Christmas with the Duchess

by Tamara Lejeune

  “Yes, he is,” Cornelia, the third daughter, said spitefully. “He told me so.”

  “Liar! You’re just jealous,” Julia said, quite accurately. “I can’t help it if he likes me best. I am the prettiest.”

  “Cousin Nicholas treated you as a mere child,” Octavia told her bluntly, “which is, of course, what you are.”

  “I am not a child!” shrieked Julia, causing her mother to wince in pain.

  “You are not yet Out, Julia,” Octavia told her firmly.

  “Well, you cannot have him, Octopus,” Julia retorted. “You are engaged already to Cousin Michael. Not that he seems eager to claim you,” she added spitefully. “The war has been over for months. Surely he could have gotten a furlong or whatever by now, if he wanted to.”

  “Obviously, we are not talking of me, Julia,” Octavia said coldly. “I am spoken for. But one of you must make a push for Cousin Nicholas. If all of you try for him at once, it is very likely that none of you shall get him.”

  “Cousin Nicholas will choose me,” Julia said. “I have only to crook my little finger.”

  “It would be unseemly for you to marry before your elder sisters,” snapped Octavia.

  Augusta, aged twenty, spoke up. “May I go to the stables, Mama?” she begged. “Cousin Nicholas is not likely to choose me, and I don’t want to be married, anyway.”

  Lady Anne gasped. “Miss Augusta, that is a wicked thing to say! You know your papa and I are depending on you girls to marry well. Your papa has some very pressing debts.”

  “You mean he’s gambled away our dowries,” Octavia corrected her.

  “If Augusta don’t want Cousin Nicholas, then I should have him,” said Cornelia, sitting up taller. Like her two elder sisters, she had a long, horsey face and auburn hair, but she lacked Octavia’s intelligence and Augusta’s positive energy. She fancied herself a musician, but she was too lazy to practice. She scratched her head, scattering curl papers to the floor.

  “You! What about me?” demanded Flavia, the fourth daughter.

  “I am the next in line,” Cornelia informed her. “After Augusta, I am the eldest.”

  Lady Anne looked at her third and fourth daughters doubtfully. Cornelia was only tolerable looking, and poor Flavia had been cursed with horrible teeth and greasy, spotted skin. “Oh, I do hope your Aunt Susan has not brought any single ladies with her,” she cried weakly. “What if Nicholas should fall in love with someone else?”

  “She has not,” Octavia said with authority. “I have already made certain of that. My Aunt Bellamy has only invited married ladies.”

  Lady Anne started up as a new, horrifying thought occurred to her. “What if Nicholas should fall in love with one of the governesses? His father had such low taste in women.”

  “Both your brothers had low taste in women,” Octavia said. “At least we were never obliged to meet Cousin Nicholas’s mama. The indignity of having to curtsey to my uncle Camford’s wife was quite the outside of enough.”

  Lady Anne’s hollow chest heaved with righteous indignation. “Haymarket ware!” she said, becoming quite animated. “When I think of that—that woman taking my mother’s place at Camford Park—! How I endured the humiliation, I shall never know. If Nicholas should marry an unsuitable female, I do not know what I shall do!”

  “I will wear my blue muslin at dinner,” Julia announced. “Cousin Nicholas will want something pretty to look at while he eats. If he looks at Flavia, he will lose his appetite.”

  “This will not be a family dinner, Julia,” Octavia told her harshly. “Aunt Bellamy has invited all the officers and their wives. You will have your dinner in the nursery with the other children.”

  “What!” shrieked Julia. “Mama!”

  “I’m afraid your sister is right, my love,” Lady Anne said, cringing. “Your father would never allow it.”

  “Then I will just have to make the most of luncheon and afternoon tea,” Julia huffed. “I’m still allowed to have tea, ain’t I?” With her nose in the air, she swept from the room.

  Cornelia hopped up. “I believe I will write Cousin Nicholas a love letter. If he thinks my heart is breaking, perhaps he will marry me out of pity!”

  “That is an excellent idea, my love,” said Lady Anne.

  “But I was going to write him a love letter!” cried Flavia. “You stole my idea!”

