by Amelia Grey
Gwen smiled every time she looked at his notes to her—which had been often over the past few days. The duke’s script was large and bold, though she could tell it had been written with a light, carefree hand. On the front of the note he’d properly written “Miss Gwen Prim,” but inside he’d addressed her as Miss Christmas.
She didn’t mind the name. Christmastide had always been her favorite time of year anyway. And though the duke had thought her quite bold, she didn’t have the courage to tease him in return and address him as Sir Ogre.
His first correspondence had arrived only two days after the day they’d met. She’d answered it that afternoon and another from him had arrived promptly the next morning and so it had continued.
No matter how many times she told herself that the duke was a scandalous rake like Mr. Standish because he wanted kisses from her only minutes after they’d met, she had to admit he had some admirable qualities, too. He was obviously attentive to his mother, and it was kind of him to inquire about Sybil. Gwen had told Mr. Tweedy about her sister’s accident. He seemed quite concerned at the time, but so far he hadn’t bothered to send over a note to ask about Sybil’s recuperation.
Gwen leaned against the pillowed headboard and picked up the first note. She ran a finger over where the duke had written her name, and smiled. Perhaps it was silly that she read them so often, but she wanted to. Not only did it make her feel close to him, but also every time she read them she was filled with a glow of pleasure and the feeling that she must see the duke again soon.
She opened the note and read:
Dear Miss Christmas,
I am writing to inquire from you how Miss Sybil’s leg injury is progressing.
Yours truly,
The Duke of Hurst
Your Grace,
It’s kind of you to ask about Sybil’s recovery. I’m happy to report there has been a little improvement. However, she is an active child and remains quite irritable at times because she is still unable to stand or walk without pain in her knee and ankle.
May I be so forward as to query you on the healing of the wound under your eye?
With all respect,
Miss Gwen Prim
Dear Miss Christmas,
I’m not surprised to hear that Miss Sybil’s strong will has been tested while she convalesces.
The scratch has not yet faded from my face, but it is long gone from my memory. Until this evening at Lord Mountworth’s.
Yours truly,
The Duke of Hurst
Gwen folded the note and laid it on top of the ones she’d already reread. She had seen the duke at Lord Mountworth’s, but that was about all. During the whole of the evening it had been impossible for her to get away from Mr. Tweedy. On the occasions she’d excused herself from his presence, in hopes of finding a few minutes alone with the duke, someone else would claim either her attention or the duke’s.
As had been the case at the dinner at Drakestone, she and the duke had been limited to looks, glances, and conversations with other people present. She’d had the strangest feeling of being not only disappointed but also unsatisfied when she left Lord Mountworth’s that evening.
She would see the duke again at Drakestone’s Christmas Eve Ball, but that was still a week away. She hadn’t wanted to wait that long to thank him, so she’d written to him. Besides, it gave her an excuse to keep their correspondence going.
Your Grace,
I had expectations of having a quiet moment or two with you at Lord Mountworth’s last evening, but the affair was much too busy. It concerns me because I haven’t had the opportunity to thank you for the courtesy and chivalry you showed me when you dined at Drakestone a few evenings ago. I feel it would be rude of me to continue waiting longer for the chance to thank you in person so, though it’s woefully inadequate, I shall do so here. You protected my reputation by casting your riding skills on a spirited horse as inferior, which we both know is not the case.
Thank you. You are quite gallant indeed. You saved me and Sybil all in the same day.
With all respect,
Miss Gwen Prim
My Dear Miss Christmas,
I don’t believe “gallant” and “chivalry” are words that have often been used to describe me, but since they came from you, I’ll accept with a smile.
I will be in attendance at Drakestone’s Christmas Eve Ball, but I should like to pay a visit to Drakestone before then and check on Miss Sybil’s healing progress. Tomorrow afternoon at two o’clock?
Yours truly,
The Duke of Hurst
Your Grace,
Sybil will be thrilled to know that you plan to visit.
