Mr Winterbourne's Christmas

by Joanna Chambers

  Great-aunt Maud smiled at her fondly and proceeded to tell Lysander all about the recent antics of her Chartreux cat—who had passed away at least a decade before.

  DINNER WAS LONG—VERY long—and Lysander was seated nowhere near Adam. Adam had been placed at one end of the table on Althea’s right with Mrs. Griffiths on his other side, while Lysander was at the other between Mrs. Thewlis and Mrs. Gould.

  Happily, both of his table companions liked to talk, so Lysander didn’t have to do much, only issue occasional conversational prompts and react appropriately. Mrs. Thewlis liked to talk about her many accomplishments, her fiancé and her upcoming wedding, while Mrs. Gould preferred to wax lyrical about the awful manners of young people, the preponderance of ungrateful servants and her four cocker spaniels, Nero, Hadrian, Claudius and Caligula.

  Everyone drank a great deal of wine.

  At the start of dinner, his mother had started the company off with the practice of “taking wine”—catching the eye of another diner, raising one’s glass in invitation, then, when they raised their own glass in answer, simultaneously imbibing. Soon enough, everyone was drinking far too much. Bella in particular was looking decidedly foxed. Lysander was relieved to note that, when the time came for the ladies to retire to the drawing room, Althea took Bella’s arm and steered her carefully through the door. Otherwise, she might well have fallen over.

  After the ladies’ departure, the gentlemen conversed over their port, but even now, Lysander could get no nearer to Adam. They were still at opposite ends of the table. Lysander’s nearest neighbours were Perry and the major, while Adam was being monopolised by Sir Edmund.

  Again.

  Realising he was staring at them, Lysander quickly glanced away, forcing himself to listen to Perry rhapsodising about the chestnut gelding he’d just bought.

  When, some time later, Simon caught Lysander’s eye and raised his brows queryingly, it took Lysander several long, blank moments before he realised what that look meant. In the absence of the earl, or one of his older brothers, it fell to Lysander to direct the gentlemen to join the ladies in the drawing room again.

  Hastily, Lysander got to his feet.

  “Gentlemen? Shall we join the ladies? I understand Miss Greenhill will be playing the pianoforte and there will be card tables of course.”

  There was some good-natured grumbling over having to leave the port behind, but gradually the gentlemen rose from the table and began to slowly file from the dining room, Simon leading the way.

  Lysander hung back, letting all the guests precede him from the room. The polite gesture allowed him to wait for Adam—who had been sitting at the end of the table furthest from the door—to reach him.

  He saw the moment that Adam understood his intentions, the gleam in his eyes, and the slow curve of his mouth. Adam dropped back a little, letting his companions pull ahead of him, slowing his pace.

  Lysander tried to bite his smile back, but it tugged insistently at the corners of his mouth, wanting to be free. He had to duck his head down to hide it from the other guests.

  Soon enough, all of the gentlemen had left the dining room and were strolling away down the corridor, their voices gradually dying away as they turned the corner.

  Softly Lysander said, “Alone at last, Mr. Freeman.”

  “Finally,” Adam replied, his eyes gleaming. He leaned past Lysander to push the door closed, moving into Lysander’s space at the same time.

  Lysander tipped his head back, meeting his lover’s warm gaze. “Not for long, though,” he said ruefully. “The footmen will be here to clear the table any minute.”

  “Kiss me now then, while we have a chance,” Adam breathed.

  Lysander stepped closer, pressing the full length of his body against Adam and brushed his lips softly over Adam’s. “Like this?” he teased.

  “No, like this,” Adam whispered, cupping the back of his head and pressing his tongue into Lysander’s mouth with a sigh of pleasure.

  Lysander’s hands fisted in Adam’s waistcoat, pulling him even closer, their clothed cocks brushing, making them both hiss and moan.

  “It’s torture, not being able to touch you,” Adam muttered, pulling back.

  “I know,” Lysander groaned. “I told you it’d be like this.”

  Adam smiled. “Still worth it,” he said. “To be here with you, instead of apart.”

  Lysander’s chest ached with the sweetness of that. At times like these, he felt sure that Adam’s feelings ran as deep as his own.

