Christmas.
Bah, humbug!
It gave him visions, though not of sugar plums, but of fresh country air, and made him long for simpler days when he and his sister had spent holidays in Shropshire.
Unfortunately, Ben could no longer think of that particular estate, without thinking of the man who’d tried so hard—and very nearly succeeded—in destroying everything he ever held dear.
And Lexie… sweet though she might be, she was only a bitter reminder of her father’s treachery.
It wasn’t Alexandra he missed, he told himself. And neither was Lexie the sort of lady he enjoyed—not any longer. While he’d once found her whimsy endearing, she was too done up. Already, his sister had made several intimations that he should call upon her, but no, indeed. There was no way in damnation he would saddle himself with an empty-headed miss, who cared more about ballgowns than she did her own best friend. It had been months now since Claire had been wrenched from the clutches of that fiend, and Alexandra had yet to so much as inquire.
No, the Huntingtons could rot in hell for all he cared—that included Alexandra.
Sighing wearily, he made his way back up the stairs, passing a seamstress as she rushed down, avoiding his gaze.
Today, his sister was being fitted for her royal wedding gown. Her fiancé was due to arrive soon, and minute by minute the house was filling to the rafters. Thanks to bloody hell, the servants had all returned, or the management of this estate would drive him to distraction. And moreover, they would be leaving later for a nice, quiet retreat in Surrey before the insanity of the wedding celebration. That thought put a new skip in his step as he ascended the stairs, but the joy didn’t quite soften his glower.
“Good day,” said another woman as he passed.
“G’day,” said Ben, scarcely aware that it sounded more like a growl, and the young woman hurried by, flying fast for the door.
* * *
Fresh from an appointment with his father and associates, Ian discovered Claire seated in the dining room, wolfing down a bite of breakfast.
“There you are,” he said, and her answering smile brightened the room more efficiently than did her chandelier filled with a hundred twinkling candles. She never failed to steal his breath away.
“Oh, yes! Here I am,” she declared happily as he came to sit beside her, pecking her gently upon the lips, but not so briefly that he didn’t glean the taste of bacon upon her lips. He smiled then, for who didn’t love the taste of bacon, and particularly when served upon lips that were so delectably sweet.
“How is your father?” she asked.
“Off again to Glen Abbey, I suppose.”
“Oh?” She tilted him a curious look. “Did Fiona invite him for the holidays?”
“No,” said Ian, mulling it over. “I don’t believe she did. Rather, I believe he has taken it upon himself to make certain a certain constable has no opportunity to come between them.”
Claire laughed, the sound entirely musical, warming Ian’s heart and stirring the greedy beast living in his trousers. After their glorious lovemaking, before their engagement became official, the abstinence was murdering him.
“It’s amazing what motivation jealousy holds.”
“Yes, indeed,” he said. “Though I hope ’tis more than jealousy that drives him. Rather, I hope my father comports himself as he should, because my mother will have none of his shenanigans any longer.”
“I dare say.”
Ian took the seat right beside his lovely bride, preferring it to the one across the table. It wasn’t entirely polite to sit directly beside her, but he’d rather sniff the lavender infusion in her tresses than smell eggs and bacon any day of the year.
“And Merrick?”
“He and Chloe are already there. My brother didn’t wish to travel so near to the babe’s birthing.”
“First of January?”
“Thereabouts.”
“And the house has been prepared?”
A special bed had to be installed in the couple’s private quarters. Additionally, there was to be a midwife in residence—a sister to one of the kitchen maids.
“Oh, yes,” he said. “Thankfully, Victoria has also made arrangements for an attending physician. But since Chloe’s not due until the New Year, he won’t be in residence—not precisely, though he’ll be just a stone’s throw away.”
Most people preferred to travel to London for deliveries, but since there were no better doctors anywhere than at Hampton Court Palace, this was yet another reason the Duchess had facilitated the use of her late husband’s former estate.
