His Mistletoe Marchioness

by Georgie Lee

  ‘And what of Vauxhall? I’ve heard wicked things about what takes place along the dark paths there.’

  ‘It’s a nunnery compared to Hookham’s. The people perusing their prints will taint any respectable woman.’

  She crossed her hands in her laps in decision. ‘Then I must go there for I’m in desperate need of a new novel to read.’

  ‘Make sure it is a very bad one for you want to keep up with the latest fashion.’

  ‘I’ll make sure it is one of the worst,’ she assured him with a wink.

  It was then Hugh happened to notice the interest that Lord Westbook took in their conversation. He sat on the far side of the card table closest to them, deep in conversation with Lady Fulton who sat on his left. While they spoke, Lord Westbook took in Hugh with a scrutiny that Hugh would have demanded Lord Westbook explain if they were in his club in St. James’s. Here, he allowed the overly curious and condemning look to stand, not wanting to create any more trouble for Clara than he might have already caused by sitting beside her longer than precedence and dinner demanded.

  If she was aware of Lord Westbook’s interest in them, she made no indication of it, taking in instead the selection of rich desserts laid out on the table in front of them by a footman in the Tillmans’ blue and gold livery. One could always count on indulging at Stonedown.

  ‘You’re not having any?’ Clara noticed he didn’t make a move for the food while she selected a plate along with a few tempting treats.

  Hugh glanced at her, then the assortment and then Lord Westbook, catching him and Lady Fulton watching both Hugh and Clara from the corners of their eyes. As much as he wished to stay here and enjoy a custard along with more of Clara, he suspected it was time for him to leave. They’d made a great deal of progress today. He was loath to have a bunch of busybodies ruin it.

  ‘I don’t think I will. In fact, it’s time for me to retire.’

  ‘Already?’ She gasped with no small amount of genuine surprise. ‘What would people in London say if they saw you going to bed before midnight?’

  ‘That I’m preparing for a dawn duel.’ This made her smile again, the sight of it warming him more than the raging fire in the grate. ‘Goodnight, Lady Kingston.’

  To his silent delight, disappointment at losing his company whispered across her face. ‘Goodnight, Lord Delamare.’

  He didn’t rise, but continued to regard her as she did him, and the room and all the people surrounding them seemed to disappear. If he touched his lips to hers, she would raise her hand to his cheek, press herself against him and surrender to the need flooding them both. It was there in her wide eyes and parted lips, in the way she leaned forward on the one hand, resting on the brocade between them, and tilted her head up to him, inviting him to come closer. If he did, she would be his again. All he need do was slide over and press his hip against hers as he slid his arm around her back. He laid his hand on the cushion, his fingertips achingly close to hers, every muscle in his body tight with the desire to touch her, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t. They weren’t alone.

  Instead, he pulled his hand away and rose, offering her a bow, a temporary farewell before turning and denying himself the sight of her. With each step that carried him away from her, he fought the urge to return by reminding himself that there was tomorrow and more time. He would not make the same mistake as before and rush at her like some starstruck boy. Instead, he would employ patience like a proper gentleman. With her taking her first steps back into society after the seclusion of her widowhood, he didn’t wish to command all her attention, but to give her a chance to decide and choose, and himself a chance to prove that he deserved her affection and attention. The spark of something had flared between them and there was plenty of time to coax it into roaring fire, assuming it didn’t find a reason to flare out.

  * * *

  Clara watched Hugh go, missing his humour and companionship before he’d even stepped out of the door. For a little while tonight, the boy she’d known at Winsome, the one she’d fallen in love with at Stonedown had been beside her. With him, she’d felt a little more like the carefree young woman she’d once been and not the mourning matron. Without him, the unease that his conversation and teasing had kept at bay slowly began to return. She glanced at the cushion and the imprint of his hand lingering there and traced it with one finger, making the feathers beneath the fabric shift until the outline and the warmth of him began to fade. What remained was the craving for Hugh that had enveloped her when they’d sat so close. There’d been more than friendship in his eyes when she’d thought he would lean forward and take her hand and kiss her.

