A Midnight Clear

by Kristi Astor

  “Oh dear, I seem to have lost my way,” she said as she glared at Scully.

  Chapter Five

  Fanny spooned buttered eggs onto her breakfast plate. She initially lifted two scones with the serving fork and then put one back. She glanced at Roxana’s plate. Her guest had moderate servings of everything. No wonder she was so slender. Although truth be told, Roxana was no twig, she just had the figure of a young woman and dresses that showed it to her best advantage. Her figure was much like the one Fanny had enjoyed nearly twenty years ago . . . before children.

  Fanny sighed as she sat down at the morning-room table and pulled the cloth napkin across her lap. She hadn’t grown monstrously large, but her hips had widened with each of her two children, and well, her figure was fuller and gravity was working against her.

  Roxana was the full-grown daughter of one of her best friends from school days, a friend she had not seen in nearly twenty years. Fanny’s own daughter would be presented to society in four short years, and Thomas would be away to school in just a few months.

  Fanny felt old and yet too young to be alone for the rest of her life. Julia and Thomas tromped into the breakfast room and shoved to be first at the sideboard.

  “Thomas, do let your sister go first.” Fanny’s words had little effect.

  “I’m hungry,” complained Thomas.

  “I was here first,” said Julia.

  Across the room, Max lowered his newspaper. “If you two must behave like little children, you will have porridge in the nursery. We have guests.”

  The shoving stopped. A frisson of resentment surprised Fanny. She should feel nothing but gratitude toward Max, who allowed her to stay on in his household, although he could have suggested she move to the dower house. Max had done wonders stepping into his father’s role without hesitation. Of course, he had been raised to do so from his infancy.

  But his decreeing that his friend Devlin Scullin sleep in a room just two doors down from hers when she did not even want the man in the house bothered her. When Max had spoken to her of ending the improvements to the house and grounds and suggested economy in spending habits, as was his right, Fanny had felt chastised and humiliated.

  In the near nineteen years of Fanny’s marriage, her husband had never once indicated that she spent too much or that paying the bills created problems. Max stopped short of saying she should live on her jointure and apologized handsomely, blaming recent crop failures and that he wished to be sure Thomas and Julia would be adequately provided for. Fanny knew that he avoided saying her reckless spending had created debts. The former duke had indulged her and encouraged her spending to no end.

  But she was not able to voice to her stepson her protest that she had not known that she was too extravagant. She should have known. She had long ago discovered that the pretty things held little appeal once bought, but by then her spending was more habit than not. Max was the head of this household now, which made him guardian of her children as well.

  Although on the face of it, Fanny could not fault Max. She knew he would not have asked her to cut back if there was no need. Resenting Max’s long absences and his mandates about Thomas’s education was silly. Nothing had changed in the way Max handled himself, except he took his duties to Parliament much more seriously than his father had.

  She was just lonely, and Max was not at fault, nor was her husband to blame. No more than it was Roxana’s fault for being young and wearing beautiful clothes. Roxana would no doubt receive a great deal of attention from the men at the house party. Fanny would receive the deference due a hostess.

  “Thomas, do sit here beside me and tell what you will do today,” said Roxana. “Do you have studies?”

  “Not today, for it is the week’s end and Max gave our tutor leave to visit his family for Saturday and the Lord’s day,” said Julia as she took the seat on the other side of Roxana. “Seeing as how his home is a county away.”

  “He’s my tutor, not yours. You only get to borrow him while he’s here to teach me,” said Thomas.

  “I know more than you do,” retorted Julia.

  Max folded the newspaper and gave Julia, then Thomas, a look.

  Roxana gave the tiniest shake of her head. “Would you not expect to have learned more? You are older, after all.”

  “I don’t see why I have to share my tutor with her. Girls aren’t supposed to know Greek and Latin and mathematics,” Thomas said sullenly.

  “Why ever not?” asked Roxana. “Does it harm you that Julia is fluent in the ancients?”

  Thomas shook his head.