As it so happened, Glen Abbey’s only doctor also happened to be the lady presently in expecting.
“It will be easier after the child arrives not to have to travel so far for the wedding,” suggested Ian.
Naturally, though Prince Merrick had repudiated the crown, he was still expected to be present for the nuptials and coronation. His presence would go far to reassure the people of Meridian that his wishes were being met. After all, it wasn’t as though his father disowned him.
“It’s such a complicated matter.”
“Indeed,” said Ian. “But then again, even had they wished to remain in Scotland, that wasn’t an option—damn Edward to hell.”
“Well,” said Claire, wincing. “I do believe that poor man may be accommodating your wishes.”
“Poor?” Ian argued, with a lifted brow. “That poor man burned down my house—very nearly with my invalid mother inside it.” The very fact that Fiona wasn’t precisely the invalid they had believed her to be didn’t matter. After so long in that chair, his mother’s limbs had been weak, and she could never have gotten out on her own. Were it not for his brother’s quick response, she might be naught more than ash and bone. So then, if indeed, Edward was so very accommodating as to be occupying Hell this very instant, it was precisely what he deserved. Not only had Glen Abbey’s steward endangered the lives of many, but he’d embezzled enough money to put Glen Abbey and its denizens in peril for years, and Ian had been forced to resort to a somewhat less than legitimate means to support them. Thankfully, that entire ordeal was over, though in the absence of a proper home in Scotland, they were now forced to lease an estate from one of his father’s associates—one General James Moore, equerry of the late Duke of Kent. But, in fact, the man wouldn’t accept a penny for the rental. He’d donated the use of his estate as a wedding gift, and that was fine with Ian. He’d take every bloody penny his father allowed them and donate it to the residents of Glen Abbey so they too might have a bounteous Christmas.
The thought of Rusty Broun and his brood dining on ham and venison made his heart gleeful. And really, the only reason Ian had accepted the crown in his brother’s stead was so he could make dead certain Glen Abbey’s coffers remained full enough to care for the people who depended upon it most. “Hawk” was dead and gone. And that, too, was well and good.
“So, it’s official, then. Fiona will not join us?”
“She will not,” said Ian. “She didn’t wish to travel, though that seems odd—quite, in fact, considering the circumstances.”
The circumstances being that Fiona had one son preparing to depart England for the foreseeable future, and another whose firstborn child was imminent—regardless of the date given, a Christmas babe was entirely possible.
Thoughtfully, Claire tore a bite from her biscuit. “I would think Fiona would wish to come spend the holidays with her son before he quit London?”
Ian sighed as he plucked up a bit of her bacon. “As would I,” he said, “but I believe it’s making her glum… else she’s gotten close to Tolly and doesn’t wish to leave him. But I don’t know. In either case, my father has his job cut out for him.”
Claire sighed as well. “Alas… that makes two glum folks amidst our loved ones. What shall we do?”
“About Ben?” he asked.
Claire peeked out of the dining room door to be certain her brother wasn’t loit
ering, and then she nodded, but then tilted her fiancé a beautiful green-eyed glance, betraying a twinkle of mischief. “But I have a plan,” she confessed.
“Claire,” Ian protested. “Really, love. Don’t you believe you’ve enough to deal with already? It’s not as though you don’t have enough to contend with.”
Claire shrugged, unfazed. “It’s only a bit of nothing,” she declared, and waved away the notion with a hand.
“Nothing?” he asked. But then, he too cast up a hand.
His bride-to-be was a wise little bird; he knew better than to assert himself against her. He had more than enough experience with strong-headed ladies to know he daren’t get in their way. It was enough to keep up with his own affairs—a mountain of changes that would put an entire nation under his care. “Never mind,” he said. “I don’t want to know. Please, pass the butter.”
With a lovely curl to her beautiful lips, his fiancée reached over to take a small plate of creamy butter and handed it to him, smiling with the light of love in her eyes.