With all respect,
Miss Gwen Prim
Gwen’s breathing escalated as she folded the last note and laid it on top of the pile. She picked up the lavender satin ribbon and started tying the notes together, making sure the bow was made perfect. She was pleased the duke had taken such an interest in Sybil’s recovery. Certainly it wasn’t something he was obligated to do. And it had lifted Sybil’s disposition considerably to know that he’d asked after her welfare and that he would pay her a visit this afternoon.
How could Gwen not be taken with a gentleman who would be so thoughtful and considerate to a little girl? Especially one who could, at times, be as impertinent as Sybil. Surely Gwen was attracted to him and had these warm feelings for him because of his kindheartedness. It surely couldn’t be that she was opening herself up to the possibility of falling in love with an admitted rake.
When Gwen was finished with the bow, she opened the drawer on the table beside her bed and tucked the packet of letters inside. She looked over at the clock on her dressing table.
An unexpected shiver of anticipation stole over her. Only an hour to go before the duke arrived.
Chapter 7
If fate had allowed Crispin to pick the day for cutting mistletoe, ivy, and holly it couldn’t have been a more perfect day for the outing. For more than two weeks the weather had been bitter cold and dreary. Just yesterday rain and fog had been so heavy he thought it must be settling in for the rest of the winter. It was still cold as a frozen pond, but the skies were as blue as the Prim sisters’ eyes and as warm as Miss Christmas’ sweet breath.
Crispin stopped the dray horses in front of Drakestone and set the brake on the wagon. He threw the ribbons to the footman he’d brought along to help him. The man was pivotal to Crispin’s plan for the afternoon. He bounded up the steps and knocked twice on the door before the portly butler answered.
“The family is waiting for you in the drawing room, Your Grace. May I take your cloak, gloves, and hat?”
Crispin swept the hat off his head as he entered and quickly shed his cloak and gloves and followed the butler. He strode toward the drawing room at a brisk pace but slowed when he entered. His gaze landed on first the beautiful Miss Gwen Prim and then the duchess, and last the Misses Lillian and Bonnie, who stood beside the settee where Miss Sybil sat with her leg propped on a pillow.
He bowed, they curtsied, and greetings were exchanged.
“Miss Prim,” he said to Gwen, “with the duchess’ permission I’d like to take you and your sisters for a ride. I brought a wagon, baskets, and all we will need. I thought we could go into the forest for fresh cuttings to decorate your ballroom.”
“May we go?” Bonnie asked, and then let out a high-pitched, ear-piercing squeal. “May we go!”
“Please say yes,” Lillian added, rushing up to the duchess. “I want to go, too.”
Miss Sybil crossed her arms over her chest and pouted. “It’s not fair. I can’t go.”
Crispin knelt down beside her. “Of course you can. I wouldn’t take your sisters and leave you behind.”
“But I can’t walk yet.”
“You don’t have to. I’ll carry you to the wagon. It’s not a fancy coach, but I brought blankets to keep you warm. You can’t help us cut the holly, but you can watch.”
“Is i
t all right if I go, too, Louisa?”
“Of course,” she said.
Crispin rose and looked at Miss Prim. “The younger girls want to go. And I don’t see Saint, but if he were here, I’d lay odds your dog would want to go, too. So do you want to join us? Do you want to go with us and help cut the greenery to decorate Drakestone for Christmas?”
Her eyes softened. “Yes, thank you. We would enjoy that. Give me a few minutes to get everyone properly dressed.”
“Take your time. I don’t mind waiting.”
“All right, girls,” Miss Prim said. “Let’s go get our coats, bonnets, and gloves.”
“What about me?” Sybil called. “I can’t get my coat.”
“I’ll get everything you need,” Miss Prim said to her. “You and Louisa keep the duke entertained until I return.”
