliette bent to move a stem over in the fragrant arrangement of stargazer lilies on the polished round table at one end of the large room. She appreciated Pippa’s polite insinuation she would have any kind of influence on her eldest son, but they both knew better. “What do you think of the Christmas tree?” She gestured to the other side of the room where a large fragrant fir tree stood, its branches full of decorations. She did not want her daughter to see how worried she was about Terrence. He’d always been a deeply private person, not showing his feelings easily, if at all. Juliette had never seen anything cause him turmoil like his relationship with his wife.
Juliette had been so thankful when her son told them about his wife having had a child. She knew how much it meant to Charles that Terrence had a son to whom the title would pass. But it had truly been a surprise. They hadn’t even been sure the couple was still together, and hadn’t known what to think after all the stories in the press about Anne and that unfortunate artist whose child was murdered. Charles and she had watched the news and read the stories, and as unreliable as those were, they all seemed to unequivocally accept Anne and their son had been separated when all of that happened.
Of course, she and Charles had suspected the couple was separated, but as Terrence wouldn’t discuss his wife or his marriage with them, they hadn’t been sure. He wanted them to believe Anne was working in the States and just never had time to visit, which, of course, made no sense. But with Terrence, one couldn’t just ask. If there was one subject that was off limits with Terrence, it was Anne. Strange, because the one time Juliette had met Anne, it had been plain Anne thought the sun rose and fell with Terrence, and Terrence clearly adored her. The way he’d acted with Anne in the beginning had made Juliette smile—he’d been totally enchanted with his wife, and had been happier and more light-hearted than Juliette had seen him in years. Then something had gone wrong, and Anne ended up with the other man.
When Terrence called from California last February to warn them about the imminent news stories concerning the other man’s child being kidnapped, he’d been protective of Anne, matter-of-fact about her innocence, and obviously still in love with her. Both Juliette and Charles had gotten the distinct impression the couple had reconciled. There were those pictures of them together, and he’d clearly gone to California to be with her.
Then in April, Anne had been in Scotland and there’d been yet more stories—and more photos with her and the artist. To Juliette, it looked as if the artist had come to Scotland after Anne, who, Juliette guessed, had come to Scotland after Terrence. The photograph showed Terrence at his angriest, and Anne looking like she was losing whatever argument she was making. After that, they’d heard nothing. Not until now, when he’d told them about the baby. It was a puzzle. This very proper and private son of hers had somehow fallen in love with a woman who attracted trouble and publicity every time she turned around.
“Mum, did you hear me?”
Juliette shook her head. “What did you say, chérie?”
“The tree’s perfect. I’m so glad we don’t wait any more to put the tree up until Christmas Eve. It’s so much more fun to have time before Christmas to enjoy it. Is it all right if I turn the lights on?”
“Please do, chérie. Everyone will be here soon.”
Pippa plugged in the lights and the two women stood back and admired the tree. “So, do we really need to make sure the rooms are ready for guests, or was that just a ploy to get out of the kitchen?”
“Just a ploy. Mrs. MacGyver already has the rooms prepared.”
“I hope you had her put Terrence and Anne in separate rooms.”
Juliette looked at her daughter, astonished. “Why would I do that? They must want to be together. They’re apart so much.”
“Mum, you can’t put them together. Really, you can’t.”
“They’re married.”
“There are plenty of
rooms. Terrence and Anne can have separate rooms with no trouble at all and you know it.”
“I do have a houseful of guests coming, you know.” She started counting off on her fingers. “You and your nice husband, your three children, Terrence and Anne, the baby, Anne’s sister, Meg, her sister Jeanne and two children, Anne’s mother, Irene, Flora and Rafe, Lance, Miranda, Rodney, and the girl he’s bringing, and George. And of course, your brother and Dianne. Separate rooms for Rick and Dianne, and Rodney and his girl. Your father wouldn’t approve if I put them together. And the Monsignor and John Stirling will most likely spend at least Christmas Eve here—more if they like, of course.”
