“You will allow me to make up my own mind,” he said coldly.
“Of course,” she said coldly, and nothing more was said on the subject.
The return to Warwick was accomplished without incident, and the next few days were taken up by preparations for Christmas. For Christmas week itself, mourning was suspended. The black bunting was taken away, and the dining hall and the main drawing room were decorated with arrangements of tinsel, balsam, and sugared fruit. While the ladies were engaged in the house, the gentlemen busied themselves out of doors, busily shooting birds for the table. Their activities culminated in the annual stag hunt, which some of the ladies attended, Emma included. She rode out with Princess Elke, Julia, and Augusta.
Augusta quickly moved to the forefront to be closest to the action. Julia instantly attached herself to Mr. Palafox, leaving Emma alone with her sister-in-law.
Princess Elke eyed her coldly. “The major is to take the shot, is he not?” she asked in German.
“Yes, I believe so.”
“Do you not mean to be at his side?” said Elke, her mouth pursed in disapproval.
“I don’t care about the hunt,” Emma confessed. “I’m just here for the fresh air…and the venison, of course. I do enjoy my Christmas dinner. Is that not hypocritical of me?”
Princess Elke grunted. “If you truly loved Fritz, you would be at his side,” she said contemptuously. “A woman in love is not squeamish, even if she is English.”
“But I am not in love with Fritz,” Emma told her. “He is only pretending to make love to me to keep Lord Camford away.”
Princess Elke scowled. “To keep Lord Camfurt away? Princess Elke saw you with him at Wingate. Princess Elke was walking in the garden, and she happened to look up. There you were, with him, in the window. You did not see Princess Elke, but Princess Elke saw you. I think, perhaps, Lord Camfurt doesn’t have the pox at all.”
“You accuse me of lying?”
Princess Elke made a guttural sound of disgust. “These games! Princess Elke does not like games. I want only one thing: a strong, healthy man. Together we give Hindenburg a strong heir. There is no need for games. Does the man have the pox or not?”
“Look here!” Emma said crossly. “Lord Camford is not interested in you. You’re not his sort of woman at all. Spare yourself the humiliation of rejection, and just leave him alone.”
“Ha!” said Princess Elke. “You English are not to be trusted.”
“Quite,” Emma said tartly. “But we did save your arses from the French. Your highness might show a little gratitude.”
Princess Elke bristled. “It was the Prussians who secured the victory at Waterloo!” she snapped.
Emma hid a small yawn behind a gloved hand. “If you say so,” she said. Kicking her horse, she galloped off to catch up to the others.
The hunters chased the unfortunate stag from one end of the duke’s demesne to the other, until finally, after nearly six hours, the beast was brought to bay in the middle of a stream. The major strolled into the stream and casually took the shot, felling the stag at once. The company, most as exhausted as the stag, applauded, but, Emma could not help but shudder, remembering how cheerfully the major had offered to kill Nicholas for a mere one hundred pounds.
The duke promised that the major should have the head for his wall, and, cold and wet, they all rode back to the house, where a nasty shock awaited Charles Palafox: his aunt, the rich and vulgar Mrs. Allen, had arrived unexpectedly. When her presence was revealed to him, he looked rather like the stag brought to bay, Emma thought, almost feeling sorry for him. Discreetly, she went up to her room to bathe and change.
She had scarcely completed her toilette when Colin burst into the room. “I suppose you’ve heard Palafox’s aunt has come to stay,” he said, ignoring her furious protests against this invasion of her privacy. “Pshaw! If I can’t invade your privacy what good are you to me? Besides, I peeked through the keyhole to make sure you were decent first.”
“I heard she was here,” Emma said, relenting. “I don’t think she’s come to stay. I don’t think Charles will allow it.”
“What has Charles to say about anything?” he asked, chuckling as he followed her from her bedroom into her sitting room. “’Twas Lady Anne who invited the aunt. Put up to it by Octavia, no less.”
“I don’t believe it,” said Emma as he helped himself to a large glass of brandy. “Octavia is the biggest snob who ever lived, and Mrs. Allen’s money comes from Trade. Octavia’s marriage to Charles will wash the stink off, to be sure, but the bride would never stoop to associating with Mrs. Allen herself.”
