Christmas with the Duchess

by Tamara Lejeune

  “Oh, don’t be silly,” she said quickly, her cheeks pink with embarrassment. “You surprised me, that’s all. I should have thought you’d be at Camford, but, of course, you and Julia are very welcome here. You are looking very well,” she went on quite pleasantly. “I can see that marriage agrees with you.”

  “And you as well,” he answered.

  Emma tilted her head. “Oh?”

  Nicholas flushed. “I meant, of course, that you are looking well. Not that marriage agrees with you. I remember that marriage does not agree with you.”

  She laughed graciously. “But it does agree with you!” she repeated. “You are happy?”

  Nicholas stared at her. She could not possibly think he could be happy with a vain, silly girl like Julia, could she? he thought angrily. “Yes, we’re very happy,” he heard his own voice say. “Very happy indeed! I never dreamed I could be so happy.”

  “I am glad to hear it,” Emma said warmly. “Julia is a such a spirited, affectionate girl. I was sure you would be happier with her than you would have been with—with Octavia. Indeed, if you cannot be happy with Julia, I do not think you can be happy with anyone,” she laughed.

  “Octavia is to marry Mr. Palafox,” he told her abruptly.

  Emma showed only slight surprise. “Charles Palafox? How interesting!”

  “You do not regret losing Mr. Palafox?” Nicholas said sharply.

  Her steel-blue eyes widened. “Losing him? But Charles and I were never anything to each other. We were not lovers, if that is what you think.”

  Nicholas snorted. “You forget, madam, that I found you together on Christmas Eve last year. You were in his bed.”

  “Oh, that,” Emma laughed. “I’d almost forgotten. But that was nothing, you know.”

  “Nothing!” he echoed in disbelief.

  “I don’t suppose there’s any harm in telling you now!” she said, laughing harder. “I went to the wrong room. I didn’t know I was in Charles’s bed. I thought I was in your bed! Your room. Westphalia. We can laugh about it now, can’t we?”

  “What?” he said faintly.

  “I didn’t realize at the time that you’d changed rooms with Mr. Palafox,” Emma explained, controlling her hilarity. “It was my intention to meet you, Nicholas. That’s why I sent you that note, the one you crumpled up and threw at me.”

  “I did change rooms with Palafox,” he murmured.

  “Yes, I know. I realized it when he returned to Westphalia for a call of nature.”

  “You meant to rendezvous with me?” he said slowly, staring at her. “Not Palafox?”

  “Well, yes. But it isn’t what you think,” she quickly added. “I mean, it was not to be that sort of rendezvous. I had heard that you were going to marry Octavia. I knew instantly—instantly—that that was how you’d…” She paused, drawing in a deep breath. “How you’d gotten my letter back. I’m so sorry, Nicholas. I should have guessed sooner. I don’t even think I thanked you properly! Did I?”

  “Of course you did,” he said.

  “Did I? You’re very kind,” she murmured, “but I’m sure I didn’t. I was in such a state, I’m sure I was nasty to you. But when Harry told me at the ball that you were going to marry Octavia—! I knew I couldn’t let you ruin your life. I knew you’d never go back on your word, Nicholas, but we thought, Colin and I, that if Octavia found you with me in a compromising position, she might jilt you. Then you would have been free.”

  Emma laughed. “It probably would not have worked. In any case, it doesn’t matter now, does it? Octavia is to marry Mr. Palafox, and you and Julia are happy together. I got my letter back. Aleta is safe. All’s well that ends well.”

  Nicholas felt that his world had been turned upside down. Outwardly, he remained calm, however. “Yes,” he said faintly, his voice tinny and hollow. “All’s well that ends well.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  At Emma’s insistence, Nicholas went back to his billiards while she fussed over the painting. “Do you think the picture is straight, my lord?” she asked him as the servants stood ready to leave the room. “Harry hasn’t seen it yet,” she added. “I want it to look perfect.”

  Nicholas gave his approval, and Emma dismissed the servants.

  “Do you think he will like it?” Emma asked doubtfully. “Oh, sorry! I’ve made you scratch,” she murmured, fishing the ivory ball from the pocket and rolling it to him gently.

