Late that afternoon, the Duchess of Sutcliffe gathered her guests in the dining room.
At once Griffin sought out Everleigh.
She stood chatting with her cousins and Miss Twistleton.
That Twistleton chit was going to give some man a merry chase. Thank God it wouldn’t be him, no matter how lovely she might be. The Breckensole misses weren’t easily managed either.
He preferred Mrs. Chatterton’s demure presence, especially since he now knew it hid a passionate woman with a spirited disposition and a generous heart.
“Sheffield, I should warn you, my wife has planned couples charades for after supper. I believe the theme is Christmastide traditions.” Sutcliffe gave him a conspiratorial wink. “I know your feelings about the game. You might want to join some of the other chaps and I for billiards instead. We’ll probably indulge in something a mite stronger than mulled cider too.”
Sutcliffe’s brandy was legendary stuff.
He followed Griffin’s focus to Everleigh nodding at something Miss Ophelia was saying.
“Or mayhap you’ll want to participate in the antics after all. My understanding is the ladies also made several kissing boughs.” Sutcliffe canted his dark head toward the dining room doorway where a gaily beribboned bundle of berry-laden holy and mistletoe hung suspended from a bright gold ribbon. “Thea fretted that with this many guests, one bough wasn’t going to be sufficient. Especially if there were to be enough berries to last till the end of the month.”
Griffin furrowed his brow, not altogether keen on taking his turn with the pudding. Nonsensical traditions held little interest for him, but that was probably because his parents hadn’t bothered with such trivialities. Truth to tell, they hadn’t troubled themselves with their only child much at all.
They’d died when he was at Eton, though he’d rarely gone home for the holiday anyway. That changed when Uncle Jerome assumed guardianship, but, Uncle, a confirmed bachelor—until now—hadn’t a clue about Christmas falderal either. He’d introduced Griffin to the world by letting him travel with him.
Not a bad trade-off in his estimation.
“I don’t take your meaning.” Griffin glanced to the head of the table where Dandridge, looking like he’d been made to swallow mothballs, was taking his turn at stirring the fruity goop in the bowl.
Griffin made a mental note to keep his countenance expressionless when his turn came. “What do numerous blobs of berry-covered greenery have to do with me?”
“What he means, Sheffield, is you haven’t taken your eyes off Everleigh Chatterton since you entered the room. More accurately, you haven’t let her out of your sight since she entered the drawing room last night.”
Pennington offered that observation with a hearty slap to Griffin’s shoulder.
“I must say, I didn’t think she was your type,” Westfall said. “Far too starchy and frigid.”
The thought of their earlier kiss heated Griffin’s blood once more. She wasn’t frosty at all. Merely abused and afraid.
“She’s not cold, just cautious,” he denied.
“Brrrr. My ballocks shrivel just walking past her.” Smiling wickedly, Pennington gave a dramatic shiver, and rubbed his arms with both hands.
Never before had Griffin had the urge to pop Pennington’s cork, but, at the moment, wiping the cocky grin from his friend’s handsome face held real appeal. Except, he was certain it would diminish his standing in Everleigh’s opinion, and it mattered a great deal what she thought of him.
Eye to eye with Sutcliffe, Griffin folded his arms. “You presume I’d trap Mrs. Chatterton beneath a bough and demand a kiss?”
No need for entrapment. She’d been willing.
God help him if they ever found out she’d already granted him that sweet favor. He’d never hear the end of it. The duke who managed to thaw the Ice-Queen. Sounded like a bad title to a gothic novel.
“She couldn’t say no,” Sutcliffe said with a furtive half-wink.
Just as a wife couldn’t refuse her husband’s attentions, damn Chatterton to purgatory.
“It’s bad luck to refuse a kiss on the cheek, old chap,” Westfall weighed in.
For God’s sake. Did he truly look so love-struck that his chums had to give him advice on how to woo a woman? He wasn’t exactly an inexperienced milksop or a monk in need of instruction.
“You’re getting way ahead of yourselves.” Griffin wasn’t giving anyone else an opportunity to cast speculation around about him and Everleigh. “You do her a disservice as well, and that’s beneath you.”
