His Mistletoe Bride

by Vanessa Kelly

  Aunt Georgie’s eyes narrowed. “He offered that, did he?”

  Phoebe nodded, confused by her aunt’s displeasure. Was she angry that Lucas might wish her to return to America? She did not relish the prospect either, but one could hardly expect the Stantons to support her for the rest of her life.

  Her aunt drummed her fingers on the arm of the sofa, looking as if she were sifting through some weighty matter. Meredith simply smiled and poured herself another cup of tea.

  “Phoebe,” Aunt Georgie said rather abruptly, “did Lucas show you a letter from your grandfather?”

  Phoebe’s stomach dropped. “He told you about that?”

  “Of course he did. The poor man hadn’t a clue how to deal with it. He was worried you might drop into a dead faint as soon as you read it.”

  Phoebe winced. “I almost did.”

  The other two women laughed.

  “Don’t be embarrassed,” Aunt Georgie said. “Your grandfather wrote to me before he died, too. He was tormented with worry for you and pleaded for my help. I have no doubt his letter and the request it contained was a shock, but it was his way of looking after you.”

  “But the idea of marrying a stranger is ridiculous,” she protested. “And I am sure Lucas has no desire to marry me. He only asked because my grandfather made him.”

  Aunt Georgie’s eyebrows arched. “So, he did ask you?”

  “Yes. No. I . . . I am not really sure. It was a very confusing conversation.” She took a deep breath. “In any event, he only raised the issue because he made Grandfather a deathbed promise. Lucas obviously felt he had no other choice.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Aunt Georgie asked softly.

  Phoebe started to answer, then closed her lips. Most of the night she had lain awake, trying to convince herself that Lucas was not serious. But now, as she peered at the calm and confident face of the woman sitting next to her, she could not be sure. Was it possible he did really wish to marry her? Whatever for?

  She dug both hands into the silk fabric beneath her fingers, trying to steady herself. Her head spun, and all the shocks of the last few days suddenly seemed too much.

  Aunt Georgie took her hand in a comforting clasp. “My dear, forgive me. This all must seem overwhelming. It was foolish of me to even mention the letter.”

  Phoebe gripped her hand, desperate for something to hold on to. “I do not know what to think. I hardly even know what to feel. Nothing is as I thought it would be.”

  The older woman gave her a quick hug. “The situation is dreadfully awkward, but you are not to think of the letter or anything else that might distress you right now. You needn’t make any decisions for quite some time. You have come from America to visit with your family, and that is all anyone need know. No one will breathe a word about your grandfather’s letter.”

  Phoebe glanced warily at Meredith, who dramatically drew a finger across her mouth as if sealing it shut. She choked out a breathless laugh, relieved that no one would force her to confront all the fraught questions about her future, or about Lucas.

  “Now, let’s get down to the most important business,” Aunt Georgie said.

  Phoebe frowned. “What would that be?”

  Meredith laughed. “Why, shopping for your new wardrobe, of course. That’s the most important thing of all.”

  Chapter 6

  Phoebe stared at her reflection in the mirror. It was a frequent activity these days, but not one she enjoyed. Especially when trying on yet another of the expensive new dresses Aunt Georgie insisted she must have for her introduction into the ton.

  Like the one she had on now. The tawny color suited her complexion and the silk gleamed with a soft shine, but the bodice . . .

  “My dear, what are you trying to hide? Please turn around so I can see your gown,” Aunt Georgie prompted.

  Her aunt sat on a low divan in the corner of the dressing room. Meredith sat next to her. For a week, Phoebe had resisted their combined efforts to order a ball gown for her, but she had finally given in. For the last hour, a very fashionable dressmaker had fussed and measured, poking away at Phoebe until she felt ready to scream.

  She supposed the impulse reflected a sad lack of gratitude on her part. Since her move to Stanton House, all her relatives had been kinder than she could have imagined. Still, Phoebe was reluctant to throw herself wholeheartedly into her new life, fearing she would embarrass herself and her new family once she ventured out into polite society. Better to remain quietly at Stanton House, making only the occasional excursion to one of the nearby parks, until she could fathom whether she could truly be comfortable with all the changes that faced her with each new dawn.