  The two girls bolted from the room, pushing and shoving one another as they went.

  Augusta stood up and quietly left the room. Lady Anne knew the impossible girl was going to sneak off to the stables, but she hadn’t the energy to stop her. Alone with her eldest daughter, she wrung her hands. “Oh, what is to become of us? If only you were not engaged, Octavia! I am certain you would get Nicholas to come to the point. You are so clever.”

  “Yes,” Octavia agreed. “It is a great pity that Cousin Michael was not killed in the war. Then I would be free. He is a duke’s younger son—that is something, I suppose. But I should have liked to be a countess.”

  Lady Anne stared at her, shivering. “Octavia!” she protested weakly. “Y-y-ou cannot mean it.”

  Octavia looked at her scornfully. “Oh, don’t be such a lily-liver, Mama,” she said.

  From the window of her bedroom, Lady Harriet Fitzroy watched Lord Camford disappear into the Lime Walk with the Duchess of Warwick. Emma had donned a dark cloak for the excursion, but it was unmistakably she.

  “Well, well,” Lady Harriet said aloud. “That did not take long.”

  Smiling faintly, the old lady sipped her tea.

  It was half-past two by the time Emma and Nicholas left the greenhouses. The afternoon was as fine as the morning had been, crisp and sunny. Apart from the occasional breeze, Emma had no real need for her cloak. Their bellies were full of raw fruit and vegetables.

  “Shall we go on to the lake?” Emma asked him as they reached the heights of a small hill. “Or shall we go back to the house?”

  Even from two miles away, the huge house dominated the landscape, cold and white as a sepulcher.

  “I suppose we’d better go back,” Nicholas said reluctantly. “My aunt and uncle will be wondering about me. I’m supposed to have tea with them in the main drawing room.”

  They had strolled out to the secession houses in a leisurely manner, keeping up a light conversation as they went, but as they started back the way they had come, Nicholas’s stride was brisk and purposeful. Emma had to struggle to keep up with him as they hurried past the old tennis courts.

  “Do you know the game, Nicholas?” Emma asked, slowing him down. “I’m told it is beneficial exercise. I prefer badminton myself.”

  “Badminton, ma’am?” he said, fidgeting.

  Deliberately, she leaned against the stone wall of the tennis court. An expression of agony flitted across his face. “Are you late for an appointment?” she asked him coolly. “Or just eager to get away from me?”

  “No, ma’am!” he said with reassuring violence. “You have been everything charming.”

  “Then why are we running like jackrabbits?” she wanted to know.

  Nicholas’s face slowly turned crimson.

  “Oh,” Emma murmured, as the light dawned. “You need to answer a call of nature? Why didn’t you say so? You can go behind the hedge,” she told him kindly. “I’ll wait for you here. Go on.”

  “I couldn’t,” he stammered. “What you must think of me!”

  “I think you are flesh and blood,” she said, smiling. “Really, there’s no need to be embarrassed. Besides, what is the alternative?”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said, running behind the hedge.

  Emma lifted her face to the sun and closed her eyes. She had not slept well the night before, and she was tired. She was physically drained, too, having walked more in that one day than she had in weeks. She wondered idly if it was too early in the relationship to ask the gentleman to carry her back to the house on his back.

  Presently, she heard the rustle of branches a
s he came back to her, but her eyelids felt too heavy to open. He took her hand and pressed it to his lips.

  “Mmmm,” Emma said lazily.

  With both hands at her waist, he drew her close to him. He smelled pleasantly of a light scent, of tobacco, and horses. How odd, she thought, as his lips found hers, that he should smell of horses when he doesn’t ride.

  Her eyes popped open, looking directly into the pale green, oddly tilted eyes of Lord Ian Monteith. “Monty!” she gasped, throwing off his hands and shrinking back against the wall. “What the devil do you think you’re doing?”

  “I love you, Emma,” Monty announced loudly. “I have come here to make love to you. I burn with desire for you. Take pity on me. I am your slave.”

  “What?” she snarled under her breath. “What about my brother?”

  Monty blinked at her. “It was his idea,” he explained, lowering his voice. “Do you see those officers over there? Don’t look, for God’s sake!” he cried, seizing Emma’s face. “They are watching us. So we’d better put on a nice show for them.”

