Mistletoe Magic Page 4

  “Not trinkets. Valuable historical artifacts, some as rare as the Elgin Marbles,” Chary added, but Lady Howard shook her head.

  “Utter nonsense,” she insisted. “I am convinced he is blameless, and I am delighted you have made such a good match. You cannot put great stock in what gossips rattle on about. There is nowhere in England you can go that people won’t be curious about your marriage, but that is true, no matter who you marry. After all, your father is a prominent man. But Geoffrey and I wish you well, of course, as do most people. You do believe that, don’t you?”

  Unwilling to disappoint Lady Howard, Chary managed a smile and nod. “Yes, of course, I do.”

  “I am relieved to hear it. If I had known you felt such uncertainty I never would have—well, that doesn’t matter now. We will make the best of being snowed in. Whoever heard of this much snow in Sussex? At least you’ll be here for the masquerade ball, and I hope you will remain until Twelfth Night. You did bring a costume?”

  “Yes, I brought a shepherdess costume,” Chary replied.

  “Shepherdess? My, there will be a dozen of those. I have so many ideas for costumes, I am certain we can find something that will suit you better, if you will allow it.”

  “Well, I . . .”

  “We’ll discuss it later, if you like. My, it is still snowing. This weather is so strange. And after a dreary summer with so much rain, I thought I’d have to grow fish gills just to breathe outside.”

  Chary laughed, and Lady Howard clapped her hands together with a pleased expression. “So, you can laugh! Now come and join us all in the music room where there are violinists and flutists playing the loveliest melodies. And I have a surprise for Christmas Eve that everyone should enjoy. Although the weather may have prevented it . . . but I shall continue to hope she muddles through the snow.”

  Chary found herself carried along on the wave of Lady Howard’s personality, and it did help lift her from the doldrums where she’d fallen since accepting Lord Nicholas Hawkely’s reluctant proposal of marriage. They were both pawns, but she had always known that one day she may be put in such a position. She had just not expected it to be marriage to an infamous rake and thief, no matter the rank.

  But dear Papa longed for the respectability of a peerage, especially after being snubbed by the ton. Society did not put him on the same social scale, and even his late wife’s ancestry did little to lift him from the merchant class. Not even an extremely wealthy banker had the same cachet as the lowliest baron in the eyes of the haut ton. The peerage would court his favor, as many needed bankers’ favor in their financial lives, but the invisible line between the peers and “tradesmen” remained firm. Even the Child banking family was not immune.

  Chary couldn’t help but wonder if it was the elopement of Sarah Child with the Earl of Westmoreland that had given her father the idea of wedding his daughter into the peerage. It had been a huge scandal many years ago, when her father, himself, had been very young—the commoner daughter of an immensely wealthy banker eloping with a peer had been discussed in parlors all over England. That had been decades ago and their daughter, now Lady Jersey, was a patroness of Almack’s and a member of the peerage. She was also a guest at Seabury for the holidays, it seemed.

  “Miss St. John,” said a lovely brunette sitting near the fire, “how nice to see you again.”

  “Pardon?” It rather surprised Chary that Lady Jersey would remember their brief acquaintance at Almack’s, the social club better known as a marriage mart than for delicious refreshments or lively entertainment. Lady Jersey had been quite pleasant but not particularly attentive, if she remembered correctly, yet now she smiled as if they were intimates.

  “Do come and sit with me,” said Sarah Child Villiers, and she patted the satin brocade cushions of the settee where she sat near the fire. “We must discuss the latest on-dits.”

  Caught between a desire to escape and curiosity, Chary accepted the invitation and sat next to Lady Jersey. It was, she thought wryly, rather like a humble wren perched beside a swan, but if she had to think of it in that sense, she could also consider Lady Jersey a magpie, for her constant stream of chatter.