“That leaves about thirty empty bedrooms.”
“There may be guests who will stay after the christening—who decide not to make the trip home even with the buses your father has arranged to take people back and forth from Inverness.” They hadn’t invited the usual houseful of guests because she and Charles had been afraid the situation with Terrence and his wife was still a little too sensitive.
“You just want them together.”
“Of course I do. They need to be together. Not just for them but for the child.”
“You can’t put them together. They don’t even live together.”
“As Mrs. Paulson said, they can’t always be apart if they made this child together.”
“You’re going to make me break my promise to keep a secret, aren’t you?”
“What are you talking about?”
Pippa sighed. “Terrence is planning to ask Anne for an annulment. I’m not supposed to tell you. He wanted to talk to Anne first, and he wanted to wait until after Christmas to tell everyone else.”
Juliette felt her spirits suddenly deflate. “An annulment?”
Her daughter nodded.
“Why now?”
“He didn’t say. I don’t think they’ve been together, Mum, since last spring at least.”
“How can Terrence give up on his marriage when a baby has just come?”
“I don’t know, but you can’t put them in the same room.”
“I think it will be odd if I don’t put them together, since I’m not supposed to know, and Terrence knows how I feel about separate rooms for married people.”
“Maybe you can put them in adjoining rooms, and say it’s because of the baby being so young?”
Juliette wrinkled her brow. “I’ll have to rearrange some of the other room assignments. I’d like to strangle your brother right now. If I’d known, I certainly wouldn’t have asked Anne to come, let alone her family.” She looked at her daughter, suddenly overwhelmed with the possible social repercussions of the invitation. “Mon Dieu, why do you think she agreed to come?”
“Probably because he hasn’t told her yet—or maybe just so Michael could be christened at Dunbaryn, considering he’ll be in line to be earl after Terrence.”
“This is terrible. Do you think she’s coming out here thinking they’ll be together?”
“I hope not.”
“I need to talk to your father about this, chérie.”
“No, Mum, please don’t. Remember it’s a secret. I wasn’t supposed to tell you, and I don’t want to lose Terrence’s trust. But it’ll save a lot of embarrassment if you leave them some way to stay in separate rooms graciously. And for heaven’s sake, don’t let on I told you.”
Juliette looked thoughtfully at her daughter. “You don’t suppose he’s seeing Miranda again? I was a little surprised when I heard she was coming, and even more so when he told me the two of them were driving here together.”
“I doubt it.”
“I certainly hope not. Especially with Anne here.”
“I can’t imagine Terrence seeing anyone else when he’s married. And Mum—there’s one more thing I think you should know.”
Juliette sat on the back of the sofa. “I’m afraid to ask—what else?”
“It’s about Darby.”
“Yes?
“I wish you’d stop trying to convince her to come home for Christmas. She told me she’s not coming home because Anne’s coming—you know she doesn’t like her—but I think it’s more because something happened with Darby and Terrence. He won’t have anything to do with her.”
“Tell me.”
“I don’t know the details, but it’s something to do with Anne. I just didn’t want you to keep trying to change Darby’s mind. Terrence doesn’t want her here, and I’m afraid there’ll be trouble if she comes.”
“Trouble?”
“Darby did something to hurt Anne and I don’t think Terrence will ever forgive her. Whatever he feels for Anne, Darby is dead to him right now.”
Juliette’s heart sank—she couldn’t believe her children could be at such odds they couldn’t even be at home for Christmas together. “She didn’t mention any of that to me—she just told me she decided to spend the holidays at a friend’s Italian villa.”
“I’m sure she knows someone with a villa who invited her for the holidays. That’s probably for the best. I don’t think you want her here with the way she feels about Anne. Or the way Terrence feels about Darby.”
Juliette stood up. “If Dominique is going to cause trouble, she can just stay in Italy. I want this baby’s first Christmas to be nice—as nice as possible with what’s going on with his parents. At least he will be too young to know anything is wrong. Later . . . poor child.”
