She means well. She wants to protect Julia, Giles told himself as he fought the desire to administer a sharp set-down. But...I watch Julia? I look at her in such a way that an observer thinks I might be more than simply attracted? And she looks at me?
‘I am sure you are mistaken, ma’am, but I thank you for your concern for Miss Chancellor.’
He picked up the hatchet, tossed it on to the log basket and made as dignified an exit as a viscount who has just been lectured on his duty by a spinster could, his mind in as much of a stir as his emotions.
There was something to be said for the chill of a log store in the depths of winter—it was certainly calming. Giles leaned against a sawhorse and tried to sort out his feelings. He was attracted to Julia, but any man would be—she was attractive, intelligent, good company and she made him laugh. She was kind to her friends and independent in her attitudes. And when they touched he could feel that ice cracking—or perhaps hear a fuse fizzing.
He had certainly felt he should make the offer of marriage, even though he had no wish to be leg-shackled, and he had felt something that was more than piqued pride when she refused him so flatly.
Thwarted desire, he told himself.
But did that add up to what Miss Jepson had been implying? He made himself think the word. Love. Surely not. No one fell in love in two days and after a few kisses. That kind of thing was for folk tales and romances.
* * *
Giles was still brooding on Miss Jepson’s words and their implications as he moved the couch for Annie into the dining room and set a low table beside it so she could eat her dinner. Master William—fed, changed and blowing bubbles in his sleep—was snug in his cradle beside the hearth.
He tried to study Julia without not only her noticing but also without Miss Jepson’s eagle eye on them. She seemed natural enough, he thought, wondering how one told if a woman was in love with you. Or if you were in love with her, come to that.
But, he argued with himself as he took in the tray laden with cutlery to set the table, if Julia loves me she would have agreed to marry me.
She distracted him by coming in with a large copper jug brimming with holly and trails of ivy which she set down on the sideboard. ‘I do admire your skills as a footman. Perhaps it comes with wearing the livery,’ she suggested, teasing as she rubbed at a smudge on the belly of the jug with her sleeve. ‘I am certain that you have never laid a table in your life before.’
‘I am quite capable of observing how it is done,’ Giles said, refusing to rise to the bait.
She laughed and leaned across him to tweak a table napkin into perfect order and he caught a hint of her scent, something herbal and citrusy, and his body stirred.
‘Oh, Giles.’ She straightened up on a sigh and smiled at him.
‘Yes?’ It was curiously hard to breathe.
‘This is nice, isn’t it? No formality, kind people, the baby.’ She looked across at the crib and her smile softened into something tender. ‘So perfect for Christmas.’
‘Yes, perfect,’ he agreed as Miss Margaret bustled in with a stack of plates, singing a carol, very slightly out of tune, under her breath.
And it was perfect, he realised. Perfect despite the ache in his chest and the turmoil in his mind and the lack of privacy to talk to Julia. Or perhaps to kiss her and make love to her until she admitted that she loved him and he would know whether he loved her because, just at that moment, he had no idea and to make a mistake over this would be cruel indeed.
* * *
The goose was perfect, thanks to Dorothy’s skill with the unfamiliar range. There were potatoes, roasted golden brown, and carrots drenched in butter and an interesting dish made of dried peas and a cabbage that was made very palatable with the addition of an excellent gravy.
Giles insisted on pouring some of Miss Jepson’s brandy over the plum pudding and setting it alight, despite her protests that it was for medicinal use only. The resulting blaze made Molly shriek with delight, waking William and reducing Julia to helpless giggles as Giles almost set the tablecloth on fire.
Julia looked at Giles, fighting both blazing pudding and his own laughter, and wondered if her heart would break when he left. It felt as though it might. There was a dull, miserable ache beneath the happiness and joy of the present moment. She told herself to live in that moment, hold it tight for the memories, and managed not to let the tears of laughter turn into anything else.
They ate the pudding and then sat nibbling on cheese and nuts despite everyone protesting that they were quite full. Julia helped Dorothy carry out the dirty dishes and brought in her basket of presents and shared them round.
‘I’ve nothing for you,’ Giles said. He poured out two small glasses of the ginger wine and they sipped as they sat back and enjoyed watching the others opening their gifts and exclaiming with pleasure.
Julia looked at him and wondered at how serious he looked. Almost sad, she thought, puzzled. ‘You made the crib and you cut the holly and you dug the path so we could all be together at Christmas,’ she said. ‘And we shared the stars. That is more than enough.’
Giles looked down and she saw she had, quite unconsciously, put her hand over his on the table. He tightened his fingers around hers for a moment, then, with a glance at Miss Jepson, released her.
‘Is that rain I can hear?’ He stood up and went to the window, drew back the curtain and they all heard it, the sound of heavy rain battering against the panes. ‘The thaw has broken with a vengeance.’
‘That’s a blessing,’ Miss Margaret said comfortably. ‘It will make the most terrible mess, of course, and the snow looks so pretty, but the wild birds and animals will find it easier to feed with the soft ground and the roads will be open, after a fashion.’
‘If they aren’t waist-deep in mud,’ her sister retorted. ‘And the streams will overtop their banks, I’ve no doubt.’