  But today, Meredith and her aunt had put their beautifully shod feet collectively down, insisting she must add appropriate evening wear to her wardrobe. Nettled, Phoebe had told them she could not afford any more shopping and that there was nothing wrong with the clothes she already owned.

  Her aunt, sitting at the writing desk in her private sitting room, had given Phoebe an understanding smile. “I appreciate your scruples, but if your grandfather had lived you would have allowed him to pay your bills, correct?”

  “Um, yes,” she’d answered. But even if her grandfather had lived, Phoebe had never imagined a life of such luxury. Mrs. Tanner had warned her, and she had been right. Buying new clothes when not needed was an extravagance, and one that made her debt of obligation to her aunt and uncle all the greater.

  But Mrs. Tanner had never encountered Aunt Georgie.

  “We’ve all been waiting for you to come home for such a long time, and we’re so happy to have you with us,” Aunt Georgie had said in a gentle, plaintive voice. “Besides, the clothes you wear now would make you stand out, and the General would be most distressed if anyone thought we were treating you as a poor relation. You don’t want that to happen, do you?”

  Sighing, Phoebe had capitulated. Before she could even catch her breath, Aunt Georgie and Meredith had whisked her off to the fashionable shops of Bruton Street.

  And into the shocking dress she was currently wearing.

  “Phoebe,” Meredith said, “you must turn around so we can see whether this dress suits you.”

  Phoebe gave one more fruitless tug on the bodice. “I still do not understand why I need evening gowns in the first place. I have no desire to gallivant around town, especially since I am still in mourning. Surely no one expects to see me at social functions, do they?”

  Gallivant was one of Uncle Arthur’s favorite words, and Phoebe had unconsciously adopted it along with some of his other colorful expressions. One of the greatest surprises in her move to Stanton House had been the easy way she and her uncle had fallen in with each other. She appreciated that he was a plainspoken and serious man, even if a bit rough in his speech. He, in turn, had deemed her a sensible girl, not one who wasted her energy on fripperies, parties, and balls. She did not bother to explain that for now, she much preferred spending her days in his library, reading by the fire or talking to him about his travels on the Continent as a young man.

  She also loved it when Lucas came to visit Uncle Arthur. The men never asked her to leave, and Lucas always made an effort to draw her into the conversation. Sometimes he made her blush with his teasing, but he also treated her with great gentleness. He seemed to sense whenever she was ruffled or unhappy, and had a knack for making her feel secure, even safe. That he could do so surprised her, given that his manner could be arrogant, even fierce, when something displeased him.

  Unfortunately, not even Lucas could protect her from today’s indignities.

  Scowling at her reflection, Phoebe gave her bodice another useless tug. Meredith stood and moved behind her, gently placing her hands on Phoebe’s shoulders and turning her around.

  “You’re only in half mourning,” Meredith said as she skillfully rearranged the whisper-thin material across Phoebe’s bosom. “Your grandfather has been dead for over two months, so it’s entirely appropri
ate for you to go out into company, as long as you don’t dance. And this gown is both tasteful and discreet. Just the perfect thing for a young lady in your situation.”

  Phoebe almost choked on Meredith’s description of the gown. Half her chest was exposed. If she did not succumb to a fatal chill, she would likely die of mortification the first time she went into public.

  Without thinking, she slipped her hand up to the bodice, ready to yank it up. Meredith caught her fingers.

  “You’ll ruin the fabric,” she warned.

  “But I feel . . . naked.”

  Aunt Georgie laughed. “I’m not surprised, given what you normally wear. But I assure you, that dress is modest by ton standards. It’s the perfect thing for your appearance at Lady Framingham’s ball next week.”

  “Aunt Georgina is right,” Meredith said. “Half the women at the ball will be falling out of their gowns. One or two of them quite literally.” She smoothed down the bodice over her own generous chest and sighed. “Just look at me. After having twins, I practically have to strap myself in whenever I put on evening attire, or I’d give my husband a fit.”

