Charmed at Christmas (Christmas at Castle Keyvnor Book 1)

by Claire Delacroix

  “I also like to balance the accounts with Grandmaman and ensure that every penny ends up where it belongs.”

  Alexander was impressed. “That is not frivolous!”

  She smiled fleetingly. “Eurydice will wed for passion or not at all, so I must be the one to see that she always has a sanctuary.” She glanced up at him. “I suppose that might sound conniving.”

  “It sounds sensible to me,” Alexander acknowledged, forgetting to use his foppish voice. “And it is most admirable that your love for your sister takes such expression.” He smiled. “I do not doubt that if you bent your will upon it, you could make any man happy indeed.”

  “I hope so, Your Grace. I am not as clever as Eurydice, that much is certain.”

  “But neither are you a fool, my dear.”

  “No,” she agreed, casting him a glance of such mischief that the sight fairly stole Alexander’s breath away. “If I may be so bold as to say so, Your Grace, you have the bluest eyes I have ever seen.”

  “I favor my mother in that, to be sure.”

  Her gaze dropped to his lips and lingered there, a flush staining her cheeks. Alexander halted and made a show of being out of breath, then doffed his glove to take a pinch of snuff. She watched his hands avidly, a conviction dawning in her eyes.

  “Are you ever restless at night, Your Grace?” she asked and Alexander’s heart stopped cold.

  “Nay, never!” he lied, taking a hearty tone. “My valet says I snore fit to wake the dead!” He giggled again, but her gaze did not waver.

  “How fortunate you are.” Her cousins called and she glanced toward them, then curtseyed before him. “I shall look forward to seeing you at dinner tonight, Your Grace.” Her eyes danced. “I cannot wait to see what you will wear!”

  Alexander laughed, trying to turn the sound into a chortle.

  “Miss Goodenham!” a man cried and Alexander sobered at the sight of his prey. Nathaniel Cushing swept in beside the girl and took her arm with such confidence that Alexander longed to challenge him. “The finest prize in the company will be left behind and I cannot permit it to be so.”

  Daphne’s gaze clung to Alexander’s for a moment and he wondered what she saw. “I do not mean to be left behind,” she said lightly, putting a bit of distance between herself and Nathaniel. “It is a beautiful day and there is yet some time before luncheon.”

  “But I desire every moment with you,” Cushing insisted. “For there is no greater beauty at Castle Keyvnor this Christmas.”

  Alexander did not hear Miss Goodenham’s reply but he watched her depart, wondering all the while at the perils of her guessing his secret. She had guessed. He was certain of it and the notion was terrifying.

  Surely she could not cost him the prize?

  The duke was the intruder. His eyes were just as blue. His lips were just as firm. Despite his paunch, his face was lean. His hands were long and strong, just like those of the intruder, and his legs were muscled. The duke used a similar disguise as the actor playing Falstaff, though apparently only Daphne had pierced the veil of his illusion.

  The realization only redoubled her determination to win him. She was certain he had good reason for his disguise. He defended his sister, which was ample measure of his noble character, and his kiss nearly melted her bones. That he was a duke was as icing on the cake.

  The Duke of Inverfyre was perfect.

  She fancied that she was not the sole one who felt the attraction. The hungry blue glance he gave her at intervals was utterly out of character with his foppish guise, and reminded her all too well of his kiss.

  The look he had given Mr. Cushing for interrupting had been pure fire.

  The sight had sent heat through her, as well.

  Daphne could not wait to see him again. She managed to separate herself from Mr. Cushing upon arrival at the castle as there was word that Grandmaman was coming down with Jenny’s cold. She had remained in her rooms and resented the lack of news. She demanded to know who had gone to the village.

  “Nathaniel Cushing,” she said with disdain, then punctuated the words with a sneeze. “A ne’er-do-well if ever there was.”

  “Anyone with sense can see with a glance that he’s a rake and a scoundrel,” Eurydice agreed and her grandmother beamed at her.

  “Anyone,” Daphne agreed.

  “I’m surprised you don’t like him,” Eurydice said. “He’s handsome and charming, after all.”

