The Last Chance Christmas Ball

by Mary Jo Putney

  Not that he was indifferent to Caro’s attractions. She might not be a statuesque beauty, but she had fine glossy dark hair and very expressive brown eyes. When he had first known her, she was always smiling. It had been her warmth and sweetness that had first drawn him to her. These days she smiled less and less.

  His hand strayed towards the brandy bottle, but he knew that was no way to settle his problems. With another sigh he returned to the papers on his desk. His work was his mistress now.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Lady Eleanor Noel.” Portland opened the door of the music room with a grand flourish and bowed the visitor inside. Caro, who had been sitting at the pianoforte rather listlessly playing a sonata by Haydn, jumped up as her godmother swept into the room.

  Lady Eleanor was fabulously wealthy, splendidly outspoken, and completely unconventional. She was a tall thin woman with a beaked nose and determined expression. As a child, Caro had been terrified of her. It was only as she grew older that she had come to see the kindness beneath Lady Eleanor’s terrifying exterior.

  “Good gracious, it is like a funeral in here!” Lady Eleanor exclaimed, twitching back the drapes to allow the winter sunlight to flood in. She embraced her goddaughter. “You look peaky, my love,” she commented, with all the tactlessness of an old family acquaintance. “You are only nineteen; far too young to be so haggard. Besides, it is almost Christmas—a time of joy!”

  “The sun is rather too bright to be kind today,” Caroline said by way of excuse. She did feel haggard and not in the least joyful. She had not slept all night for loneliness and misery. She wondered if Piers would remember that it was Christmas in a couple of weeks’ time or whether he would see it merely as an irritating interruption to the political calendar.

  “I suppose it is Camden,” Lady Eleanor ploughed on, ignoring her. She tossed her reticule onto the table and subsided into a wing chair. “I heard about his financial troubles. Everyone has. They say you have bankrupted him with your extravagance.”

  It had occurred to Caroline that her attempts to shame Piers into opening his wallet might give rise to such widespread rumors, but now she felt ashamed, wincing to think that the scandal might damage his political standing. She had not wanted to ruin him, only to make him pay attention to her.

  “There’s no truth in the gossip,” she said. “Piers and I had a small disagreement about money. I have been trying to . . . persuade him . . . to increase my allowance.”

  “By shopping as though it is going out of fashion?” Lady Eleanor regarded her with indulgence. “That seems very unlike you, Caroline. You have never been extravagant.” She tilted her head to one side, observing her goddaughter thoughtfully. “I dare swear there is more to this than your desire for seventeen gowns in the same shade of pink—so tell me, what is really going on?”

  Caroline sat down abruptly. “I was trying to look . . . older,” she admitted. “More authoritative.” She raised her gaze to meet that of Lady Eleanor. “I know I am very young in comparison to the wives of Piers’s colleagues and I wanted to impress them—and to make Piers proud of me.”

  “But he is!” Lady Eleanor looked surprised. “Everyone has observed it. Why, Sally Jersey was commenting only the other day how he dotes on you!”

  “Lady Jersey must be confusing me with some other person,” Caro said dryly. “I think that Piers holds me in dislike.”

  Lady Eleanor’s brows shot up. “I should be astonished if that were the case,” she said. “Whatever gave you such an idea?”

  “He avoids me,” Caro said. She had been bottling up her feelings for a long time and now they all came pouring out. “We are like strangers. We barely see one another. I think he cannot forgive me for compromising him into marriage.”

  “Pshaw!” Lady Eleanor said energetically. “No such thing. Has he said so?”

  “No,” Caro admitted. “We do not discuss it. We talk about nothing but the weather and the food cook serves. And that is only when Piers joins me for dinner. Often he is at the House or at his club. I have tried to talk to Piers about our marriage, but he rejects all my attempts.”

  “Does he come to your bed?” Lady Eleanor asked bluntly.

  “No.” Caro blushed at her godmother’s outspokenness. “He did—once. It was not a success.”

