“Senile, I suppose,” Jonathan said as he watched his wife pace furiously around the guest chamber they’d been shown to. “But we can’t just turn around and go, even if they are.”
“Not senile,” she said stormily. “Just careless. I wrote and asked my brother Charles. He knew about them. Careless of morals and manners, he says. Everyone says so.”
“Look, my dear,” he said in his best voice of reason, “you refine upon it too much. My association with the woman was over a decade ago. I imagine Marianna likes to remember our past association only because she hasn’t much else to cheer her these days . . . Now, wait!” He stepped back from the force of his wife’s outraged glare.
“You,” she said frigidly, glowering at him, “are as bad as she is. You made love to her.” She swallowed hard before she went on. Horrid to think that dreadful woman had kissed those firm lips of his, stroked that hard muscled back, delighted in his heat and strength, known the feeling of his most intimate embrace. What words of love had he whispered to her? She couldn’t bear it.
“You had biblical knowledge of her, and who knows what other kind,” she went on. “She remembers it fondly? And you? How do you remember it? Oh, I forgot, you’re too much of a gentleman to say, even to your wife. So what am I supposed to think? And what am I to do? Agree with her? I am appalled. I didn’t expect that you had no experience before we met. However, I didn’t expect to have to hear about that experience.”
“It means nothing,” he said. He didn’t know what else to say. Tell her that he’d never made love to Marianna, or any woman, as he had to her? That aside from that, he’d been young and overeager, and so overwhelmed by what seemed like his incredible good luck that he’d only taken, and never tried to give pleasure? That they hadn’t shared anything but a pillow? That it was a wholly other experience from what he shared with his wife?
All of it was true. But the codes he lived by made it impossible for him to say any of it. A gentleman did not discuss previous lovers with anyone. A fellow did not discuss his sexual experience with his bride. And a man had to stand by his given word. “It meant nothing,” he repeated.
“It does to me,” she said. “And I don’t like her, or it, or you.”
“That,” he said, “is childish.”
“So be it. I want to leave.”
“We will, but for now, we cannot. It is only for five days.”
She turned her back on him.
There were twenty guests seated at the long dinner table in the grand dining room at Fanshawe Manor. Twelve of the guests Pamela, Lady Rexford, knew to be infamous. Thirteen, she thought, considering that her husband would have to be included now. Because Lord Treadwell, husband to a gaunt and raddled blonde of a certain age, had just informed her that his wife had also shared a bed with Jonathan, once upon a time.
Pamela now felt so justified, so right about her previous indignation and refusal to come here, that she wished she could find a lonely, windy moor where she could celebrate her glorious vindication.
“Your rib is some kind of bruiser!” the gentleman at her right side had just said with admiration, before Pamela could introduce herself to him. “A hard goer and a tireless one. At least, so m’wife says.”
“Indeed?” was all she said as she stared cold-eyed at the lady’s husband, taking a page from her own feckless husband’s book of callous noncommittal expressions.
“Right,” he said, and continued chewing whatever he’d pushed into his mouth right after he’d let out his killing words.
He had wide light blue eyes with scant lashes, which gave his round face a perennially surprised look. Otherwise, he looked like any number of other fattish, balding older gentlemen, except that he was sitting at this table, which meant he was both rich and titled. The fact that he liked to sprinkle his conversation with thieves cant, like a lad down from university, gave Pamela some clue to the weight of his mind.
“My rib and yours, y’see,” he went on after he swallowed. “Thick as inkle weavers that whole summer ten years past, the pair of ’em. She says she knew she’d have him in the hay and begging for mercy in an hour, and so she did.”
“And you’re pleased with that?” she exclaimed before she could stop herself.
“I should say!” he said. He pointed a fork at her to give weight to his point. “Not many chaps have a wife who can get ’round a young gent like my lady can. It ain’t all ancient history, neither. Wouldn’t be surprised if she gets him again this very night.”
Pamela sucked in a hard breath. There was now only one question in her mind. Should she get up and leave this place, and her marriage, immediately? Or wait until the company left the dinner table? She couldn’t believe Jonathan would be so lost to propriety that he’d take up with another woman under her very gaze. But she couldn’t believe what this fellow had just said either.
