A Christmas to Remember

by Lisa Kleypas

  Ivy knew that these plunger toilets had been around for decades, but they had not yet gained in popularity. Only the most affluent houses had them, and sometimes not even then. While she’d heard of them, this was Ivy’s first time seeing one in person.

  Rumor stated that the duke was a modern-thinking man and something of a scientist, naturalist, and mathematician. In fact, his latest Marriage Formula—it had been said—was designed to obliterate the need for courtship before marriage. His proposal had both intrigued the gentlemen of the ton and earned the disdain of the women.

  Ivy didn’t care a whit either way. Because, with all of Lady Cosgrove’s talk about chamber pots, Ivy was all too aware of her current state of discomfort. She shifted from one foot to the other and tried not to think of chamber pots. Of course, not thinking about chamber pots made her really think about chamber pots.

  “It would, however,” Lady Cosgrove continued, unwittingly and mercifully interrupting Ivy’s train of thought, “ease my mind somewhat to know where the washbasin was located.” Turning her back on the toilet, she gave it one last cursory flip of her fingers before stepping aside.

  The maid sighed in relief and gestured to the cabinet on the opposite side of the spacious dressing chamber. “Right this way, my lady.”

  Now that Ivy had an unobstructed view of the toilet, she realized it was far more oval-shaped than a cauldron. To her, it looked like a giant copper egg, hollowed out and served up on an ornate, curvaceous dish.

  “I’ve never seen one before,” Lilah said, sidling up to her. “It’s rather large and somewhat off-putting. Imagine stepping in here in the middle of the night. You might hit your leg on it and trip, bashing your head against the wall, while losing a slipper inside, and there it would go, down to . . . places unknown. Oh, but what if it did not go down all the way? Then it could be trapped and—”

  “You worry too much.” Ivy bumped Lilah’s shoulder with her own. Although understandingly, it was no wonder that Lilah worried, with all the weight on her shoulders, the urgent need to find a titled husband to satisfy the codicil to her father’s will. Still, Ivy was determined that her friend would enjoy the next week and find a husband, even in the unlikely instance of a ruined slipper.

  Lilah leaned forward on her toes and peered down into the shallow water as if it had been the great abyss. “Mother says that I haven’t been worrying enough. Which is precisely the reason I have begun to think of every terrible thing that could occur.”

  As they spoke, Lady Cosgrove finished perusing the cabinets and returned to the first bedchamber, maid in tow. The sound of other voices drifted into the dressing room, likely Lilah’s aunt directing the footmen where to place the luggage.

  “If you ask me, it’s all a matter of perception,” Ivy said, pointing toward the bowl. “Let’s say you do trip, bash your head, and lose a slipper.”

  Lilah straightened her spine and frowned. “Aren’t you supposed to be allaying my fears?”

  “Pfft,” Ivy said with a shooing motion of her hand. “Not when they are preposterous. Now play along. What is the worst thing that could happen?”

  “I don’t know, Ivy,” Lilah said on a breath, her exasperation clear in the way she lifted her brows, shoulders, and hands in one simultaneous twitch. “I suppose the worst thing would be that the duke would discover that I’ve ruined his plunger toilet with my slipper.”

  “Precisely.”

  Lilah’s slender brow furrowed. “And why are you grinning as if this would be good news?”

  “Because then the duke would notice you, obviously. Not only would he know your name and face but he would think of you every time he went to his own garderobe.” Ivy nodded in encouragement, only to have Lilah shake her head.

  “That is not how I would wish him to think of me.”

  Ivy dismissed her friend’s concern with a half shrug and a tilt of her head. “You could work on that later. Alter his perception.”

  Lilah sighed, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips. “You truly are incorrigible, you know.”

  “Surprisingly, that doesn’t discourage me in the least.” Ivy reached out and embraced her longtime friend.

  Then, suddenly, a twinge speared through her with great urgency. Ivy shifted. Standing back on her heels, she crossed one foot over the other. The second cup of tea forced her to study the toilet with an even more critical eye. “It appears sturdy enough, don’t you think? Far more resilient than a porcelain chamber pot. In fact, the more I think on it, this large copper egg makes perfect sense. It’s rather brilliant.”

