Once Upon a Christmas Wedding

by Scarlett Scott

  He glanced carefully at her, and ate. Somehow the jug emptied and Susie came back. “Shall I take the dishes, my lady?”

  Although Rose quite enjoyed being called my lady, she was Miss. She opened her mouth to say so, but Sir Ian stared at her, and she decided not to let the ale make her too chatty. “Thank you, Susie. Do you know how to get rid of fleas on cats?”

  “At home, we gives them a lavender bath once a month, ma’am. Cats get miserable with fleas, and our cats are needed on the farm because of the mice that eat the grain.”

  “Sir Ian will give you a shilling if you bring me a cat bath with lavender and a towel.”

  Susie glanced at Sir Ian with a query on her face.

  “Sir Ian will give you two shillings to bathe the cat for his lady.” He frowned at Rose.

  Perhaps the ale had caused her to mention his name when he hadn’t done so himself. She waited for Susie’s quick nod and her promise to get the cat when all the meals had been served. “Mrs. Hobbs would have fits if I starts boiling water when we still have pies to make.”

  Sir Ian glanced at the window again. “The weather doesn’t look too promising. Susie, could you send Mr. Hobbs to me when he has a moment?”

  Susie nodded, took the dishes and left.

  Mr. Hobbs arrived within a moment. “You enjoyed your meal, I see,” he said, rubbing his red hands together.

  “Indeed. I hope we don’t need to stay, but in case this snow persists, I would like to book three rooms for the night.”

  “Three?” Mr. Hobbs shook his head. “I have three bedrooms upstairs for guests in all, sir. I have already booked two. My wife and me live downstairs with the maids, and the lads sleep in the barn. Most of my customers are local and will go home. I have, in fact, only one room available.”

  Sir Ian remained expressionless. “I will take the last room. In the meantime, will you tell your two customers that I am willing to pay them to give me the others?”

  “I can, sir, but they’re not here yet. I doubt they would be willing to go elsewhere in this weather.” Mr. Hobbs turned and left.

  “Are you taking the last room for me, Sir Ian? If we stay, where will you sleep?”

  “I am imagining that if we are stuck here, and I’m yet not sure we are, I can buy the other rooms, one for me, and one for my driver and my groom.”

  “Oh.” Rose swallowed. “You will probably have to pay Susie to sleep with me, too, to protect my reputation.”

  “Of course.” He glanced at her as if she had suddenly developed a rash.

  Rose sat and silently prayed that her reputation could somehow be lost, but she smiled sweetly. “It would be a shocking thing if a hero of Waterloo was found to have compromised the daughter of his favorite neighbor.”

  Sir Ian heaved a breath. “I have carefully avoided using your name and mine. I have called you ‘my lady.’ Eventually, if we stay, at no time will your name be mentioned. You will remain uncompromised unless you do something to change the situation.”

  She glanced at the cat. The cat had adopted a carefully nonchalant expression, apparently agreeing that changing the situation would be a very wise move.

  Despite the cold, Ian was unaccountably warm. He had discovered, after closely questioning Mr. Hobbs, the only other places he had available for the night were in the feed storage area attached to the stables. Ian’s driver and groom would use the space, if need be. Ian had been assured the place could be made comfortable with quilts and pillows. Ian had resigned himself to spending the night in his carriage, having inspected the sky minutely.

  Snow still fell steadily but the rapidly darkening clouds in the distance warned of more to come. The closest inn was possibly ten miles away, but the closest inn would be little better than this one. Every traveler on the road today would have been taken unawares by the weather and every inn would be full, a true Christmas story.

  Fortunately, his female travelling companion was not large with child. He tried to imagine beautiful Rose in that condition, and envied the man who would eventually have the right to hold her in his arms at night. Before today, he had kept his distance, knowing she was smart as well as charming, in fact, a trap for any man who was prepared to put his needs in front of his duty. When Ian married, he would need to choose a woman who would suit his political aspirations, not a frivolous young beauty.

