The Last Chance Christmas Ball

by Mary Jo Putney

  After dinner, he lay in wait. He took up position on a bench in the long gallery, armed with a decanter of port and two glasses. The gallery was excellent for walking and a natural passage between different parts of the house.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The clock struck half past ten before the door at one end opened and she came through. She closed the door and walked briskly along the gallery, not noticing him.

  He rose. “Miss Finch.”

  She started, and then stared, hand to chest. “My lord, you alarmed me.”

  “My apologies. May I offer you wine?”

  “No, thank you.”

  She turned, but he said, “Don’t go.”

  She turned back. “Why not?”

  “I have a matter to discuss with you.”

  “At night, here?”

  He smiled. “On my honor, Miss Finch, I have no designs on your virtue.”

  “Why should I believe that when you’ve been brought here to seduce innocent young ladies out of their good sense?”

  “But not out of their virtue.”

  “Unless they’re weak.”

  “Then I will be strong. You do have a low opinion of me, don’t you?”

  “ ‘A rake and a rascal’?” she quoted at him with that brisk tartness he was coming to admire.

  “I’m not a model of chastity,” he said, “but I don’t seduce and I don’t ruin and I do need to discuss something with you.”

  “Then we can do so tomorrow. In the garden, in full view of the house.”

  “You have your duties to Lady Holly and the slush will soil your gown. It’s to do with the Christmas ball.”

  She went still, but that meant she wasn’t leaving.

  “You are to attend, I believe, but I suspect you don’t have a suitable gown.”

  “As the dowager’s companion, what I have on will do.”

  “It will not, and you know it.”

  “I have nothing else, my lord, so it will have to. You know I don’t wish to attend.”

  “But when you do, you should be suitably dressed.” He gestured to himself. “Am I not Gabriel?”

  “I do hope you’re not about to announce the hand of God, my lord.”

  She startled a laugh out of him. “Only a gown. For you.”

  Had there been a flicker of echoing amusement? If so, it had disappeared. “And how have you achieved that?” she asked.

  “Honorably, I assure you, and I lay you a guinea that you’ll like it.”

  A glint appreciated his challenge. “You’d lose.”

  “Shall we put it to the test?”

  She glanced around. “Where is it? Your bedroom? No, sir.”

  “How clumsy you think me. I’ve put it in the library. A room, yes, but a public one, and we can leave the door open. It will only take a moment for you to come to a conclusion.”

  She hesitated, as wary as a finch, but alert as a hawk. Then she said, “Very well. I could use an extra guinea.” She set off at a brisk pace.

  Gabriel abandoned the port and followed. What a fine, clear spirit shone beneath the shrouds.

  He’d gambled on no one wanting to use the library at night and left the gown spread out on the central table beneath the light of a number of lamps.

  She halted when she saw it.

  “Surprised?” he asked, coming up behind her.

  “It’s quite plain.”

  “Disappointed?”

  She turned. When she realized how close he was, she backed away before turning and walking up to the table. “No.”

  “Because you see it isn’t entirely plain. Of course, you might object to it being years out of date.”

  “I might.” But she reached out and touched the silk before pulling her hand back again.

  “How honest are you, Miss Finch?”

  He was referring teasingly to their wager, but she turned sharply to him. “Completely!”

  Suddenly he knew. He reviewed things she’d said and words she’d reacted to.

  “Who betrayed you?” he asked.

  Stupidly.

  She fled. He raced after and blocked the door. “Don’t, please. I mean you no harm. . . .” Suddenly tongue-tied, he managed, “I wish I could thrash whoever it was.”

  “My lord . . . Please.”

  “Finch . . . Damnation, what’s your first name? Come on. You know mine.”

  “That’s because you’re a duke’s son!”

  “Lady Holly will tell me.”

  Her lips went tight, but then she said, “Clio.”

  “The muse of history. Your father was a scholar?”

  “My father is a landed gentleman of as little education as he could get away with. My mother thought classical names would elevate the family.”