  Of course, her judgment might have been influenced a bit by a need to use it tout de suite.

  “I quite agree, Miss Sutherland,” someone said from just outside the dressing room. “The Duke of Vale only wishes that the plunger toilet were his own invention.”

  Ivy turned to see the Dowager Duchess of Vale step through the archway. In that instant, Ivy realized that Lady Cosgrove had not been directing the footmen after all. Instead, she spoke with a gentleman who was partially hidden from view by the door. Ivy could not identify him from his profile. All she could glimpse from here was a crop of short, dark hair, the edge of a thick eyebrow, a well-formed ear, and the shadows lining the underside of his cheek and jaw.

  “Your Grace,” Ivy and Lilah said in unison to the dowager duchess, and each dipped into a curtsy. With Ivy’s legs still crossed, however, rising gracefully proved to be a challenge.

  “Miss Lilah Appleton,” the dowager duchess began, directing her smile to Lilah first. “I’m thrilled that your mother could spare you over the holiday for this party. I do believe you were introduced to my nephew at the Ruthersfield Ball last May.”

  In the exact moment that the dowager duchess said the word nephew, the gentleman in the other room inclined his head toward Lady Cosgrove and pivoted on his heel. Out of the corner of her eye, Ivy watched as Lilah bowed her head and dipped once more. However, quite inexplicably, the majority of Ivy’s attention fixed upon the Duke of Vale. His perfunctory gaze skimmed past the dowager duchess to Lilah, and he bowed his head once more.

  Strangely, Ivy couldn’t breathe. Her breath was caught somewhere between an inhale and an exhale, in the same manner that a sudden fierce wind stole one’s breath. Yet there was no breeze. There was, however, the rushing swish of her pulse in her ears. She couldn’t imagine what was causing this peculiar reaction.

  It certainly couldn’t have been due to her first glimpse of the duke. After all, he was not a handsome man. Not the way Jasper had been, with a face sculpted by angels and fleece-like waves of golden hair upon his head. No, the duke was too angular, as if forged by a blacksmith. His aquiline nose and square jaw were too harsh. His shoulders, too broad for his tall, narrow frame. In fact, if she were to trace his silhouette from head to toe, he would look exactly like one of those suits of armor in the hall.

  Yet there was something arresting about him. Something that kept her staring at him, waiting for the moment when his eyes would rest on hers. The notion, and the waiting, were as disconcerting as they were absurd.

  “And Miss Ivy Sutherland,” the dowager duchess continued, “I’m simply delighted by your presence, as well. You abandoned soirees and society all too soon, and I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of introducing you to my nephew.”

  “No, ma’am,” Ivy said, garbling the words as she fought to breathe properly. Then, expecting the exchange to follow immediately, Ivy dipped into a curtsy. Only she forgot that her legs were crossed and ended up teetering slightly. With all of her weight balanced on one foot, she wobbled. For an instant, she must have looked like a teapot tipping over. Or worse, she must have appeared a trifle disguised. Yet there was no polite way to explain her lack of grace. With the garderobe in such close proximity, she’d just as soon confess to imbibing spirits as say she’d drunk far too much tea.

  Needing an excuse, she quickly added, “Your Grace, please excuse my clumsiness. These slippers . . . er . . .
pinch.”

  Regrettably, between the words slippers and pinch, Ivy lifted her gaze from the duke’s camel-colored waistcoat and white cravat to his darkly intense eyes. Those eyes resembled two hematite stones and drew her in like a flake of iron to a blacksmith’s magnet. Those eyes, fringed with thick, black lashes, seemed to swallow any surrounding light, but while reflecting it at the same time. She felt as if she were wobbling again, or that the room was tilting beneath her feet. She did not like the sensation in the least. It made her impatient to end this introduction.

  Yet the duke said nothing, to either end it or begin it. Instead, he furrowed his brow and stared at Ivy as if she were a madwoman.

  “You are fortunate, indeed, Miss Sutherland,” the dowager duchess said, her voice sounding distant through the din in Ivy’s ears. “My nephew has invented a device to assist with such a problem. How serendipitous it is that you should have tightly fitting slippers.”