  Kiss me, indeed. She smoothed what remained of the imprint out of the cushion and sat up straight. He wasn’t about to be so bold in a room full of people, nor would she have allowed it, except she would have. Apparently, she’d been without a man for too long if she were so eager to kiss the first one who showed any interest in her. Lady Pariston would say there was only one remedy for it, but Clara feared the cure would be worse than the illness and she wasn’t about to throw away any chance of proving that she’d changed by potentially making the same mistake twice. Only she wondered if the mistake was in letting Hugh go.

  She looked at the door where he’d disappeared through, tempted to rise and go after him when movement along the edge of her vision made her turn. Anne, who couldn’t hide her delight behind her hand of cards, was watching her, as was Lady Pariston, who nodded with approval. However, it was Lady Fulton’s smug smile and Lord Westbook’s scrutiny that jerked Clara out of her daydreams and back into the sitting room.

  She was doing it again, being careless in her regard for Hugh in front of everyone and risking another public humiliation.

  He wouldn’t do that to me again, or would he? She didn’t know. Whoever he’d been in London, that man was not the one she’d been with during the scavenger hunt or at dinner or just now, but the London one remained behind him like a shadow, clouding her view of him.

  There’s no reason to rush into any decision, either for or against him, she reminded herself, rising to join one of the card games and to stop everyone from staring at her and speculating. She would keep her before-dinner vow to be careful and watch and observe him, to have the patience to draw out the truth about Hugh, good or bad. Her mind hoped it would be bad and then she could walk away proud of herself for having avoided any pitfalls, but her heart had other ideas, ones she was afraid to admit even to herself.

  Chapter Six

  Thick shafts of morning sunlight streamed in through the large windows lining the upstairs hall of Stonedown Manor. Clara moved through each of these warm patches, ignoring the magnificent views of the winter countryside surrounding the manor outside. She held on tight to the banister while she descended the stairs, far more awake than expected after a night spent tossing and turning while she worked to untangle the mess of thoughts she held about Hugh until, exhausted by the effort, she’d finally fallen asleep. The bliss of unconsciousness had been short lived and she’d awakened long before sunrise to mull over again all the things discussed yesterday. She’d forced herself to stay in bed until the sun had at last peeked through the heavy curtains and the maid had entered to light the fire. Then she’d taken her time dressing, all the while trying to pretend that she didn’t want to hurry downstairs and see Hugh again. She’d dreaded her first morning here and encountering him. This morning, she longed for more laughter and jokes and the excitement of whatever the Tillmans had planned. This wasn’t at all how she wished to be. She wanted to be rational and calm, cool headed and logical where Hugh was concerned, and she was being everything but. Even now when it should make no difference to her whether he was below stairs or still in his room she had to struggle not to race to the dining room and see if he was there and how things might be between them today.

  As she approached the dining room, she forced her racing heart to still
with each step that drew her closer to breakfast and possibly Hugh. She didn’t wish to walk in and beam at him like the smitten ten-year-old who’d followed him around Winsome during his first visit, her head full of fanciful dreams that he might notice her. She was too refined a lady to behave like that, although at times last night she’d wondered if she was as refined as she believed. When he’d sat with her on the sofa she’d felt very much like that smitten ten-year-old and had almost behaved like one.

  Blast all this nonsense. She paused at the dining-room door, pushed back her shoulders and strode in like a marchioness.

  The instant she crossed the threshold she realised how futile worrying about Hugh had been. He wasn’t there. None of the men were present except for Lord Westbook, who sat at the far end of the table beside Lady Fulton enjoying his eggs and ham. It was a stark reminder of why Clara shouldn’t allow herself to be carried away when it came to Hugh. If he was half as excited to see her as she’d been to see him he would have been here waiting for her.