“Oh, but she wants Wingate,” Colin explained. “She’s brought the aunt here to force Charles’s hand. No Wingate, no marriage. No marriage, no money.”
“That’s ghastly!” Emma said indignantly. “Charles may be a cad—in fact, I know he is! But he don’t deserve this. This is slavery, blackmail. Charles must be furious, livid! And I don’t blame him one bit if he is,” she added.
“You will admit it adds a dash of interest to an otherwise crashing bore of a holiday,” said Colin. “I’m sorry, Emma, but I’ve been bored to flinders since Monty left.”
“I’m so sorry you’ve been bored, dear,” Emma said tartly. “I myself have had just the right amount of excitement! I daresay I should have devoted more time to your entertainment, but I should think that hiring a man to seduce your wife so that you may divorce her with a clear conscience would be enough to keep you interested in life.”
“Oh, my own affairs always bore me,” Colin answered. “Now yours are beginning to bore me, too, I’m sorry to say.”
“I beg your pardon,” Emma said coolly. “But who’s to say that Mrs. Allen will be at all interesting?”
“Did you see the look on poor Charles’s face when he heard you-know-who was here?” Colin demanded. “I only heard about it secondhand from the second footman, and I am persuaded she must be very interesting indeed.”
“He did seem rather dismayed,” Emma admitted.
“Do put her next to me at dinner,” Colin begged. “I feel instinctively that Mrs. Allen is the sort of person from whom boredom runs away screaming.”
Mrs. Allen did not disappoint. She was a short, squat woman, swarthy of skin, with a mustache bristling on her upper lip, but the eye was not permitted to dwell on her many physical defects. Instead, the eye was walloped by the incredible, enormous lemon-yellow turban she had smashed down on her head in the mistaken belief that it was all the kick, as she put it. She carried a pop-eyed pug dog with her everywhere, even to the dinner table. Colin very quickly discovered that her attachment to her pet was more practical than sentimental. In fact, Pug was the widow’s necessity. Mrs. Allen, owing to her vegetarian diet, no doubt, suffered from agonizing waves of flatulence, and Pug’s chief purpose in life was to take the blame for his mistress’s unscheduled emissions.
“Good God! What is that smell?” the duke cried at dinner, as a strong odor of cabbage made its way to his end of the table.
“I don’t smell anything,” Mrs. Allen said, glaring around the table.
Emma had granted Colin’s wish to be seated next to the new arrival. Colin’s eyes filled with tears. More than one person was obliged to breathe through the filter of a damask napkin.
The scent of her aunt-to-be had not yet reached Octavia, who sat in safety on the opposite side of the table. She smiled and said, “Aunt Allen, you will be glad to know that Charles and I have found the perfect estate, a most eligible house. It belongs to my cousin, Lord Grey, but the duchess has offered us a very reasonable lease. We would very much like to take you to see it, wouldn’t we, Charles?”
Mr. Palafox, seated at Emma’s elbow, simply pretended not to hear. Sympathetic to his plight, Emma did her best to keep him engaged in conversation.
At last, unable to endure any more of Mrs. Allen’s company, Colin abruptly scraped back his chair and fled the room. Emma immediately rose from the table. �
�Ladies? Shall we adjourn for coffee?”
The next morning, Emma received a letter from her elder brother, the Duke of Chilton. She read it aloud to Colin as they sipped their morning chocolate. Cecily, Duchess of Chilton, had given birth to a son and heir. Lord Scarlingford was to be christened James Stephen Grey on Sunday, December 31.
“I suppose we shall have to leave the day after Christmas,” said Emma. “After Harry opens the alms box, of course. Harry will not be pleased,” she went on, setting aside Otto’s letter. “He wanted me to give a small party on New Year’s Eve. But we shall have to be at Chilton for the christening. Perhaps we could have a small party on Christmas Eve, after all. That doesn’t give us much time, of course. And I shall have to speak to Armand.”
She groaned, dreading the interview with her temperamental French chef.
