An Affair Downstairs

by Sherri Browning

  “He’s not going to let you go easily.” Logan turned to Alice once they’d reached the safety of the drawing room. “We can’t give him any more reason to impugn your reputation until we find a way to force him to back down.”

  Alice nodded, gesturing that they should sit, making sure to take seats far apart from one another. “My reputation will survive. There are worse things than calling off an engagement. Lord Ralston thinks too highly of himself if he believes that threatening my reputation would stop me from pursuing what I want. Still, I suppose there’s no sense in fueling the flames of his discontent. We mustn’t be caught alone together again. I’ll ring for Finch to bring tea, and perhaps he’ll know where Agatha has gone. She must be our constant companion.”

  “I dislike the idea of needing a chaperone.” Logan sighed. “I’ve only just returned to you.”

  “It’s temporary. I think I know a way to convince him to release me.” She smiled mysteriously.

  “And you’re not going to share?”

  Alice shook her head. “Absolutely not. The less you know, the better. You’ve asked me to trust you in the past. I’m asking you to trust me now. I mean to beat him at his own game.”

  “If anyone can, my sweet Alice, it is you.”

  “I admire your restraint, Logan. If I were a man, I might have curled up my mighty fists and kept swinging at Ralston until I’d smashed him clean through one of the conservatory’s glass walls.”

  “If you were a man, Alice, it would have been completely unnecessary. I would let Ralston fancy himself engaged to you and wipe my hands of you both.”

  “You wouldn’t still love me if I were a man? I thought you promised you would love me no matter what.” She mocked a pout.

  He tipped his head. “Well, it would take some getting used to, I suppose. Perhaps if you joined me in a bottle of whiskey, and as long as you still had that glorious red hair.”

  She laughed. He wished he could close the distance between them and at least take her hand in his, but it wasn’t worth the risk. As it was, they had all the appearance of propriety between them, her on the sofa, him seated opposite on the chair, far enough away that they couldn’t be accused of touching.

  Finch came along with the tea cart. “I’ve anticipated your needs. Mrs. Mallows included an assortment your favorite biscuits, Lady Alice.”

  “Gingerbread men! At last it feels like Christmas. Thank you, Mr. Finch.” With childlike glee, she chose an icing-covered man, laughed at the sight of him, and took his head off with one bite.

  “I will give Mrs. Mallows your regards,” Finch said before leaving them.

  “Remind me to stay on your good side.” Logan raised a brow.

  “You’re safe from me, Mr. Winthrop. Unless you’re crafted of gingerbread.” She took off an arm with another bite before she poured the tea.

  “Ah, back to formalities.”

  “We can’t be too careful.” She offered him a cup.

  “Here you are.” Agatha came in with Lady Holcomb. “You see, Hortense. My senses were leading us in the right direction. Oh, no Lord Ralston. Have you seen him? He must be lurking about somewhere.”

  “Somewhere,” Alice said, pretending to be concerned. “He is sure to turn up.”

  “I’ve just given Hortense the most fascinating reading. Tea, yes please. No milk, two lumps.” Agatha shuffled her tarot deck in her hands while waiting for Alice to pour.

  “I’ve been a little afraid to attempt it,” Lady Holcomb admitted, taking a seat beside Alice on the sofa. “But I told myself it was all for entertainment’s sake, and do you know, I actually enjoyed it? There’s great fortune in my future.”

  “And romance.” Agatha held up a hand. “Don’t forget romance. Someone might want to warn Lord Holcomb.”

  Lady Holcomb laughed. Logan found it fascinating that the two women were suddenly on a first-name basis. Perhaps there was hope for Lady Holcomb after all. Though, Logan reasoned, it was entirely likely the lady had gotten into the brandy early on the holiday morning.

  Before long, Lord Holcomb and Lord Ralston joined them, and the parties who had gone off to the farms returned as well. They made a merry afternoon of trading stories and catching up in the drawing room until it was time to part and rest before getting ready for dinner and Christmas Eve Mass. Logan wished he could get Alice alone and lure her to his chamber, but the risk was too great. He reminded himself that they would have plenty of time to be alone when they could be rid of Lord Ralston once and for all.

  He could hardly wait.