  Lady Eleanor’s brows, already high, now disappeared into her hair. “Well! I would have trusted Camden not to make a mess of that,” she said disapprovingly.

  “It was my fault,” Caro said. “I felt so guilty and miserable for trapping him into marriage that I think he believed I had a disgust of him. And now it does not matter what I try to do for Piers rejects any attempt I make to draw closer to him.”

  Lady Eleanor gave an exasperated sigh. “The two of you have woven a tangled web indeed.” She eyed her goddaughter thoughtfully. “You said that you needed my help, my dear. What can I do?”

  “I would like to borrow a carriage and four, if you please,” Caro said.

  Lady Eleanor smiled. “Would you, indeed! What for?”

  “I am running away,” Caro said bluntly. “I need to shock Piers. He will never listen to me whilst we are here in London, for he will always have the excuse of burying himself in his work. But if I can lure him away, I can confront him about our marriage and—I hope—have a last chance to put matters right.”

  “You are a woman after my own heart.” Lady Eleanor’s eyes gleamed with amusement at her goddaughter’s determined expression. “And where might you be going?”

  Caro got up and crossed to the window. Already the shadows were lengthening, the short winter’s day past its peak. She would need to go soon if she were to make any distance before nightfall.

  “I am going home to Holbourne Abbey,” she said. “I am going to the Christmas ball.”

  The clock on the Church of St. Andrew’s was chiming two as Piers Camden arrived home after a long evening discussing the Corn Laws with some of his political colleagues. He was cold and bone weary and wanted nothing more than to sleep. As he entered the darkened hallway and was struck by the absolute silence of the house, he was also struck by an odd sense of loneliness. He realized that he did not want to sleep, at least not alone. He wanted Caroline. He wanted to talk to her, laugh with her, make love to her, lie with her curled up at his side. The realization turned him cold with horror. This had been his father’s weakness. Seduced by intimacy, seduced by love, Reginald Camden had been unmanned. His son could never show such frailty.

  “Good evening, sir.” Portland was approaching him like a ghost in the sepulchral gloom of the hall

  “For heaven’s sake, Portland.” Piers tried not to take out his frustrations on the man. “There was no requirement for you to wait up for me. Get to your bed.”

  “I have a letter for you from Lady Caroline,” Portland said. “It is most urgent. She said I had to deliver it to you as soon as you returned.”

  “I’m sure it could have waited until the morning.” Piers divested himself of his coat and gloves and took the note the butler was proffering. He grabbed the candle from the table, taking it into the study, where he threw himself down in a chair and unfolded the note.

  My dearest Piers . . .

  He sat back.

  I am leaving . . .

  He sat bolt upright, heart suddenly pounding.

  For a few weeks in the country. You may recall that a month or so ago my mama wrote to invite us to the traditional Christmas ball at Holbourne Abbey . . .

  Piers did not recall it at all. He searched his memory but the detail remained tiresomely elusive. He knew that there was always a Christmas ball at Holbourne. He had attended a number of them before he and Caro had been married.

  We did discuss the possibility of attending this year . . .

  Had they?

  But, alas, you considered yourself too occupied to spare the time for a trip to Northumberland.

  Had he? He ran a hand through his hair again in exasperation, making it even more disord
ered.

  I, however, have very little to occupy myself if I am not shopping . . .

  Was that sarcasm he detected?

  And so I have set off today. Pray do not be concerned—Lady Eleanor Noel has loaned me her general factotum, the most marvelous fellow called Shepherd, who is taking care of every last detail of the journey and my comfort. I have Pershore with me, too. It is all perfectly safe and respectable. I wish you a very Happy Christmas, Piers, and will see you when I return.

  Piers ground his teeth. Perfectly respectable it might be, but he could just imagine the speculation when his wife arrived at her parental home without him. Already there were rumors flying over a rift in their marriage. Lady Royston had been quick to spread the story of Caro’s humiliation. Piers had been furious. He was even more furious now that Caro had added fuel to the fire by running away.