They didn’t look like a raffish crew. The lovely old manor was filled with merry guests. The younger ones were definitely fashionable, the older ones seemed unexceptional. It was true many of the ladies had improbably bright hair and cheeks that obviously owed their blushes to rabbits’ feet and not compliments. But most of the gentlemen seemed more interested in falling on their dinners than any other kind of flesh.
Yet, now this!
“You’re saying you think they’ll . . . do it again this very night?” Pamela found herself asking in a shocked whisper.
“No, didn’t mean to be so literal, milady. Not tonight, a’course,” the fellow said as he crammed in another forkful of food. “But I’ll wager a pony they’ll be at it by dawn.”
Pamela sat and stared at his working jaws.
“Likely, we will,” Jonathan commented from where he was seated at her other side.
She swung her head around and gaped at her husband.
He smiled. “If your lady is up to a dawn ride, I’m her man,” he told the gentleman. “I mean to get back my own this time.”
“Ha!” the fellow said happily. “Prepare to lose another monkey. Neck or nothin’, that’s her. She’ll be up and over any obstacle you name before the word’s out of your mouth. She said she’d fly over the old barn and so she did. Left you panting in the hay and that’s a fact, my lord. Bruising rider, that’s m’girl!”
“Oh . . . rider,” Pamela breathed.
“ ‘Oh, rider,’ indeed,” Jonathan said into her ear as he leaned to whisper to her, the smile in his voice palpable. “The lady is a steeplechase rider, and I don’t doubt she can still beat me at it. But I’m game to try again. Oh, ye of little faith. Honi soit qui mal y’ pense,” he added, and translated, “Evil is who evil thinks, my dear.”
And then, because it wasn’t polite to keep speaking to one’s own wife at a dinner party, he turned to the lady on his other side.
The raddled blond steeplechase rider leaned across her husband’s plate and gave Pamela a huge wink.
When the ladies left the room to give the gentlemen time to empty their bladders and fill them up again with port, the blond lady seized Pamela’s arm in her sinewy hand as they strolled into the salon.
“My husband gave you a turn, did he?” she laughed. “Don’t deny it. You went the color of whey. Thought I was after Rexford, did you? Well, I would be if I could be, but he never did take me up on anything but a race and he isn’t about to start now. Not when he has such as you on his arm.”
Pamela smiled, uneasily.
The lady patted her cheek. “Pretty as you can stare, and he keeps staring at you. Gather ye rosebuds, love. They don’t last long, you know.”
The evening went much better for Pamela after that.
“In fact,” she said as she brushed out her hair after she’d dismissed her maid later that night, “I actually had fun!” She saw Jonathan’s look of surprise. “Their jokes were old, and they were all so tipsy that they enjoyed those jokes more than anyone else did, but they were a jolly crew. They’ve known each other so long it’s almost as if they’re a big family. No wonder t
hey like to spend the holidays together. The ones I got to know were delightful. Baron Oldcastle is a dear, and Mr. Vickery has such a sly sense of humor, and though Lady James is hard of hearing, she’s charming. Her risqué comments are adorable rather than shocking.”
Jonathan took the brush from her hand and leaned over her. “I’m glad you’ve reconsidered,” he said as he ran his lips along the line of her jaw. “But it’s early days. Reserve judgment. Oldcastle is more than a dear, and Lady James can be much less than charming. And more company will be coming. Now, as for the rest of tonight . . .”
“What a silly I was,” Pamela exclaimed, rising and wrapping her arms around his neck. “To make such a fuss about nothing. You were right . . . no!” she said, clapping a hand over his lips. “I’ll never say that again, so be still and treasure it. I think I was a bit inflexible. I did listen too much to gossip. I ought to have known you’d never do anything to expose me to embarrassment or humiliation. Your friends have been everything kind to me and have done all they can to make me feel at home.”
“I’m glad you’re having a good time now,” he murmured against her warm palm before he gently teased the fleshy base of her thumb with his teeth.