  “Go away,” said Emma. “Take your hands off of me.”

  “Do you think I want to kiss you?” he said impatiently. “Is that it? Because I don’t. It’s only to avert suspicion.”

  “This is not a good time, Monty,” Emma said crossly.

  “What do you mean? It’s the perfect time.”

  “I’m busy.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  Lunging forward, he pinned her struggling body to the wall with his own. “Let’s make love,” he shouted, battering her face with loud, clumsy kisses. “Don’t be shy. Give yourself to me, angel! We’re completely and utterly alone.”

  “Not quite,” said Nicholas, tapping him hard on the shoulder.

  Startled, Monty whirled around, his nose connecting nicely with Nicholas’s fist. The Scotsman went down, bright red blood spraying from between his fingers as he clutched his nose. A group of officers came running up. Two of them grabbed Nicholas while a third helped Monty to his feet. “You broke my nose,” Monty complained.

  “If you liked your nose, you should not have insulted this lady,” Nicholas answered, struggling to get free. “Apologize at once, or prepare to meet me on the field of honor.”

  The officers scoffed. “This is Lord Ian Monteith,” one of them said. “He isn’t going to fight a nobody like you.”

  “Is that so?” said Nicholas. “Well, I am Lord…I am Lord…Damn it! I’ve forgotten the name of the bloody place.”

  “He is Lord Camford,” Emma said clearly. “Now take your hands off of him before I call the servants.”

  “And who are you, pretty?” one of the officers demanded, but he was instantly silenced by one of his companions.

  “It is the duchess,” the man whispered. “I have seen her portrait in London, in the National Gallery. It is she.”

  Nicholas was released. “Apologize,” he said, glaring at Monty.

  Monty now had his handkerchief pressed over his nose. “I beg your pardon, Lord Camford,” he groaned.

  “Not to me, you fool! To the lady.”

  “I am sorry, your grace. I was run away by my feelings.”

  Nicholas took Emma’s hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. “He doesn’t sound very sincere,” he said, scowling. “I think I’d better shoot him.”

  “Please, my lord!” Monty cried. “I am contrite! I will never speak to the lady again. I swear it.”

  Emma pressed her face against Nicholas’s coat. “Please don’t shoot him, my lord. I abhor violence. Will you be good enough to take me back to the house? Suddenly, I am cold.”

  “Of course,” said Nicholas. As he led her away, he glanced back at the officers. “Get that man out of here before any of the ladies see him,” he snapped.

  “Yes, my lord,” they said. “Thank you, my lord.”

  Nicholas hardly heard their obsequious replies. “You’re shaking,” he said gently, rubbing Emma’s gloved hand between his own. “Are you all right?”

  “I think so,” she said. “You won’t leave me alone, will you?”

  “Not for an instant,” he assured her.

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  “Nicholas. You’re not going to start milording me now, are you?” he complained.

  “I might,” she said, smiling up at him. “I just might. You were very heroic.”

  “Heroic? No,” he said. She could tell that he was pleased.

  “Indeed, you were,” she insisted. “I’m afraid to think what would have happened if you hadn’t been there,” she added mendaciously, covering her face with her hands. “That man—”

  “I will not let him hurt you, Emma,” he murmured, taking her in his arms. “He will never go near you again.”

  “I feel so safe with you, Nicholas,” she said softly, lifting her face to be kissed.

  “You are safe with me, Emma,” he told her very seriously.

  To her disappointment, he meant it.

  Lord Hugh Fitzroy entered his wife’s sitting room at precisely half-past four. Anne and her brood were already assembled there, dressed to go down to the main drawing room for tea.

  “Good afternoon, Papa,” the young ladies chorused.

  “Well?” he said. “What progress has been made with Cousin Nicholas?”

  “What progress could there be?” cried Lady Anne. “We have not seen him today.”

  Lord Hugh flew into a rage. “What do you mean you have not seen him today?”

  “Harriet had him last,” Lady Anne said, desperate to avoid his wrath. “Ask your sister where he is.”

