Christmas with the Duchess

by Tamara Lejeune

  “But right now you must go to bed,” Emma said sadly.

  “Mama!”

  “It’s half past ten already. The Kristkindl will not come if you are awake.”

  “I mean to stay up all night,” Harry announced. “And you needn’t bother with any surprises for me, Mama. I don’t believe in the Christmas Angel. I never did. I only pretended to for your sake. It’s just another one of Grandmama’s German fairy stories.”

  Grey frowned at him. “If there is no Kristkindl, who puts the presents under the tree every year?”

  “Your mother does, of course,” his brother answered, laughing.

  “Harry!” Emma said furiously.

  “I’m only joking you, Grey!” Harry said quickly. “Of course there’s a Kristkindl. You don’t really think our mother stays up all night wrapping presents, do you? Come on. Let’s go to bed. We can always sing Christmas carols tomorrow.”

  Emma bade everyone good night and followed her sons from the room.

  Julia yawned at the card table. “I’m so tired. I think I’ll go to bed, too. Nicky?” she called to her husband. “I’m going to bed. Shall I wait up for you?”

  “No, madam. The game is at a very delicate stage,” Nicholas replied. “Lord Colin is on the verge of winning. If I do not apply myself, I may find myself at point non plus. I’m afraid this could take all night.”

  With a shrug, Julia departed.

  Colin studied the chess board rather doubtfully. “No offense, Camford, but I don’t even want to do anything pleasant all night. And, if I’m on the verge of winning, I don’t see it.”

  “I may have exaggerated a bit,” Nicholas admitted. “You’re not a very good chess player, I’m afraid.”

  “I am not a chess player at all,” Colin answered with a sniff. “I am more intuitive than strategic, you understand. Wist is more along my line.”

  “Perhaps we’d better leave it, then,” said Nicholas. “Go and play cards.”

  “No, they’re playing at loo,” Colin said, grimacing. “To be honest, I’d rather go to bed.”

  “Then go to bed,” said Nicholas, already putting the chess pieces away.

  “I shall, if Carstairs ever returns,” Colin answered. “It’s as though he’s staying away on purpose! I need my beauty sleep. I’m not eighteen anymore.”

  “What do you need Carstairs for?” Nicholas asked him.

  “I need him to deliver a little note to the major,” Colin answered.

  Major von Schroeder had taken Julia’s place at the card table.

  “He is right over there,” Nicholas pointed out.

  “Discretion, Camford,” Colin chided him. “It’s a billet-doux from a…a certain lady.”

  Nicholas sat very still. “Billet-doux,” he repeated dully.

  “A love letter,” Colin translated. “I can’t just walk over there and give the man a love letter. It’s got to be done discreetly, by a trusted servant.”

  “Leave it with me,” Nicholas suggested. “I will give it to Carstairs when he returns.”

  “I say! That’s a very good thought,” Colin said gratefully. Taking a small envelope from his pocket, he tossed it to Nicholas. “You don’t mind?”

  “Not at all,” said Nicholas, pocketing the note.

  Pleading a headache, Colin bade everyone good night. Nicholas did not remain in the room for very long after his departure. Princess Elke sighed as he left the room. “Lord Camfurt, he is manly for an Englishman, nicht wahr? But Princess Elke has heard he has the pox.”

  “Camford has the pox?” shrieked Lady Susan. “No wonder Julia won’t sleep with him!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Lady Harriet scoffed. “Camford don’t have the pox. That was just a story Lord Colin made up last year. It’s completely untrue.”

  Princess Elke frowned, puzzled. “Princess Elke’s husband tells this lie? For what purpose?”

  “General mischief and mayhem, I should think,” Lady Harriet said dryly. “But who told your highness that Camford had the pox?”

  “The duchess,” the princess answered. “She lies to Princess Elke?”

  “She wants him for herself, I should imagine,” Lady Harriet replied. “She knows perfectly well he don’t have the pox.”

  “The shameless strumpet!” cried Lady Susan. “Emma has told Julia that Camford has the pox! That is why Julia wants a divorce.” A footman jumped forward to help her as she struggled to get out of her chair. “I must go to my niece at once and tell her the truth! The marriage must be saved!”