The intensity of the rain increased as they cleared the table and went to the kitchen to all join in with the washing up, leaving Annie and the baby dozing in front of the fire.
‘Have you an umbrella I might borrow, Miss Jepson?’ Giles reached up to set the last platter on the dresser.
‘Why, yes, there’s that big one the Vicar left here last Tuesday.’ She pointed to the object leaning against the doorframe like a large and tattered crow. ‘But why should you need one?’
‘Because I think it would be best if I went back to Beech View and looked after the cat and the fires tonight. Then I will set out in the morning as soon as I can assess the state of the path down to the village.’
‘But Fred can perfectly well look after himself for the night, we left him plenty of food and water,’ Julia protested. Behind her a door closed and she looked round to find that, unaccountably, they were alone in the kitchen.
‘I need to go, Julia,’ he said and something in his voice, the gentleness, stiffened her spine and her pride.
He thinks I am going to beg him to stay, she thought.
‘Yes, of course. Your friends must be anxious and you will want to find out how successful your rescue plans were. It would be dreadful if, after all, the poor man was trapped into an unwanted marriage.’ She said it firmly, with a smile on her lips, and was pleased at how steady her voice was. ‘Don’t forget your hat and scarf, and your gloves are on that chair over there.’
Giles pulled them on, threw the gaudy knitted scarf around his neck and picked up the flapping umbrella. He should have looked ridiculous. The breath caught in her throat.
‘Julia—’ He had one hand on the door latch, but still he looked at her.
‘There are no stars tonight,’ she said. ‘The magic is quite gone.’
I have to let him go.
‘So it seems. Goodnight, Julia, and thank you for rescuing a sad rake from his folly. I doubt I will see you in the morning.’
‘Perhaps w
e will meet at a Royal Academy view some time in the future if my plans come to fruition,’ she said.
For a moment she thought he was going to step back towards her, take her hand perhaps or drop a kiss on her cheek, but Giles nodded and opened the door. Then he was gone, leaving just the darker mark of the rain on the stone of the threshold to show he had been there.
Julia took off her apron and folded it with great care, then went to find Annie to borrow the baby for a cuddle.
Chapter Eight
‘Meow.’
Giles looked down to where Fred had hooked his claws into the cloth of his breeches. ‘I have fed you. I have given you a fresh sawdust box. You are warm and your mistress will be home soon. I even put up with you sleeping on the end of the bed and snoring all night. What more do you want?’
The cat gave him a disgusted look, removed his claws and stalked off down the hall. Giles shrugged, let himself out and surveyed the depressing view in front of him. The heavy rain had been replaced by a steady drizzle from low cloud that shrouded the Vale like a sodden blanket. The snow had dissolved into muddy slush wherever it was not protected and the trees and bushes were bedraggled and dripping.
The prospect of the walk in front of him was not pleasant. Giles told himself to show a bit of backbone and set off down the path, using the stout stick he had found in the woodshed. The ice remained in treacherous patches and he had no intention of breaking a leg on the way down.
The damp air was still cold and that at least was welcome after the almost sleepless night he had passed. It was all due to that damned cat snoring, of course. He was doing the right thing and Julia’s cool, smiling reaction as he left confirmed it.
There are no stars tonight.
And Miss Jepson, well meaning, interfering, wanted a good match for her young neighbour, that was all her words to him had been about.
He opened the gate without a glance at the apple tree and its hidden mistletoe and made his way along the lane. There was smoke rising from the chimneys of the other large cottages that he passed and at the end of the row, where the dwelling was more a house than a cottage, two men were clearing the front path. Giles hailed them and they came down to the gate. He glimpsed livery beneath their topcoats and scarves.
‘Good morning. What is the best way down to the village, would you say?’
‘Good morning, sir.’ The taller one doffed his hat. ‘Just along the way you are going and there’s a bend and you’ll meet the road. It’s steep, sir, you’d best watch your footing, but it’s a sunken lane and protected by the woods, and the snow doesn’t usually lie deep.’
Giles instinctively reached for a coin to tip them, remembered he had none and trudged on. By the time he reached the first cottages at the foot of the hill he was wet, cold, bruised from falling, and feeling he had gone several rounds at one of the more stringent boxing saloons.
There were enough people around to direct him past the pond and stocks on the green to Beech House. He pounded on the door knocker and found himself face-to-face with an unfamiliar butler, presumably hired with the establishment.
‘I’ll thank you to go round to the service entrance, my man. I assume you’ve come for work clearing the snow.’
Giles decided he was tired of scratchy livery and carpentry, footman’s duties and snow. He drew himself up and looked the man in the eye. ‘I am Lord Missenden. Sir Felix is expecting me. I assume there is a room prepared and my luggage unpacked. I require a hot bath as soon as I have spoken to Sir Felix.’
* * *
Just over an hour later—bathed, warm, comfortable—Giles lounged in a deep armchair, surrounded by his four friends. From a room at the back of the house came the sound of feminine laughter and someone playing the pianoforte.
‘So what happened?’ he demanded.