  Not ten minutes ago, the cat had been delivered clean and shivering to Rose. After being warmed by the fire, the cat slunk back onto Rose’s lap. Being confined to one room didn’t appear to worry either of them. “I wonder if I have a pack of cards in my bag,” Rose said to the cat. “Oh, yes, I do. Do you want a game?”

  He lifted his gaze and saw that she was speaking to him and not the cat. “I think it’s time I collected more logs for the fire while you two play cards.”

  Rose laughed. He had seen her smile, and he had heard a quick giggle from her, but he never seen a fully stretched, uncontrolled shout of laughter from her before. Her whole face lit with happiness. If she had been beautiful before, she was now magnificent. His chest thickened. No right-minded parent should leave this reckless charmer without a chaperone.

  And no man who wanted his heart left unguarded would have deliberately packed off his valet, separately. He would have to plead complete and unmitigated idiocy.

  However, he couldn’t stand around being besotted when she was clearly cold. The supply of chopped wood at the back door of the inn had dwindled to nothing.

  Flakes of snow gathered on his eyelashes as he trudged through the drifts to the pile of logs behind the stables. He heard a coach, groaning and creaking, pulling to a halt. Harnesses jingled, horses stamped, and shouts shared by more than two men told him that at least that number, with servants, had arrived, more than likely the expected guests. He hoped their servants were also expected, since his would be occupying the last cramped space in the hayshed. However, distribution wasn’t his responsibility. He now had a greater problem. No bedroom.

  Piling the logs into his arms, and with the melting snow dripping from his hair onto his shirt collar, he twisted his way through half closed doors back into the private room. Two untidy gentlemen wearing ill-fitting coats stood over Rose. Both turned when Ian entered. “Good,” the taller of the two said, showing crooked front teeth. “Put the wood there, man.” He stood aside while the other male, shorter, wider, and with mottled red skin continued his ogling of Rose.

  “Thank you, dear,” Rose said, looking unconcerned. “We haven’t introduced ourselves, yet, but these two gentlemen say they were directed to this room. My husband, Sir Ian Temple, will explain the situation, sirs.”

  Ian put his logs exactly where he pleased, one of which happened to drop onto the toe of the taller man. He straightened. “My apologies, sir,” he said with an inclination of his head.

  At that moment, Mr. Hobbs came rushing into the room. “Can’t fit another soul into the inn tonight. I hope you don’t mind, sir, but you will have to share this parlor with Mr. Smith and Mr. Gray, who will be occupying the other rooms upstairs tonight.”

  Ian made one last resolute try. “Gentlemen, would you be willing to let me pay for your rooms upstairs so that my lady can have a comfortable night with our servants close by?”

  “What other accommodation do you have, Hobbs?” The fat one narrowed his eyes at the host, using his tongue in his cheek to help him consider.

  “None, Mr. Gray, sir. You could sleep in this room.” Hobbs raised two hopeful shoulders. “We could put the armchairs together for you . . .” His voice trailed off.

  “Oh, I don’t think we could do that to these dear gentlemen.” Rose gave Hobbs her blinding smile. “We couldn’t take three rooms and leave them with no place to sleep.”

  “That’s very generous of you, my dear,” Ian said through his teeth.

  “I know,” she said, fixing her gaze firmly on his. “But we have each other, darling, and these poor gentlemen shouldn’t be put out for our servants.”

&
nbsp; “Very well said, ma’am.” Mr. Gray turned to Ian. “Your wife is not only beautiful. She is also charming, you lucky dog. Now, Hobbs, what do you have in that kitchen of yours?”

  “If you don’t mind, sir. Today we have more patrons than we can hold, and the kitchen is stretched to the limit. We would need to serve all your meals at the same time,” Hobbs finished with a rush.

  “Of course,” Rose said, unwisely taking responsibility for the catering. Ian would prefer not to share his eating board with two men who looked far from wholesome. “In the meantime, sirs, would you like a game of cards?”

  Ian lifted his gaze heavenward. This woman would be the death of him.

  “Don’t mind if I do, my lady.” Mr. Gray settled himself into one of the hard chairs, gazing expectantly at Rose. “Primero?”