Half an hour later Crispin and the Prim sisters were on their way up the knoll toward the thickets where the biggest selection of winter greenery could be found. Sybil was tucked in the bed of the wagon that was already packed with a ladder, clippers, and stacks of large baskets to hold their booty. Misses Lillian and Bonnie sat on either side of Sybil. All the girls were wore fur-trimmed bonnets on their heads and muffs to keep their hands warm as toast. He’d then piled two thick lap robes on top of them, making sure they wouldn’t get cold.
Crispin sat on the bench between Miss Prim and his uncle’s footman, handling the team. And the duke sat a lot closer to her than the servant. Crispin liked it that his leg touched hers despite the fact she had squeezed as close to the end of the bench seat as possible. Miss Prim was bundled up in a fur-trimmed cape, bonnet, and gloves, and she looked downright fetching.
The drive turned eventful when Bonnie started singing a Christmas song. Lillian and Sybil complained she was yelling in their ears and tried to quiet her. Bonnie insisted she was only crooning. Miss Prim tried to stop their quarreling but had little luck getting them quiet. They were too excited about their adventure.
Their arguing didn’t bother Crispin. He’d learned from his sisters long ago how to tune out their squabbling and carry on with whatever he was doing. Besides, if the younger Prim sisters were busy picking at one another, it gave him opportunity to enjoy Miss Prim more. He deliberately moved his thigh tighter against hers and flicked the ribbons on the horses’ rumps again, urging them to go a little faster.
Crispin stopped the wagon as close to the edge of the forest as he could so that Sybil would be able to watch them. He first helped Miss Prim down and then the other girls while the footman took care of the baskets, ladder, and clippers. Then the enjoyment and fellowship began.
Crispin and Gwen set about cutting the low-hanging ivy, pine boughs, holly berries, and clumps of mistletoe while the footman used the ladder for the much higher branches. They took turns loading up the arms of each of the girls and they would in turn walk back to the wagon and dump cuttings in the baskets.
He liked the way Gwen handled her sisters. She was kind but firm when speaking to Bonnie about complaining that it wasn’t fair that Lillian could carry more trimmings than she could so her baskets were filling faster, or when Sybil complained that Bonnie and Lillian were ignoring her. Watching Gwen, Crispin had no doubts she would be as good a mother as she was a sister.
At one point, Gwen seemed deep in thought about something as she cut a branch of holly, so Crispin plucked a red berry from his stash and threw it so it landed right where her hands were. She blinked and looked around. He pretended to be busy at his task. He threw another at her as soon as her back was turned. And then another. When she looked at him again, he smiled. She knew the berries were coming from him. She smiled, too, and they went back to work.
Not long after that a berry grazed his chin and one hit his ear. He swept around toward Gwen, and as he did she threw a berry and hit him on the nose. He laughed and started toward her. She laughed, too, and threw a handful of berries at him and started running. Crispin started after her but checked himself when he saw Bonnie coming toward him. If they’d been alone Crispin would have chased down Gwen and tumbled her onto the ground and showed her just how desirable she was to him, but because the girls were nearby he allowed her to escape his grasp. A stab of impatience caught him. He couldn’t wait until they were alone so he could sweep her into his arms and kiss her.
Their fun continued for another hour. The girls laughed, squealed, and argued. Once in a while Bonnie would start singing for them, too. Crispin’s attention continued to stray to Gwen. He noticed she watched him often, too, though they didn’t have time to do too much talking, as the girls were running back and forth from the wagon with empty arms to be filled again.
When the baskets were overflowing, Crispin declared the work was over and it was time for refreshments. He spread blankets on the ground, lifted Miss Sybil out of the wagon, and placed her down in the middle of them. Warmth from the winter sunshine and exertion from all their work and play had them all taking off their gloves, bonnets, and coats as they gathered around Sybil to enjoy chocolate, apricot tarts, and scones filled with sugared figs.