Felix waved the others into silence. ‘These idiots got down to the village as the roads became impassable, realised once they asked where they were that they had made a mistake and were sent along here. We had to assume you were safe enough, even if causing an uproar—the cottages up there all had lights in the windows, apparently. Anyway, to cut things short, Mrs Fanshawe was routed in no short order—rumours of my massive debts were more than enough to make sure of that. It seems she’d have put up with almost any kind of bad behaviour if I had money.’
‘So where are they now?’
‘Gone, first thing this morning as soon as the word came that the turnpike was clear to the next town at least.’
‘So your sacrifice was in vain, old fellow,’ Hal Woodley said with a grin. ‘Did you cause a scandal? How’s the frostbite? I do hope we haven’t ruined your marriage prospects.’ He stared at Giles. ‘Now what have I said?’
‘Nothing.’ Giles forced a smile. ‘I was taken in by kindly cottagers, warmed, clothed and fed.’
‘It sounds as though you had the best of the bargain,’ Woodley said. ‘Felix is a wonderful host, no doubt about it, but dodging scheming females under the mistletoe is confoundedly wearing, you have to admit.’ He gave an exaggerated shudder. ‘We can all look forward to the New Year free of parson’s mousetrap.’
‘Yes,’ Giles agreed. ‘That’s a welcome prospect.’
* * *
Five days had passed since Giles had left Beech View and walked down to the village. There had been no word, of course, but Peter and John, the footmen from Falconer’s, the end house, reported seeing him on his way past and then added the news that Sir Felix Wheaton’s party was still in full swing at Beech House and they were rumoured to be seeing in the New Year in style.
Miss Jepson and Miss Margaret dropped by to see her daily, so kind and concerned, without quite saying why, that Julia wanted to scream. They had hired help from the village while Annie was regaining her strength and so Dorothy returned to Beech View, bringing with her more news of Beech House, gleaned from a shopping trip down to Lower Bourne.
‘They are doing themselves ever so well. Mr Poulton, the butler, says they brought crates of wine and brandy with them and he’s had to place orders with all the local farmers because they’ve been eating so well. And Sir Felix brought a fancy French cook and there’s some really pretty young ladies with lovely gowns, so I hear from Jen Potter, who helps in the kitchen. I wonder if they’ll have dancing tonight, seeing as it’s New Year’s Eve.’
‘I am sure they will,’ Julia said, stabbing herself painfully in the thumb as she darned a pair of stockings. ‘How pleasant for them.’
She insisted that Dorothy go down to the village in the afternoon before the light went to see in the New Year with her family. ‘I have been invited to Bluebell Cottage,’ she reminded her.
* * *
When the clock struck eight she dressed in her blue-velvet evening gown and did her hair, feeling that she was putting on armour against the kindness of her friends. She was certain they had guessed she had fallen in love with Giles and they sincerely pitied her for it, even as they made careful remarks about wild young aristocrats, their habit of toying with helpless females and the importance of preserving one’s reputation at all costs.
I am not a helpless female, she thought rebelliously as she fastened her best pearl necklace around her neck and put on her pearl earrings. And I love him. And if I had thought he loved me... But he did not or he would have said so and he would not have gone.
‘Wouldn’t he, Fred?’
Fred, his eyes fixed on a promising hole in the skirting board, ignored her, although he did condescend to come downstairs and join her by the fireside as she waited for the clock to strike eight, the time when Julia would make her way along to Bluebell Cottage.
The rattle of the front-door knocker took her by surprise. Her heart was beating uncomfortably fast, she realised as she stood and picked up a candlestick. The last time the knocker had sounded Giles was on her front step in a state of nature, poised to set her comfortable lit
tle world on its head.
But, of course, this would be a message from one of the other cottages—good wishes, no doubt, or a small seasonal token. She opened the door wide, a smile on her lips, and froze.
The man standing in front of her was the same, but this was undoubtedly Lord Missenden the Viscount, hat in immaculately gloved hands, his broad shoulders supporting a fashionable caped coat open to give a glimpse of a crisp neckcloth and silk waistcoat.
There ought to be words, some kind of polite social remark or perhaps a lightly turned joke about history repeating itself, but she could only stare at him until she finally managed to croak, ‘What?’
‘I have come, Miss Chancellor, to invite you to see in the New Year at Beech House.’
‘But...I am promised to Bluebell Cottage.’
‘Sir Felix’s carriage is already there. I explained to him that I owed the ladies hospitality, so they, and Annie and the baby, will be conveyed down in comfort. The staff at the house are eager to meet young William.’ As he spoke a carriage drove past, heading back towards the lane to the village.
‘But...’ It seemed the only word she could manage.
‘I can only offer you a curricle, which seems a rather chilly choice for the last night in December, but I have come to tell you, Julia, that the stars are out again. I think we can see them better in the open.’
‘The stars?’ She put out a hand and drew him into the warmth, closing the door on the cold night.
‘The stars and the magic. There is something I very much want to say to you, Julia, and I want to say it in the starlight. Will you wrap up warmly and come with me? I had to leave you before I could understand what I was feeling, you see, and I am hoping you will forgive me for that.’
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