  “It don’t signify,” he assured her. “I’m only practicing. You bought him some horses, too, I understand. He is pleased with them, so, even if he doesn’t like the painting…”

  Emma laughed briefly. “That is comforting! I begin to think you do not approve of my picture, Lord Camford! But, then, I had forgotten that you are an artist’s son. Obviously, that qualifies you to be an art critic!”

  “If I have any criticism to offer,” said Nicholas, “it is not of the picture, but, rather of the motive behind the gift.”

  “My motive, sir?” she said, less playfully.

  He shrugged. “You obviously feel guilty for having bought your younger son an estate for Christmas. You are trying to make up for it by presenting your eldest son with a number of expensive gifts like this painting. You mean to flatter him with this romantic depiction of his first hunt.”

  “Indeed, sir! Am I so transparent?” Emma said sarcastically.

  “To me,” he answered.

  “And what, pray, is your motive for beginning an argument with me?”

  “That was not my intention.”

  “You think it romantic, do you?” she said, after a moment, looking up at the picture. “I’ll be sure to ask Sir Thomas to slather a little blood on the canvas the next time I see him! If my motives are in doubt, I wonder what you will make of my Christmas present to you?” she added, attempting a lighter tone.

  “You got me a Christmas present?” he said, surprised.

  “You, and Julia, of course. I wish I could give it to you now. I daresay you will think it quite sinister when you do see it, but it’s all part of my elaborate plan! I didn’t know you were coming to Warwick, so I’m afraid I sent it to your London house,” she added seriously.

  “I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t get you anything.”

  “But of course you did,” she said, smiling. “You sent me a lovely paperweight made of the famous black Camfordshire marble. Thank you! Thank you for your thoughtfulness. One can never have too many paperweights, after all.”

  “That must have been Julia,” Nicholas said, embarrassed. “I would not have sent you a paperweight.”

  “No,” she agreed pleasantly. “You sent me nothing! To which I can ascribe no motive at all. But I have taken too much of your time, my lord,” she said, moving swiftly to the door. “I will leave you to break your balls in peace.”

  Nicholas visited Julia’s room as she was dressing for dinner.

  “Did you send the duchess a paperweight for Christmas?” he demanded, slamming the door and sending Julia’s maid from the room with a look.

  Attired in a scarlet evening gown, Julia held up two different earrings. “Rubies or pearls, Nicky?” she asked him. “Rubies or pearls?”

  “Did you or did you not send the duchess a paperweight for Christmas?”

  “Pearls,” Julia said stubbornly, “or rubies?”

  “I don’t care! Pearls,” Nicholas said impatiently. “Now answer my question!”

  “Let me think,” said Julia. “Yes, I did. I did send her a paperweight. But it was a very nice paperweight, made of our very own Camfordshire marble. Why?”

  “Was it your intention to insult her grace?” he demanded, furious.

  “You didn’t see what she sent us,” Julia said coldly.

  “No, I didn’t, madam! But—but you did, I take it?”

  “The most dreadful little picture,” Julia answered, fastening the ruby earrings to her earlobes. “Just because you were once a sailor does not mean we want some wretched little painting of a w
retched little sailboat!”

  Nicholas frowned at her. “Sailboat!”

  “I took it to an art dealer, but he said it was not an important artist,” Julia said indignantly. “It was not worth the canvas it was painted on, he said. Insult her grace, you say? She’s fortunate I didn’t throw that paperweight at her! As much money as she has! What does she mean sending us a stupid, worthless picture!”

  “I suppose,” said Nicholas, “it was her idea of a joke. As I recall, she found my taste in art to be rather crude. All because I didn’t go into raptures over her Rubens and Raphaels!”

  “There! You see? She insulted us first,” said Julia.

  “How gloomy you look, Mama,” the Duke of Warwick complained as Emma walked into her sitting room that evening.

  “I’ll allow I do not look my best in black,” Emma said, glancing at the mirror. “But gloomy? Perhaps a little pale.”

  “I wish we were not in mourning,” he said, as she fiddled with his snow-white cravat. “There can be no Christmas Eve Ball this year, of course,” he went on, “but, Mama, could we not have a small do at New Year’s Eve?”

  “Oh, yes, please, Mama,” Colin chimed in. “Just a small do. What could it hurt?”

