Iantha favored him with a stern look. “I can see that you will forever fling that dare at me whenever I hesitate to fly into whatever scheme you are promoting.”
His grin did not diminish. “Very likely. Choose your team.”
“Then I must have Thomas. Tom! Come here, I need you and Meg.”
Rob turned to Meg. “No, no! I must have Miss Farlam. Will you assist me, ma’am?”
The pert redhead nodded, laughing. “You’d best look to yourself, Tom.”
“Then I must have Henry and Sarah,” Iantha declared. Two youngsters of an age with Nat and Valeria ran up to stand behind her. Soon all the younger fry had been divided between the two forces.
As Lord Rosley appeared on the steps, Rob called to him. “Here, sir, will you judge the winners of the battle?”
“Happy to.” His lordship smiled down at his offspring and their friends. “You have two minutes to gather your ammunition. Then I will give the signal to start.” With due ceremony he pulled a gold watch out of his pocket.
For the next two minutes, snow flew in all directions as the combatants scrambled to supply themselves with snowballs, and Lord Rosley studied his watch. Then…
“Now!” shouted his lordship, laughing heartily as the snow began to fly with more purpose.
A chaotic few minutes ensued. Suddenly Rob shouted an order, and with loud battle cries, his side charged Iantha’s. Her team responded valiantly, and soon the action degenerated into a melee where every hand was raised against its neighbor, pelting friend and foe alike.
Without warning, as Iantha hurled a missile toward Rob’s rapidly approaching figure, she stepped on a patch of ice and began to topple. He made a grab for her, but the ice was no kinder to him than it had been to her. He, too, slipped, and both of them slammed into Iantha’s luckless snow maiden. All three went down in a pile of white.
As she fell, Iantha felt Rob’s arms close around her. Somehow he twisted so that she landed on top of him, both of them disappearing into the drift.
“Hold! Hold your fire!” Lord Rosley ordered. “The war is over. Both the leaders are down, so clearly it is a tie.”
Groans, laughter and protests answered this decision, all parties simultaneously gasping for breath. Iantha sat up and quickly moved off of Rob. He followed suit, brushing snow from his face. Behind them could be heard a bevy of nursemaids, calling their charges in for hot chocolate and cakes and a general warming. Whooping with glee, the younger crowd quickly disappeared into the castle, leaving Rob and Iantha sitting in the snow.
They looked at one another and began to laugh. Long-suppressed mirth bubbled up in Iantha, and she laughed so hard that tears ran down her face. Rob was also wiping his eyes.
Suddenly, something in Iantha broke free.
The laughter changed, and a sob choked its way out of her throat. Horrified, she did her best to stifle it, but she could not. Sob followed sob.
“Iantha! What’s wrong?” Rob leaned toward her solicitously. “Why are you crying?”
“I—I d-don’t know,” she managed to sniffle. “I never cry. I haven’t cried since…” She stumbled to a stop, fishing in her pocket for a handkerchief. She must regain control. Gulping long breaths, Iantha willed herself to stop crying and blew her nose.
“Since you were assaulted?”
She nodded. “I will not behave like a watering pot.” Another sob threatened to emerge. She clamped down on it and forbade it to come out.
Rob was looking at her thoughtfully. “You have never wept for what was done to you—for what you lost?”
“No.” She raised her chin and firmed her mouth. “What good would it do? I am much better off when I keep a firm rein on my emotions. I simply dropped my guard in the exuberance of the snow fight. I will be more careful.”
“So the bastards also stole from you your ability to grieve or to enjoy yourself intensely.”
She looked back at him, considering. “I suppose you might say that. Though why I should start crying when I was having such a good time, I’m sure I don’t know.”
He gently brushed the freezing drops away from her cheek. “It is my experience that when one’s soul is full of anguish, laughter and tears lie very close together.”