  Slippers. At once Ivy recalled her conversation with Lilah from a moment ago. The sole reason for attending the duke’s party was to find a husband for Lilah. And who better than their host? With great relief, an idea sprang to mind that would potentially rescue both her—from this dreadful situation—and Lilah—from being too easily forgotten by gentlemen, as she had in the past.

  “Then the fortunate one is Miss Appleton, because I’m wearing her slippers, ma’am,” Ivy said in a rush. Everyone knew that if you told a lie quickly, your voice wouldn’t waver and give you away. Not only that, but Ivy counted on Lilah’s good breeding to keep her secret. She knew that Lilah wouldn’t put forth an argument until they were alone. Even with this announcement, however, the duke’s gaze did not waver from Ivy’s. And oh, how she wished it would, because she remained ensnared by those magnets. “Miss Appleton has quite the inquisitive mind. I’m certain she would be delighted to see such an invention, sir.”

  The duke frowned. Then, from the doorway, a feminine throat cleared.

  “Forgive the interruption, ma’am, but you wished to know immediately if any circumstances arose that would require your attention,” said the woman, who was likely the housekeeper. “Lady Granworth has arrived.”

  The dowager duchess gasped. “How delightful! I must welcome her at once. And my dear Lady Cosgrove, as her relation, you must accompany me. I’m certain you are as curious as I about what prompted her return to society after so many years away.”

  “What a coup, Duchess! Not even I have been able to draw her out of Bath,” Lady Cosgrove exclaimed. “I daresay the tongues will wag, and you will be the envy of all.”

  “Zinnia, you flatter me,” the dowager duchess answered, adding a trill of laughter, “but I am not opposed to such an honor. No, indeed. And when Lady Harwick arrives, we shall all have tea in my sitting room and—Good gracious! I nearly forgot. Miss Appleton and Miss Sutherland, I regret to cut our visit short. I will see to it that a tea tray is brought up to your room at once.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Lilah said as she moved out of Ivy’s peripheral vision.

  Ivy parroted her friend, albeit distractedly, because she was still caught by the duke’s gaze. Even though it likely had been fewer than two minutes from when she’d first spotted his profile—and less than a minute since they’d been introduced—it felt like substantially more. Even more peculiarly, she’d apparently incurred his disapproval. She could think of no other reason why he would stare at her so intently.

  “Nephew,” the dowager duchess called from the other room, “I wonder if you would be so good as to accompany us?”

  Then, without any hint that he’d heard his aunt at all, the duke brusquely nodded his head, turned, and strode out of the room.

  The moment the door clicked shut, Ivy doubled over, clutching her middle as she fought for breath and balance.

  “The fortunate one is Miss Appleton because I’m wearing her slippers? Miss Appleton has quite the inquisitive mind?” Lilah scoffed as she stormed into view. Coming to a sudden halt, the hem of her fawn redingote swirled around her ankles, revealing the unpolished toes of her half boots. “We both know those are your slippers on your feet. In addition, I haven’t the least desire to see the duke’s slipper-stretcher.”

  “Whyever not?” Having caught her breath, Ivy straightened and hurriedly moved toward the garderobe. “I think the invention sounds interesting.”

  “Of the two of us, you are the inquisitive one. After all, you were the one who wanted to see how fast the gardener’s flower cart would roll down the hill . . . with you inside of it, no less.”

  Ivy closed the door and started to lift her redingote and skirts, talking to Lilah from the other side. “I was twelve years old. Of course I wanted to know how fast the cart would roll. Besides, Jasper dared me. And I don’t recall hearing your words of warning before I climbed in it—only your peals of laughter.”

  Oh! Ivy gasped as her backside and legs met the cold toilet. Then . . . nothing happened. That demanding second cup of tea was being stubborn. After trying for so long to stay clenched, she was now facing the real possibility that she’d forgotten how to unclench.

  “Shortly thereafter, we all knew better,” Lilah said, the annoyance fading from her tone. “You were lying in a heap on the ground, your head bleeding from the stone that you hit. Even my brother was frightened.”

