Emily's Christmas Wish

by Sharon Stancavage

  "So, the mermaid is now in the hands of a female who detests you and we have no means of bringing it back into the family," the marquess concluded, a very pronounced frown on his forehead.

  "I could steal it back," Roger said halfheartedly. His relief was apparent on his face when his father replied, "I think not."

  "Why not?" Roger asked, moving the blue-and-white-patterned Dresden china plate away from him. "Then we would have the mermaid back and Emily Winterhaven would be none the wiser. We could make it appear that she lost the damnable thing," he concluded, a scowl marring his classically handsome features.

  The marquess shook his head. "The mermaid can't be stolen. You have to get it back voluntarily from Miss Winter-haven or we'll be plagued with bad luck to the end of our days," he concluded in a somber voice.

  Nigel leaned back a bit in his chair and sighed. I'll bet a guinea that Roger will somehow squirm his way out of this situation and I'll end up taking care of it, he thought wryly.

  Roger and the marquess were up until the wee hours of the morning playing chess, or at least that's what Nigel assumed they were doing. He was alone in the library, reading Shakespeare, trying to relax, when he heard the familiar hobble-thump that marked his father's footsteps.

  Moments later, the marquess appeared in the library and cordially asked, "Mind if I have a word with you, m'boy?"

  Nigel cringed inwardly. Every time his father was polite to him it usually meant that he was going to ask him to do something he didn't want to do. "Sit down, Father," Nigel said in a casual voice, and noticed how difficult it was for his father to walk. Roger is the lucky one, he mused; he doesn't have to be at home and watch Father wither away day by day.

  The marquess settled himself into a large, brown leather chair and appeared to study Nigel a moment before stating, "Roger and I discussed the pendant situation."

  "Really," Nigel remarked, not at all surprised. He knew exactly where this discussion was leading.

  "Roger is certain that Miss Winterhaven harbors quite a grudge against him, and I don't blame the poor gel. He should have been whipped for treating a young lady the way he did," the marquess said, tapping his fingers absentmindedly on his ornately carved wooden cane.

  "It was quite the nine-days' wonder. You were traveling in Italy at the time, I believe," Nigel added, staring into the fire.

  "Yes, I was. In any case, do you remember Cousin Harriet? We saw her fairly regularly before she was married."

  "Of course. Harriet was one of my favorite cousins, even though the connection was rather vague," Nigel replied, wondering where his father was going with the conversation.

  "Harriet doesn't speak to Roger any longer. You see, she is a bosom bow of Miss Winterhaven's. After the debacle that Roger put her through, Harriet claimed that she couldn't forgive Roger. She's probably the only person who hasn't been taken in by his charm," the marquess replied, his fingers still tapping the cane.

  "And?"

  "And I'd like to have the mermaid pendant back in the family. I know you and Roger don't believe in the curse and think I'm a foolish old man—that's your choice. But the mermaid belonged to your mother and I know as a fact that she wanted it to stay in the family. It's obvious that Roger will sooner rot in hell before convincing Miss Winterhaven to sell it back to him, so we thought up another option," the marquess concluded, leaning back into his chair.

  "So once again, as the eldest son, I have to step in and deal with the mess that Roger has created. As I've had to do my entire life," Nigel said bitterly, not daring to look at his father. He was not pleased with the situation that was being thrust on him.

  The marquess sagged a bit in the chair and sighed audibly. "I know it's been difficult for you, Nigel. I haven't been much of a father since your mother died, but at least you had some time with her. Roger barely remembers her, and was left to grow into an adult without any real supervision. I know you don't want to have anything to do with this situation, and I don't blame you. I'm just asking you to consider our idea for your mother's sake," he finished somberly.

  Nigel glanced over to his father, who now looked rather ashen in the firelight. His dark blue dressing gown hung on his thin form and the light made his skin look even more pale. His father was fragile and old. And since he did care deeply for him, no matter how irrational he could be, Nigel sighed and asked, "What exactly is your idea?"

  "I'd like to write Harriet a note explaining what happened with the pendant and suggest, if it's not too much of a bother, that she have a small house party over the Christmas holiday. I'll ask that she invite Miss Winterhaven. You'll also be a guest at their home. That way you'll be able to get to know Miss Winterhaven and see if she can be convinced to part with the mermaid."