To a man, they had the decency to look chagrined. They truly were decent chaps at heart.
Voice lowered for Griffin’s ears only, Sutcliffe said, “She deserves a bit of happiness. I don’t know all the details, only the bits and buttons Theadosia has shared with me, but Mrs. Chatterton has had a very rough time of it.”
Damn, but life was unfair sometimes.
The duchess tapped a wooden spoon against the large bowl sitting at one end of the table. “Can I have everyone’s attention, please?”
Griffin nearly shouted yes. Now his friends could leave off interfering in his romantic endeavors.
Gradually the excited chatter trickled to silence.
She fairly beamed, clearly enjoying herself.
“As you know, today is Stir-up Sunday. My father always quoted from the Common Book of Prayer before stirring the pudding. As this is the first Christmas James, Jessica, and I shall be celebrating the Yuletide without our parents, I hope you will indulge me as I give the blessing.”
Almost defrocked after helping himself to tithes and other church moneys, a disgraced Mr. Brentwood and his wife now shepherded a flock of soldiers and convicts in Australia.
The duchess closed her eyes and bowed her head.
Everyone else followed suit.
“Stir up, we beseech thee, O Lord, the wills of thy faithful people; that they, plenteously bringing forth the fruit of good works, may by thee be plenteously rewarded; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”
“Amen,” everyone murmured.
Holding the spoon like a magical wand, or perhaps a royal scepter, her grace waved it over the bowl.
“Cook has prepared and mixed the ingredients for our Christmas pudding, and we have the wooden spoon to represent Christ’s rib. Everyone will have a chance to stir it. Make sure you stir in clockwise direction thrice, and as you do, make three silent wishes. One is sure to come true. I’ll go first to demonstrate.”
She closed her eyes and stirred three times. When she opened her lids, her loving gaze met her husband’s, and their adoration for each other was so obvious, Griffin felt slightly discomfited, as if he’d invaded a private moment between them.
He couldn’t prevent a covert glimpse toward Everleigh.
From beneath her lashes, she observed him as well, but averted her gaze when she noticed his perusal. A rosy hue tinted her cheeks as she followed the others to the table for her turn to stir dessert.
“It’ll be the best stirred pudding of all time after we’re through,” Pennington muttered drolly as he stepped into the queue.
“Indeed.” Griffin chuckled. “And I believe the staff will have turns as well.”
Pennington arched incredulous brows over his one blue eye and one green eye. “With the same pudding?”
Griffin jockeyed a shoulder. “I dunno.
“Why, rather than a fork or spoon we’ll need a teacup to sip it Christmas Day,” Pennington said. “I suppose, then, my chances of finding the wishbone is next to none.”
“As if you need any more luck, my friend. Besides, I suspect the duchess will have made sure the pudding is full of coins and other charms.” Griffin wouldn’t mind finding the ring. The finder was said to be certain to be married within a year.
“Yes, well, I’m not having any luck getting Gabriella Breckensole to spare me so much as a smile,” Pennington muttered. “I declare she acts affronted each time I draw near, and I can
not imagine what I’ve done to offend.”
Had Pennington at last found a woman who captured his serious interest? Was that such a surprise?
Griffin had as well. His attention strayed to Everleigh once more.
Or maybe, if providence smiled upon him, he would find the ring. Hell, maybe he’d bribe the cook to add a score of rings to the pudding. He almost laughed out loud at the notion. By God, that could have all of the devilish dukes leg-shackled within a year.
Damn, he just might do it. Just to see the flummoxed expressions on their faces when they spooned their pudding.
He shuffled forward a few paces, the enthusiasm of the others creating a jovial atmosphere. To his surprise, he found himself contemplating what his three wishes ought to be.
Not surprisingly, one centered on the beauty who’d befuddled him since they first met.
Guest after guest dutifully stirred the pudding and made their wishes.
The men made quick work of it, laughing or jesting a bit self-consciously while the women took the matter more seriously. Many closed their eyes, and a few of the ladies’ mouths moved silently, almost prayerfully, as they made their wishes.
“Where’s Sarah, Your Grace?”