Rob damned the scoundrels with every curse he had garnered in his well-traveled life. By the time Iantha had retired to her room, she was completely composed—on the outside. But today’s incident showed clearly how much torment she stored inside. He had been correct in believing that she would enjoy a romp in the snow with the youngsters and that it might loosen the rigidity with which she conducted herself. He had not realized how much was held at bay behind the fortress.
He should have known.
His own experience should have told him that.
Had he taken on an impossible task? Rob refused to think so. The fact that Iantha’s barriers had failed for a few heartbeats encouraged him. She could laugh and cry. But it was unlikely that any progress would be achieved with so many others about. She would be too embarrassed if another tearful episode occurred. Now she would surely lock all her emotions up behind a heavy dungeon door.
A dungeon in which she had imprisoned herself.
Rob needed a new plan.
Late in the afternoon the party guests and most of the staff assembled in the entry of the castle for the lighting of the yule log. Rob had ordered a huge tree trunk hauled up the mountain, and it now rested in the enormous fireplace. Earlier in the day the younger children had all had a hand in decorating it with holly and mistletoe.
The gathering waxed a bit louder and more boisterous than the previous evening, this fact being attributable largely to the fact that several of the gentlemen had been liberally availing themselves of Rob’s excellent cellar as they whiled away the afternoon playing cards. And it was Christmas Eve. But in spite of their exuberance, all maintained a decorum suitable to the presence of ladies and children.
A moment of silence prevailed as Rob took a torch from Burnside and approached the fireplace. This was shattered by a piercing wail from the youngest log decorator when he realized that his handiwork was about to go up in flames. Happily, his nurse had the presence of mind to mollify the distressed artist with a large tea cake.
Amid the general laughter, Rob applied the torch to the kindling, then turned back to his guests. “Merry Christmas, everyone! And welcome to the Eyrie.”
A cheer went up. Cups of hot chocolate and eggnog were passed around and conversation resumed. Iantha sipped sparingly from her drink. Considering the disaster following the snowball war, she had best be very careful not to drink too much. If she ever let her restraint slip, there was no saying what she might do. She watched Rob pass among his guests, laughing and joking with them. Would she never feel that ease again, that ability to just live and enjoy life?
Six years.
Six long, bitter, agonizing years.
Would she ever be free?
As she watched him, Rob angled in the direction of a group of gentlemen whose discussion had gotten a bit loud. Iantha felt quite sure that his lordship would not tolerate an unruly affair, and that he had every capability of maintaining order in his house. Even from her vantage point in a corner, she could sense his quiet power flowing around him as he joined the circle.
The plump banker, Welwyn, and a tall gray-haired man with impressive side-whiskers looked to be the center of the group. They were surrounded by several of the younger men Iantha had met the night before. She recognized the young diplomat, Horace Raunds, and from a family resemblance, deduced that the whiskered gentleman was his father, Lord Alton of the Home Office. By process of elimination, the slender, dark, hawk-faced young man she didn’t know must be Mr. Welwyn’s assistant, Stephen Wycomb. Certainly no resemblance there. And apparently little agreement of opinion.
“I say, Duncan.” Lord Alton rounded on Rob as he approached the group. “Add your weight to what Welwyn and I are trying to explain to these youngsters. Napoleon is a thr
eat to the civilized world.”
“Come now, Father. Hardly that.” Horace spoke earnestly, ticking his points off on his fingers. “Look at what he has accomplished on the Continent. He has brought order out of utter chaos. He has stabilized the currency. His Napoleonic code has made sense of the old French common law after years of injustice. Hardly a threat to civilized life. He—”
“All very well, of course, Raunds,” the banker interrupted. “But what of his Continental Plan? His design to exclude England from the European market? The effect would be devastating to our balance of trade.”
“And in addition to that, England would lose her ability to control Europe through our financial largesse,” Lord Alton insisted. “That is all Bonaparte needs to garner enough support to invade us.”
His son looked disgusted. “Simply buying friendship. It never succeeds in the long run.”
Alton shook his head. “Ah, but it does succeed, Horace! And British customs and morals are far better suited to managing the affairs of the world than those of the French.”