  "Will Harriet agree to a house party? And what if Miss Winterhaven doesn't want to part with it?" Nigel asked with a sigh.

  "Harriet was a great favorite of mine, so I don't think she'll balk at the idea of a party. As for Miss Winterhaven, I certainly don't expect you to force her to sell the mermaid. If this house party idea doesn't work, we'll think up another tactic," the marquess concluded, staring at Nigel expectantly.

  Nigel sighed and stared back into the flames. Christmas with Harriet, her husband, and daughter might not be that horrible.

  "But if you have your mind set on staying home and throwing a betrothal ball, I certainly won't stand in your way," the marquess added, with a sparkle in his eyes.

  "A betrothal ball? I think not. Who have you heard that cock-and-bull story from?" Nigel demanded, sitting up in his chair.

  The marquess grinned wickedly. "Lady Markston is telling everyone who will listen that her dearest Susan will be the next Countess Stratford. Didn't you know?"

  "I bloody well had no idea that Susan had set her sights on marriage. I have no intention of wedding her now or in the future," Nigel said passionately. Suddenly the thought of visiting Harriet and meeting Miss Winterhaven was actually looking quite attractive.

  "Then a visit to relations might be exactly what you need to cool your liaison with the younger Lady Markston," the marquess said with a smile.

  "I'm not having a liaison with Susan Claredon, and I most certainly don't plan on having one!" Nigel said passionately, then added, "So write Harriet as soon as you feel up to it. I think a visit to relations at Christmas is just what I need."

  The marquess relaxed in his chair, a contented smile on his stern features. "That's a wise decision, Nigel," he said, staring into the fire.

  "So Emily, what did Harriet have to say?" Sara Winter-haven asked, staring at the bit of needlepoint she was working on.

  Emily sat at the pianoforte and looked blankly at the composition she was attempting to finish. Today isn't the day, she thought, and put down her pen. "Harriet is fine, Henry is fine, and Victoria has a new puppy called Wellington," Emily said, smoothing the wrinkles in her wonderfully unfashionable, high-necked brown muslin dress.

  "That's all she had to say? In a letter that long?" her mother asked, still studying her needlepoint, which was a tangled mess.

  "Actually, she invited me to come to their country house for the holidays. She's having a small house party and said she would be devastated if I didn't come," Emily said casually, glancing furtively at her mother. She still hadn't made up her mind on the invitation, and wanted to see her mama's reaction.

  Sara smiled up at her. "Dearest, you should go see her. You've become a virtual recluse lately, and time away from the family would do you good. Plus, your father has been talking about spending the holidays with your Uncle Jon. He's invited us dozens of times, and we just can't refuse any longer. And I know that prospect doesn't appeal to you," she finished, laying the needlepoint down on her lap.

  Emily sighed. Her mama was precisely right. She detested Ian and Richard, her horribly spoiled younger cousins, and was forced to endure any number of childish pranks every time she was with them. "So you wouldn't mind if I accepted the invitation?" Emily asked in a soft v
oice, tucking a strand of long, wavy auburn hair behind her ear.

  "Not at all, dear. I'll speak to your father, of course, but I expect he'll say the same thing. You never spend any time with people your own age, and a visit to Harriet will do you a world of good," her mother concluded with all the authority of the Oracle at Delphi.

  "When should I be home? I don't want to overstay my welcome," Emily asked, beginning to look forward to the trip.

  Sara smiled brightly. "Well, if you decide to go see Harriet, then your father and I will more than likely go visit your Uncle Jon, and we won't be staying any longer than the Twelfth Night festivities," she concluded, a hopeful light in her steady green eyes.

  "And if I decline Harriet's invitation, I'll have to visit Uncle Jon, won't I?" Emily asked in a small voice, certain of the answer.

  "Unless you suddenly contract a horrible disease, yes, you'll get to spend the holiday season with your two favorite cousins," her mother replied, grinning at her.

  Emily rolled her eyes toward the heavens. "Mama, I would rather spend the holidays in Newgate than spend more than a day with Ian and Richard. I have never met two more spoiled, undisciplined little boys in my life and dread spending any time at all with them!" she concluded passionately. It was obvious to everyone that Emily didn't savor the idea of a visit to Uncle Jon.