“We should be away after breakfast,” she said giddily. “There’s so much to do, and I’d dearly love to arrive before our guests do.” She grinned. “I have holiday decorations to hang.”
“As you wish, love.”
She laughed quickly. “Will you always be so accommodating, Majesty?”
He grinned. “Always for you, Majesty.”
Her blush crept down from her cheeks into her décolletage—a lovely, delectable flush that tempted Ian’s lips, because he knew her sweet skin would be warm to the touch. Ever since her brother’s return, they’d been forced to sleep apart, if only for the sake of propriety. Only the two of them knew the secret they shared—that he had already tasted her in the most shocking of places.
“You will ever be my queen,” he said, “with or without a crown.” And he couldn’t help himself. Far hungrier for the taste of his beautiful wife than he was for the spread on the table, he bent to kiss the sweet temptation of her bosom.
“Ian!” she exclaimed. “What would my brother say?”
“Damn, that miserable fool,” he muttered, but without any rancor, because, in truth, he liked Ben, and he hoped to Hell that whatever his bride had planned, it would drag the fool out of his doldrums once and for all.
Chapter 3
20 December
Rule No. 3:
On the Misuse of Mistletoe.
There is no obligation for anyone to ever kiss beneath mistletoe hanging from a hat or hand. Please understand: Mistletoe is not a portable kissing booth. Please do not harass ladies with mistletoe. It is very bad form!
Shivering beneath her light pelisse, Alexandra watched as the landscape scuttled by—clear, blue skies, green, green grass.
Weather-wise, the Parklands were not so different from London proper, and yet, unlike the hustle and bustle of Grosvenor Square, the sight of those dew-dusted fields, glittering like tinsel, made her yearn to apricate.
Bits and bobs of memories teased and tormented her, but Alexandra blew them away with the cold vapor of a mournful sigh and took pleasure in the scenery.
Fallow deer grazed in small, familial herds—bucks and does, with their awkward-limbed kids.
Even animals had families, and Alexandra wondered idly upon whose home were they descending for the holidays. So far as she knew, Claire’s family hadn’t any connections South of the City, and neither did Alexandra. It must a friend of Ian’s family, she surmised.
No matter. She was pleased over the turn of events, and even the thought of seeing Ben shouldn’t dampen her spirits. It was Christmas, she told herself. Melancholy be damned!
Pinching her coat together once more, she reconsidered her wardrobe. Even despite the apricity, the air held an unusual sharpness that stung the tender bits of Lexie’s nostrils, and now she worried about inclement weather.
It was only natural to worry when traveling, because one could never be certain what to expect.
And, regardless, she was perfectly thrilled to be spending yet another holiday with her oldest, dearest friend. After months and months apart, she couldn’t wait to hear all about Claire’s plans—and more to the point, to put the unpleasantness of her father’s treachery in their past. If she was nervous at all, this was why. And yet, she should have had no doubt Claire would forgive her. She should have had more aplomb than to sit alone in her big, empty house, brooding all the while, when, in fact, she might have easily gone to Claire.
Naturally, she had been unsettled by the entire ordeal but now she was doubly embarrassed after having waited so long, and she didn’t know what to say when she faced Claire.
Thankfully, they had never minced words; hopefully they wouldn’t begin now. And, in retrospect, the time apart hadn’t been all for naught. For one thing, Lexie now understood herself better. She knew who she was and why it was she was drawn to Claire in the first place, and it wasn’t at all because Claire Wentworth loved a good Season.
No, indeed, Claire was the last person to be fond of such drivel, and all the while Lexie had been pretending to be a gadabout, she had secretly longed to be doing precisely what Claire had the gumption to do all along: stay at home and read a good book. What a silly chit Alexandra had been.
Really, who cared what her father or mother thought of her predilections. Who cared if they wouldn’t approve of her drawings. Who cared if her passions left too little time to allow her to present herself to the ton appropriately, and really, most of all, who cared about marriage.
