The Spinster's Christmas

by Camille Elliot

  However, the two women sitting next to him affected to have no interest in dancing. Miss Church-Pratton was charming, but he noticed that the conversation invariably circled round to herself or something related to herself. Miss Barnes was not so self-centred—she asked him question upon question about his life and interests and thought everything he did was wonderful.

  Gerard felt trapped in more ways than one. He used to love dancing. He hadn’t been terribly good at it, but he had enjoyed it. He enjoyed watching it much, much less.

  His knee ached as if to remind him, You’re landlocked, my boy.

  “Such a crush,” Miss Church-Pratton said. “I am sure Felicity is thrilled at the attendance, but I prefer a smaller, more select party, myself.”

  “Did you attend any balls, Captain Foremont?” Miss Barnes asked. “I am sure you must have been quite popular.”

  He thought of his men, shirtless, dancing a jig on the upper deck. “Quite a few balls, I daresay.”

  He looked up suddenly and saw Miranda across the room. She was not looking at him, but appeared to be searching the ballroom for someone. When she saw him, she smiled slightly, then her gaze slid to the two ladies with him.

  And he knew in that instant that he would not be feeling this way if Miranda were sitting next to him instead.

  Then someone walked into his line of sight and he could see her no longer.

  “I much prefer sitting here with you, Captain Foremont,” Miss Church-Pratton said. “The young country folk whom Felicity was forced to invite are so exuberant when they dance. The men quite crush one’s dress.”

  “I am sure you would never do so, Captain,” Miss Barnes said.

  He thought of excusing himself on the grounds that he saw his mother signaling to him, but for the small problem that his mother was not in the ballroom and the fear that the two women would insist upon accompanying him to her.

  Rescue came in the unlikely person of Lady Wynwood.

  “Miss Barnes,” Lady Wynwood said, “your mother may need your assistance in the drawing room. She is partnered with Mrs. Seager at Whist and is so frustrated that she looks as though she might wring her neck.”

  “Oh, goodness.” Miss Barnes hurried off to prevent her parent from committing murder.

  Lady Wynwood settled into her vacated seat. “Miss Church-Pratton, Captain Foremont, lovely ball is it not? It puts me in mind of one I attended during my come-out in London. I was thrilled to be asked to dance by the most handsome boy in the room—Lord Kellerton, before he lost all his lovely golden hair and contracted the pox from his mistress.”

  Gerard choked, and Miss Church-Pratton looked scandalized. Lady Wynwood was up to some sort of trick.

  “I had enhanced my décolletage with some, er, strategically tucked muslin. We were engaged in a lively country dance, when a piece of muslin became untucked. You can imagine my consternation, Miss Church-Pratton. How to explain the unevenness of one’s bosom?”

  Lady Wynwood stopped and looked expectantly at Miss Church-Pratton, obviously waiting for a response. The young lady actually gulped and said weakly, “Indeed.”

  Gerard was forced to look away, his face flaming, unsure if he would perish from embarrassment or break a rib from holding in his laughter. He saw Miranda again. She was still looking for someone, her gloved hand fingering the paste stones at her throat that made her eyes glow like real emeralds. Compared to the more richly dressed women, she looked fresh and unspoiled, and more lovely.

  But then Felicity appeared, her mouth pinched. She gripped Miranda by the elbow and dragged her out of the ballroom.

  Gerard tensed, and realized he had been about to rise to go after her, rudely leaving Lady Wynwood and Miss Church-Pratton. Something about Miranda made him want to throw off all the conventions of polite society.

  “Look at Mrs. Drew, glaring daggers at me,” Lady Wynwood said. “She and my mother are mortal enemies, did you know?”

  “If your mother is anything like yourself, I find it hard to believe anyone could dislike her,” Gerard said.

  “Oh, you rogue.” Lady Wynwood squeezed his arm. “A year or two ago, at a rout, she and my mother had such a row that Mrs. Drew began waving her cane about, and she popped a poor young man between the legs.”