  Emma sighed. “Where is your brother?” she asked Harry, avoiding the subject of New Year’s Eve completely.

  “He’s going to spend the night with the harbourer. We’ve chosen the Christmas stag for this year already. Fritz is going to take the shot. But Grey has his eye on a handsome buck for next year.”

  Emma frowned. “Do you mean to go back tonight after dinner?”

  “No, Mama. I have to play the host, you know. Grey’s all right,” Harry added. “Anyway, Fritz is with him.”

  “Oh, no!” Emma exclaimed softly. “With gentleman so scarce, we can ill afford to lose the major.”

  “I’m afraid you have lost Monty as well,” Colin said apologetically. “His leg is bothering him, poor lamb.”

  “Four men and eight women,” Emma complained. “What a nightmare! Each of you will have to escort two women. There’s nothing else to be done.”

  “I’ll take Julia,” Harry offered, “and the other one, the one that’s getting married. I mean, if it helps you, Mama,” he added piously.

  When they reached the lounge, everyone except Nicholas and Julia had arrived already. Emma found their tardiness very annoying. “Oh, stop tapping your fan,” Colin told her. “They’ve only been married ten months.”

  “What has that to do with being late for dinner?” Emma demanded.

  “You know,” he muttered under his breath. “Perhaps they got caught up in the moment. They’re both young, good-looking people. It’s been known to happen.”

  Pressing her lips together, Emma snapped open her fan and whipped it back and forth to cool her face. Her temper did not improve when, as Lord and Lady Camford finally appeared, her eldest son made an involuntary sound that sounded suspiciously like “Woof!”

  Emma dug her nails into Colin’s arm. “Did he just say woof?” she hissed.

  “No, of course not,” Colin assured her, carefully taking his arm from her grasp. “He said ‘oof!’ as if the air had all been knocked out of him.”

  Emma watched with a jaundiced eye as the duke led Julia and her eldest sister in to dinner. Lady Harriet refused the offer of Lord Colin’s arm, but Lady Anne and Lady Susan accepted. Mr. Palafox offered one arm to Augusta, and Emma quickly seized the other, leaving Nicholas to attend to Lady Harriet and Flavia.

  With half her attention she conversed with Mr. Palafox on the subject of Wingate. With the other half, she watched her son with his cousin Julia as they laughed and chatted together at the other end of the table.

  “Mama!” Harry called down the table to her suddenly. “Mama, did you give Julia some sad little picture of a boat?”

  “I beg your pardon?” said Emma.

  Harry shook his finger at her. “Just because Lord Camford used to be a sailor, doesn’t mean he likes pictures of leaky old boats! Really, Mama!”

  “Oh, I see,” Emma said coolly. Looking at Nicholas, she braided her fingers together and rested her chin on her knuckles. “His lordship does not like the picture?”

  “Why should I?” Nicholas replied, shrugging. “It’s not an important artist. I am no longer a sailor. I am the Earl of Camford. If I am going to collect art, it will be first-rate stuff.”

  “You could put it in your nursery, Nicholas,” Lady Anne suggested helpfully. “Indeed, if I recall correctly, we had one very sweet picture of a boat in the nursery at Camford when I was a child. No,” she corrected herself, biting her lower lip. “No, it was Noah’s ark. I remember now.”

  “Oh, just send the damn thing back to Mama,” Harry said impatiently. “Mama will get you something better, won’t you, Mama? Something you’ll like.”

  “Yes, of course,” Emma said sweetly. “What would you like, Julia?”

  “Well,” said Julia. “Since you ask…I would like to have my portrait painted by Sir Thomas Lawrence. But since he’s been knighted, he’s become so exclusive. I tried all season to get a sitting with him, but no luck. He’s a friend of yours, isn’t he, Duchess?”

  “You can get Julia a sitting, can’t you, Mama?” Harry put in. “Lord knows, we’ve kept the man in business all these years. He’s painted my mother twenty-seven times if he’s painted her once.”

  “I’m afraid Sir Thomas has gone to Vienna,” Emma replied. “The Congress has reconvened, and he has commissions from simply everyone, from the Tsar to Monsieur Talleyrand. But, as soon as he returns to England, I’m sure I can persuade him to paint Lady Camford.”