  “But everything seems to fit you perfectly.” Despairing, Phoebe gestured at her overflowing chest. “Unlike me. I’m skinny everywhere but up here. I look top heavy, like some sort of puffed-up bird.”

  Aunt Georgie smiled. “The dressmaker can alter the gown to fit perfectly. And you have a lovely figure. Most girls would give their eyeteeth to look like you. Most importantly, I’m sure any man in his right mind would agree. Lucas, for instance. He seems quite taken with you.”

  Not again. Phoebe did not want to have this conversation, not when she knew her cheeks turned red as fire at the very mention of his name. “I am sure he is not.”

  “I’m sure he is,” Aunt Georgie gently insisted. “We hardly used to see Lucas from one week to the next, but now he practically haunts the General’s library. He’s visited every day since you’ve arrived.”

  Phoebe blushed even harder. “He is acting out of simple kindness to a newcomer, nothing more.”

  Meredith laughed. “Kindness has nothing to do with it. Can’t you tell?”

  That was the problem. She could not. The men she had grown up with were nothing like Lucas, or anyone else in London, for that matter.

  Flummoxed, she could only stare back at her aunt and cousin, uncertain what they wanted from her.

  “Phoebe,” Aunt Georgie said, “have you given any more thought to your uncle’s letter?”

  “Of course not.”

  That was not strictly true, but she had tried very hard not to think about it. Sometimes, late at night, she did turn the contents of that letter over in her mind. And no matter how absurd her grandfather’s plea, there was an insidious kernel of attraction to the idea of being married to Lucas. When she was alone, with Stanton House silent and still around her, Phoebe allowed herself to dream about her own family and home, with a man who truly loved her—a man as strong and protective as Lucas.

  “Only because you do not know what else to do with your life,” she said, absently voicing her thoughts.

  When Aunt Georgie arched her brows, Phoebe repressed a groan. Why in heaven’s name had she blurted that out? The idea that a man like Lucas would want to marry a countrified Quaker was simply too absurd to contemplate.

  It took a bit of a struggle, but she managed to return her aunt’s perceptive gaze with a bland smile. After a few moments, the older woman nodded, as if some question had been answered.

  “I think that dress will do very nicely for the ball,” she said, surprising Phoebe by dropping the subject. “And the dusky rose cambric will be perfect for tomorrow night.”

  Phoebe rolled her eyes. She had forgotten about the party to be held at Stanton House to introduce her to a select circle of family friends. Well, not forgotten, exactly, but done everything she could to drive it from her mind. Her aunt had assured her she need not worry at all. Even the General had said she would enjoy herself, since there was not a bird-witted female or an overscented dandy in the bunch.

  “I agree,” said Meredith. “The rose cambric will be the perfect thing for a Christmas party in the country, too. But Phoebe will also need some warmer gowns. Belfield Abbey can be drafty in the wintertime.”

  Phoebe perked up. “Is that where we will be spending Christmas?”

  Although her Quaker relations had never celebrated the holiday, her mother had sometimes told her of Christmas festivities in England. Not often, but enough to whet Phoebe’s interest.

  Meredith smiled at her. “Yes. It’s only a short trip from London, and it’s also very close to your grandfather’s”—she wrinkled her nose and corrected herself—“the new Lord Merritt’s estate in Kent. Lucas will be traveling down there at the beginning of December. The property, unfortunately, was badly neglected during the last few years of your poor grandfather’s life. We thought it would be best if the rest of us were close by, in case Lucas needs our help.”

  Phoebe gnawed on her lower lip. “But Lucas will not wish to go to Belfield Abbey, will he? Given the way things are . . .” she trailed off, making a helpless gesture with her hand. Lucas would no doubt do everything in his power to avoid seeing Silverton.

  Which meant Phoebe would not be seeing him on a regular basis, if at all, which bothered her more than it should.

  Her aunt’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “I wouldn’t worry about that. Meredith and I believe this estrangement has gone on long enough. Christmas is a time of both forgiveness and rebirth, and we are determined that Silverton and Lucas will forgive each other.”

  “If we have to murder them to make them do it,” Meredith added.

  Phoebe gaped, and her cousin laughed.