  “I had not thought to see you here,” the irrepressible beauty said, tilting her head to look at Chary appraisingly. “Is it true that you have been recently betrothed? I was quite astonished to hear it. Oh, not that I’m astonished you’re to wed, only that I heard you have accepted the suit of Lord Nicholas Hawkely. La, he is such a rogue at times, but a handsome devil so I can certainly understand the temptation to fall into his arms—did you fall into his arms? I admit, I am quite curious as to how he proposed.” She smiled slyly. “I confess to having been tempted to do more than flirt with him myself, you see.”

  Taken aback, not to mention a bit overwhelmed by such a departure from etiquette, Chary tried to match Lady Jersey’s casual manner but found it difficult. “Lady Jersey, I—”

  “Oh, we need not be so formal,” she interrupted, “as I am certain we will be seeing a great deal of one another. You’re the daughter of a banker, and I am partner in a bank, you know, so we must have much more in common than one would think. Don’t you agree?”

  “Well, I—”

  “Of course, some people refer to me as Silence because they say I am rarely silent, but I prefer my family and close friends call me Sally.”

  “Yes, Sally is much more courteous and familiar, I should think, but—”

  “Now come, you were going to tell me how Lord Nicholas pressed his suit, and I am quite intrigued, for he can be a bit intimidating when he chooses. Of course, you would not see that side of him, would you?”

  “The marriage was arranged by the duke and my father,” Chary said before she could be interrupted again.

  “Ah, I see. Well, not all of us can marry for love, can we? George and I fell in love. In fact, I do believe we would have fled to Gretna Greene if our parents had objected, but of course, they did not. My father had hoped—but that is another story. We had a lovely wedding, and now we have a lovely marriage. So, did Lord Nicholas truly take the artifacts he’s accused of hiding from the Crown? It seems so unlike him.”

  Dumbfounded, Chary fumbled for a response, but thankfully Lady Jersey rattled on without waiting for an answer.

  “It’s ridiculous to think he would bother with things like native spears, but the jewelry is rumored to be valuable, I believe. It is difficult to imagine Hawkely as the kind of man to steal, regardless of his debts, although I understand the debts were not his. Still, one never truly knows what another person might do when under duress, do they?”

  “Do you know his lordship well?”

  “I’ve been acquainted with his family since I was a child, of course, as the duke is an MP and so was my father—Tories, you understand—and I see Hawkely at social gatherings from time to time. His older brother, Marquess of Huntingdon, is a staunch Whig, but also quite a prig. Never liked Anthony that much, although we were closest in age. When we were children, my mother favored an alliance between us, but it was not pursued, thank heavens. Robert now, the youngest, is a sweet young man but hasn’t an ounce of common sense. He took gross advantage of Hawkely when he was generous enough to allow him a line of credit in his name, but that’s the way too many young people are nowadays—not a bit of financial responsibility. It’ll be the ruin of England when they run the country, mark my words.” She gestured with her folded lace and black lacquer fan to emphasize her point.

  “No doubt,” Chary replied politely. Perhaps she had misjudged Lord Nicholas about being a wastrel, although he still had a reputation as a scoundrel with women, having ruined a certain Miss Treadway by compromising her dreadfully two years ago. It had been whispered about and alluded to in the scandal sheets on numerous occasions. That, she was fairly sure, could not be so easily misconstrued. At least, she had heard nothing to contradict
it.

  “So, my dear,” Lady Jersey continued, spreading her fan to peer at her over the edge, “we have established that this is an arranged marriage, but you cannot be displeased by it. He’s quite the catch, you know, even with all that nasty business about South Sea treasures missing.”

  “East Indies,” Chary murmured thoughtfully. “I have not expressed displeasure, only misgivings about our . . . lack of compatibility.”

  Laughing, Lady Jersey observed, “Unnecessary, in most marriages. If you wish lively conversation, seek it elsewhere, or develop an interest in horses and hounds. George and I have managed to work out our differences in a most satisfactory manner. As long as one is discreet and doesn’t go around making a cake of themselves, it shouldn’t be difficult. N’est pas?”

  Oh yes, she understood quite clearly what Lady Jersey intimated. And while she wouldn’t be rude enough to voice her full views on the subject, she knew it was not a life she could easily bear. It would be too exhausting keeping up with romantic intrigues.