  She ambled out of the room.

  Princess Elke stood up. “Princess Elke will go to bed now. Guten nacht.”

  The major gave her his arm, and they left the room together. “And me, your highness?” he asked her quietly when they were in the hall. “What would you have of me?”

  Princess Elke paused to look him over. “Nothing,” she decided. “You may go to bed. Your services will not be required, after all. Princess Elke has no more time to waste with you.”

  “But, your highness! Give me another chance, I beg of you.”

  “Princess Elke has spoken,” she said coldly.

  When the Duke of Warwick and his mother returned to the main drawing room a few minutes later, the room was empty but for a few servants who were putting the card table away.

  “Where is everyone?” Harry wanted to know.

  “They have all gone to bed, your grace,” the servant told him.

  “Bugger!” said Harry, throwing himself down on one of the sofas. “I wanted to stay up all night. I only pretended to go to bed so that Grey would go to sleep.”

  “I know, darling,” Emma murmured.

  “You know, Mama, he’s going to find out sooner or later that there is no Kristkindl. If he starts going on about it next year, in front of his school friends, he’ll be a laughingstock.”

  “Oh, let me have one last year,” Emma pleaded. “You can tell him after Christmas. Come and help me wrap his presents,” she added. “It will go faster.”

  Harry did not budge from the sofa. “Next year will be very different,” he announced. “Next year, I shall have lots of friends with me. We will each drink a bottle of wine a day, and we will play cards all night.”

  “It sounds perfectly dreadful,” said his mother.

  He sat there, sulking and making plans, while Emma wrapped the presents. Within minutes, Harry was asleep.

  Armed with a branch of candles, Lady Susan strode directly to Julia’s room. “My dear niece,” she cried, throwing open the door, and sailing over to the big four-poster bed, “why didn’t you tell your Aunt Susan? Why didn’t you tell your mother? Your husband does not have the pox! The duchess lied!”

  No sound emerged from the bed. The curtains had been drawn tightly.

  “Did you hear me, Julia?” Lady Susan demanded. “Are you awake?”

  “She’d have to be dead not to hear you,” said a sulky voice from the doorway. Octavia stood there in her nightgown, her auburn hair in curl papers. “Do be quiet, Aunt. You will wake Mrs. Allen.”

  Frowning, Lady Susan threw open the bed curtains. For a moment she could only stare.

  “What is it, Aunt?” Octavia demanded, holding up the bedroom taper she had carried with her down the hall. “Is Julia ill?”

  “Go and get your mother,” Lady Susan commanded. “And find me Carstairs!”

  Octavia did not obey. Instead, she ran to the bed to see what Lady Susan had already seen. Julia was not there. “Charles,” Octavia breathed.

  Turning, she ran out of the room.

  In another part of the house, Colin crept along a passageway, shielding his candle with one hand. “Quiet, you old fool!” he growled to Lady Harriet, who was following him so closely that from time to time she bumped into him. “The idea is to catch them in the act. If they hear you coming like a herd of cattle, the advantage of surprise will be lost.”

  “You can’t talk to me like that,” the old lady snapped back. “I’m do
ing you a favor, remember? I’d much rather be in bed. Anyway, there’s no doubt we’ll catch them in the act. They’re so brazen, they left the drawing room at the same time. Your silly little note was completely superfluous.”

  “Silence, hag.”

  As they drew near the major’s door, Colin pressed his ear against the wall, listening. “It’s awfully quiet in there,” he complained.

  Lady Harriet pulled her shawl tightly around her thin body. “What did you expect?” she asked sourly. “Howls of ecstasy? They’re German.”

  Colin cursed under his breath. “Perhaps we’re too late to catch them in the act.”

  “It’s not been twenty minutes since I saw them leave the drawing room.”

  “Some men are quicker than that,” Colin said dryly.

  “I’ll take your word for it, dear boy,” the spinster replied virtuously.

  Colin gave her a little push. “You’ll just have to go in, old girl, and hope for the best.”

  “I?” she protested. “I ain’t going in first!”

  “You’ll have to, Witch of Endor. I’m ever so squeamish.”