  Twenty-two

  Alice’s pulse thrummed with excitement for the evening ahead. Logan had come back for her. There was absolutely no way that she would allow Lord Ralston to ruin her chance at happiness. Somehow, she would get him to confess that he’d caused her post-accident incapacity by drugging her. Everyone who knew of it would accept that she was legitimately unable to make sound decisions for herself when she’d agreed to marry him. But why would he want everyone to know? He would be best served to back out of their engagement quietly without ascribing fault to either party.

  She dressed and met with Sophia and Eve before heading to the drawing room.

  “Do I meet your exacting standards?” she asked her sister, performing a slow twirl around the room.

  “Alice, you look stunning. Why haven’t I seen that gown before?” Sophia glanced up as she clipped on her earrings.

  Alice’s gown glittered with silver-edged black lace over an eggshell cream satin that clung to her figure and managed to be demure and daring at once. She’d kept it in the back of her closet, fearing it too mature for her. But suddenly, she knew she was woman enough to pull it off, and she’d chosen it for the evening. She would pair it with a more practical coat for evening Mass. “It felt festive for tonight. I’m in a good mood.”

  “Could it have anything to do with the reappearance of Mr. Winthrop?” Eve smiled mischievously.

  “It could, but I wouldn’t admit as much in front of my sister. Sophia still clings to the merits of Lord Ralston.”

  “I want you to be happy, dearest. Wouldn’t anyone be happier as the wife of an earl?”

  “No!” Eve and Alice said in unison. “You might believe having the right title is important, but the rest of us still believe in true love.”

  “‘It’s as easy to love a prince as it is to love a pauper,’ Mother always said. ‘But you might as well go for the prince.’” Sophia took her time looking over her strands of beads to choose just the right one to match her cranberry velvet. “Well, not if your heart really isn’t in it. I don’t want you to be miserable.”

  “Logan’s not exactly a pauper,” Alice defended, though she was glad to see signs of Sophia softening toward the idea of her choosing Winthrop. “Besides, he values my opinion. I need a man who recognizes my importance. If he doesn’t think I’m a goddess next to everyone else on earth, what’s the point?”

  “I’ve always thought of Gabriel and Marcus as Roman or Greek gods, the gods of love and war, Marcus representing war, of course. Am I to be the only one in the family without a place in the Pantheon?” Eve wondered.

  “If Marcus is god of war, he wouldn’t have chosen a mere mortal as his consort. Let’s see, Ares was in love with…oh. Aphrodite, wasn’t it? That’s awkward. Sophia has had herself painted as Aphrodite.”

  Eve laughed. Sophia kept pretending to ignore them in favor of dressing for dinner. “Eros, god of love, was paired with Psyche, and Psyche was a mere mortal, like me.”

  Alice rolled her eyes. “And Plato writes extensively about Psyche, and Lord Ralston is always quoting Plato. We’re all mixed up in our mythology, aren’t we?”

  “Maybe not. What goddess are you, Alice?” Eve seemed to be enjoying the odd turn of the conversation.

  Alice blushed. “Logan calls me his Artemis.”

  “If Artemis ever fell off her horse,” Sophia joined in with a laugh.

  “It wasn’t funny, Sophia. I could hav
e been seriously hurt.”

  “Yes, but you weren’t. You’re completely well now.” Sophia dabbed her lips with rouge.

  “I think I always was, but time will tell.”

  “Back to suspecting Lord Ralston of ulterior motives, are we? Why can’t you just accept that he is a man in love?”

  “Oh, I accept it. The question is…in love with whom?”

  Sophia turned to Eve. “Alice has a ridiculous theory that Ralston is in love with me. Can you imagine?”

  Eve looked as if she were about to laugh, and then grew serious. “Actually, I can. He rarely takes his eyes off you, from what I’ve seen. You might be right, Alice.”

  “Ha, you see, Sophia?” Alice crossed her arms.

  “Don’t cross your arms when you’re wearing that delicate lace,” Sophia ordered. “You’ll crush it. We can dress you up, but we certainly can’t teach you to behave. But back to your mythology, Gabriel is no Eros.”

  Alice giggled. “You would know.”

  “Because he’s more of an Adonis, don’t you agree? And Adonis and Aphrodite were a pair. A beautiful pair.”