“That doesn’t give me much time either,” Colin said bitterly. “A pox on Cecily! She could have had that baby any time. She did it on purpose.”
Emma burst out laughing. “What is the matter with you?”
“If we leave Chilton, the Hindenburg will probably leave too.”
“Don’t you want her to go?”
“Not without giving me grounds for a divorce, I don’t!” said Colin. “With what I’m paying Schroeder, I should have had ample evidence by now! Instead, he seems to be paying more attention to you, Emma.”
“Only when Nicholas is around,” Emma protested.
“Then where the devil is my evidence?” Colin wanted to know. “Methinks the major doth double-cross me!”
Emma bowed her head. The major had told her about his war wound in confidence, and, as close as she was to Colin, she could not, in good conscience, tell him.
“You’d better talk to him, Emma.”
“Moi?”
“Yes, you,” he said. “He is your ‘lover,’ after all. You brought him here. He is in your employ. Get him to come to the point—and soon. He must rendezvous with the Hindenburg, and they must be discovered in flagrante delicto.”
Emma made a face. “I would not want to be the one to find them together.”
“Who else?” said Colin. “You’re perfect. You, Emma, must find them together and give evidence at the trial.”
Emma shook her head vehemently. “I shall do nothing of the kind,” she said firmly.
“Emma, you must. I saved your life. It’s the least you can do.”
“When did you save my life?” she demanded.
“How quickly we forget!” he complained. “When we were born, I let you go first, even though there was no air to breathe in my mother’s womb. I could have died giving you life.”
“However, you did not.”
“Emma, please! I didn’t mind being married to the woman, as long as she stayed at home. But now she’s here. I cannot stay married to her another year! Come, now, you don’t want her for a sister-in-law, do you? She’s already ruined your beautiful rug. Who knows what she’ll do next?”
Emma stood firm. “No, Colin. If I find them together, people would probably come to the conclusion that Fritz is my lover. It would be insupportable. Harry and Grey would be humiliated. I’ve just been granted a pardon by society. I’ve just been reinstated at the Court of St. James. I can’t risk being involved in a divorce.”
Colin scowled at her. “You never cared about society before,” he pointed out. “You never cared about the Court of St. James.”
“Harry would never forgive me if my name were dragged into it. I can’t be linked to his tutor. I’m sorry, Colin. I cannot help you.”
“I shall have to ask Aunt Harriet, then,” he said grumpily, climbing to his feet. “You disappoint me, Emma.”
“I will talk to Fritz, of course,” Emma offered. “But that is all I can do.”
“Well, if it’s too much trouble…”
“I got involved in one of your schemes last year,” she reminded him. “That turned out beautifully, didn’t it? No, thank you.”
“Never mind! I shall see to the matter myself,” he said coldly.
“What are you going to do?” Emma asked nervously.
“Perhaps you’d rather not know,” he said caustically. “Don’t you have things to do? Christmas Eve is the day after tomorrow, you know. One would think the Duchess of Warwick might have a thousand things to do.”
“Quite,” said Emma. “I must speak to the chef, the housekeeper, the wine steward, Carstairs, of course—”
“If you’re too busy to talk to Schroeder, I understand.”
Emma threw up her hands and left the room.
Colin brooded for a moment. He finished his chocolate. Then, seating himself at his sister’s escritoire, he pulled out a sheet of paper. He began to write.
Emma had no luck finding Major von Schroeder, but she did find Nicholas and Palafox in the billiard room. With them was her younger son. Grey was watching the two men play the game. As she came into the room, the two gentlemen stopped their game and bowed.
Grey did not stand on ceremony, however. “Mama! Lord Camford says he will take me sailing anytime I like.” He spoke before Emma could open her mouth.
Emma frowned at Nicholas. “You’ve never spoken of sailing before, Grey.”
“Yes, I have,” the twelve-year-old argued. “Next year, for Christmas, I would like a yacht, please.”
“It’s a bit early to think about next year,” Emma said, chuckling. “Anyway, I have just bought you an estate, young man. Now you want a yacht.”