  Daphne shrugged. “I don’t.”

  “Because he’s not rich,” Eurydice said.

  “How could you know such a thing?”

  “When you were walking with the duke, our cousins were gossiping. They said he has nothing to his name but debt. He’s something of a black sheep.”

  “But the earl expected him. Mr. Cushing must have had some reason for coming,” Daphne said. “In fact, I believe he acted as a courier for his uncle, Mr. Timothy Cushing.”

  “Maybe he means to steal the Eye of India!” Eurydice declared.

  Grandmaman snorted, then sneezed again. “From what I hear, he must have come to ask for money. Or a rich wife.” She peered at Daphne. “Don’t let him lead you astray, my dear, tempting you under the mistletoe or kissing you in the moonlight.”

  “Daphne has no money,” Eurydice contributed. “Perhaps she won’t tempt him.”

  “Any man might be tempted by Daphne, even if he couldn’t do anything honorable about it,” her grandmother corrected sternly. “I will not have scandal over a man like Nathaniel Cushing. Am I understood?”

  “Yes, Grandmaman,” Daphne and Eurydice agreed in unison.

  What about a scandal over a man like the Duke of Inverfyre? Daphne didn’t ask, but counted the moments until dinner.

  “Now tell me,” their grandmother demanded. “Just how richly was the church decorated for the holidays? I hope there was holly and a fine Advent wreath...”

  “I’m not certain you would be wise to sleep in this chamber,” Rupert said with some aggravation. “That wretched vine might completely engulf you during the night.”

  Alexander stared at the plant in question. While he had been at church, the plant had grown with astonishing speed. It was the size of a small shrub, both growing upright and trailing over the table. It was covered in deep red blooms and the scent of it was dizzying. Rupert had opened the window, admitting a damp chill, but the plant did not wilt.

  Alexander thought of Daphne, the suspicion that she had pierced his disguise, and let admiration fill his heart.

  The plant grew before his very eyes.

  Rupert swore with enthusiasm. “I should chuck it out!”

  “Not until my quest is complete.”

  “I fail to see what this infestation has to do with springing the trap.”

  Alexander knotted his cravat with care, declining to tell Rupert that he referred to another quest altogether. He liked the scent of the red flowers. The perfume seemed to lighten his heart, and optimism was a fine asset.

  Miss Goodenham had admired his buttonhole. He took a fresh flower and a bud, twining them with several leaves to make a more elaborate buttonhole for dinner. He then turned and flaunted his splendor for Rupert, who shuddered.

  “You are a vision that will be impossible to forget, Your Grace.”

  “Indeed.”

  Rupert brushed the shoulders of Alexander’s silk brocade coat. “Are you certain Lady Tamsyn has received the gem?”

  “Yes. I hope she will wear it at dinner, as Mr. Timothy Cushing requested.”

  “Surely the villain will not attempt anything more than admiration before the household?”

  “Surely not.” Alexander met Rupert’s gaze in the mirror. “The sooner it has been admired, the sooner he will steal it. And then we shall finally discover how he removes his prize from the house.”

  “He has never been caught with the stolen gems on his person, no matter how thoroughly house and guests are searched.”

  “Never. But mark my words, the Eye of
India will be his undoing.”

  Chapter 4

  Daphne was doomed to disappointment when she reached the dining room, due to the order of precedence and the vast size of the party at dinner. The duke might as well have dined in Bocka Morrow, for all her opportunity to speak with him. He was at the head of the table, which at least meant she could observe him from her place near the other end, but she couldn’t even hear his words.

  Mr. Cushing paused beside her and granted her an engaging grin. Daphne returned his smile politely. “What good fortune is mine,” he said gallantly, sweeping into the seat beside her.

  “I could argue that it is mine,” Daphne replied in kind, though her heart was not in the words. She might have said something else, but Mr. Cushing suddenly leaned forward.

  “I say! Is that the legendary Eye of India, Tamsyn?” he fairly shouted, peering down the table at one of the brides-to-be.

  “It is, Nathaniel.” Lady Tamsyn’s hand rose to touch the brooch. “Great uncle Timothy sent it to me as a wedding gift. He said it belonged in the coffers of the Earl of Banfield and since I’m oldest, it should be mine.”