Gwen remained quiet and let her three sisters do most of the talking, which they were more than happy to do. Crispin answered all their questions about his sisters and brothers, where he lived, and his travels, but his interest kept straying to Gwen’s wholesome-looking face. He loved the way the wind and sun had colored her cheeks and ruffled her hair. He loved the way she kept looking at him, too. There had never been another young lady he’d enjoyed looking at more than Gwen, and soon he would have her all to himself.
When the chocolate flask was empty and the last scone had been eaten, Crispin fit the three girls back into the wagon and tucked the blankets tightly around their legs. He then squeezed the baskets of cuttings all around them. Just as he’d planned that morning, once the wagon bed was filled there were two baskets left.
“We can’t leave these,” he said to the younger girls. “If we do, you may not have enough to complete your decorating. I suggest I put these two baskets up on the bench with the driver and then Miss Prim and I will walk home. What do you girls think?”
“Yes,” they said in unison.
Good girls!
“Then that’s what we’ll do.” He loaded the two baskets on the bench beside the footman, gave the man a nod, and the wagon took off with a jolt, a jangle, and a high-pitched squeal from Bonnie.
Crispin turned back to Gwen, who stood straight shouldered with her arms folded across her chest. He was quite certain she was tapping the toes of one of her feet, too, though he couldn’t see beneath the hem of her skirts.
“Did you plan for that to happen?” she asked.
“From start to finish,” he admitted freely as he picked up her gloves, coat, and bonnet and handed them to her before picking up his own things.
“Come on, follow us,” Sybil called from the back of the wagon, and the other girls encouraged them to as well.
Crispin waved to the girls and he and Gwen started walking. “Would you like me to help you with your coat?”
“Not now. The sun is still warm and the wind isn’t cold,” she said, and let out a heavy sigh.
“Are you tired?” he asked, stuffing his gloves in the pocket of his coat and then throwing his cloak over his arm.
“No. I was just thinking that it seems I’m always either apologizing to you for something or thanking you for something.”
“You know what that tells me?” he asked.
She looked over at him. “What?”
He grinned. “I must be doing something right and you must be doing something wrong.”
Her brow furrowed. “Unfortunately for me, you’re right. But no matter the case, thank you for today. The girls had a wonderful time but especially Sybil. She hasn’t been out of the house since she fell.”
“How about you?” he asked. “Did you enjoy yourself?”
She smiled and laughed lightly. “You must know I did, but did you? The girls were loud and sc
reaming at each other sometimes, and we all know Bonnie can’t sing.”
“That’s family life, Miss Prim, and I don’t mind it. I look forward to it.”
“And that surprises me.”
The wagon was getting farther away just as Crispin had planned. The sisters continued calling for him and Gwen to walk faster and catch up. That wasn’t going to happen. Crispin had already given strict orders to the footman not to slow down the wagon until he reached Drakestone even if the girls begged him to do it.
“Why?” Crispin asked Gwen.
“I don’t know,” she said, waving to her sisters. “I just thought because you are young, a duke with power and wealth, with many young friends to help you spend your hours creating mischief, that you would be with them and not four loud and boisterous girls.”
“Three,” he corrected with a rueful smile. “You were very quiet today.”
“That’s because I’m trying to understand you.”
“Hmm,” he said.
“‘Hmm’?” she mimicked him. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m wondering should I be happy you’re trying to understand me or should I be concerned?”
She didn’t look at him or answer him, so he added, “You could know everything about me you wanted to know if you’d ask as many questions as Miss Bonnie and Miss Sybil do.”
That comment made her reward him with a lovely smile and a hint of a genuine laughter. All Crispin could think was that he was smitten with her. He didn’t just want to kiss her; he wanted all of her. Completely.
“I don’t know everything young titled men do, of course, but I know they are given to use profanity like a drunken sailor who’s trying to find his way back to his ship. I know they play cards, throw dice, and drink brandy for days on end without stopping. They flaunt their associations with mistresses, actresses, and all manner of unsuitable women. And they put wagers on who can seduce the most innocent young ladies to fall in love with them during a Season.”