  His conscience smote him. He knew he had neglected Caro shamefully. He had been cold and aloof because he had not wanted her love. He had not wanted to hurt her, but inevitably he had done so.

  Leaping to his feet, Piers dashed out into the hall where Portland was waiting, still as a piece of statuary.

  “Portland, send to the livery stables for their best horse,” he said, cursing the fact that he kept no stable of his own in London. “I want to be ready to leave within the hour. I am going to pack a bag.”

  “Will you be traveling alone, sir?” Portland was impassive.

  “Yes.” It would be quicker to ride than to take a carriage, Piers thought, and much quicker not to take his valet, who was maddeningly slow and precise in everything he did. This was perfectly fine in the tying of a neck cloth, but not in the rush to catch up with Caroline on the road.

  “The livery stables will not be open for a number of hours, sir.” Portland nodded to the clock, whose hands stood at a quarter past two.

  “Then make them open!” Piers snapped. “This is an emergency.” He took the stairs two at a time.

  The butler’s voice stopped him on the landing.

  “The weather threatens snow, sir,” Portland said.

  “Thank you,” Piers said politely. He supposed that snow in December was no surprise and it certainly was not going to stop him from pursuing his errant wife.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Caroline’s journey north progressed smoothly. Shepherd was a treasure. At every change of horses there was a fresh team waiting. At every inn, there was hot food and chocolate or coffee if she wished it. The beds were comfortable, which was fortunate since some heavy snowfall had made the roads slower than normal. They had no major problems, however, and thus it was Caro arrived at Holbourne Abbey on the evening of December twenty-eighth.

  As the carriage rolled up the long drive, Caro saw the house ahead at the top of the slope, lit up so brightly that it seemed to gleam with joy and hope. Snow was falling now, gently, languorously, dusting everything with a glittering whiteness. Even the old tower, the only bit of the ancient castle that remained, looked like something from a fairy tale. Caro felt a lump come into her throat, nostalgia and longing all mixed up together. This was her home. She had forgotten how much she had loved it here.

  For a moment she wanted everything to go back to the way it had been before she had married Piers. She wanted to start over again. But she could not. She had to go on. She hoped that her plan was going to work and that Piers would come after her. She had half-expected him to overtake them on the road, but he had not and with every mile that passed her spirits had fallen a little lower. If Piers did not come, then she would know that he truly was indifferent to her and she would not get the opportunity to put matters right between them in the way she wanted.

  The carriage drew up in front of the main door, which swung open with joyous alacrity, spilling light outwards to draw her in. Caro could see Munton, the butler, waiting. He looked just the same, a little more portly perhaps, a little grayer, but so familiar and reassuring that she felt another pang of longing for the past.

  “Lady Caroline,” Munton said, “welcome back to Holbourne Abbey.” Not by a flicker of an eyebrow did he express any surprise to see her so unexpectedly.

  “I hope you are keeping well, Munton?” Caroline said. “I am sorry to arrive unannounced and throw you all into confusion.”

  “It is always a pleasure to see your ladyship,” Munton said grandly. He summoned a couple of footmen to help Shepherd with her luggage. Their green-and-gold livery looked very festive, matching the swags of greenery that decorated the pillars of the hall. There was an air of suppressed excitement about the house. It seemed she had arrived just in time for the ball.

  And here was her mother, dressed for dinner in blue silk and diamonds, hurrying forward to greet her.

  “My dear”—she kissed Caro’s cold cheek—“how lovely to see you!” She looked around as though expecting to see Piers lurking behind some statuary, then drew Caro to one side, behind one of the grand pillars that soared up to the landing. Guests were starting to arrive for dinner and it was clear to Caro that her mother did not want to make a scene in front of them.

  “Caro—” This time her mother was whispering, a very quiet murmur in her ear. “What is going on? Why are you here? Where is Camden?”