  He looked amazed. “Ask my sister—! Am I to understand you have not seen your nephew since last night? What in God’s name have you been doing with your time?”

  “I have had the headache,” Lady Anne whimpered.

  “The headache! I will give you the headache, madam wife!”

  “I wrote him a love letter, Papa,” Flavia said quickly.

  “Well, I am glad someone is thinking of the main chance,” said Lord Hugh.

  “It was my idea, Papa,” Cornelia shrieked. “Flavia stole it from me.”

  “I am wearing my blue muslin,” Julia pointed out. “It is very low cut, and I am not tucking lace.”

  “We can see that for ourselves,” Cornelia sneered. “Your chest appears to have exploded.”

  Julia preened. “They are called bosoms,” she informed them. “They are Out, even if I am not.”

  “Papa,” Octavia said sternly, “tell your youngest daughter she cannot go to tea looking like that.”

  “It is not my fault that I have a chest and my sisters do not,” Julia argued.

  Lord Hugh took out his pocket watch and looked at it impatiently. “I need not remind you idiotic females that time is not on our side. One of you must be engaged to him by Twelfth Night. If he makes it to London, some scheming adventuress will be sure to trap him. And then, what will become of us? When he comes of age, we’ll be nothing more to him than poor relations! He can turn us all out into the snow if he likes.”

  “I know, Husband,” Lady Anne whispered.

  “Then why have you been idle all day?” he snapped.

  “I thought he was with you!” she cried.

  Lord Hugh scowled at her. “With me? Why should he be with me? He is your nephew. I have been playing cards with General Bellamy.”

  “Oh, dear,” Lady Anne said foolishly. “I hope you did not lose very much, Husband.”

  The veins bulged in Lord Hugh’s forehead. “What does it matter if I did?” he demanded. “I have ten thousand pounds coming to me.”

  Lady Anne clapped her hands together. “Husband! That is excellent news. Why, that is two thousand pounds for each of our girls. They shall have dowries.”

  “Two thousand pounds is no fitting dowry for a Fitzroy,” Lord Hugh sniffed. “I should be ashamed to offer such a paltry sum to a gentleman. I would rather they find husbands who will take them for nothing
.”

  “We shall have to, at this rate,” Octavia said dryly.

  Lord Hugh spun around to glare at her. Unmoved by his bullying, Octavia gazed back at him with chilly politeness. “You did say, Papa, that you would take Cousin Nicholas on a tour of the house,” she reminded him. “We all thought he was with you.”

  “Indeed, we did, Husband. For no one knows the palace as well as you do.”

  “True,” he said, somewhat mollified by his wife’s flattery. “I daresay, Nicholas has made some friends among the officers. I daresay we will find him in the drawing room.”

  Julia jumped to her feet. “I’m so hungry I could eat the whole croquenbouche.”

  The door opened and Lady Susan sailed into the room. “Well, here’s a to-do!” she said, her small eyes glinting. “Lord Camford and Lord Ian Monteith have been fighting—I should say brawling—in a most unsavory contest for the favors of a certain…er-hum!…lady.”

  Lady Anne jumped to her feet. “Oh, no! Was my nephew very badly injured?”

  “He had to be carried back to the house,” Lady Susan said ominously, freely embroidering on the truth.

  Lady Anne fell back in her chair. Lord Hugh shook his fist at her. “This would not have happened, madam, if you had taken better care of him.”

  Julia was confused. “But I do not know Lord Ian Monteith,” she said. “Why should he be fighting for my favors? He must have seen me in the window as I was dressing.”

  “It is the duchess, I mean,” Lady Susan said irritably. “The Whore of Babylon herself!”

  “But Nicholas doesn’t even know the duchess!”

  “You should have been more careful with him,” Lord Hugh accused his wife. “The harlot will turn his head, and he will never think of marrying any of the girls.”

  Lady Anne clutched her chest. “Oh, Husband! Surely she would not marry him herself?”

  “She’s far too old for him,” Julia sniffed.

  Lord Hugh looked at his wife with contempt. “Marry him! And give up her dower portion? Not bloody likely! That’s twenty thousand pounds a year she gets from the estate. Would you give that up? Of course you wouldn’t, you imbecile.”