  Her father was alive. Now he felt sure of the story. Some man had ruined her and her family—the ones seeking elevation—had thrown her out. Had she borne a bastard?

  He wanted to thrash someone, to fight battles for her honor. Where had this madness come from? Concentrate on the purpose at hand. She was no longer trying to run away, so he could relax and speak more moderately.

  “Please take the gown. You’ll feel more comfortable at the ball, and you’ll note I’ve chosen one that’s superficially plain and old-fashioned. It could easily be a gown you’ve worn in the past.”

  “Chosen? From what heavenly storehouse?”

  “Do they have wardrobes in paradise? I coaxed it from Miss Hayward, who is happy to be rid of it. You’ll wear it?”

  “I can’t afford a guinea.”

  He’d forgotten the wager. “I’ll take a substitute.”

  She tensed again. What games had her seducer played with her? She was expecting him to demand a kiss.

  “To see your hair,” he said.

  She touched her cap. “My hair? Why?”

  “Because I don’t think you’d show me your knees or anything even more adventurous.”

  “Are you never serious?”

  “As little as possible. I’m not so much angel as jester. Well?”

  She rolled her eyes, but undid the bow beneath her chin and took off the cap to reveal neatly pinned dark hair. It looked thick and wavy. Without thinking, he reached and pulled out a pin. He’d taken out two when she started and moved out of reach.

  “Stop that!”

  He raised his hands, shocked at himself, but he couldn’t ignore that for a moment there she’d been as enthralled as he, and then she’d reacted as he might want her to react if he were . . .

  Good God.

  “You’ll wear the gown?” he asked. It came out rather hoarsely. “Please.”

  She glanced between the gown and him, eyes wide, three locks of hair sliding down to torment him. She was feeling everything that he felt, including disbelief and alarm.

  She dashed to the table, grabbed the gown and gloves, and headed for the door.

  He was in the way.

  He stepped back, but she still brushed close enough to send a shock through him. When she’d left, he went to the door and watched her walk away. A long tress slithered down her back. She paused to try to tuck it up again, failed, and continued. That thick, rich hair must fall to her waist when freed.

  He realized she’d dropped the cap on the carpet. He picked it up. Many women wore caps. Certainly when married, but often when single and of a certain age. They need not be as plain as this.

  Clio Finch had been hurt and betrayed so badly that she was trying to be invisible, but beneath the gray ghost lay a vibrantly alive woman and he was reacting to her in an extraordinary way.

  He shook his head and extinguished the lamps. She wasn’t a woman for unmarried pleasure, and she was certainly not one for marriage. A nobody would be scandalous enough, but a ruined one? His family would refuse to meet her.

  With a wry smile he saw the advantages of that, but it wouldn’t do. If he were a more ordinary specimen perhaps no one would delve into his wife’s background, but he was the very wealthy son
of a duke. His marriage would be a nine-day’s wonder, and the ton would hunt down every detail about his wife.

  All he could do for Clio Finch was get her married to a suitably undistinguished gentleman. That way, she’d have a chance of happiness and he wouldn’t be tempted toward disaster.

  But, he realized, if her scandal was public knowledge, it could make any marriage impossible. Tomorrow he must get the full story out of Lady Holly before the fateful ball.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The next day the house was in ferment with last-minute preparations for the ball, but there was something else in the air—something out of tune and ominous. Kim hadn’t responded to his note, Edward had been in a harried mood and had then disappeared, and even Aunt Elizabeth seemed distracted by more than the preparation of the ballroom and food for the supper.

  Gabriel couldn’t even question Lady Holly. For once, she was unattended by Clio Finch, but ensconced in a chair in the hall, supervising the enhancement of the decorations there. Or rather, interfering. Gabriel decided his good deed for now could be to distract her.

  He moved a chair beside her. “Dear heart, stop harrying the troops.”

  “Why? I enjoy it.”

  “But they’re not your troops anymore.”

  She pulled a face at him, but didn’t argue.

  “Where’s the Finch?” he asked. “Acting as courier?”