  Miss Church-Pratton made a strangled sound. Her face had turned a dark puce color that clashed with her pink dress. She plied her fan frenetically and her gaze darted about the ballroom with desperation.

  The country dance ended, and a young man approached, one of the squire’s sons. He was a stout lad, full of his own consequence and certain he was the catch of the county. “Miss Church-Pratton, are you free for the next dance?”

  “Yes.” She nearly dragged him out to form one of the sets.

  “Good gracious,” Lady Wynwood said. “I thought I would need to start reciting the contents of my linen closet before she would leave.”

  Gerard turned his guffaw into a cough. “She probably would have remained if you had spoken of something so tame as your linen closet.”

  “Young people these days are so starched up. We were much more scandalous in my time, I assure you. That was quite entertaining. I am so glad Miranda sent me to you.”

  Miranda had known exactly how to rescue him. Gerard was grateful to her, and yet also a bit ashamed because he had not been able to help her in her acute time of need.

  “I have spoken to your mother, Gerard,” Lady Wynwood said. “I believe she may be more concerned about Miranda’s status as a single young woman living under your roof.”

  The ballroom grew suddenly stifling. “I offered to move to Foremont Lacy.”

  “It is too near.” Lady Wynwood regarded him shrewdly. He feared for a moment that she would bring up his marital plans, but she apparently changed her mind. “I shall speak to her again. We must not give up hope. Now, help me to the sofa in the drawing room. Miss Barnes’s chair is terribly uncomfortable.”

  “You could have ordered Miss Church-Pratton to relinquish her seat rather than Miss Barnes,” he said with a smile.

  “I chose Miss Barnes because it was easier to send her away,” Lady Wynwood said as Gerard took her arm and helped her to her feet. “Miss Church-Pratton is remarkably stubborn. Just like her mother. One day I shall tell you all about it.”

  He gave her his arm, and she entertained him with disreputable stories about herself and others, which he was not entirely certain were truthful, until they walked between the open double doors to the drawing room and he deposited her upon a sofa. “May I fetch anything for you, my lady?”

  “No. I shall send one of my young cousins to procure me a cup of wassail and add a splash more sherry to it. One of them is sure to know where Cecil keeps his secret cache.”

  Gerard obliged her by signaling to one of Mrs. Hathaway’s sons to attend to her before he returned to the ballroom. As he did, he noticed Felicity returning to the room, her face the mask of the gracious hostess, but without Miranda. He waited, but she did not appear behind Felicity.

  The dance was nearing its end, and he did not wish to be trapped again by Miss Church-Pratton, so he quickly exited the room to search for Miranda. He had not looked forward to the ball, although he was obliged to attend, and he had not predicted the company of Miss Church-Pratton, whom he had assumed would dance with all the young men. He would rather speak to Miranda. And then perhaps he would retire rather than watching the rest of the dancing.

  He looked down the hallway outside the ballroom, but at first he saw no one. Then he peered into the shadows at the end of the hallway, and saw a figure leaning against the wall. He headed toward her.

  It was only when he drew near that he realized something was wrong. Her hand over her stomach trembled. Her face was whiter than the painted walls.

  “Miranda.”

  She saw him, and something in her eyes made him think of the faces of men who were drowning.

  He strode forward, his cane dropping to the ground, and he folded her in
his arms.

  CHAPTER NINE

  At first, Miranda was too startled and too distraught to think. She could only feel. The fine wool of his coat against her cheek, his hand at her waist, the other at her back, pressing her close. The smell of mint, and somehow, the wildness of the sea.

  A sudden burst of women’s laughter from the open door to the ballroom down the hallway made them both jump apart. And yet even out of his embrace, Miranda still felt … anchored.

  She couldn’t look at him. He would see her pain, scraped raw by too many months in this house, and her desperation as she tried to snatch at the unraveling threads of who she was.

  “What is it, Miranda?”

  She simply shook her head.