  He opened his mouth to speak but before he could utter a word, he heard the click of footsteps coming down the corridor and the low murmuring voices of the approaching servants.

  Sighing, he let his arms drop to his sides. “We’d better join the others.”

  Adam nodded but when Lysander began turn away, he set a hand on his shoulder, detaining him. “Let’s slip away tomorrow after breakfast. You can show me your favourite childhood haunts and hopefully we can finally steal some time alone.”

  His gaze was serious and fond at once, intent as a hawk yet oddly warm with affection.

  Lysander thought, I love you.

  But all he said was, “Yes. Let’s do that.”

  Chapter 7 - Adam

  It snowed that night.

  Adam woke up the next morning and opened his drapes to find the world had turned white. The topiary garden outside his window was nothing but lumps and bumps.

  He couldn’t help but smile at the sight—something about snow brought out the boy in him, and as he dressed, he imagined how he and Lysander would horse around later.

  He was still smiling when he went down to breakfast, but two things quickly soured his mood. Firstly, the breakfast room was full—Lysander was already deep in conversation with Cavendish—and secondly, it had begun to snow again, a blizzard this time, with howling winds and whipping, icy flurries.

  There was no prospect of him and Lysander going out in that.

  They passed the morning playing cards and conversing with the other guests. Adam kept searching for opportunities to escape with Lysander, but it seemed that everyone wanted to talk to him. And why wouldn’t they? Lysander had a kind word for everyone. He laughed at other people’s awful jokes and told self-deprecatingly amusing stories of his own. He was sociable and sought after.

  Why had a man who seemed so fond of company just spent the past year and a half holed up at Edgeley Park with barely anyone but Adam to amuse him? Adam who was regularly away, dealing with business matters.

  Really, how long could Adam expect Lysander to want to continue such a life?

  The thought made his heart feel tight and sore.

  The snow finally stopped just before noon, the storm passing on and leaving behind it a clear winter-blue sky and a thick, fluffy layer of virgin white.

  It was Althea who suggested they go on a walk to collect greenery to decorate the house with.

  “What fun!” Lady Arabella exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “We always do this at home at Christmas, don’t we, Perry?”

  “We could walk down to Hardhurst Woods,” said Lysander’s other sister, Mrs. Rodney. “It’s only a mile or so and there are plenty of holly trees down there.”

  “Is there any mistletoe?” Lady Arabella asked. “Oh, we simply must get some mistletoe.” She turned to Lysander. “You’re a countryman, aren’t you? Can’t you find us some?”

  Lysander chuckled. “I can try. If I remember rightly, there’s some hawthorn on the far edge of the wood—mistletoe likes hawthorn. Shall we walk down and see?”

  “Oh yes!” Lady Arabella exclaimed. “Who else is coming?”

  Most of the older guests demurred, preferring to stay inside where it was warm, and Mrs. Thewlis absolutely refused to budge—or let her fiancé leave her side. In the end, nine of them set off on the walk, four ladies—Althea, Mrs. Rodney, Lady Arabella and Miss Greenhill—and five gentlemen—Lysander, Adam, Simon, Cavendish and Sir Edmund.

  T
hey spilled out into the snowy landscape, chattering and laughing, wrapped up in greatcoats and cloaks and hats and mittens, with boots and pattens on their feet.

  “The entrance to the woods is down near the river,” Lysander said, leading the way. “We go down to the bottom of the Abbey gardens, then over the little bridge and up the opposite bank. It’s not far, but be careful, the path’s terribly slippery.”

  As though to illustrate his point, at that very moment, Lady Arabella yelped and skidded, arms windmilling in the air till she collided with Sir Edmund, nearly knocking him to the ground.

  Sir Edmund looked irritated, but to his credit he helped her right herself, then offered his arm for the walk, which she gratefully accepted. After that, the other gentlemen dutifully offered their arms to the remaining ladies, and soon they were all in groups and pairs, Cavendish with Mrs. Rodney, Lysander and Simon with Althea, and Adam with Miss Greenhill.

  “I’m perfectly able to walk on my own,” Miss Greenhill grumbled, even as she curled a mittened hand around his elbow.