  “Do you know such?” Julia asked.

  As Roxana shook her head, Max cleared his throat. Both the children ducked their heads.

  “But I should have liked the opportunity to learn,” Roxana said.

  “Then you should come up and study with us, Roxy,” said Thomas with a sly look at his sister.

  Max stood and folded the paper. “Thomas, have you been given leave to be so informal?”

  Roxana looked at him. “I do not mind, your grace. Lord Thomas is only a little younger than my own brother, and I have three sisters. I should much prefer if Lady Julia and he call me by my given name. It reminds me of being home.”

  Max stood very still for a moment before nodding slowly. Miss Winston set down her fork. They seemed very ill at ease with each other this morning, when before it seemed they had gotten on well. But Miss Winston had all but attached herself to the richest eligible houseguest, Mr. Breedon. If she was not with him, then Scully was at her side. And she had worn that striking gown that had everyone looking at her and her perfect figure.

  Roxana lifted her fork, but only stirred her eggs. She now stared at her plate.

  “I’ve read this paper already.” Max slapped the paper together and tossed it down.

  “Well, it does take a few days for them to reach us from London,” said Fanny. The same paper had probably been delivered to him before he left town. Max was behaving oddly. He watched Miss Winston. Good grief, was he attracted to her? Had his decision to help chaperone Roxana thrust them too much in each other’s company? Would that be a bad thing?

  Would Max consider offering for her? While Roxana’s birth was acceptable, Max could certainly find a young lady of better birth and a superior dowry. Fanny had the sudden realization that if Max took a wife, her position would be even more fragile.

  “Thomas, after breakfast I should like you to accompany me to the office.” Max gave a pointed look in Roxana’s direction. “Unless you have need of him, Fanny.”

  That meant she would need to chaperone Miss Winston for the next few hours. She often had Roxana tagging after her in the mornings as she went about her preparations for the party. “I plan to spend the morning decorating the ballroom.”

  “I should be glad to help if you need me,” said Roxana.

  “I want to help too,” piped Julia.

  Well, that would take care of that little problem. Fanny had learned when having Roxana assist her with hanging the mistletoe that the girl had a knack for decoration. Roxana had taken a look at the kissing bower Fanny had set up in the ballroom corner and had stepped in and draped it with twisted gold ribbon, making the corner look extraordinary. Would she be so eager to help if she thought Mr. Breedon would join them soon? Was she at all curious to learn the whereabouts of Dev this morning?

  But there was no need for an answer as that gentleman, wearing clothes that fit him ill and were in the brown tones Max favored, strolled into the room. Scully flashed his smile and said, “Good morning, Fanny, Max, Miss Winston, Julie, Tommy. How is everyone this fine morning?”

  Fanny felt the familiar flip-flop of her stomach and a stab of jealousy. She had been half afraid that Scully would find her too old and careworn to want a flirtation with her. He would surely be drawn to the bevy of young ladies she had invited to the party. That he had spent a great deal of time with Miss Winston last night after dinner only confirmed Fanny’s suspicion that h
e no longer thought about her. Besides, she had never had any reason to believe he had ever wanted more than to be her cicisbeo.

  She rose from her chair. “If you will excuse me, I have a great deal to get done.”

  She told herself that she was just angry that Scully used his position as Max’s longtime friend to be overly familiar, but she knew that every time he said her name she wanted to melt into a puddle of adoration at his feet. That would undoubtedly be the most humiliating experience of her entire life. A duchess should be above behaving like a ninny over a coldhearted rake.

  Max looked up from his desk and noticed Thomas staring out the window instead of going over the accounts Max had assigned him.

  Max put down his pencil. “Is everything correct?”

  Thomas slumped in his seat. “Why should I bother adding up all the numbers when you shall do it again anyhow?”

  “Because you need to know how to manage the estate. Not all of it is riding around checking the fields and livestock.” Thomas took those instructions marginally better than when they were closeted in Max’s office with the ledgers and correspondence. “Once I’ve seen that you know how to do it all, I shan’t have to double-check you.”