  “Don’t be dead, Ivy. Don’t be dead,” the thirteen-year-old Jasper had whispered over and over as he’d knelt beside her in the grass. “I promise I’ll never dare you to do another foolish thing as long as we live. Just don’t be dead.”

  The moment Ivy had opened her eyes and seen the worried tears streaking through the dirt on his cheeks, she’d fallen in love with him. She’d known right then that she would never love anyone else the way she’d loved Jasper. And until he’d died three years ago, she’d done everything she could to prove it to him. Sadly, it had never been enough.

  She sighed, weary from thinking about how difficult it had been to pretend that she was careful and perfect for all those years. That was over now. She needn’t worry about garnering anyone’s approval in order to appear marriageable, because she wasn’t going to marry. She wasn’t even going to worry about what the duke might think of her. All that mattered was what he thought of Lilah.

  “At least our introduction was a success,” Ivy said, her voice echoing around her. “Surely the duke will think of you often.”

  Lilah laughed with more mockery than mirth. “Indeed, whenever his shoes pinch. Such is the dream of every debutante.”

  “Then we shall wish ill-fitting shoes upon him for the duration of the party.” Ivy grinned, and with that thought, felt at ease for the first time since meeting the duke. Perhaps her reaction to him had been nothing more than a product of an overactive imagination and that second cup of tea.

  NORTHCLIFF BROMLEY KNEW he wasn’t going mad. There was no record of insanity in his lineage. His own parents had been of sound mind. While he had no siblings to provide further study, his cousins were seemingly reasonable individuals. Even his uncle, from whom he’d inherited the dukedom, had been perfectly sane.

  Knowing this, however, did not explain why his logical mind had suddenly abandoned him. Or why his thoughts were as unpredictable as a wooden cube tripping down a spiral staircase.

  Alone in his private study, he flattened his hands on his desk and glared down at the ledgers spread before him. Not one of them held the answer.

  “Nephew, have you heard a single word I’ve said?”

  North jerked his head up at the sound of his aunt’s voice. He glanced around to find the room virtually the same as it always was, in orderly disorder. Towers of books teetered on tables. Unfiled patent papers were strewn about. Gadgets, inventions, and more books littered the shelves. There was a rather comfortable chair and hassock beside the hearth, but it was currently serving as the foundation for a scale bridge he was designing for the stream that cut through his land. Most importantly, however, the door to his small sanctuary
was closed. It was always closed because he did not like interruptions when he was thinking. Yet for some reason, his aunt was now standing on the opposite side of his desk, and he hadn’t heard her approach.

  “Aunt Edith, how long have you been in here?”

  “I’ve been scolding you for the past five minutes,” she answered, the fine wrinkles around her mouth drawn tight as she pursed her lips. Her silver-lashed eyes flashed in annoyance.

  Since she rarely scolded him, and rarely disturbed him in his study, he supposed he owed her the courtesy of listening. At least for a moment. “Pray tell, what have I done to earn this reprimand?”

  “Weren’t you listening?” She tsked, glaring at him. Then, on a heavy exhale, she shook her elaborately coiffed head in a manner that suggested she’d answered her own question. “I’ve never seen you so distracted as you were when we met with Juliet Granworth earlier. Not to mention, directly before that, you were quite rude to Miss Appleton and Miss Sutherland.”

  “Rude? I’ve never been rude in my life.” He followed the rules of society with exactitude. In fact, he engaged in most introductions by rote, all the proper words spilling from his lips without fail, even while his mind was engaged elsewhere. To him, most people fit into two categories: dull or wholly uninteresting. During these introductions, he allowed his mind to move on to matters of estate business, familial obligations, weekly schedules, and, more importantly, to ideas for inventions.

  “You didn’t say a word to either of those young women,” Edith claimed.

  “Of course I did.” With a father who had been ostracized from the family because he’d married a commoner, North had encountered opposition when his late uncle, the former Duke of Vale, had named him as the heir apparent. Since the duke had had no children of his own, no surviving brothers, and North was the eldest of the nephews, the title had naturally fallen to him. Even so, North had always felt the need to prove that he was the rightful heir. Therefore, his manners were always impeccable.