  “Why not?” she said as casually as any card sharp. “We will play for woodchips. See? My dear husband has found quite a few in the wood basket.”

  “Woodchips?” Trying to repress the expression of outrage on his face, Mr. Smith slid himself opposite Mr. Gray.

  Rose blinked innocently. “Woodchips.”

  While Ian wondered if she had been deliberately dense, he grabbed up a handful of woodchips letting Rose chose which man she would prefer to sit beside. She chose Gray, leaving Ian with Smith. Being particularly bad at the game, she lost her woodchips, which Ian wanted for the fire, anyway, and then she gracefully left the strangers with her cards on the pretext that the cat needed her lap. This was the Rose Ian was used to, charming, helpless, and beautiful, not the funny sweet person she had been for the hour or so previously.

  The room began to darken, and the maid brought in two oil lamps, that cast a flickering yellow light into the room. Another less hearty meal was finally served, cold meat pie and pickles. The fire needing re-stoking. Ian hated leaving Rose with the other men while he fetched the wood, but he could hardly ask one of two strangers to take over the job.

  Rose didn’t appear to have a single qualm about being left alone with the men, who were clearly not gentlemen. Neither had any notion of standing when a lady did, nor pulling out her chair when she wished to stand. However, neither questioned her right to occupy one of the armchairs with her cat, nor appeared to note her lack of a wedding ring.

  A certain helplessness appeared to charm men, as she well knew. He had never been charmed by dependency, and now he knew her better, he saw her frail femininity as nothing but an act. He wondered what she would do when she realized she would have to share the bedroom with him. Nothing would allow him to leave her unaccompanied upstairs while two dubious characters lurked in adjacent rooms. He could have asked Susie, but she had made known that, after she had washed the dishes, she needed to go back to the farm to prepare herself for early milking in the morning, propitious, for he had no intention of letting two shady characters think they would be alone with two helpless women upstairs while the husband of one spent the night in the carriage house.

  When the fire began to wane, and he had no intention of feeding the flame when two able-bodied men sat around throwing down bottle after bottle of wine, he rose to his feet, putting his cards on the table, literally as well as figuratively. “I think it is time we retired, my lady.” His eyes met hers.

  She made a face that silently communicated her fears, the stretching of her mouth in an exaggerated smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Her throat moved with a silent swallow. “I think Merry needs a little trip outside. Would you mind, my dear?” She rose to her feet and handed him the tiny, ferocious black cat, which struggled in his arms, and then she began packing up the cards. “If the snow is still deep, we may need these for tomorrow. Good night, gentlemen. I must find Susie and see if she has warmed the bed.”

  Ian watched her hurry out of the room before he took the snarling cat out into the freezing night. Hoping the sullen creature would lose herself in the dark, he was disappointed to see her return with her tail triumphantly aloft. Her Majesty allowed him to pick her up without biting his hand and she clawed on the length of his arm as he hurried back inside.

  He met Rose at the foot of the stairs. She took the cat from him and snuggled the cat’s face under her chin. “Poor darling, having to go out into the cold snow. If you can manage to be a very good little puss I will tell you all about your new home in the country. Ouch. No need to claw. You’re mine now, and I promise that I will take very good care of you.”

  “Or make sure that another of your slaves does,” Sir Ian said, eyeing her sideways.

  “Sir Ian is being ungallant. Don’t listen to him. Whatever I do, I have your best interests at heart.” Having ended her imitation of a mother with a satisfied smile, she held the lamp she had acquired in one hand and the cat tucked under her other arm, and mounted the stairs.

  Ian realized she had assumed the bedroom would be hers while she undressed. He emptied his chest of air and tried to empty his mind of his ignoble thoughts in the same way, wishing he had refused to take her with him. By now, if he had taken the curricle, he would be almost home, or in his warm house, free to do as he liked.

  What he had hoped for most, now, was a comfortable night’s sleep to set him up for travel the next day. Instead he would be sleeping on a cold floor, which he had done as a young soldier. Or in a hayloft. Fortunately, unlike so many of the young men of England, he wasn’t permanently interred in the ground and should be thankful he had a dry floor to use.