  “I sent her to spy on the kitchens.”

  “Cruel. She’ll be shot. Will she attend the ball?”

  “It seems so. I gather you persuaded Roxie Hayward to lend her a gown.”

  “An easy task.”

  “Since you have meddled that far, I expect you to dance with her.”

  “Your wish is my command.” And my pleasure. Perhaps he could learn something here. “Is she accustomed to dancing?”

  “I doubt she’ll shame you,” she said, but she was glaring across the hall. “Look at that! We have always put the gilded roses over the fireplace for the ball.”

  He distracted her by asking, “Herefordshire or Hertfordshire?”

  “What?”

  “I have been told by one person that Miss Finch comes from Herefordshire, and another Hertfordshire. There’s a considerable difference.”

  “Hertfordshire. What is it to you? Don’t make trouble.”

  “Trouble?”

  “You’re up to something,” she said, but her reaction had been alarm. His suspicions were true. Before he could probe further, she said, “Go and tell them to put those roses where they ought to be.”

  He’d get no secrets from Lady Holly here, especially not in this mood, so he did as bade, even more concerned about the storms brewing at the Abbey. He hoped the ball would be accomplished without an explosion.

  Clio Finch emerged from the rear of the house and went to report to Lady Holly. Gabriel walked over to join them, but Clio rose again and went to the harpsichord that sat in one corner of the hall. It was rarely played, but she began a sprightly performance of traditional Christmas songs.

  The pianoforte was more complex and sonorous, but the plucked strings of the harpsichord suited the old music. As “The Holly and the Ivy,” and “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” tinkled out, people smiled and jigged in time as they worked.

  She played very well. He suddenly envisioned a manor house filling with music well played....

  He turned and left the hall, seeking refuge elsewhere, anywhere.

  In late afternoon, he compelled a private word with Lady Holly. He went to her room and claimed to want to discuss some private family matters.

  “Off you go, Finch,” Lady Holly said. “I’m sure you need time to prepare for the ball.” As soon as they were alone, Lady Holly said, “What problem do you have?” in as truculent a manner as he’d ever heard.

  “What has you out of curl, my dear?”

  “Oh, I’m just being silly. But I had such hopes. Caro and Camden were supposed to be here. I’ve been so worried about her.”

  Gabriel knew there was reason to worry. The couple lived separate lives in Town and he doubted Camden could afford Caro’s extravagant ways. But he made it a golden rule never to meddle in marriages. He’d have thought Lady Holly felt the same.

  “I need to talk about Miss Finch,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “If she’s to be introduced to the locality, shouldn’t we know more about her?”

  “If I countenance her, who is to question her?”

  “My dear,” he said gently, “if there’s any possibility of her engaging a gentleman’s interest, it becomes important.”

  She sighed and he could swear her sprig of mistletoe drooped. “I know. I never thought she’d want to attend, and if she did, in her unbecoming way of dressing . . .”

  So his meddling had caused this problem.

  “What’s her story?” he asked.

  “It’s not mine to share.”

  “Then let me guess. Some handsome schemer seduced her for amusement. She believed his claims of love, but once he’d had his way, he abandoned her.”

  She stared at him, distressed. “How did you know?”

  “A few things she said. Put together with the rest, it seemed bound to be true. Did she bear a bastard?”

  “No, thank heavens, but her foolish family cast her out. If they’d explained away her absence, all might have been well. She came into the care of a friend of mine just when I’d written to complain of Bunting abandoning me, so she asked me to take her in.”

  “So if anyone looked into her background, they’d discover all.”

  “Perhaps not. Northumberland is a long way from Hertfordshire.”

  “Word gets around, my dear. These days people travel up and down the country on a whim and half the world gathers in Town for the Season.”

  She sighed again. “Best if she doesn’t attend the ball, then. I could claim to be ill and need her attention.”

  “And miss your fiftieth Christmas ball? I have a better idea. I’ll add Miss Finch to my ladies, and attend her so devotedly that other gentlemen will be warned off.”