  The music from the ballroom drifted to them, lilting strains in counterpoint to laughter and gaiety. She felt more detached from life than she ever had before, standing here in the hallway while her family and neighbors danced and enjoyed themselves. Even if she were not unhappy, that sort of society was not hers. She was too different to ever belong.

  Gerard picked up his cane, seized her hand, and pulled her down the hallway, away from the ballroom.

  “What are you doing?” she hissed.

  “Neither of us wishes to be anywhere near that.” He tilted his head back towards the open doorway, and she heard the bitter edge in his voice. When she had seen him in the ballroom earlier, he had clearly been annoyed by his two female companions, but his gaze had also strayed to the dancers. Even at fourteen years old, he had loved romping around the dance floor with the Belmoore cousins. She knew that sitting with Miss Church-Pratton and Miss Barnes had been difficult for him in more ways than one.

  So she let him drag her down the hallway to the servants’ stairs at the back. They exited from the side door and skirted the house to the formal gardens.

  The night sky was dark with the new moon, but Felicity had arranged for lanterns and torches to light the gardens, perhaps to dissuade guests from scandalous behaviour by attempting to illuminate any dark corners. She needn’t have worried because the air was too sharp for any to venture from the overheated ballroom.

  Gerard led her next to a bright torch burning in a stand at the edge of the garden, so that the warmth from the fire kept them from shivering in the cold air. Above them and to their left came the sounds from the ballroom, but directly above them and to their right, all was darkness and quiet on the long, deserted balcony.

  “It is too cold, Gerard.” Then she wished she hadn’t spoken because he removed his tailcoat, which sat loosely upon his shoulders, and draped it around her. It held his warmth and his scent, and she felt he was embracing her again.

  “You mustn’t.” She was both scandalized and intrigued to see him in his waistcoat and shirtsleeves.

  “After years at sea, the cold does not affect me as it once did.” Indeed, he wasn’t even shivering. “Do you remember that Christmas I found you alone in the woods? I gave you my coat then, also.”

  “And then, as now, I had wanted to be alone,” she said with a hint of steel.

  “You said you wished to be alone, but then you confessed that Cecil had called you a lackwit, and so I darkened his daylights for him.”

  “Of course you would remember that.” Eight-year-old Gerard had been grinning and Cecil had been crying as they tussled on the front lawn.

  “Whose daylights shall I darken for you now? Felicity’s?”

  “Oh Gerard, do not speak nonsense.”

  “What did she say to you?”

  “It is silly.” She swallowed. “She was embarrassed by my dress. And my necklace. She expressed herself better than I expected—she said that she had not realized I had no appropriate attire this year for the ball or she would have given me one of her old gowns, but it was too late now. She didn’t wish me to return to the ballroom because one or two of the local women had been whispering about me.”

  “How dared she?” The cold would certainly not bother him now—he was on fire with indignation. “You are her responsibility.”

  “I was hurt because I quite like my gown,” Miranda said. “It is my favourite.”

  There was a pause, then he suddenly gave a reluctant low laugh. “Miranda, you always know what to say to diffuse my temper.”

  “Not always. You still engaged in fisticuffs with Cecil.”

  “I don’t like the way they treat you.”

  A part of her was comforted by his words, but another part of her was frustrated by him, because she didn’t understand why he was acting like this. “Why would you care how they treat me?”

  He was surprised by her question. “Because it is all so unjust.”

  “There is a great deal of injustice in this world, Gerard.”

  “I cannot stand by and do nothing.” He flinched, as if remembering something, then added, “At dinner, I should have … If I had been …”

  “Gerard, you feel guilt for things which have nothing to do with you.” It was making it more difficult for her to distance her feelings from him. She removed his coat to hand it to him, and the cold sliced through her gown. “You must return.”

  He shrugged it back on with her help, but then he took her hand. Even through their gloves, she felt his warmth.

  “I feel as though I am still at sea and need a war to fight,” he said.

  “You are already helping me. I shall leave Wintrell Hall with you and your parents, and then I shall go to Cousin Laura’s home.” She did not tell him that she would try to find a position. She did not wish to be dependent even upon Cousin Laura. “I am not your war, Gerard.”