  “For heaven’s sake,” she said impatiently, brushing past him to try the door. To her surprise, the latch was not engaged. She went into the room, swallowed up by the darkness.

  Colin remained in the hall. He tapped his foot impatiently. “Well?” he called. “Am I betrayed or not?”

  “Wer ist das?” the major demanded from within. A candle blossomed in the darkness.

  “He is here,” Lady Harriet called to Colin, “but he is alone, I’m afraid. Sorry to trouble you, Major,” she added briskly.

  “What?” Colin cried furiously, striding into the room. “After all my hard work? Have you checked the bed?”

  “Of course I checked the bed,” she snarled. “The man is alone.”

  “I know she’s here,” he declared, beginning a search of the room. “I can hear her breathing!”

  “That is I,” Lady Harriet said coldly. “I have a slight cold in the head. She’s not here, little lamb.”

  “This is all your fault,” he raged at her. “I’ll bet you didn’t even give her the major’s letter,” he accused her.

  “I did,” she said indignantly.

  “What letter?” the major demanded, getting out of bed. His snow-white nightshirt hung just past his knees. “I do not write letters, except for blackmail, of course. I am very careful.”

  Colin ignored him.

  “Then why isn’t she here, Aunt Harriet?” Colin demanded.

  She sighed. “Perhaps your wife suspected your letter was a forgery. I didn’t want to say anything at the time, but do you think it was a good idea to write these letters in English? Surely these two would communicate in their native language.”

  “Yes, but my German isn’t all that good,” Colin explained.

  “What is going on?” the major demanded.

  Colin turned on him. “You double-crossing snake! We were supposed to find you with my wife in a compromising position. Instead, here you are alone. And you have the temerity to ask me what is going on? I might well ask you what is going on! In fact, I will. What is going on? My spy here saw you leave the drawing room with my wife.”

  “I resent being called your spy,” Lady Harriet said frostily.

  “We’ll compare resentments later,” he snapped back. “Well, Major?” he asked, tapping his foot. “Why aren’t you in bed with my wife?”

  The major threw up his hands. “Because your wife, she is in the bed of the English milord. She finds out he doesn’t have the pox.”

  “Oh,” said Lady Harriet. “Oh.”

  “As long as she’s in bed with someone,” Colin muttered. “What room is he in?”

  “I don’t know,” said Lady Harriet said. “Carstairs took care of him.”

  “Don’t just stand there!” said Colin, frantically. “We must find Carstairs at once.”

  “I beg your pardon, Lord Colin,” said Carstairs from the doorway. “Does your lordship require my assistance?”

  Colin stared at him in awe. “You must be clairvoyant. How did you know I was here?”

  “I didn’t, Lord Colin,” Carstairs replied. “Lord Camford asked me to deliver this note to the major personally and discreetly. I am here to complete the errand.”

  “Never mind all that,” Colin said impatiently. “Tell us where we can find Lord Camford. Quickly, man!”

  Lady Harriet pushed him aside. “Take us to Lord Camford’s room at once,” she commanded the butler. “There is not an instant to lose. He is about to commit adultery with Princess Elke, and we should very much like to catch him in the act.”

  “Certainly, Lady Harriet,” said Carstairs, at his most accommodating.

  Emma put the finishing touches on the last of the Christmas presents, then stood up, rubbing the back of her neck. She was debating whether or not to wake up Harry and send him along to bed, when Lady Anne flew into the room in her nightgown and bare feet.

  “Have you seen Julia?” she gasped, as she nearly collided with a tall Chinese vase.

  “Have I seen Julia?” Emma repeated stupidly. “Why, what is the matter?”

  Harry sat up on the sofa. “What’s this?” he asked, yawning so hard that tears stood in his eyes.

  “It’s Julia, your grace,” Lady Anne answered, sketching a rather confused curtsey. “She is not in her bed. Have you see her?”

  “No, of course not,” Harry said rather crossly. “I have been here with my mother. She needed me to help her wrap presents,” he added.

  “Perhaps Julia is with one of her sisters,” Emma suggested.

  “She did not summon her maid to help her undress,” said Lady Anne, “and her best cloak is missing! My other girls are in bed.”