  "So write Harriet that you'll be pleased to accept her invitation," her mama said evenly, noticing the look of worry on Emily's face. "And don't worry about attending a mere house party! Harriet is a bosom bow and I'm sure she won't let anything untoward happen while you're visiting her," she concluded.

  Emily stared down at her hands, embarrassed that her mama knew exactly what was troubling her. Emily still didn't feel completely comfortable in any social setting since she suffered that awful humiliation at the hands of Roger Manning six years earlier. But Mama is right, she thought, the logical part of her brain winning the argument. This will be nothing more than a visit with close friends—not like a society event at all.

  "And take the pendant your grandfather bought you. Harriet always loved jewelry— I'm sure she'll be green with envy over your mermaid," her mama suggested casually.

  "All right. It is an unusual piece, and I'm sure Harriet will find it interesting," Emily added innocently, trying to convince herself that the visit to Harriet's house wasn't an invitation to disaster. Yes, I should take the mermaid, she thought distractedly; maybe it will bring me some luck.

  Two

  "Oh Emily, I'm so glad you decided to come," Harriet Langely exclaimed, enveloping Emily in a heartfelt hug.

  Emily chuckled at her exuberance. "Harriet, I'm so sorry, Lady Ashton, it is wonderful to receive such a warm welcome," she said, and drew out of Harriet's embrace and actually curtsied.

  Harriet laughed and pulled her beige Kashmir shawl around her shoulders. "Emily dearest, you are the scamp! No wonder little Victoria adores you. Come into the parlor and warm up while my Jenny helps your girl get you settled."

  Emily smiled back warmly. The ladies had been friends for a dreadfully long time, and Harriet alone helped her weather that awful Season six years ago. As she followed her through the wainscotted halls, she decided that marriage and motherhood were definitely agreeing with Harriet. Her hair shone like spun gold, her blue eyes danced merrily, and she still had the same modest figure she did when the pair were in school. Of course, her maroon kerseymere dress was of a more stylish cut than what Emily was wearing, but Emily knew she had no touch with fashion at all.

  "Would you care for some tea, Emily?" Harriet asked, closing the massive oak door behind them.

  Emily gaped at the parlor. Harriet had neglected to tell her that she had become caught up in the passion for anything Egyptian, which was the current fashion. The mahogany chairs were held up by thin, delicately carved sphinxes. The sofa sported a lion's head on each arm, and, in the far corner was what appeared to be a small replica of a mummy's sarcophagus.

  "Isn't it dreadful?" Harriet giggled, taking a seat on the sofa, waiting patiently for their tea to appear.

  "It's rather… unusual," Emily managed to mutter, staring at the ornately carved female figures that formed the base of a table in the corner.

  "Henry's mama has a passion, you see, and has given us all of this. She's wonderfully kind, and it would break her heart if we packed all of it up into the attic. So we've decided to live with it rather than hurt her feelings," Harriet explained, as a bland young woman walked in with the tea service.

  A radiant smile broke out on Emily's face. "That's reassuring to hear. For a moment there I thought I was going to have to commit you to Bedlam."

  Harriet began to pour the tea, eyeing Emily's travel-worn gown. "No, I'm not completely let in the attic yet. But where did you get that traveling dress? It's not at all the thing," Harriet remarked, handing the delicate teacup to Emily.

  Emily looked down at another one of her wonderfully nondescript, high-necked brown kerseymere dresses. "Yes, I know. I have no fashion sense whatsoever. Papa ordered me to buy some decent clothes while I was here, since I can never find the time while I'm at home," Emily explained, sipping her tea.

  "We'll have you rigged out properly in no time. By the by, Henry is due in at anytime. He's out riding, and Victoria is taking her afternoon nap. She was quite put out that she wasn't allowed to stay up this afternoon and wait for you," Harriet said, and Emily noticed that she actually appeared to be serene. Family life obviously agreed with her.

  "And how is my favorite niece?"

  "She is still enamored with Wellington, the pup of dubious heritage that actually managed to get out of his box in the stables and make it into the yard. Victoria spotted him immediately and has now officially adopted him. He has a few more relations in the stable—I don't know what's going to be done with them," she concluded.