“Who wouldn’t?” she asked, with a delicious shiver at the feeling of his teeth nibbling at her palm. “Such friendly people. It’s true they don’t keep to any Christmas traditions that I know, so one would almost forget the holiday’s approaching. Although they are very fond of wassail.”
“Minx!” he said appreciatively as he dropped her hand and drew her closer. “You are doing well here. Perhaps too well. You’ve already learned to turn a compliment like a knife.”
“I almost regret having struck our bargain and leaving before Christmas itself,” she said with a sigh. “But I should like to see my family.”
He stilled. “And so you shall see them.” He hesitated. “Look, my love, there’s no need for utter surrender, you know . . . except to me, this way, at least.” And then he changed the subject, without saying a word.
The great dining room was full, all the guests had arrived. The conversation was loud and incessant, the toasts frequent, and even more so after the ladies had left the gentlemen to their port. That was why not a few of the gentlemen had to hold on to the wall in order to leave the room to join the ladies again.
But Jonathan had a hard head, and besides, he was not quite as merry as some of the company tonight.
“What? You’ve got the morning after headache already?” Sam Gregory, a fresh-faced young gentleman, asked when he noticed Jonathan’s faint frown. “Without even having had the pleasure of earning it?”
Jonathan smiled thinly. “No such luck, or bad luck. It is only that I had forgotten what these house parties were like. I’ve been abroad a long time, you see.”
“It’s not that,” Lord Montrose, a high-nosed worldly gentleman, commented softly as they watched some other guests staggering out into the hall. “I’ve never been to such a Christmas party myself. The jests are a bit warmer than one would expect to hear in mixed company,” he explained to puzzled young Sam Gregory as Jonathan nodded. “Indeed, the mixture of company itself is unusual. Some, quite comme il faut. Others? A trifle raffish, perhaps? Present company excepted, of course,” he added.
“So I thought,” Jonathan murmured.
“Not quite the thing, perhaps?” Lord Montrose went on. “At least, not mine for the Christmas holiday. It almost makes me wish I’d accepted my second cousin’s invitation. But the prospect of being entertained by their five lively infants dampened my holiday spirits somewhat.”
Jonathan laughed. “Understandable. I was hesitant to visit my wife’s family for the same reason. Still, we’re leaving here in a few days for just such romps.”
“I doubt it,” Lord Montrose said serenely. “My cousin’s also expecting another addition at any hour. Mind, I don’t mind having to boil water, but only to add to my punch.”
The men laughed, though the younger gentleman’s face flushed.
“Astonishing,” Lord Montrose said, raising his quizzing glass and peering at the younger man. “You color at a hint of a medical reference, and yet I didn’t see a trace of embarrassment when those questionable tales were being told tonight.”
“And those references,” Jonathan said, grinning, “all had to do with getting a female into such a situation in the first place.”
“Well, but one’s fun, and the other is . . .”
“Reality,” Lord Montrose said.
“At any rate,” Jonathan told Lord Montrose, “I’m glad it wasn’t only my perception. I mean, about this gathering. I did think it was getting rather warm in here tonight and have been wondering at the wisdom of my bringing my bride to such a gathering.”
“Take heart. It likely was an aberration, not due to the spirit of the holiday but rather due to the spirits of the season,” Lord Montrose said with an admirably straight face.
Jonathan smiled, as expected. But his smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“Tonight, my friends,” their hostess declared when all her guests had assembled again in the salon after dinner a few minutes later, “we’ll have a scavenger hunt! With prizes!”
The company gave out a ragged cheer. Pamela smiled. Last night, she’d won at charades. The night before, she’d won at cards. She shot Jonathan a smug look and sat up straight in her excitement.
He did not return her merry glance, but rather stroked his chin and looked thoughtful.
“Now,” Marianna said as she handed out slips of paper to her lounging guests, “here’s the list. Everyone must find the objects written on their list and return them here before cock’s crow, if not sooner. Now you must all choose a partner. No, no,” she said, shaking a plump beringed finger at Pamela, “not your own life’s partner, if you please. Wives and husbands know each other too well, and so work too well in tandem, giving the married couples an unfair advantage. So we will re-pair the company and have a more interesting hunt.” She told Pamela, “Now, you, my lady, will be partnered by . . .”