“He’ll be all right, Mum.”
“I’d better talk to Mrs. MacGyver and get the room arrangements changed.” She pushed a small button on the wall. “The staff will be talking about this, of course. Even with adjoining rooms, they can figure out who’s together and who’s not. What a Christmas this will be—Terrence and Anne, and Flora and Rafe.”
Pippa’s interest was instantly piqued. “What about Aunt Flora, Mum?”
“Never mind, chérie. Everything is so complicated.”
Chapter 7
SHORTLY AFTER FOUR O’CLOCK that afternoon, Reid pulled his car around to the back of the house, the tires making visible tracks in the newly accumulated snow. The lights illuminating the area were surrounded by delicate white flakes funneling in circles. He knew Mrs. Paulson would see the car from the kitchen windows and let everyone know he’d arrived.
The snow whirled around them as they got out of the car. He’d just popped the latch to get the bags out of the car when the back door of the house flew open, and his mother, a slender, elegantly feminine woman, stepped outside.
She raised her voice to carry over the wind. “Terrence, Miranda, welcome. Happy Christmas.” Then to Miranda, “Come out of the snow right now. Your mother will never forgive me if I let you catch pneumonia.”
Miranda went inside, kissing her hostess and letting a fuss be made over her. Reid followed, carrying Miranda’s large bag and one of his smaller ones, shutting the door with his foot. He looked around the room quickly, and found his mother’s face, asking her a question without saying a word.
The Countess apparently had no trouble ascertaining what he wanted to know. “They’re not here yet, chérie. Your father’s gone to the train station with Thomas to get them. They should be back any minute.”
He nodded. “Happy Christmas, Countess.” He felt badly he’d stayed away so long, but he didn’t know what else he could have done. His life was a bloody mess.
“You too, chérie.” She started toward him, but when he failed to move toward her, turned away. He wondered whether she’d expected him to embrace her, even though he rarely did so. Perhaps he should have. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt the Countess’s feelings. But then she moved on to talk to Miranda, and he realized, with mixed feelings of relief and dismay, that he’d misread the situation.
He looked back outside, not able to suppress his worry about the weather. His every nerve was on edge, and his stomach was in an unholy turmoil. The roads had been slick with sleet. Surely, his father would be careful not to go too fast. Not that his father was r
eckless, but one had to be especially careful with a baby in the car.
Reid wanted to wait for Anne and his son somewhere where he could be alone to compose his thoughts, but instead forced himself to do what was expected of him and act normally. He turned to his sister and embraced her. “Pippa, you look wonderful.”
“I was beginning to wonder if you even saw me. Happy Christmas, Terrence.”
“Happy Christmas, Pips.”
Miranda said, “Where are the children?” When three small children peered shyly around the doorway she smiled. “There you are, you little hooligans. How big you’ve all grown.”
The children giggled.
“I have presents for everyone, but you have to wait until Christmas morning.” Miranda took three small packages from her carrying bag. “These will have to tide you over for now.” At Pippa’s questioning look, Miranda mouthed the word “books.”
His sister nodded her approval. “All right, children, tell Miranda thank you. Then you can open the packages.”
The children dutifully gave their thanks as they ripped open the paper on the packages.
“I guess your uncle doesn’t even rate a hug?” Reid went over and ruffled the children’s heads. “Just see if I remember to give you a present, then. Or take you sledging.”
The children hurriedly put down their new books and hugged him.
“Much better.” He smiled, but his anxiety didn’t abate. Where were they? The roads were likely getting worse by the minute.
“Uncle Terrence, can we go sledging now?”
“Tomorrow, I promise. Look outside. It’s dark now.” Dark and icy. He wouldn’t be able to relax until the car had arrived safely.
After being told her room assignment, Miranda started on her way toward the back stairs. The Reids’ manservant, Bernard, suddenly appeared in the kitchen. “Miss, I’ll take your bag up for you. My lord, I’ll fetch the rest from the car, and then garage the car if you’ve no further need for it tonight.”