  His ten years in the army had convinced him that any bed was better than no bed, and he needed to act like a gentleman even though he may have to offer for Rose regardless of sharing her bed. He tried to not to hope they would be caught out. The seditious thought played on his mind as he sat with Gray and Smith, mentally allotting Rose a further quarter hour.

  Chapter 4

  Rose clutched a clawing Merry Cat against her chest, a flickering shadow from her lamp preceding her up the staircase. Her bedroom door opened into a neat room with a small fire crackling happily in the grate. Leaving the light on the mantel, Rose swung her cloak over the shabby, linen-covered chair that stood nearby, placing the slit-eyed, annoyed cat on the fur padded seat. Rose’s portmanteau sat on the bed. Sir Ian’s had been dropped just inside the doorway.

  Noting the lack of a bar or a lock on the door, Rose hoped that Sir Ian realized he couldn’t leave her alone in this room during the night. Although she didn’t know Mr. Smith or Mr. Gray, she wouldn’t trust either as far as she could push them. Whereas, she would trust Sir Ian with her life and virtue, not that the last was anything to brag about, when she had already decided to press her lack of same on him. Physically, she was virtuous, in that she had never let a man handle her, but intellectually she was a scarlet woman.

  She, sadly, was not in the least prudish. Times without number, she had mentally undressed Sir Ian. His broad-shouldered frame told her that he had a fit and healthy body beneath his tailored perfection. She knew he would have muscular arms and his long, hard legs said he was an athlete, and she knew he rode to the hounds in the hunting season. He was also was a crack shot. The younger gentlemen admired him and tried to compete with him when they met him at Manton’s. Reputably, as long as no money changed hands, he would allow challenges to his skill, but he’d had the experience they lacked, and saw off all his youthful competitors.

  If she had any say in the matter, she would find out for herself about his skills as a lover. The rascally Lord Etheldon said Sir Ian’s mistress had thrown out lures to him for three months before he even noticed her. Apparently, his reputation gave him the sorts of offers no man of sense would resist.

  Rose’s lack of practical knowledge would have to be replaced by enthusiasm. No one had ever discussed with her the mechanics, but she did read the naughty books she found on the top shelf of Papa’s library and had a fertile imagination. She tended to over-think, but Sir Ian was not the type of man she could push into anything he didn’t want to do. Surely if she started with a kiss, he would take over and she w
ouldn’t need to display her ignorance.

  Even now, she didn’t know if Sir Ian expected to share the bed. Mulling her imagined scenario, she deliberated about taking down her hair first, but Sir Ian had said he would be with her in ten minutes. Being in a nightgown already would be easier than undressing in front of him. Her words had been rehearsed for some hours and she knew she could stick to her script. She spread out onto the mattress, staring at the pock marked ceiling. The temperature in the room begged her to slip beneath the covers but a woman sitting up in a bed waiting hopefully for a man seemed too blatant. A little maidenly modesty wouldn’t go astray.

  Having been reluctantly kissed a number of times, she knew men liked to cover her back with their palms and hold her close. She imagined the same with Sir Ian, and shivered in a delicious way. She doubted she could force him against his will, but the outcome would be the same. If he compromised her by sharing her bedroom, he would have to marry her, anyway. She had spent a year waiting for Sir Ian, and tonight she needed to handle him very carefully. No woman wanted a reluctant bridegroom.

  Therefore, in the interest of fair play, she planned to offer him what he should see as compensation. If she made herself appealing enough, he wouldn’t refuse something he would have to pay for regardless. Tomorrow, she would think about her later strategy, but since many other eligible men, without having an idea about the contents of her mind, or her preferences, wanted to make love to her, she doubted males had as much discrimination as females.

  Tonight Sir Ian had seemed more tolerant of her. He had even laughed at one of her deliberately placed comments, whereas before he had seemed as if he thought her frivolous words had slipped out unnoticed. Her life’s work had been to sort out the people with a sense of the ridiculous from those who took inanity seriously.