Everleigh had made her way to his side and looked around as if she expected Sarah and Nurse to pop out from behind him or from beneath the table’s lacy cloth.
“Didn’t you bring her with you? Surely she must have her turn as well.” Disappointment tinged her voice.
Over her fair head, Westfall waggled his eyebrows at Griffin.
Bloody ponce.
He couldn’t tell Westfall to sod off or even give him a cease-your-idiocy glare without alerting Everleigh. He’d not risk her realizing she was the subject of his friends’ speculation, even if it weren’t malicious.
Instead, he smiled and bent his neck to softly say, “She’s a trifle young to understand the meaning, don’t you think?”
“Oh, but that’s why she needs her chance. Yuletide is a magical time for children. They are so innocent, their wishes so pure.” She clasped his forearm. “If you hurry, you can bring her down in time. I’ll await my turn until she’s here.”
How could he resist?
He sketched a half-bow. “I’ll return momentarily.”
Aware several other males’ amused gazes followed him from the room, Griffin took care not to seem too eager. But the minute he was out of their eyesight, he hightailed it to the nursery, and perplexing poor Mrs. Schmidt, scooped Sarah into his arms.
“She needs to stir the pudding and make her wishes,” he said, quite out of breath from his sprint up two flights of stairs.
Sarah giggled and clasped his neck as he dashed back down the corridor from whence he’d come mere seconds before.
“I gets a wish, Papa?”
“Three wishes, cherub.” He clomped down the first flight of stairs, but slowed his pace to catch his breath on the second. He might have to plant one of his friends a facer if they laughed at him galloping back into the dining room.
He kissed the top of Sarah’s head. You’ll stir the pudding three times and with each stir, you’ll make a wish. Do you understand, pet?”
She nodded, that riot of curls Nurse tried—unsuccessfully—to tame bouncing about her shoulders.
He took a deep breath, and once assured his pulse had returned to a normal rate, sauntered into the dining room. With deliberate intent, he avoided the other dukes’ eyes.
Everleigh separated herself from her friends, and, a radiant smile lighting her face, she glided to his side.
He’d barely made it back in time.
Only Jessica Brentwood and Crispin, Duke of Banbridge, hadn’t yet stirred the pudding. From the perturbed expression on her pretty face, Miss Brentwood wasn’t succumbing to Bainbridge’s fabled charm.
“Did you already stir the pudding, after all, Mrs. Chatterton?” Griffin asked.
She nodded. “Yes, I decided it would be easier to help with Sarah if I did. You go ahead and stir, and Sarah can go last.”
“Evlee.” At once, Sarah extended her arms, wiggling her fingers.
Without hesitation, Everleigh placed Sarah on her hip, smoothing the child’s aster blue gown over her legs.
“Hello, darling.” Giving Griffin another smile, she took her place behind him at the end of the short line. “Have you ever stirred the Christmas pudding before?”
Sarah, suddenly shy with all the adults looking at her, shook her head and tucked her cheek into Everleigh’s shoulder.
“It’s the greatest fun,” Everleigh said.
“The pudding has all sorts of delicious ingredients in it: currants, raisins, spices, eggs, brown sugar or molasses, and other tasty things all mixed together. After that, coins and other charms with special meanings are added for people to find in their servings. Everyone takes a turn stirring it, and then on Christmas Day it’s served sprinkled with powdered sugar. It’s utterly scrumptious!”
When it was Sarah’s turn, Griffin pulled a chair before the table for her to stand upon.
Everyone’s attention was on the child, indulgent smiles on their faces. Probably each was recalling their own childhood holiday joy.
Everleigh had been right. Sarah should experience this tradition.
Sarah gripped the spoon in her two small hands. She squinched her eyelids shut tight, then popped them open again.
“I gets three wishes?”
Griffin nodded. “Yes.”
Eyes screwed tightly closed once more, she stirred once. “I wished a white puppy named Clarence with a green ribbon ’round his neck.”
A few swiftly muffled titters followed her sweet declaration.
His gaze met Everleigh’s.