Did she truly want a husband to tell her what to do?
Did she want a man to pinch her purse strings?
No.
From here forth, she determined to be a changed woman, and the one true blessing of this entire ordeal was that her father had left her quite flush. She now had the means to choose her own destiny.
Indeed, the distinguished Lord Huntington might never again see the light of day, but he had been quick to deny her mother any legal tender. He’d left Lady Eveline nothing but her dowager estate, and everything else he’d assigned to Lexie. She needn’t worry ever again about being left upon a shelf, or how to get along. If, in fact, she desired, she could sell the London apartment and travel abroad… and yet something about both of those choices left her feeling bereft.
Perhaps it would be lovely to keep the house and build the conservatory she’d always dreamed of?
The carriage slowed, the deer vanished and, the landscaping looked a bit more manicured.
Alexandra peered out the window, trying to glimpse ahead—where were they going?
They rounded a bend, and when at last she spied the Lion Gate, it finally dawned on her. It wasn’t any old estate they were descending upon; it was Hampton Court Palace! But, of course, she should have realized sooner, particularly considering their affiliation with the Duchess of Kent. Where else would the Royal Family of Meridian stay?
The carriage veered onto a small service road, careening toward Home Park and the Bowling Green. On the grounds of the Palace, surrounded by lush green hedges, the Garden Pavilions included a quartet of residences and a parterre—a formal garden connected by paths. She had only heard about these mentioned in whispers. They’d served as gaming hells under the protection of the Duke of Kent. The Duchess never embraced the home—or perhaps was never invited, since rumor would also have it that the Duke had often kept his lovers here. After his death, the entire estate was assigned to his loyal equerry—a gift from the Duke’s brother, the late King George.
Gobsmacked, Alexandra stared as they approached, thinking of all the scandals that were born here…
How ironic it must be that at a time when she couldn’t care less about tittle-tattle, she would find herself here.
Only for the briefest instant, she wondered what Ben must think of it all. And then she frowned, pushing the thought of Ben right back out of her head.
Who cares what Ben thinks!
She was not here to see Ben.
She
was here to see Claire.
Whatever rapport she’d once had with Claire’s elder brother, it was over now, and good riddance!
Long before the carriage came to a halt before the largest of the red-brown brick buildings, Claire was already standing outside waiting, clapping her hands, surrounded by servants all prepared to help Lexie disembark.
Oh, Claire! she thought, tears stinging her eyes at the sight of her beloved friend. Dressed in a pale green chiffon morning gown, Claire was even more beautiful than Alexandra remembered. She glowed like an emerald flame! Standing with shoulders back, her head tall and back straight, she looked every bit the part of a queen.
The instant the carriage came to a halt, Alexandra was up from her seat, tears brimming in her eyes. She threw open the door and fell out of the carriage, straight into Claire’s waiting arms.
For the longest bittersweet moment, it was as though they’d never parted—friends forever, with nary a care between them. But, oh, what Alexandra would give for a return to simpler days.
“Lexie!” said Claire. “Oh, Lexie!”
But Alexandra couldn’t speak. Tears clogged her throat. The only sound that emerged from the constriction was more like a piteous gurgle. Blessedly, Claire seemed to understand—as only friends ever could—and she squeezed Lexie tighter, which only brought forth another cascade of tears.
Really, for all that she’d considered it endlessly, Alexandra hadn’t any notion at all what she’d meant to say at this moment, but it all came out in a rush in five little heartfelt words. “I am so sorry, Claire.”
“Think nothing of it,” said Claire easily, smiling and patting the long strands of Alexandra’s hair that fell loose at her back—what a sight she must present, fresh from travel, eyes red-rimmed and stinging. Her voice softer now, barely a whisper at Lexie’s ear, Claire said, “All’s well that ends well, my dear friend. I never blamed you even once.”
The Impostors: Complete Collection Page 44