  Making the youngster feel his efforts were valued was tougher than Max realized.

  “I have lessons all week. It is not fair that I have to do more of the same all day Saturday with you.”

  Max wondered if he had ever said the things Thomas said. He remembered feeling that way, but he could not remember disputing with his father about the necessity of learning how to manage the duchy. But then, for Thomas, dealing with an older brother had to be different from Max’s learning from his father. “You need to know. You are my heir.”

  “Yes, well, I shall hire a steward if it comes to that,” said Thomas.

  “I have a land steward, a secretary and a man of business. But if I do not know what is about, they could make mistakes or rob the estate.” His money was stretched too thin to risk losing any through a failure to manage it properly. His income was large, but so were the estate’s expenses. Paying his father’s death taxes had forced Max to liquidate more than a few assets. And the debts he had inherited were more than Max had ever expected.

  “You don’t trust your hirelings?” Thomas gawked at his older brother.

  “Of course I trust them. I would not keep them on if I had any reason to doubt their loyalty.” Max sighed. Why was this so difficult to explain? “The lord has to oversee everything.”

  Thomas folded his arms. “It is not fair. Julia is helping decorate the ballroom, and Roxy said she would show me how to cut paper decorations if I joined them.”

  “Very well.” Max pointed to the door. If Max showed Thomas the total amount of the outstanding loans of well over a hundred thousand pounds, would he understand the need to account for every penny? But Max feared his brother might tell Fanny or become angry with their father. “Go on, then.”

  Thomas was out of the office before the words were finished. He nearly crashed into the butler holding a silver salver.

  “Correspondence, your grace.”

  “Thank you.” Max nodded as he retrieved the stack of letters and bills from the tray. Three letters were for guests, addressed to his care, so that the recipients would not have had to pay the postage. One was for Roxana.

  Too late to call Thomas back to have him deliver Roxana’s letter. Max rubbed his forehead, knowing that he had to dig the estate out from the quagmire of debts, yet fearing he would never be successful.

  He pushed back from his desk. He might as well inspect the ballroom while handing Roxy’s letter to her. Ignoring the rise of anticipation in his gut, Max closed up the business affairs that had seemed so pressing a moment earlier.

  In the midst of uncovering holiday decorations, Roxana spied a heap of wine-colored velvet in the corner of the attic. “What is that?” she asked Fanny.

  “Just some damaged bed coverings. I should throw them out.”

  Roxana bit her lip, wondering if she could salvage the material.

  “One of the maids scorched it with a warming pan. I’ve told them not to let them sit,” Fanny explained. “It is a wonder she did not burn down the house.”

  Roxana opened her mouth to ask if she could have it, when a footman entered the room.

  “Your grace, a traveling coach is on the drive.”

  Reaching to straighten her lacy cap, Fanny stood and then swiped at her skirts as if she felt unkempt. Every time a new guest arrived, the duchess stopped whatever she was doing and went to greet the new arrivals and escort them to their rooms and make sure their needs were seen to. The servants always knew where to find her, and one must be assigned to watch the drive at all times.

  “We can finish the ballroom, your grace,” Roxana told Fanny, noticing the harried look on the duchess’s face.

  Roxana opened a carton that contained wire wreaths with a bit of dried leaves stuck in the joints, while Julia unearthed a box of silver stars. She took one out and rubbed it with a polishing cloth.

  Fanny nodded. “Thank you. Julia, can you tell Miss Winston where everything is? The fresh holly is—”

  “We have the list.” Julia waved her mother’s handwritten note.

  Roxana stole a glance at the list. Hang stars from chandeliers. Drape columns with tinsel. Wrap holly around wire frames . . .

  “Truly, your grace, decorating is a treat for me,” said Roxana. “If I don’t understand anything, I’ll be sure to find you and ask.”

  “Oh, do just call me Fanny. You are nearly family, after all.”