  “Oh my, why ever did Lady Howard invite her?” Lady Jersey suddenly said, closing her fan with an exasperated snap. “Utter madness! That woman will ruin the Christmas spirit with her shrill moods. All that nasty scandal. She has been cut by every decent person in London. If I had known she would be here—what on earth was Laurentia thinking?”

  Chary followed the direction of her gaze to see Lady Caroline Lamb enter the music room, looking frail and lovely. She was aware of the scandal, of course, as it had been the talk of England the entire wet, dreary summer, but was reluctant to join in the gossip. “It may be that she has been stranded by the weather, just as we are,” she suggested, observing their hostess’s shocked expression as the new guest hesitated in the music room doorway.

  “I doubt it. Ah, Lady Howard rushes to the rescue. She looks appalled. Perhaps she didn’t invite her after all. Dreadful woman. Lady Caroline, not Lady Howard. It’s just like that spiteful cow to show up uninvited, no matter that Laurentia is just out of confinement and has a crush of guests to tend for much longer than expected. Oh, do tell me that silly woman is not going to attempt to stay! Not after writing all those ridiculous things about half of the ton, and vicious lies about me as well.” Spreading her fan again, she waved it furiously in front of her face.

  Lady Howard did appear to be unnerved by the unexpected addition of a woman who had set all of London and half of England on its ear with the publication of Glenarvon, a three-volume book that caricaturized society’s leading ladies.

  “What a surprise to see you, Lady Caroline. You look quite cold and exhausted,” Lady Howard said as she reached her. Even the musicians had sputtered to a stop, whether for a rest or from shock, Chary could not tell. As a harried-looking butler appeared in the doorway, Lady Howard beckoned for a footman, promising Lady Caroline a warm fire and refreshments away from the crowded music room.

  Lady Caroline glanced around the room, but spoke only to Lady Howard. “You are very kind to forgive my intrusion, Lady Howard, but my coachman insists the front wheel is loose and it’s dangerous to go on in all this snow. I recalled you have this lovely country house so close to the road, so . . .”

  “Oh, we are quite accustomed to it,” said Lady Howard. “Being so close to the turnpike often brings us many unexpected guests to brighten our days. It can be quite pleasant.”

  Her voice faded as they left the music room, and an immediate buzz of conversation filled the silence. A regal-looking woman quickly bore down on Lady Jersey and Chary.

  “Can you believe the nerve of that creature?” she said, while Lady Jersey interrupted, “I have banned Caro from Almack’s, you know.”

  “And you certainly should have,” retorted the older woman, straightening the boa feathers that dripped from her hat after an indignant shake of her head. “Chasing after Lord Byron was bad enough, making a spectacle of herself and causing her poor husband no end of grief with such a vulgar display of emotion in public, but to write such a nasty piece of trash as she did . . . why, I could barely read all three volumes.”

  Chary stifled a sudden urge to laugh. It seemed quite ridiculous for the woman to complain about the book as trash, yet she avidly read all three volumes. But of course, Chary would not dare point that out to either lady.

  “Oh, you do know Lady Mountebank, do you not, Miss St. John?” Lady Jersey asked.

  The baroness inclined her head graciously as Lady Jersey introduced them, but her brow lifted as she recognized the name. “Miss Charlotte St. John of St. John and Fortescue? I read of your betrothal recently, didn’t I?”

  “It was in the Times, I believe,” Chary replied, stifling a groan of despair. After all, she had left London behind to escape the curiosity of being the latest on-dit, a commoner marrying a duke’s son was not the normal thing these days. She had thought the invitation from Lady Howard intended a more intimate group, not half of London society descending upon Seabury.

  “Yes,” Lady Mountebank said, “quite a shock to learn of Lord Nicholas Hawkely’s engagement, as so many young ladies had set their caps for him. But of course, that was before the unfortunate affair with those missing items from the Caribbean.”