  “He’ll be heartily sick of painting men by then,” Harry predicted. “He’ll be glad of a pretty face.”

  “It will give me time to decide what I am going to wear,” said Julia. “Will Sir Thomas mind sketching me several different ways?” she inquired. “With different hairstyles, I mean?”

  “Lord, no,” Emma said dryly. “It’s what he lives for.”

  “That’s settled then,” Harry said happily.

  “Not quite,” said Emma. “Was the wedding present satisfactory, at least? Did I do all right there, Julia?” she asked solicitously.

  “Oh, yes, ma’am,” Julia replied. “The Worcestershire tea service emblazoned with the St. Austell coat of arms. We like it very much, don’t we, Nicky? We haven’t broken a single piece, have we? But, then, I haven’t actually got around to unpacking it,” she laughed. “You know how it is, when one is newly married.”

  As soon as dinner was over, Colin went upstairs to look in on Monty, and Emma went with him while the other ladies gathered in the drawing room for coffee.

  In Emma’s absence, Julia imagined herself the queen of Warwick Palace. “No, Aunt Susan,” she preened. “I take the duchess’s place, for I am top lady.”

  Lady Susan presided at the coffee table, undeterred. Her black-clad bulk had already settled into the duchess’s place, and she had no intention of moving.

  “I am the Countess of Camford!” Julia said, stamping her foot.

  “My dear,” her mother pleaded. “No one doubts that you take precedence over us, but it is not very becoming to insist.”

  “Besides which you are not breeding, Miss Julia,” said Lady Susan in her far-reaching voice. “You are no one until you breed. Until you give Camford an heir, you take no precedence over me, I can assure you.”

  “How dare you!” said Julia, her face turning almost as red as her hair.

  “What’s the matter with you, anyway?” Lady Susan demanded. “Your sister Cornelia married three months after you, and she’s already breeding. How often do you copulate with your husband? I trust his lordship is adequately equipped for the task?”

  “My dear Susan!” Lady Anne protested weakly, clapping her hands over her ears. “You shouldn’t say such things. It is not very nice.”

  “I’m just getting started,” Lady Susan replied. “Come, now, Anne! Let u
s not be squeamish. You want Julia to breed an heir, don’t you?”

  “Of course, but—”

  “Octavia is soon to be married. She can hear this,” Lady Susan declared. “It is useful information for a bride. Flavia and Augusta can go play some music while we chat.”

  Since they could be assured of hearing every loud word their Aunt Susan uttered, Flavia and Augusta readily assented.

  “Now, then,” said Lady Susan, studying Julia through her big quizzing glass. “How often do you copulate? Is Camford vigorous or lackadaisical? Does he spend copiously?”

  “Of course he does,” Julia said, glaring at her. “He’s violently in love with me.”

  “What has that to do with anything?” said Lady Susan. “One of my sons-in-law—I can’t remember which one it was now—he had some sort of impediment at the tip of his affair. Two snips with the nail scissors, and he was right as rain. But, you say, he spends like a champion, so that can’t be it. Perhaps his spunk is of poor quality.”

  “I wouldn’t know, I’m sure!” Julia snapped. “I never looked!”

  “Well, you had better start looking!” said Lady Susan. “Do you at least stand on your head after he has his way with you?”

  “Of course,” Julia said. “Do you take me for a fool?”

  “Oh? Well, you seem to be doing your part,” Lady Susan observed. “And Camford is doing his. I confess I’m mystified. By all accounts, you should be breeding.”

  “Perhaps I am breeding,” said Julia. “Perhaps I’m just not very far along. Have you thought of that, Aunt Susan?”

  “She is not breeding,” Octavia said flatly. “When we were at the stables, the duke invited us to ride with him tomorrow. Naturally, I suggested that Julia might be in no condition to ride. But she only tossed her head and said quite happily, ‘Lord, I ain’t breeding! I told Camford I ain’t spoiling my figure for him or anyone until I’m at least twenty-five!’”

  Octavia sat on the sofa, her back very straight, one ankle wedged behind the other. “Everyone was offended by the indelicacy of her remark,” she added, meaning that she herself had been offended. “But Julia gets away with everything!”