Rob sighed inwardly. How was it that the English seemed to be blissfully and ignorantly unable to see past their own point of view, despite the wealth of culture and information available in other parts of the world? He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could comment, the younger Raunds spoke again.
“How can you say that, Father, when we have a king who is mad as a mayfly and an heir little better?”
“Now there you have a point!” Stephen Wycomb, the younger banker, spoke up, a sneer on his sharp face. “George and Prinny are as strange a pair as you may find. And the money they and the royal dukes spend…! Were it not for the funds we receive from our colonies, they would have bankrupted us long ago.”
This point Rob could appreciate. He nodded. “That is certainly true, Wycomb. And we will not be able to keep raping our colonies forever. We have already lost America, and we will one day lose India.”
“Nonsense!” Lord Alton looked appalled. “The Indians can hardly be expected to rule themselves. They are little better than pagan savages. We must—” He stopped his tirade abruptly as Vijaya, who was leaning against the wall a short distance away, straightened, his jeweled clothing creating a ripple of light, and turned his brilliant blue gaze toward the speaker.
“Hear, hear!” All the gentlemen looked in the direction of the new voice. Cosby Carrock approached the group, his faltering footsteps testifying to the amount of spirits he had consumed in the course of the afternoon. “Alton has the right of it. Can’t have bloody heathens in control. Why should they have all those jewels and the gold and the opium?” Vijaya stiffened and took a step forward, and Carrock looked pointedly first at him, then at Rob. “And how any English gentleman can bring one of them here and expose our women to— Damnation!” He broke off his tirade to mop at the wine he had just spilled down his waistcoat.
Out of the corner of his eye, Rob saw Vijaya take another step toward them. Rob moved to put himself between his friend and Carrock. From different parts of the room, Samuel Broughton and Lord Sebergham were converging on what appeared to be a growing trouble spot. Lord Alton seemed to be looking for a way to make an embarrassed retreat.
Rob fixed Carrock with an authoritative eye. “That will be enough, Cosby. Take a damper. You’re foxed.”
Vijaya paused a few feet away. Sam Broughton stopped beside him, while Sebergham made for Cosby Carrock.
The baron took Cosby’s arm. “You need a fresh glass and a fresh waistcoat, Carrock. Come, I’ll go with you.”
“But…” Carrock pulled back. “Haven’t had my say yet.”
“You’ve had it.” Rod nodded grimly at Sebergham, who leveled an icy stare at his charge and tightened his grip.
Carrock glared sullenly at his host for a moment. Rob didn’t move, but returned the stare implacably. Carrock yanked his arm away from the baron and stumbled toward the stairs. Sebergham followed him out. A gust of air seemed to sweep through the room as the crowd exhaled held breaths.
Rob glanced around to see Sam and Vijaya strolling toward the opposite door before letting his own breath out. Damn Carrock, the drunken young lout! Rob wasn’t naive enough to believe that Vijaya would be universally accepted in England, but he had hoped his first foray into society might be a bit more comfortable. But he knew Vijaya.
He would hold his own.
And so would Rob’s bride to be.
Nothing more was seen of Cosby Carrock for the rest of the evening, and of course, Vijaya did not appear at the table for dinner. He later joined them in the drawing room and conversed quietly with Sam and Mr. Farlam.
Iantha stayed with the party long enough to drink a cup of tea and then quietly excused herself and retired to her own sitting room. What a relief! She stood for a while looking out at the moonlit snow, drinking in the silence, then took out her notes and began to write. She was still writing when a soft knock sounded at her door.
Iantha shivered. When had the room gotten so cold? Pulling a shawl around her shoulders, she went to the door. “Who’s there?”
“Rob. May I come in?”
Iantha hesitated. She wasn’t quite ready to give up her solitude. Still, he was doing everything in his power to make her stay enjoyable. She owed him some consideration. Turning the key in the lock, she opened the door a crack. Rob pushed it wider and stepped into the room. He wrapped his arms around himself and scowled.