  “East Indies,” Chary corrected with increasing desperation to escape. A dull throb set behind her eyes, making her squint slightly. The musicians began to play again, and she put up a hand to touch her forehead.

  Lady Jersey peered at her. “My dear Miss St. John, are you unwell?”

  “It is only a small headache. I think perhaps I need to lie down. If you will please excuse me . . .”

  “Shall I fetch Lady Howard?”

  “Oh no, please do not bother her. I am quite certain I will be fine. Perhaps some tea and rest will rid me of this beastly headache.”

  “It’s all this chaos, no doubt, with the cold and snow and detestable people showing up uninvited. You do look peaked, dear. Doesn’t she, Lydia?”

  “She does seem a bit flushed. It can’t be the heat, as it’s so very cold, even with the fire. A fever, perhaps? Oh my . . .” Lady Mountebank took a step away, and brought her hand up to cover her nose and mouth. “A fever can be serious, even deadly. You may be contagious.”

  As Lady Mountebank offered her assessment, Chary managed to murmur an apology and practically fled the music room. She found her way to the entrance hall, with its life-size marble statues tucked into niches, and paused briefly in front of a lovely piece to admire the sculptor’s attention to form and beauty. Pure-white marble gleamed with a pearlescent light, and the graceful lady’s outstretched arm supported a small bird posed with tilted head and open beak, as if singing. How lovely . . .

  A sudden commotion behind her startled Chary, and she turned to see the double front doors swing wide to admit a tall man with a beaver hat and caped greatcoat stomping snow from his boots on the top step. Cold air swept in the open door, laden with feathery drifts of snow. Her stomach dropped as the new guest entered and a footman held out his hands to help take the man’s coat and hat. Oh dear heavens, Lord Nicholas!

  Panic set in. She had to escape before he noticed her . . . but where? The staircase was too far, and he’d be certain to see her. . . . An open door beckoned across the entrance hall, and she fled as if the hounds of Hades were fast upon her heels.

  LADY HOWARD descended the staircase, looking startled at seeing him. She paused before descending the last three steps. “Lord Nicholas? I had not expected you.”

  “No? You did send me an invitation a few weeks ago, did you not?”

  Smiling, she approached with outstretched hands as the footman took his hat and coat. “Of course I did, but you sent a note saying you had business and would not be able to attend. I am delighted you are able to come after all, although I cannot imagine how dreadful the journey must have been in this weather.”

  “I had business in Bath t
hat ended earlier than expected.” He eyed her for a moment. “You seem flustered. Are you certain I am not imposing?”

  “You could never be an imposition. It is this beastly weather that has caused no end of trouble, however.” She lowered her voice. “Lady Caro is here. A broken wheel, she said.”

  Amused, he accepted that information with an air of gravity. “How unfortunate. Has our scandalous novelist caused a stir?”

  “I expect she will, if a wainwright cannot get her coach repaired quickly. I put her in a room upstairs away from everyone else. Oh, why did this horrid weather have to happen? My lovely Christmas celebration may turn into a brawl if Lady Mountebank and Lady Jersey are put in the same room with her for long.”

  Somewhat sympathetic to the possible social disaster, he offered, “My coachman is an accomplished wainwright and will be glad to help get her carriage repaired so she can be on her way before any bloodshed occurs.”

  “Oh, that would be wonderful! I shall inform my grooms to give your man whatever he may need to repair it. Now come. Before I send a footman with a message to the stables, I shall escort you to the music room where I am certain you know everyone.”

  As they moved through the drawing room to the music room, where a small quartet played an étude and guests listened from comfortable chairs near the fire or milled about talking in low tones, Nick wondered if he had made the right decision to come to Seabury. It had seemed a good choice given the snow and roads, and a return to London would put him too close to his betrothed and the gossip. Yet it seemed some of the worst gossips were here, as he recognized Lady Mountebank and Lady Jersey.

  “Perhaps I had better take the message to Drummond, my coachman,” he suggested, but Laurentia squeezed his arm.

  “Oh no, I shall see he gets the message. Please stay here until I return, as I must tell you something about one of our guests.”