  “Until Adonis was killed by jealous Ares because Aphrodite dared to flirt with both of them.” Alice smirked at Sophia.

  “We needn’t worry about that. Gabriel and Marcus put all of their difficulties behind them last year. They tend to agree on just about everything now.”

  “Besides, Marcus would never look twice at Sophia. He prefers blondes.” Eve patted the curls of her blond bobbed hair. “But Artemis, you’re forgetting something.”

  “No. I’m well aware that Artemis falls in love with Orion, only to end up being the death of him.”

  Eve nodded. “She kills him by accident.”

  “I think it’s time we stop living out the myths, then, hmm? They’re not fitting to our situations after all. If there’s one man I’d kill, and not at all by accident, it would be Lord Ralston. Fortunately, Agatha read my aura and deems me an orange. Apparently, I’m capricious but forgiving. It should work well in Ralston’s favor.”

  “Provided he lives long enough.” Eve laughed. “Sophia, you’re beautiful. Aren’t we ready yet?”

  “Yes.” She stood up from her dressing table. “Let’s go join the men.”

  “And Lord and Lady Holcomb and Aunt Agatha,” Alice added. “Did you see how Agatha and Lady Holcomb are suddenly fast friends? Agatha did a reading for Lady Holcomb, and now she is on a first-name basis with Hortense.”

  “I’m glad they’re getting along. It was getting tedious trying to keep them apart when Lady Holcomb was afraid of Agatha.” Sophia drifted by them to lead the way.

  “Eve, there was a time that you warned me off Logan. Have you changed your mind, then? He told me that he visited you at Markham House.”

  “We welcomed him, of course. I know how he feels about you, Alice. You might be unaware that there was a time when I warned him about falling for you as well. It was plain to see that the two of you were developing feelings for one another.”

  “Then why did you warn us both off?”

  Eve smiled. “You see what my warnings accomplished, don’t you? You both stopped pretending the attraction wasn’t there and did something about it. Well, I can’t say you ever pretended all that well, but Logan did. Don’t forget that I’ve known you since you were a little girl, Alice. Even way back then, when difficulties popped up in your way, you stomped them down until they were obliterated so that you could get what you wanted.”

  “There’s nothing like being told I can’t have, be, or do something to fire my motivation.”

  “Exactly.” Eve patted her hand. “‘The course of true love never did run smooth.’”

  “A Midsummer Night’s Dream, of course. Shakespeare, with Athenians. It seems that we have a decidedly Greek theme to the evening.”

  “Perhaps Lord Ralston will honor us with more Plato?” Eve smiled. “Don’t worry. At least A Midsummer Night’s Dream is a comedy, not a tragedy.”

  “And it’s not even summer. I think we’ll be just fine.” But Alice’s nerves began to tighten in anxiety. She was willing to pray to any god, Greek or otherwise, who could help her clear the way to be with Logan.

  ***

  Lord Holcomb, Ralston’s uncle by marriage, seemed to be the only man in the room who could tolerate Lord Ralston. Marcus managed a capable job of appearing amiable, as he always did. The man could charm his way out of prison. According to stories of his life as a London prizefighter, Marcus had occasionally done just that. But Lord Averford seemed to have even more reason to detest Ralston than Logan did, a fact he found hard to believe.

  Averford paced near the central fireplace, under the watchful gaze of his wife’s portrait. Holcomb and nephew discussed Christmas past. Apparently, at their own house, they had a Christmas Eve tradition of reciting Dickens’s A Christmas Carol. Marcus suggested they keep up the tradition at Thornbrook Park, adding that they could all take on the various roles. But who would be Scrooge?

  “Winthrop, I daresay you’ve got the most in common with the old man,” Ralston declared.

  “With Ebenezer Scrooge? I’m hardly a miser.” He attempted to laugh, but was still puzzling out what insult Ralston had in mind for him.

  “But you’ve lived a life of regret, haven’t you?”

  Ah, so his life of regret was to be the object of Ralston’s scorn. Logan could accept it. The only man who knew how to hurt him with his own regrets was himself, and he’d put that chapter of his life behind him. He’d lived it, studied it, learned from it. “That I have, Lord Ralston. And like Scrooge, I learned that I have a chance to turn my life around. Nothing is as wounding to the soul as a life of regret. It took me too long to learn that, but I have.”