  “Is he truly our uncle?” asked Lady Morgan.

  “Technically, he’s probably a cousin,” said Lady Rose.

  “Or a great uncle,” Lady Morgan suggested.

  “I thought he was dead,” confided Lady Gwyn, raising a horrified hand to her lips.

  “We should have heard if he was,” jested Lady Marjorie. “There would have been a ruckus when his gem collection was sold or given in bequests.”

  Daphne couldn’t help but stare at the brooch. She’d never seen such a splendid piece of jewelry. In its center was an enormous sapphire of clear deep blue. The stone was surrounded by swirls of silver, each jammed with sparkling clear gems. It caught the light and glittered.

  Surely those stones couldn’t all be diamonds?

  It would be worth a fortune, then.

  “What a handsome gift,” Daphne said.

  “It is!” Lady Tamsyn said. “I was so surprised.”

  “I’m glad he sent it to you instead of me,” Lady Morgan said. “I should be terrified that it would be stolen.”

  “Oh, it won’t be,” Lady Tamsyn said lightly. “Not here at Castle Keyvnor.” She smiled at her betrothed. “And after the holidays, Gryffyn will take it to Lancarrow to be locked up for safekeeping.”

  “You won’t be wearing it daily, after all,” he replied with a teasing smile.

  “Only until the wedding. Uncle Timothy asked me to wear it for luck until then. It seemed the least I could do.”

  “Although we have no need of luck,” her beloved agreed.

  The pair beamed at each other, so happy that they evidently had forgotten every other soul in the room. Daphne knew that she herself had too many expectations of a suitor to hope for love, as well.

  She might hope for desire, perhaps.

  Respect.

  She spared a glance down the table to the duke, flushing when she realized he was watching her. His expression was serious and his eyes vehemently blue.

  Then he lifted his quizzing glance and spoke in that falsely high voice. “Upon my word, there is a gem!” Evidently not satisfied with the view, he rose from his seat and trotted down the side of the table to Lady Tamsyn’s side. He peered at it. “What a marvel! Do you know that the Prince Regent himself has a brooch similar to this, but admittedly somewhat smaller, that he often wears in his cravat?”

  “I didn’t know that,” Lady Tamsyn said. “Although I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  The duke gazed at the gem, nodding to himself. “A prize, to be sure.” He flicked a glance across the table. “Do you not agree, Miss Goodenham?”

  She colored more deeply to be so singled out. “I have never seen the like, Your Grace, although my experience of gems is limited.”

  “Marry well, my dear, and that may change,” he replied jovially, then winked at her. Daphne blushed as Mr. Cushing chuckled.

  “There is sound advice,” he murmured.

  Meanwhile, the duke took another look. “A magnificent sapphire,” he pronounced, then returned to his seat, his heels clicking as he walked.

  “But why is it called the Eye of India?” Daphne asked.

  “Oh, it has a painting beneath the sapphire, of a man’s eye,” Mr. Cushing said.

  Lady Tamsyn leaned across the table and Daphne could just barely glimpse the eye. “Great Uncle Timothy wrote that it was a gift from a gentleman to his lady love, as a token of his undying affection.”

  “But we don’t know who he was,” Lady Morgan added.

  “Or the lady, for that matter,” Lady Tamsyn agreed. “It is a lovely romantic story, but one that leaves as many questions as answers.”

  “Such as how Great Uncle Timothy came by it in the first place,” Lady Morgan agreed.

  Mr. Cushing cleared his throat. “I expect he bought it,” he said. “My uncle buys a great many gems, and not always at public auctions. There are many jewelers who know of his collection.”

  “There you are, Tamsyn,” Gryffyn said. “Lord Timothy has ensured your future, for you could always sell the brooch if need be.”

  Lady Tamsyn laughed prettily, for her future was clearly in no doubt given her betrothed’s wealth.

  Mr. Cushing cleared his throat. “I would venture to suggest that the man in question might be suspected to have been a Hambly for Uncle Timothy to believe the Eye of India belonged in your possession.”