  “Metaphorically speaking, of course. But it’s more than time to let the old grudges go. And things are different now, especially for Lucas.”

  “But they can barely sit together in the same room,” Phoebe protested. “What has changed, and why Lucas, specifically?”

  Her aunt and cousin exchanged a swift glance, and a whisper of caution drifted through Phoebe’s mind.

  “Never mind,” Aunt Georgie replied. “Everything will work out just as it should. What we need to do now is have you fitted for a nice, warm pelisse. I know you don’t ride, but you will certainly want to take walks around Belfield Abbey, and I’m sure Lucas will want you to see his estate, too. In fact, I believe he’ll insist upon it.”

  “He will be too busy,” Phoebe said. Lucas would no more want the lot of them trooping over to his estate than he would want to visit Belfield Abbey.

  “Don’t count on it,” Meredith said.

  Phoebe peered at her suspiciously. She had a strong sense that Meredith and Aunt Georgie were speaking in some kind of family code, but she had not the slightest idea how to decipher it.

  She opened her mouth to question them but Meredith cut her off, calling for the dressmaker to rejoin them. After that, Meredith avoided her eye as she chattered away about fabrics and trim and fur muffs. Aunt Georgie, meanwhile, sat quietly in the corner, looking as satisfied as a mouse with a piece of cheese.

  Oh, yes, they were hiding something, and Phoebe had the feeling that if she knew what it was she would not like it one bit.

  Chapter 7

  Lucas gratefully entered the warmth of Stanton House. London on a dark November night didn’t match the biting cold of the Pyrenees in the winter but it was dreary enough, with the damp fog penetrating even the wool of his greatcoat. Still, he’d gladly exchange the mansions of Mayfair for a soldier’s camp in the high mountain passes of Spain. For one thing, he’d be spared the social inanities that awaited him in his aunt’s drawing room. For another, he wouldn’t have to see the bane of his existence, his cousin Silverton.

  Tolliver made a dignified approach across the entrance hall. “Good evening, Lord Merritt. May I take your coat and hat?”

  Lucas forced a smile. He was here tonight for Phoebe and no one else. He’d
stay out of his cousin’s way, and hope Silverton had the sense to do the same.

  He glanced up the imposing central staircase. “They’ve all gone in, I suppose?”

  He hoped so, since he could then slip into the party without a fuss and hope to slip out later, just as easily. God, he hated these evenings. They always provoked a vague, restless sensation, his muscles twitching with the need for action. Fourteen years of soldiering were to blame. Ever since he resigned his commission, everything else in life had bored him by comparison.

  Except for his new estate. That wasn’t boring. It was a nightmare, and another responsibility in a long list of responsibilities he’d never wanted.

  “Yes, my lord,” said Tolliver. “The General and her ladyship will be happy to receive you in the yellow saloon.”

  Ah. It was a formal affair. Poor Phoebe. His little cousin wouldn’t know what hit her when confronted with all the trappings of the haute ton, but Aunt Georgie was obviously intent on sending a message.

  She’s a Stanton. She’s one of us. Accept her, or else.

  Smiling at her tactics, Lucas climbed the stairs two at a time. He gave his waistcoat a tug, then stepped into the saloon, taking a moment to study the lay of the land. Best to know the territory one’s friends and enemies had staked out before entering the battlefield.

  Aunt Georgie held court at the far end of the room, surrounded by four of the most influential dragons of the ton. Close by, the General chatted with some of his retired military friends and Silverton, which meant Lucas would be avoiding that corner of the room. The rest of the guests drifted about the elegant space, or gathered in small, chattering groups.

  But where the hell was Phoebe?

  There. Tucked away in a window alcove, trying to attract as little notice as possible. She sat with Meredith, who was conversing with her half sister, Annabel. Robert, Annabel’s husband and grandson to General and Lady Stanton, stood behind them, a look of boredom already apparent on his youthful face.

  Lucas had to repress a laugh. Robert hated these evenings almost as much as he did. In fact, the lad had grown quite adept at getting out of them since he had married Annabel. The fact that the whole family had turned out in force underscored the importance of the event.