“It’s freezing in here! Why didn’t you ring for someone to make up the fire?” He knelt beside the hearth and poked the embers, then added a couple of logs.
“Thank you. I became so engrossed in my work, I didn’t even notice the cold.” Iantha tugged the shawl tighter around her.
“One day I shall find you a frozen corpse in some out of the way place.” Standing, Rob dusted off his hands and smiled at Iantha. “You are not ready for bed. What have you been doing so long?”
“I was writing.” She glanced at the mantel clock. “My goodness! I had no idea it was so late. No wonder the fire died down.”
“What are you writing? May I see it?”
“Oh, no!” Iantha moved to block his view of the desk. “I… It is not ready to be seen.”
Rob smiled down at her. “Then, by all means, I will not look. Most of the guests have gone to bed, but there is a Christmas celebration afoot in the servants’ hall. Would you like to go down with me and meet everyone? I have gifts to distribute. You might help me if you are not too tired.”
“No, I am not tired.” Iantha thought for a moment. “I believe I will join you. If I am to be mistress here one day, I should meet them all.”
“I think so.” Rob offered her his arm. After only the briefest hesitation, Iantha took it, and they strolled through the hall and down several flights of stairs. The servants’ hall was bright with a fire in the huge hearth, and garlands draped the mantel. Feller was tuning his fiddle, and tankards of ale were being passed around. Iantha drew back at the sight of the crowded room, but Rob patted her hand reassuringly and led her through the door.
“Welcome! Welcome, me lord…Miss Kethley. Come in.” Burnside hastened toward them.
Iantha smiled at the familiar face. “Hello, Burnside. How have you been?”
“Fine as silk, Miss Kethley. And good it is to see you again.” He pulled a chair toward her. “Do sit.”
“Not yet.” Rob placed a detaining hand on her shoulder. “We have a task to do first.” He lifted one of several large baskets that were lined up against the wall. Brightly wrapped gifts were heaped in it to the point of spilling out. Rob began to call out names, handing the gifts to Iantha. She gave the package to the person who stepped forward, repeating the name and wishing him or her a merry Christmas. A very good way to learn everyone on her staff, she reflected.
At first Iantha felt awkward, but the faces all were smiling or shy, never judgmental nor pitying. It occurred to her that the women of the servant class were often abused by more highly placed men, and
the blame frequently fell on the woman.
Had any of these smiling girls, in their previous employment, ever been accosted in that manner? Iantha had heard of several such cases, but had never given it the thought it deserved. Now she understood their predicament. The idea gave her a feeling of camraderie with them, and she relaxed even more, startled as she realized how much more comfortable she was with them than with her own peers.
When the gifts had all been distributed, the furniture was pushed back against the wall and Feller struck up a tune. Sets were formed for country dances, and Iantha was treated to seeing several more jigs. When everyone urged Rob to jig, Iantha found herself joining in, laughing as he pulled off his coat and took the floor.
She found herself enjoying his robust vigor and the sight of his muscles moving under his clothes. Something in her warmed.
At last the sets formed for a ninepins reel. Rob extended his hand. “Come, Miss Kethley, we now have the opportunity to perform the reel correctly.”
Before she could demur, he drew her to her feet and into the set. Soon she found herself passed merrily from position to position amid much stamping and clapping. The music got faster, and she raced to match it, catching Rob’s hand each time the steps brought them together. The dance ended with a great cheer and his arm around her waist.
Iantha retreated to her seat, fanning herself with her hand, but before she could sit down, Rob drew her to the door, shouting Christmas wishes to his staff. She laughed and waved, calling her own farewells, as he guided her out the exit.
They ran laughing up the first flight of stairs. At the top they paused to catch their breath, and before Iantha knew what he was about, Rob clasped her in his arms and pulled her close. His warm mouth came down on hers. For a moment Iantha couldn’t move. And then, before she knew what she wanted to do, he released her and stood smiling down at her.
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