  Shoving down her disappointment, Clara offered greetings to those seated at the table before making her way to the sideboard, far more reserved in her movements than she’d been before she’d entered, but no less agitated. She looked over the selection of food in the chafing dishes, but her stomach was too knotted for her to choose more than a slice of toast. She should be glad that Hugh wasn’t here for it spared her the effort of being in the same room with him and pretending at indifference. She wished she really was indifferent. She was tired of her emotions bouncing around like an overeager puppy.

  ‘Ah, Lady Kingston, good morning.’ Lord Westbook stepped up beside her at the sideboard and refilled his plate. It was amazing he was so slender given how much food he ate. ‘Come and sit with me for a while. It’s been ages since we’ve spoken.’

  He wasn’t exactly the man she wished to speak to this morning, or any morning for that matter, and she cast him a sideways glance, wondering why he was suddenly so interested in her and why he was the only man in the dining room. ‘Where are the rest of the gentlemen?’

  She could guess why he was interested in her.

  ‘They decided to take advantage of the morning sun to enjoy a ride. Most don’t think the good weather will last and we’ll have snow by Christmas. Not being much of a rider myself, I decided to remain indoors.’

  This gave Clara a touch of hope as she set her plate at an empty seat at the table and waited for the footman to pull out her chair. If all the gentlemen were eager to ride, Hugh couldn’t have been expected to remain behind with the ladies like Lord Westbook. She would see him again shortly, for the men were sure to return before the end of breakfast to fortify themselves for whatever event Lord and Lady Tillman had planned next. Clara sat down, amazed when Lord Westbook took the open place beside her. Lady Fulton was still at the table and would make him a better dining partner than Clara.

  ‘How are you finding Lord Delamare? Is your pairing successful?’ he asked, leaning too far over the arm of the chair and taking much more interest in her answer than politeness dictated.

  ‘It is going well.’ She scraped some butter over her toast, littering the china with crumbs. ‘And your pairing with Lady Fulton?’

  ‘Splendid, of course.’ He flicked his hand as if waving away a fly, making it clear it was not his pairing he wished to discuss when he lowered his hand to the arm of his chair and leaned closer, dropping his voice. ‘But I’m concerned about you.’

  ‘Are you now?’ she answered between bites of her toast, wishing he’d go away.

  ‘I was here during that awful business between the two of you last time when we all thought he would declare for you. How embarrassing it must have been when he left so abruptly and then announced his engagement to Lady Hermione.’

  She worked to choke down the dry toast. His desire to make sure she remembered her embarrassment was irritating, especially with Lady Fulton watching them. She resisted the urge to dump her plate of crumbs in his lap and tell him a thing or two about his manners. Instead, she took another bite of toast with all the dainty disregard for him and his comment that she could muster. ‘That was a long time ago, Lord Westbook, and I’ve quite forgotten most of it.’

  ‘Yes, but I fear Lord Delamare may be up to his old games.’

  His sugary caring, so different from Hugh’s genuine concern, made her stomach twist. ‘You have nothing to worry about on my account.’

  ‘But I do. I’ve known you too long not to be worried, especially with you being a widow—my condolences on your loss.’ He laid a long-fingered hand over his heart, his signet ring clinking against one of the buttons on his waistcoat. Clara offered a terse nod in acceptance which gave him leave to continue in his present vein while she tried to contrive some way to politely extricate herself from this conversation.

  She glanced across the table to Anne, who’d come in and taken a seat and who watched their exchange with incredulous curiosity. Clara knew the minute she shook free of this troublesome man, Anne would sweep her away to find out what he’d wanted. Good, for she needed a distraction both from thinking of Hugh and fuming over Lord Westbook’s insolence.

  ‘I realise that things are more permissible than a number of years ago,’ Lord Westbook continued, ‘but I want to warn you about indulging in all the delights of a house party. Lord and Lady Tillman, like most hosts, are quite tolerant of, how shall I say it, unorganised nocturnal activities, but it doesn’t mean everyone else is.’