  “Well, perhaps you can keep me upright,” Adam said, and she gave a reluctant chuckle.

  The snow made the gardens look beautiful in an otherworldly way, the leafless trees striped with silver, the dips and hollows of the path disguised by a blanket of innocent white.

  “Watch your step,” Adam warned when he stepped into a deep patch of snow. “The path’s uneven.”

  “I’ll be careful,” she promised.

  After a few moments, Adam asked, “How long have you been Mrs. Winterbourne’s companion?”

  “Four years now,” Miss Greenhill said in her usual even tone. She was a calm young woman, he thought. Contained.

  “I’m very lucky.” She continued. “Mrs. Winterbourne’s been terribly kind to me. All the Winterbourne family have.”

  “Have you known them long?”

  “Oh, all my life. We were neighbours, you see. My father had a property about three miles from here, and he and Lord Winterbourne were good friends when they were boys.” She gazed ahead, a faint smile of reminiscence on her face. “When my sister and I were young, we used to come here, to the Abbey, to play with the Winterbourne children—mostly with Althea and Gwen, who were nearest to us in age, but sometimes with Lysander too.” She glanced at Adam. “Lysander was always wonderfully good fun. He’d do anything.”

  “I didn’t realise you knew them so well,” Adam said.

  “Oh, yes. And Gwen and I were particular friends. But then my father passed away. It was quite sudden. My mother had died a few years previously and I was alone. The house was entailed, so I had nowhere to go when my uncle inherited. My sister was already married and living in Wales by then. So Lady Winterbourne suggested to her aunt that I become her companion.”

  It ought not to have shocked him—it was a commonplace enough story—but really, it was astonishing, how quickly a gently reared woman could go from respectable comfort to near penury. Carefully, he said, “It must have been very difficult, leaving your family home.”

  “Yes, I missed it terribly, and the village—and Gwen of course. Though a year later she moved to Northumbria with her husband, so I’d have missed her anyway.”

  “You’ll be pleased to have Christmas with her then? And your other old friends, of course.”

  Miss Greenhill glanced up the path to where Mrs. Rodney was walking with Cavendish. Mrs. Rodney was gazing up at her companion and laughing at some story he was telling her. Her cheeks were very flushed from the cold.

  “Yes,” Miss Greenhill said. “Yes, I am.”

  Mrs. Rodney and Cavendish had reached the start of the woods now—Cavendish was holding open a rickety gate so Mrs. Rodney could pass through. When Adam and Miss Greenhill caught up with them, Cavendish politely held the gate for them too.

  It was a narrow opening, only big enough for one person. Miss Greenhill let go of Adam’s arm and moved ahead of him.

  She walked forward quickly, catching up with Lysander’s sister in a few strides and taking hold of her arm in a companionable way, making the other woman turn to her in surprise.

  “Oh, hallo!” she said.

  “Shall we walk together, Gwen dear?”

  Mrs. Rodney stared at Miss Greenhill for a moment, then she seemed to collect herself. “Oh, yes,” she murmured. “Of course.”

  “If I remember rightly, there are some holly trees down this path,” Miss Greenhill said.

  “I do believe you’re right,” Mrs. Rodney agreed, “The others might already have found them.”

  They set off, leaving Adam and Cavendish to follow them. Lysander, Simon and Althea were further ahead, while Lady Arabella and Sir Edmund were bringing up the rear. Every now and again, Cavendish glanced behind him to check his sister was still in sight.

  The Winterbourne estate really was beautiful, Adam thought as they followed the path. These woods were ancient, full of thickly gnarled trees, and the crisp, virgin snow made everything look bright and immaculate.

  Sure enough, when they caught up with Lysander, Althea and Simon, it was to find they’d already located a holly tree. Lysander was busy cutting down a glossy-leaved branch, heavy with scarlet berries. Cavendish immediately hurried forward to help Lysander, rushing past Adam to take the branch Lysander had just cut and lay it down in the snow while Lysander turned back to the tree to cut another. The ladies moved to a nearby sycamore and began pulling down a long trail of ivy

  Even though he knew it was absurd to feel jealous of Lysander and Cavendish’s friendship, Adam couldn’t help but envy the easy affection they were able to show each other in public, when Adam felt so constrained to be formal with Lysander in front of others.