  “How perfectly scandalous!” Lady Tamsyn said. “Who do you think it might have been?”

  They laughed lightly and began to speculate as the soup was brought in.

  After the soup had been served, Mr. Cushing leaned toward her. “I’m not surprised that the duke had a good look at the Eye of India.”

  “Indeed? Is he reputed to have a taste for gems, like your uncle?”

  “More than a taste, to be sure. There is said to be an avarice for them in his family.”

  “Truly?”

  “Truly. His sister Anthea was accused of being a thief and banished from polite society as a result.”

  “Oh! How horrible.”

  “It was horrible.” Mr. Cushing shook his head. “In her debut season, as well.”

  “What a ghastly thing. Was she guilty?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you said she was accused, not discovered to be guilty. It’s not quite the same thing.”

  He smiled at her indulgently, as if she were a child. “You take the side of a stranger?”

  “If it was her debut, I can’t imagine she would be scheming to steal gems. She would be too busy thinking about dance cards and eligible beaus and dresses.”

  Mr. Cushing seemed to find this a foolish view. “Nonetheless, she was accused and fled London for Scotland. Surely no one innocent would have done as much? That she would hurry home and never leave again indicates her guilt.”

  Daphne could well imagine that the duke’s sister might have left the city out of mortification, even at being so accused, not necessarily of guilt. “And was the gem found?”

  “No, but then they didn’t look at Airdfinnan.” Mr. Cushing nodded down the table. “The duke would not let anyone through the gates to search. Perhaps he knows where it is.”

  “I think it admirable that he defended his sister against rumor and innuendo,” Daphne said primly. She rather imagined that the duke might fight dragons for his sister and admired him for that.

  “It was not admirable if she was guilty. To harbor a thief is reprehensible.” Mr. Cushing shook his head. “And one does wonder how he comes by such wealth. It is said that he doesn’t owe so much as a shilling to any man.”

  Daphne straightened, finding much to admire in fiscal responsibility and knowing that it did not necessarily mean the duke funded his purchases with theft. She chose not to share her grandmother’s comment about the family declining to gamble.

  “Is that so uncommon, then?” she
asked, feigning ignorance of such matters.

  Mr. Cushing gave a bark of a laugh. “To me, it seems a miracle.”

  Yes, he might be the sort of man to live far beyond his own means. She smiled and ended the conversation, then turned to the cousin on her other side to ask about the wedding preparations.

  Daphne was not certain what awakened her.

  For once, it wasn’t her nightmare.

  It was the middle of the night, the room still dark. Eurydice snored, her breath rattling as if she too would take Jenny’s cold. That clock chimed in the distance.

  Three in the morning again, but this time, Daphne was not hungry.

  She felt rather than saw that there was another presence in the room. She couldn’t have named what alerted her to the intruder, a faint scent of cologne, perhaps, or a rustle of cloth. She kept her eyes closed, rolled over with a sigh and breathed as if she were asleep.

  She heard a footfall. Was it the duke? Even if he was the intruder, surely he was too honorable to assault a girl in her own room? Daphne was prepared to scream if a finger was laid upon her, even as she doubted her duke would act in such a way.

  She heard a click, like the closing of her trunk. She opened her eyes slightly and saw a wedge of moonlight as the door to the corridor was opened. She had the barest glimpse of a shadow passing through the door, then the door was closed and there was only the sound of Eurydice’s breathing.

  Who had been in their room?

  Why?

  Daphne waited until first light because she didn’t want to light a candle and risk awakening Eurydice. She slipped from her bed as quietly as possible and went to her trunk. It looked just as it had the night before and she wondered if she had dreamed of the intruder. She quietly opened her trunk and surveyed the contents in the dim light, then patted the folded chemises and petticoats.

  Her hand stilled over a hard shape that hadn’t been there before.

  It was an unfamiliar drawstring bag, made of deep blue velvet. Daphne’s mouth went dry. She cast a glance at Eurydice, then opened the bag, tipping its contents into her hand.

  It was the Eye of India.

  Panic rose hot in her chest as she stared at the gem.