“Me,” ancient Baron Oldcastle called out. “I need a supple lass to help me bend and seek.”
“No, me,” Lord Ipcress cried. “The lady’s a winner, and my luck’s been out of late.”
“If you please, youth goes to youth, so it’s me,” handsome Mr. Burroughs insisted.
Other gentlemen put in their claims as Pamela blushed with pride. She’d always been good at games.
“It’s only right to handicap a constant winner,” Marianna said. “So she gets my dear Fuff, because there never was such a fellow for not finding his own nose in front of his face!”
A great many mock groans met this announcement. Lord Fanshawe, or “Fuff” as his friends called him, grinned and waved at his guests. Pamela smiled. The old fellow didn’t make much sense, but she could have gotten a worse partner. Though she liked most of her fellow guests, she had to admit she didn’t like the looks some of the gentlemen shot at her. She now thought that because she’d been so relieved not to find monsters of depravity at Fanshawe Manor, she’d perhaps been too hasty in her praise of her hosts and their company. She tried not to be a prude, but felt that a gentleman oughtn’t to look at a married lady with such naked assessment as she’d been treated to since she’d arrived at the manor. Her elderly host’s admiration, though apparent, was not objectionable.
“And I shall have Rexford,” Marianna announced, “which is very much like old times.” As Pamela blinked, she went on, “Now, as for the rest of you . . .”
Honi soit qui mal y pense, Pamela reminded herself. It wasn’t her hostess’s fault that she so resented her so much she could scarcely exchange a word with her. But however much she knew she had to try to be more flexible now that she was a married lady, and even if her hostess was now somewhat the worse for years, still Pamela couldn’t get over the fact that the woman had been her husband’s lover. She didn’t know if she ever could. The best part was that she didn’t have
to. Two more days and she’d be gone from here. It was good to see she had no dragons to fight after all, but she didn’t think she’d ever care to return. And from what she could see, neither would Jonathan. He might consider these people his friends, but she noticed he’d spent all of his time with her.
“And, Montrose, you go with Lady Simmons,” Marianna said as she continued pairing up her guests. “My lord Oldcastle, you have Miss Chudleigh—oh, very well, don’t start complaining. Miss Chudleigh may go with Lord Dearborne, and you will be partnered by her friend Mr. Barrow. Happy now? Very good. And my lord Billings . . .”
“Off we go then, eh?” Lord Fanshawe said from the vicinity of Pamela’s elbow.
She looked down at him. “Not yet,” she said, showing him the list. “First we have to see what we’re looking for, then plan how to get them.” She frowned. “The thing is that I don’t know if this is fair. I’ll still have the advantage. After all, you know where everything is.”
“Consummately unfair,” Lord Ipcress commented from where he stood behind them, watching.
“All’s fair in love and war,” Marianna Fanshawe said on a laugh, taking Jonathan’s arm. “Now, let’s get on with it, there’s darkness being wasted.”
Jonathan didn’t budge. He stood watching Pamela peruse the list as the other guests formed pairs and began to leave the salon.
“A painted thimble,” Pamela told Lord Fanshawe. “Let’s start with that. We just have to go to the housekeeper, don’t we?”
He nodded. “Very, yes, indeed, that’s the ticket. Off to the housekeeper then, shall we?”
“Yes, but then we have to get a rag doll,” Pamela said as she started to leave the room with her host.
“In due time,” he said, taking her hand in his plump little paw. “First things first. This will be fun, what?”
The manor was a rabbit warren of rooms, and Pamela found herself utterly lost as her sprightly little host pulled her along dark corridors. It was a warm, crowded darkness, because the old place was furnished with what seemed to be the relics of a dozen generations of Fanshawes. Her host held one of her hands. Pamela kept the other stretched out in front of her so she wouldn’t bump into bureaus, tables, chairs, or walls. That way she didn’t collide with them all, just most of them.
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