  He strolled over to where his brother stood, leaning against a tree and watching the ladies work.

  Simon glanced at Adam and smiled. “I love these traditions,” he said. “They remind me of when we were small.”

  Adam smiled. “Those were happy times.”

  “I’m looking forward to doing all this with my children in years to come,” Simon said.

  He looked contented and it warmed Adam’s heart to see his brother so happy.

  “So, marriage is working out well, is it?”

  “Oh, yes,” Simon said, though he blushed a little. “Althea and I are well suited.”

  Adam chuckled. Simon was spared further embarrassment by the arrival of Sir Edmund and Lady Arabella.

  “Here you are!” Lady Arabella said. “I see you’re all hard at work. Has anyone found any mistletoe?”

  “Not yet,” Althea replied. “Shall we have a competition to see who’s first to find some?”

  “Oh, yes!” Lady Arabella said eagerly. Her eyes gleamed with competitive fervour. “We bags Perry. He has the longest arms.” She grabbed her brother’s arm without letting go of Sir Edmund’s, and began to tow them both away, further into the woods. Sir Edmund didn’t even bother to protest—the poor man looked positively resigned to his fate.

  Althea sent Lysander a mischievous look. “Five guineas says I find some before you.”

  “You’re on,” Lysander said, grinning.

  “I’d better assist my lady wife,” Simon told Adam, levering himself away from the tree he was leaning against. “It looks like you’re with Winterbourne, since the other ladies seem to be working together.”

  Following Simon’s gaze, Adam caught a glimpse of Miss Greenhill and Mrs. Rodney walking in the opposite direction from Lady Arabella’s group before they rounded the corner and vanished from view.

  “This way, Simon,” Althea called, heading down the same path that Lady Arabella had gone.

  “Yes dear,” Simon said obediently, and hurried after her.

  And quite suddenly, Adam and Lysander were finally—and gloriously—alone.

  Lysander’s eyes were dancing with mischief, his cheeks pink from cold. He looked delicious. Adam wanted to take him in his arms and kiss him soundly. Instead he stood there, grinning, heart thudding.
/>   “Let’s go this way,” Lysander said, pointing at a rather unpromising looking gap in the trees.

  “All right,” Adam said doubtfully.

  The path was very overgrown. They had to shove branches out of their way and clamber over huge tree roots, but at length, they found themselves in tiny clearing, with a perfect, unblemished ring of snow in the middle of it.

  Adam would have grabbed Lysander right then and kissed him, but before he could do so, Lysander let out a whoop of triumph and pointed excitedly at one of the trees.

  “Aha! I bloody knew it!”

  Adam glanced up and, sure enough, there it was, a clump of green mistletoe in amongst the bare branches, a few tell-tale white berries peeping out.

  Lysander ran through the virgin snow towards the tree and began climbing up.

  “Be careful!” Adam exclaimed. “It’ll be slippery!”

  “I’m fine.” Lysander kept climbing. When he reached the clump of mistletoe, he broke off a good few sprigs, tucking them into his pocket, then he turned to wave his triumph at Adam...and promptly lost his footing.

  Adam’s heart stopped for a whole, endless second. He felt rooted to the ground, unable to move, and then suddenly he was moving, rushing forward in a sliding stumble as Lysander tried—and failed—to right himself. And then Lysander was falling. Falling as Adam ran forward to catch him. Adam reached up to Lysander as the man tumbled down, taking his weight full force so that they hit the ground together in a whoosh of winded lungs and tangled limbs.

  “Oh, God, Adam!” Lysander gasped, hastily righting himself till he was kneeling over Adam who lay, breathless in the snow, trying to signal somehow that he was all right, only winded.

  Lysander brushed Adam’s hair off his forehead, his gaze moving worriedly over Adam’s face till Adam finally managed to wheeze, “I’m fine!”

  The relief on Lysander’s face was gratifying, and when he dipped his head to press their mouths together, Adam sighed, parting his lips, welcoming Lysander’s passion and need.