  She brightened. “Would you? But what about later? You’ll have raised hopes. Will you then jilt her?”

  “I’ll make sure she understands, and for the world’s eyes, I’ll make it clear she refused me, having come to her senses.”

  “Who’d believe someone like Miss Finch would turn down the son of a duke?”

  “Anyone with sense. I’m not marrying material.” He took her hand and kissed it. “Don’t fret, dear heart. I’ll make sure your Christmas ball is a perfect success.”

  It should not be a great challenge, but Gabriel prepared for the ball feeling as if he faced Waterloo. His lighthearted wager with Edward had created possible disaster, something was amiss with his friend, and Kim’s situation felt like a keg of gunpowder, needing only a spark. He scandalized his valet by pulling on a pair of boots and going down to leave the house near the Lucky Tower.

  There was the well-worn spot on the tower wall, where for centuries the local people had rubbed the stone for good luck or blessings. He circled his fingers there, calling down peace and joy on Holbourne.

  Clio read Lord Gabriel’s note and was very inclined to cry off from the ball. So she was an object of shame, was she, from which gentlemen must be protected? To her alarm, she was also inclined to weep.

  She’d brought this situation on herself by her stupidity and wickedness, and she’d accepted the consequence—that she must be grateful to live quietly for the rest of her life. But she’d never expected to meet someone like Lord Gabriel. It didn’t help to know that he charmed women as carelessly as he breathed. She was charmed, and so she raged against her fate.

  Oh, don’t be silly. He’d never marry you if you were a beauty of perfect virtue, and if you had any sense, you’d not want him to.

  She looked at the gown, spread out on the bed, unable to ignore the fact that he’d gone to some effort to get it, and had chosen well. He must car
e a little.

  Very well. She’d wear it to the ball, and she’d enjoy his attentions in full awareness that he was playacting. She’d never have another opportunity to frolic like that again.

  Gabriel was to escort Lady Holly in to the dinner that preceded the ball—at her command. “This is my fiftieth Christmas ball, and I’ll begin the evening on the arm of the most handsome man present.” That was going to cause some disruption in protocol, but Aunt Elizabeth would cope.

  They gathered in the hall. Lady Holly was magnificent in red silk, including a turban pinned with a holly brooch made of emeralds and diamonds, a gift from Lord and Lady Holbourne. Even so, Gabriel saw concern in her eyes, and wasn’t surprised, for not long before, Caro had arrived—alone. Caro said her husband was on his way, delayed by important matters in Town, but how many believed that? Perhaps a divorce was in the offing. That was bad enough, but something else had Lady Holly out of curl. What else could be going wrong?

  Caro was brittle in her good spirits. Aunt Elizabeth was watching everything as if alert for a gunpowder explosion, and Lady Holly was frowning. One of Lady Holly’s last-chance brides, Miss Langsdale, had arrived for dinner in excellent spirits, on the arm of Lord Harris. Gabriel didn’t think she needed his help to have roses in her cheeks, and he’d think Lady Holly would be cock-a-hoop. Was she peevish because her assistance hadn’t been needed?

  Then Gabriel saw Mrs. Tremaine look at Edward. The twice-widowed lady had arrived a day ago in an aura of mystery. It probably simply came from her having spent a great many years in India, but now Gabriel wondered exactly what she was up to. Then another guest, Lord Kelsey, claimed to feel unwell and dashed up to his room.

  Were they all to be felled by food poisoning?

  The elderly chaplain was summoned to take Kelsey’s place at table, and then they all processed into the dining room to “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen,” played on the harpsichord by one of the professional musicians. Gabriel hoped nothing would dismay them all tonight.

  The man played no better than Clio, who was looking wonderful in the gown. She was behind him in the procession, but he’d noted at first glance that the embroidery and beading shimmered by candlelight exactly as he’d thought they would. Her hair was uncovered and neatly dressed, decorated with pearl pins. She wore modest pearls around her neck and at her ears. Borrowed? They might be her own, taken with her when she was cast out.