  “I know that, but …” His fingertips touched her face. In the light from the torch, he looked confused.

  She didn’t want him to be confused, because it only made her feel more confused. She closed her eyes and turned her cheek away. “Gerard—”

  He took her chin, angling it back toward him, and then he was kissing her.

  It was everything she had always dreamed it would be, and even better. His mouth was firm, and his hand snaked around her waist to the small of her back, pulling her closer to him. He kissed her as though she were precious to him, as though she meant something to him.

  It was the first time she had been kissed. In all her girlhood, she had not been inclined to allow any boy such liberties while she yet pined for the young man away at sea, and as she grew older, the number of boys who wanted to kiss her had dwindled.

  But those had been girlish fantasies, and she was now older and wiser. And no matter how she might wish it, this was no longer that idealized young man.

  She pulled away just as he did. “Gerard.”

  “I beg your pardon, Miranda.” He looked shocked at his own behaviour. “I ought not to have … I respect you a great deal …”

  She drew upon all her strength, her deepest calm. “It was a mistake, easily forgotten.” She shivered. “We must go inside. I am cold.”

  “Of course.” He offered her his arm and led the way back to the servants’ door.

  The silence was awkward, and he broke it to say, “In the ballroom, you looked as though you were searching for someone.”

  “Mrs. Peterson.”

  “The rector’s wife?”

  “I wish to ask her if she knows of any families in need of a companion or governess. In the event that you and Cousin Laura cannot convince your mother to allow me to accompany Ellie.”

  He opened his mouth, but then closed it without speaking. Then he said, “You cannot speak to Mrs. Peterson tonight. She left an hour ago. The rector was feeling ill.”

  “Oh.” And Miranda had spent that time looking for her, bringing herself to Felicity’s notice. She would find a moment to go to the rectory tomorrow.

  She felt Gerard’s arm stiffen under her fingers, and that was all the warning she was given before they attacked.

  Two men peeled themselves from the shadows, one on either side of them. Miranda gasped, then berated herself for not screaming to alert the serv
ants as the man closest to her lunged for her. The other man swung a meaty fist at Gerard.

  But Gerard ducked to avoid the blow and his cane came up to slash at the man. The attacker just barely avoided the tip of the cane connecting with his temple.

  Miranda’s attacker had grabbed her hard around the waist. Her corset was not tightly laced, but it prevented her from twisting out of his grasp and it made it hard for her to draw breath for a scream. She tried to shout but it sounded feeble, and the man clamped a calloused, dirt-smeared hand over her mouth. She smelled grime and rotting meat, and gagged.

  She kicked at him, but her slippers caused scant damage to his boot-encased legs. Flailing her arms only made him grunt and squeeze her waist more tightly. She couldn’t breathe, and her vision began to darken at the edges.

  She then thought to bite at the finger nearest her mouth. She tasted blood and dirt.

  The man cried out and pulled his hand away. She drew the largest breath she could, and screamed. Her attacker stiffened.

  Gerard did not stop battling the other man. He wielded his cane like a sword, jabbing and swinging it in almost invisible arcs. But then a misstep on the flagstones caused his knee to wobble, and he stumbled.

  His attacker saw his weakened knee and kicked at it.

  Gerard cried out, the sound ringing off the outside walls of the house and the tall windows on the first floor. His face tight with pain, he fell to the ground. The man kicked at his knee again but missed, his boot sliding off Gerard’s shin.

  Miranda had been kicking backward with her feet, at first hampered by her gown. Then her heel swung up and connected with something soft.

  The man dropped her abruptly, and she tumbled to the ground. He clutched between his legs, his round face contorted with rage. He aimed a kick at her, but it was feeble and she rolled to avoid it.

  Suddenly the servants’ door opened and two footmen ran out into the garden. They caught sight of the two men and shouted.

  The attackers fled, using the shadows of the trees and bushes to disappear into the night. One of the footmen ran after them, but the other went to Miranda.