“I shan’t be able to live at Wingate, not for years and years!” said Grey, twitching his head to one side to get his hair out of his eyes. “Anyway, you’re giving Wingate to Mr. Palafox and Cousin Octavia! I could go sailing now, Mama, if I had a yacht.”
“We’ll discuss this later,” said Emma. “Right now, I’m looking for Major von Schroeder. Have you seen him?”
Grey scowled at her, his red hair falling into his eyes again. “It’s winter recess, Mama. I don’t have lessons at the winter recess. No one does.”
“I am not accusing you of anything, Grey,” Emma said impatiently. “I am just looking for the major. Your Aunt Cecily has had her baby; a boy.”
Nicholas and Palafox offered their congratulations, but Grey said merely, “High time!”
Emma sighed. “We leave for Chilton on St. Stephen’s Day, and I need to speak to the major about—about the arrangements.”
“Well, he’s not here,” said Grey. “I haven’t seen him.”
“Perhaps he is with your brother. Do you know where your brother is?”
“I have not seen a glimmer of his grace all morning,” Grey replied.
“Well, if you see him, will you tell him I am looking for him?”
Grey shrugged. “If I see him.”
“That is all I am asking!” she said. Exasperated, she left the room.
“Emma!”
To her dismay, Nicholas was striding down the hall to her. She turned on him furiously. “Have you taken leave of your senses?” she demanded. “I do not give you leave to use my Christian name. Grey probably heard you!”
“I don’t care if he did,” he replied. Forcing her against the wall, he brought his mouth down hard onto hers. He kissed her clumsily and passionately. After a moment of shock, Emma shoved him away.
“I should have done that when we were at Wingate,” he panted. “I have been kicking myself ever since.”
“My son is in the next room,” she hissed at him.
“Is that your only objection? Schroeder doesn’t love you, Emma,” he went on, as she stared at him. “He’s gone out riding with Princess Elke. I am sorry if you care for this—this gigolo—but he does not love you. Not as I do. I love no one but you. I shall never love anyone but you.”
Emma was trembling. “I don’t have time for this,” she gasped.
She hurried away from him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The fir tree in the drawing room that Christmas Eve was a far cry from the huge Weihna
chtsbaum that had graced the Great Hall the year before. “We shan’t need any special rigging for this one,” Harry said regretfully, when the gentlemen rejoined the ladies after dinner. “Even if it did fall over, who would notice?”
“I am sorry I could not manage a better celebration,” Emma apologized. “Lady Gresham had so graciously offered to give a ball at Norwood when we cancelled ours. I could not steal her guests from her at the last minute. Or even her musicians.”
Harry laughed. “It’s quite all right, Mama. We’ve had a splendid dinner anyway. If Cousin Flavia will play for us, we can sing Christmas carols.”
Delighted by the request, Flavia ran to the instrument. Mrs. Allen, however, did not approve of merriment on the solemn occasion of Christmas Eve, and she soon commanded her nephew to escort her to her room. Octavia compelled her mother and sisters, with the exception of Julia, to follow Mrs. Allen’s example.
Princess Elke sat down to cards with Lady Camford, Lady Harriet, and Lady Susan. Major von Schroeder danced attendance on the ladies, bringing them cups of coffee, tea, and chocolate. Colin reluctantly agreed to give Nicholas a game of chess.
Rather to Emma’s surprise, her boys remained with her on the sofa.
“I shall be glad when Mrs. Allen goes away,” Harry said angrily, “and that ghastly pug of hers too!”
“Next year, my love,” Emma told Harry. “We’ll have an even bigger tree than we did last year. We’ll have a Christmas Eve Ball and a New Years’ Eve Ball.”
“And next year will be my stag hunt,” Grey put in. “May I invite some friends from school, Mama?”
“Of course, my darling. You may invite anyone you like. Next year it will not be so dull at Warwick, I promise. We’ll have games and music. I might even hire a troupe of actors to give us a play! And we shall have the biggest tannenbaum the world has ever seen. Your friends from school will be quite amazed.”
The corner of Grey’s mouth twitched faintly. “I suppose that would be all right.”
Christmas with the Duchess Page 32