  Lord Averford, Logan noticed, had started pacing in sharper turns, an animal who refused to be caged. He got closer to Ralston, and more dangerously ready to snap, by the moment. What had Ralston said or done to occasion such a response in the man? Logan hoped he would get a chance to have some time with Averford later to trade stories.

  Fortunately for Ralston, the ladies put in their appearance, first Agatha with Lady Holcomb, followed shortly by Sophia, Eve, and Alice. As he stepped up to take Alice’s hand and compliment her on her stunning appearance—the gown did wonders for her already eye-catching figure—Logan was nudged aside by Lord Ralston.

  “My Lady Alice, you are a vision.”

  “Thank you,” she smiled as if delighted by the compliments. Logan kept his composure, even when it appeared that Alice would take Ralston’s arm and let the man lead her in to dinner.

  She met his gaze briefly, and the flash of gold in her hazel eyes told him that she knew what she was doing. So it was to be that kind of night? He would bear all sorts of agonies watching Ralston with her and just be expected to keep faith in Alice? To trust her? He had little choice. Trust her he did. It was Ralston who left him unsettled.

  Still, he followed them all in, taking Agatha as his partner, and took his seat at the far side of the table, too far down from Alice. Agatha would be his companion. At least, she was a calming influence.

  “Fate, my dear.” She patted his arm. “You must believe that everything will turn out as it should. The Wheel of Fortune is the card I chose for Lord Ralston this afternoon. A change of luck is on the way for him, and it won’t be a turn for the better.”

  Logan wondered why it had taken him so long to have an Aunt Agatha in his life. She might be full of nonsense, but she meant well and it was usually the kind of nonsense one wanted to hear.

  “Merry Christmas, Aunt Agatha.” He raised his glass to her. “I wish us both good cheer.”

  ***

  After dinner, with several hours to go before Mass, someone suggested a reading of Dickens. Alice suspected it had been Lord Ralston. Who else would torture them with Dickens on a Christmas Eve? Though, considering Ralston, she might have been surprised they weren’t enacting one of Plato’s dialogues. Logan had been enlist
ed to play Scrooge, and he willingly accepted the part until Sophia protested, thankfully so, that acting it out could take forever and why didn’t Lord Ralston, with his deep, clear voice, simply treat them to a reading?

  Everyone was in general agreement except for Ralston, who deferred the role to Lord Holcomb, who always read it at Holcomb House.

  “But first, refreshments,” Lord Averford declared. “Finch has concocted his special wassail and it’s our tradition to take a cup on Christmas Eve.”

  “What’s in a wassail?” Lady Holcomb asked. “Is it fit for a lady?”

  “Of course, yes. You wouldn’t expect Finch to give his recipe away.” Sophia smiled. “It’s cider with spices and some stronger spirits. I confess I usually have a thimbleful for tradition’s sake and that’s enough for me.”

  Alice wanted to laugh at Lady Holcomb’s reluctance, considering how often she’d drained her claret glass at dinner without hesitation.

  “I’ll try a small amount.”

  “Harry, dear.” Alice used his given name to increase his sense of comfort. She’d spent all of her time at dinner pretending to be fascinated with his conversation and acting as if perhaps she had changed her mind and agreed to marry him after all. She even wore the ring, gaudy as she thought it was. “If I have wassail, I’ll fall asleep. Could you ring for tea?”

  “Of course, darling.” His eyes lit up at the idea, encouraging Alice. As the others gathered around the wassail bowl, Alice pretended to doze on the couch while Finch brought in the teapot. “You know how I like it, Harry. Please pour me a cup. I should have napped more in the afternoon. I hope the tea perks me up.”

  She went back to pretending to sleep. Agatha did her part, as they’d discussed. Alice had told Agatha of her plan earlier and enlisted her help. Knowing that Ralston alternately ignored or became annoyed with Agatha, he was sure to be oblivious to her quietly watching him from off to the side as he prepared tea for Alice. She simply waited for her chance. Sure enough, he was too preoccupied with keeping an eye on Alice to notice that Agatha had kept careful watch on him.