  Emma frowned. “Julia would not leave the house, surely. The dogs—”

  Breaking off, she ran to ring the bell.

  “Oh, no! The dogs!” Lady Anne began to cry hysterically. “The dogs will tear her apart!”

  “I will go and speak to the groundsmen at once,” said Harry, but, at that moment, Lady Susan came into the room, still wearing the black gown she had worn to dinner. With her was Mrs. Allen, sans pug, in a nightgown and lace cap. Between them, they supported a very pale Octavia.

  “There is no need to speak to the groundsmen,” said Lady Susan. “They have run off together. Julia and Mr. Palafox. They have eloped. Poor Octavia has found a note in Mr. Palafox’s room.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Harry declared. “Julia? And Palafox? Why, it must be a joke.”

  Emma brought Octavia a glass of brandy. “Charles is gone,” Octavia whispered, staring. “He has eloped with Julia! It’s true! Oh, how could they do this to me?”

  “Drink this, Miss Fitzroy,” Emma said gently. “Harry is right. It must be a prank. Charles has far too much sense to run off with your sister.”

  Mrs. Allen snorted. “No, he don’t!”

  “I beg your pardon, ma’am,” said Emma. “But he would not risk displeasing you. He depends on your fortune.”

  “Which he thinks he has already,” Mrs. Allen replied. “I told him I’d made my fortune over to him, and that it was irrevocable. I showed him some very pretty papers made up for me in London. Not even slightly legal, but Charles doesn’t know that. I wanted to see how he would behave if he were independent of me. Now I know,” she added dryly. “He wasted no time, I must say. I only told him this very night!”

  Octavia began to sob. “I cannot be jilted again! This cannot be happening to me!”

  Lady Susan helped the distraught young woman to a chair.

  “I shall leave all my money to an orphanage,” Mrs. Allen declared.

  “No!” cried Octavia, starting up from the chair. “Please, Mrs. Allen! Have pity on me! You must bring Charles back and make him marry me! I am sure he will be good from now on. I will make him good. I cannot be jilted a third time. I do not deserve this!”

  Wildly, she appealed to Ha
rry. “Sound the alarm, your grace! Send the servants after them. They cannot have gotten very far. They may even still be on the estate!”

  “Calm yourself, Octavia,” said Emma. “The damage is done.”

  “To Julia,” she agreed. “But Charles can still be saved. He cannot marry Julia, after all; she is married already. But he can still marry me, if Mrs. Allen will only forgive him. When he realizes he has no money, Charles will give Julia up very readily.”

  “Mama, this is dreadful,” said Harry. “Mr. Palafox must have abducted Julia! She would never go of her own free will.”

  “Show him the letter!” cried Lady Susan. “’Twas Julia herself who wrote it.”

  Octavia produced the incriminating page, but Harry was too embarrassed to look at it. “What are we to do, Mama? Should I—? Will I go after them?”

  “No!” Emma said sharply. “Where is Julia’s husband?”

  Lady Anne gasped. “Nicholas! Someone will have to tell him,” she whispered, wringing her hands.

  “I will tell him,” said Emma. “Someone must go after Charles and Julia, and he is by far the most proper person.”

  At that moment, Nicholas was thrashing in his bed, in the throes of a nightmare. He was in a dark, hot, humid place, the West Indies, perhaps. He was being devoured by an immense, powerful python. The evil beast had pinned him to the ground, its incredible weight squeezing the air from his lungs. He could feel his bones cracking as the serpent slowly engulfed him.

  Opening his eyes, he screamed, his cry lost in the damp, mounded flesh encircling his face. A large, muscular female had planted herself on top of him, and the mounds of flesh were her very large, sweaty breasts.

  “Hush, liebchen,” said a low, guttural voice. “It is I, Princess Elke von Hindenburg.”

  “Oh, my God!” he said, throwing her off of the bed by main strength. In the process, he discovered that he was entirely naked, the princess having relieved him of his nightshirt as he slept.

  The princess landed in a heap on the floor, but sprang up hissing. “You wish to wrestle with Princess Elke? Very well, puny Englishman. We wrestle.”