  “I am here because you invited me,” Caro said. “You wrote several months ago to tell me about the ball. And Piers will be . . . joining me later.”

  She crossed her fingers behind her back and hoped as hard as she could that Piers would appear.

  “Is that true?” The countess’s voice had dropped still further to a sibilant whisper. “Even here we have heard the rumors, Caroline. They say you have run through Camden’s fortune to the point that he cannot even afford to clothe you. It is the latest on dit at every dinner table in the county!”

  She might have known, Caroline thought. Scandal traveled as fast as the best horse in the stables. If Piers did not arrive, the gossip would become deafening. She felt a cold knot of fear lock tight in her stomach.

  “Mama!” She put a soothing hand on her mother’s arm. “The rumors are quite false, I assure you.”

  “Well, I hope so. “ The Countess’s gaze scoured her face. “You look tired, my dear, and more than a little washed out. Perhaps”—she brightened at the thought of minimizing the latest scandal—“you would prefer to take a quiet supper in your room after such a long journey? Although, I do not know which room that will be for Mrs. Tremaine has your old bedroom and Mrs. Taft will be quite beside herself to learn she has to find additional space—”

  “I would not dream of missing supper and the ball,” Caro said firmly. “If I might wash and change in your room, Mama, I shall be ready and downstairs and out of the way to give Mrs. Taft the time to find me somewhere to sleep. Now”—she gave her mother a gentle little push—“you have guests arriving. Please do not worry about me.”

  With one long, thoughtful backward glance, Lady Holbourne walked away and Caroline beckoned to Pershore and went up Holbourne Abbey’s imposing stair. The house was gloriously decorated for Christmas. Swaths of greenery gave a wonderful fresh scent to the air. Red berries and ribbons gleamed amongst the boughs of pine, rosemary, and mistletoe.

  She was the last guest to be seated for dinner, but she arrived before the first course and counted that a triumph. It was clear that her arrival had been accommodated at the last minute as she was squeezed in between Andrew Wright, son of one of her parents’ neighbors, and her father’s secretary, Mr. Wolverton.

  “Well, miss,” her grandmother the dowager countess said tartly as she took her seat, “this is an unexpected pleasure. We hear tales of your racy life in London. Come to empty your father’s purse, have you, now that you’ve run through Camden’s fortune? And where is that handsome husband of yours?”

  Caro squirmed a little. Her grandmother never hesitated to call a spade a spade and was forever meddling, but she was kind of heart and Caro could see the spark of anxiety in her eyes. Like everyone else, the dowager was worried that Pie
rs had banished her for her extravagance. And since there was still no sign of him, Caro began to wonder if he really had washed his hands of her.

  One of the other guests, Mrs. Tremaine, tactfully came to her rescue with a question about the weather on her journey. Caro, despite her own preoccupations, noticed that her elder brother Edward cast frequent glances across the table at the elegant Lily Tremaine. He seemed to be taking an inordinate amount of interest in her, which was curious since Pershore had already told her that the gossip in the servants’ hall was that Edward planned shortly to announce his engagement to Roxanne Hayward, their neighbor of many years. Roxie had given Caro a cheerful little wave of greeting as she had come into the room, but Caro thought she looked very pensive and not in the least like a woman who was happy about her future. And as Roxanne had once had a tendre for Caro’s younger brother Kimball, it seemed all the more odd. Love, it seemed, was playing havoc with them all this Christmas.

  The courses came and went, the conversation ebbed and flowed. Caro painted on a bright smile and tried not to wilt. Her gamble had failed. Piers had not followed her.

  The sound of voices from outside the dining room cut across the conversation within and for a moment there was a lull as everyone tried not to gawp at what was going on. Then Caro heard a step in the doorway, a familiar, impatient step and a familiar deep voice:

  “Thank you, Munton. I’ll announce myself.”

  Caro looked up, her fork clattering from her hand.

  There is the doorway was Piers, dark, disheveled, the expression on his handsome face hard and remote as his gaze swept around the table to pin her to her seat.