  Before Emily could ask the question that had nagged at her for the entire trip—namely, who else was going to be attending this house party—the door burst open and Henry Langely, Viscount Ashton, entered.

  "Emily, how wonderful to see you," he exclaimed with a smile.

  Emily looked over at the husband of her best friend and decided that he hadn't changed much since she met him during the Season. He was still on the stocky side—his hair didn't show a bit of gray and was still a rich, dark shade of brown. Of course, at two-and-thirty, Henry probably shouldn't have shown any gray at all, but with Harriet as a wife, he has more than his share of worries, Emily thought humorously. Henry was still the affable, brown-eyed lord who had captivated Harriet and endeared himself to Emily. "Lord Ashton, thank you so much for your invitation. I'm looking forward to my stay at your lovely country home," Emily replied with a grin.

  "Lord Ashton! Gads, Emily, you do have a way of making a man feel ridiculous. I'll personally beat you if you don't call me Henry," he said with a grin, and sat on one of the sphinx chairs across from the sofa where the ladies were seated.

  A giggle escaped from Harriet and Emily. Henry was notoriously softhearted, and didn't even like hunting. "Of course, Henry. Your wish is my command," Emily said with another giggle.

  Henry relaxed in the chair and casually asked, "So, how was your trip?"

  "Very uneventful. Papa keeps telling me that we're going to have a dreadful winter—he says he's been seeing all of the signs. I'm afraid to ask what the signs are, though. It is a bit chillier here," Emily commented, fixing her gaze on some of the more bizarre little Egyptian relics stuffed in every nook.

  "That's what my groom keeps saying—he actually is expecting more than a bit of snow. I just hope Nigel and Aubrey get here before the weather pens us into the house," Henry commented, leaning over to get himself a cup of tea.

  "Nigel and Aubrey?" Emily asked with a very pronounced frown.

  "Aubrey is Henry's cousin, and Nigel is a distant cousin of mine. We've known each other since we've been children," Harriet explained, sipping her tea delicately. "Aubrey is joining us to avoid spending t
he holiday with his mama, who he doesn't always get on with. From what Nigel wrote, I think he's coming to escape a young woman who had decided to catch him in the parson's mousetrap," she concluded.

  "Then I have something in common with both of them, since I'm escaping a visit to Uncle Jon and the demons he calls his sons," Emily said with a smile. I hope that's the extent of the house party, she thought a bit nervously. I can handle two cousins. But I'll be tempted to lock myself in the room if there are a dozen more people expected, she thought, her head spinning.

  "You'll get along famously with Nigel. He's quite capable on the pianoforte—of course, not nearly as talented as you are," Henry said, draining his teacup. "You know that the music room is open to you whenever you want to play. It's far enough away from the bedrooms that you can use it without disturbing anyone," he added.

  "Why, thank you, Henry. Most people are appalled when they find someone who plays for relaxation. And heaven forbid playing at night! You'd think I was having a tryst with the footman!" Emily exclaimed with a smile.

  "Well, feel free to play whenever you like. Victoria is showing some interest in the pianoforte, so maybe you'll help her along," Harriet replied, her eyes wandering over to her husband.

  Emily glanced at the pair and sighed with envy. It was obvious to all of the world that Henry and Harriet were deeply in love. When they looked into each other's eyes, it was as if they were the only two people in the world. It must be wonderful to be loved, Emily thought, loneliness gripping her heart like a vise.

  Susan Claredon, the daughter of the Earl of Markston, studied Nigel, her intended, from across the crowded dance floor. His clothes, once again, could be improved upon, she thought, fanning herself delicately. His buff breeches fit tightly over his muscular thighs, and his gold satin waistcoat wasn't nearly as spectacular as the cerulean-and-puce waistcoat Lord Michelson was wearing. He needs a new valet, Susan decided, tucking a strand of long, blond hair behind her ear. Once again, Nigel's hair was dreadfully wild, and he looked more like a Gypsy than the future Marquess of Avonleigh. If only the old goat would stick his spoon in the wall, Susan thought with a sigh; then I could be the Marchioness Avonleigh. That's much grander than being a simple countess, which I'll have to tolerate until the old goat dies, she decided, smiling widly at Nigel from across the room.