  Roxana ducked her head, uncertain how to respond to that. Was it because she had befriended Julia and Thomas, who seemed largely abandoned while their mother flitted around seeing to her hostess duties? Or did she know what had happened with Max under the mistletoe?

  “Do not, fret, Mama. We shall make it look wonderful.”

  Fanny nodded, and with a backward glance over her shoulder, she followed her servant downstairs.

  Thomas entered the attic storeroom, looking over his shoulder. “It’s not fair. He hardly ever comes home and then he expects me to slave over the accounts with him.”

  Roxana gently urged Thomas to assist with the decorations while he vented his spleen about his brother’s expectations. Roxana forbore answering. After a while Thomas settled into decorating.

  They steadily moved back and forth between the attic storeroom and the ballroom. A couple of footmen magically appeared with ladders to assist in the hanging. Roxana dismissed them as she set Thomas to cutting paper snowflakes. She returned to the storeroom to wind the holly around the wire wreaths.

  Julia had stood and watched. “You make those look so wonderful. Mama just throws on the stuff, then insists they are horrid.”

  “I am sure that hers look wonderful, far better than mine.” Roxana took one last look at the pile of material in the corner. With a sigh she lifted the wreath, while Julia lifted another.

  “No, Mama hates the holly because of the sharp points. It is about like how I hate to play the piano, but Mama says I must, and my teacher says I do not practice enough.”

  “Would you like me to sit with you when you practice?” It had been almost a decade since Roxana had played the piano. She remembered her mother had taken great pleasure in playing before her fingers were broken and she could not play any longer. Then they moved to the cottage, which was not large enough to hold even a harpsichord.

  “You would hear how very horrid I am.”

  “I assure you, I am probably worse.” Roxana’s piano lessons had ceased the day her mother’s hand had been injured.

  Julia looked at her skeptically.

  Roxana laughed. “If I promise to show you my lack of skill, will you play for me?”

  Julia nodded.

  Holding the large holly wreath, Roxana entered the ballroom. A frisson of anticipation passed through her, as if the room had garnered fairy magic in her brief absence to re
trieve the last of the decorations from the attic storeroom.

  Thomas leapt to his feet and called out that he was done as he raced out of the room.

  Shiny silver stars hung from the ceiling, interspersed with dozens of snowflakes cut from white paper. Traditional evergreen boughs covered the two mantelpieces and lent their crisp fragrance to the air.

  The room resembled a holiday paradise, thought Roxana. Swags of forest-green velvet framed every tall window, and she and Julia had just finished replacing all the tiebacks with thick gold ribbons. Fat candles sat on the sills waiting to light the windows in the holiday spirit.

  The room was so much more formal than the ballroom at Wingate Hall. Besides that, the last time Roxana had seen that ballroom it had been draped in red silk to resemble a harem’s tents. Mrs. Porter had ordered yards and yards of what she called sari silk from India. The silk had been draped all over the ballroom to create little semiprivate tent rooms for her party. Mrs. Porter filled the bowers with every cushion that could be found and a few more that Roxana was commissioned to make. Roxana guessed there was not much dancing at Mrs. Porter’s party.

  That none of the girls commissioned new ball gowns disappointed Roxana. Although, she did have a high demand for peignoirs and undergarments. Apparently a regiment of soldiers, temporarily stationed nearby, had needed entertainment.

  The silk became Roxana’s after the party. Mrs. Porter had said to throw it away; the stuff was too transparent to be of any practical use. Roxana had doubled it, sewed it into dresses and then cut undergarments of the same cloth.

  “Oh, Max, isn’t it lovely?” said Julia. She carried a holly wreath too.

  Roxana drew up short, and Julia plowed into her from behind. The sharp holly leaves pricked through the simple muslin gown.

  Max stepped out from behind one of the silver-tinsel-wrapped columns. He walked toward them. “Quite.”

  She had been looking so much at their newly finished decorations that she had not noticed the figure at the far end of the room, standing behind one of the columns. But she had sensed him, hadn’t she? Was he the reason she felt magic when she entered the room this time?