They’d forgotten to tell Sarah to make her wishes silently. Well, at least he knew what to get her for Christmas. He’d have to ask Sutcliffe if he knew of any litters in the area.
Sarah stirred the conglomeration again. “I wished my dolly had a new gown.”
What about new hair and eyes and stuffing? Or just another doll?
No, Sarah saw Maya through the eyes of love, so she didn’t notice the doll’s many flaws. If she wanted to put a new dress on the ramshackle toy, then he’d see to it Maya had a new dress.
Her face scrunched in concentration, she stirred a final time.
“I wished Evlee was my mama.”
Busy with Theadosia’s seemingly never-ending Christmastide activities, the next twelve days passed quickly. Each morning, weather permitting, Everleigh walked with Sarah and Mrs. Schmidt, and more often than not, Griffin joined them.
He hadn’t today, and he also hadn’t been at breakfast.
Others had also begun taking a morning constitutional. No surprise, given the rich foods and lack of occasion to exercise. During summer house parties, guests might play croquet or shuttlecock, practice archery, or go riding or boating, but there weren’t nearly as many opportunities to be outdoors and stretch one’s legs in the wintertime.
Today, Ophelia, Gabriella, and Jessica, arms entwined, walked ahead of Everleigh.
Ice skating was planned for next week, but since she’d never learned how to skate, she’d already decided to stay behind and work on her Christmas gift for Sarah: a new rag doll. A replica of Maya, wearing a crimson and gold striped dress—an exact match to the dress Everleigh was sewing for Sarah.
She’d picked up the material and supplies she needed in Colchester during a shopping excursion Theadosia had planned four days ago so that those who hadn’t brought gifts and wanted to exchange them Christmas Day might purchase a few trinkets.
There’d been much whispering and covert tucking of small packages into coats or reticles and brown paper packages tied with strings carried to the carriages by patient footmen, including Hampton. He still looked at her with more interest than he ought to, but he’d not been impertinent again.
Ridgebrook smelled wonderfully of pine and other greeneries. Thea had tossed aside the custom of wa
iting until Christmas Eve to decorate the house. Garlands, wreaths, and ribbons bedecked the doorways, fireplaces, and mantels. She created a truly festive atmosphere, and, each passing day, Everleigh relaxed a bit more.
Nearly every room bore signs of the holiday, and tonight, again flouting custom, they were to decorate the grand Christmas tree. Smaller trees had already been erected in most of the common rooms, complete with miniature scenes around their bases. For days, in the afternoons and evenings, as one guest or another entertained them with music or songs or even read aloud, many of the others strung popcorn, cranberries, cherries, and currants, or created paper chains for the tree.
Cook had been busy making sweetmeats to stuff in crocheted baskets, and she’d made dozens of pretty cakes and shaped biscuits to hang by ribbons from the tree.
Theadosia’s propensity to toss aside custom to entertain her guests and provide them with a Christmastide they would long remember was endearing. She’d forgone no expense or effort to assure them an unforgettable holiday, especially Everleigh.
Everleigh hadn’t told Griffin she planned on giving Sarah a gift for Christmas, fearing he’d feel obliged to reciprocate. It wouldn’t be proper to accept anything from him, so by being secretive, she saved them both potential awkwardness.
As it was, she was a touch discomfited he hadn’t attempted to kiss her again.
She wasn’t certain whether she was relieved or vexed. For the first time in her life, she’d enjoyed a man’s touch, his warm lips upon hers, and, after that first kiss, she’d even briefly entertained the notion of taking a lover.
If he was the man sharing her bed, that was.
Young and healthy, she was curious to know what all the whispering and giggling was about, and even dear Theadosia had tried to explain that physical intimacy could be wonderful. After Frederick’s assault and Arnold’s clumsy molestations, until Everleigh had met Griffin—well, until he’d kissed her—she’d thought she could be perfectly content being celibate.
Then again, she’d never desired a man until she met him.
The more time she spent with Griffin, the stronger her yearnings grew, and she feared she’d make a cake of herself one of these days. The wisest course of action would be to leave, but she didn’t want to go home now.
A December with a Duke: A Regency Romance (Seductive Scoundrels Book 3) Page 6