  Clara dropped the half-eaten toast on her plate, unwilling to endure any more of this insufferable man and all his unwanted and lewd suggestions. ‘Lord Westbook, we are not on familiar enough terms for my delight in a house party to be any of your affair.’

  She moved to rise, but he placed a staying hand on her arm. ‘I don’t mean to be rude, Lady Kingston, but if you’d heard the things I have about Lord Delamare, you would be far less congenial to him than you are at present.’

  Clara said nothing, curiosity getting the better of her and keeping her in her seat.

  Lord Westbook glanced around to make sure no one was listening before he spoke in a low voice, taking her silence for an invitation to continue. ‘For a number of months, Lord Delamare was involved with Lady Frances, a young window much like yourself who is well known in London. Despite a great deal of speculation, no marriage proposal was forthcoming when both were free to take their pleasures legally, as one might say, and to protect the future, of, how shall I put it, any consequences of their liaison. He didn’t, but broke with her six months ago, casting a serious shadow on her reputation. His reputation did not suffer for with his carrying on with more than a few actresses, much like his grandfather used to do, his behaviour was nothing more than what people expected of him. His one saving grace is not having gone into debt which ruins so many men, but this one admirable trait does not make up for the rest.’

  Clara wasn’t sure which disgusted her more, hearing his frank discussion of other people’s intimate lives or the unpleasant details that Lord Westbook provided about Hugh. She’d heard a number of stories about Hugh, but nothing about him having a mistress. It wouldn’t be difficult to discreetly learn whether or not everything he’d told her about Hugh and Lady Frances was real or one of Lord Westbook’s exaggerations. Sadly, the sinking in the pit of her stomach practically answered the question for her. She’d left Hugh last night with a greatly raised opinion of him, but it was wilting fast in the face of Lord Westbook’s story. It lifted the veil from her eyes and helped her to see the situation as it was not as she wanted it to be. His actions were defining him more than any of his words ever could.

  ‘I’m sorry if what I said upsets you, but I remember your parents with great fondness and I’d hate to see you fall prey again to a man like Lord Delamare,’ Lord Westbook explained.

  Whatever Lord Westbook’s motives for speaking to her, she couldn’t remain here, not with Lady
Fulton watching them and making heaven knew what of it. Clara could well imagine. She thought Hugh’s absence had spared her any difficulties this morning, but instead it had made them far worse.

  She set her napkin on the table beside her meagre and half-eaten breakfast, careful to show nothing of the turmoil inside of her as she faced him. ‘Thank you for your concern, Lord Westbook, but I assure you I am quite adept at fending off false offers of friendship.’

  She rose and this time he didn’t stop her. In a daze, she left the room, but instead of going up, she wandered to the library, needing time to think over what he’d said and how she would deal with it. The Hugh that Lord Westbook had described was not the man who’d been with her at the sundial or the one who’d sat beside her at dinner and afterwards and who’d looked on her with an admiration she hadn’t seen since she’d walked down the aisle to meet Alfred. He was a gentleman who’d cared only for his own pleasures and concerns in London, heedless of the damage it did to the woman he was with. If she were not careful she might become like that woman, for if Hugh had seen no reason to marry Lady Frances after dallying with her so that all of London was aware of it, then he wasn’t likely to offer for Clara should anything develop between them.

  Nothing will develop between us, especially not after hearing this news. She had more self-respect than to lower herself in such a manner, especially when Hugh would be free to walk away from her again, especially if any consequences should arise from their liaison. She longed for a child of her own, but she would not make it a bastard.

  She paced back and forth across the large rug in the centre of the room, annoyed that her holiday should be plagued by this nonsense. Hugh wasn’t why she was here. She wanted to have fun and enjoy herself, not be bogged down in all this fretting and worrying. She’d done enough of that in the days leading up to Alfred’s death and afterwards when she’d been bereft of a husband, a place, all her dreams for a family of her own and lost and lonely. Except Hugh had lifted a great deal of that loneliness yesterday and she couldn’t help but want more of it, but not if it meant becoming another Lady Frances.