Emily's Christmas Wish

by Sharon Stancavage

  Nigel walked slowly across the crowded room toward her, his expression grim. Susan continued to flutter her fan flirtatiously, and smoothed the wrinkles out of her gold-and-white, shot-silk gown lightly sprinkled with just enough spangles to avoid vulgarity.

  "Nigel, you haven't been very attentive tonight," she admonished as he sat down next to her.

  Nigel smiled weakly. "I'm sorry—I've been preoccupied with the details of the trip."

  "Trip?" she asked innocently, her mind in a whirl. Was he planning their honeymoon? In Greece, perhaps, or Italy. Nigel would spend the day doing whatever Nigel did, while I'll attend glittering parties and be the toast of the Continent. Men of all shapes and sizes would love to talk to the beautiful marchioness who graced their foreign shores. Then, after I supply him with an heir, I'll have a score of lovers, she thought wickedly, all of them dreadfully handsome.

  "Yes, I'm going to spend the holiday season with a cousin of mine. I'm actually leaving tomorrow morning," he said evenly, sipping his champagne, a look of complete boredom on his angular features.

  Susan's eyes bulged out of their sockets. "You're not going to be here for the holiday season? How could you, Nigel?" she said in her most convincing whine.

  Nigel raised his eyebrows at her childish tone. "Susan, you know you shouldn't pout like that—you're going to get wrinkles," he commented, glancing around the room.

  The pout immediately disappeared. "Will you have a special gift for me when you return?" she asked coyly, and laid her hand possessively on his muscular leg.

  Nigel's eyes widened slightly as he casually took her hand in his and placed it back on her leg. "Susan, I doubt that I could ever find you a special gift," he said, and glanced toward the door. "Now you must excuse me—I've really got to call it a night," he said, getting up to leave.

  Susan was in shock. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. "Have a Merry Christmas, Nigel," she said in a wounded little voice, hoping that his guilt would force him to include her in the visit to the unknown cousin.

  He smiled back at her, a wide, genuine smile. "Of course, Susan. Have a Merry Christmas yourself," he replied, and casually sauntered out of the room, with Susan's glittering blue eyes boring a hole into the back to his black jacket.

  Moments later, Susan could be found standing in an unobtrusive corner, smoothing the fabric of her gown and frowning distinctly at her very formidable mother.

  Lady Markston, known to her bosom bows as Winifred, was a formidable lady indeed. At five-and-forty, her hair was a unique shade of brown, which the tabbies swore didn't occur in nature. Her voice was almost continually louder than everyone else's in the room and she had the stature of the Prince Regent. Lately she had taken to wearing the most ornate and colorful turbans when she was out, to the horror of everyone who encountered her. The main objective in Lady Markston's life was getting her daughter leg-shackled as soon as possible. Her likeliest victim was Lord Stratford, who owned a large tract of land adjoining their property.

  "Mama, what am I going to do? Nigel is leaving to spend the holidays with some cousin," Susan whined in a most irritating voice, panic apparent in her perfect blue eyes.

  Winifred grunted. "What do you mean, he's leaving? What cousin is he going to visit? Why didn't he invite you?" she practically hissed, ignoring the cerise turban teetering precariously atop her head.

  "I don't know, Mama. I don't think he's interested in me anymore," Susan exclaimed, tears welling up in her eyes.

  "You had best make sure he's still interested in you, Susan," Winifred exclaimed, beginning a very long scold. "How many unsuccessful Seasons have you gone through? I won't have Society laughing because my daughter cannot make a decent match. Stratford is unaware of the fact that you haven't taken, and the marriage would be eminently suitable," she finished, glaring at her daughter.

  "Well, what am I going to do, Mama?" Susan all but wailed.

  "We are going to find out which cousin he is going to visit, and then we will arrive at their house party uninvited. I'll fabricate some excuse, and you will spend the holiday with Nigel. I expect that you'll make proper use of the time and we'll be placing the banns before the Twelfth Night celebrations," Winifred concluded, her large breasts heaving in agitation.

  "And then I'll officially be the Countess of Stratford?" Susan asked in a wistful voice, her tears immediately disappearing.

  "You'll be a countess, my dear—you just leave everything to your mama," Winifred said reassuringly, leading her daughter back to the festivities.

  "So, tell me about Emily Winterhaven," Nigel asked casually, sipping his port. He was a trifle more relaxed this evening, and was fully prepared to leave the next morning.

  Roger squirmed in his chair a bit, loosening his neck cloth. "There's not much to tell, actually," he said, turning a bit red.

  Nigel smiled. I think my dearest brother is actually embarrassed over that incident, he thought distractedly. "Of course there is. You did court her actively for what, about a fortnight or more? Tell me about her," Nigel ordered, stretching his long, muscular legs out in front of him.

  Roger stared at the books that lined the study walls, and appeared to study his immaculate fingernails for the longest time before replying. "Emily is actually rather nice. She has short, bright reddish hair and the most disturbing green eyes. To my knowledge, she doesn't go out in Society at all," he concluded, staring into his glass of port.

  Once again, Roger surprised his older and definitely more mature brother. He actually sounds like he regrets the whole episode, Nigel thought, noticing how once again Roger was the impeccable man-about-town.

  Today, Roger was wearing a buff pair of breeches with a green jacket and the most unusual green-striped waistcoat. His cravat was tied in the mathematical, and he looked as if he could walk into any drawing room.

  Nigel, on the contrary, had changed into a pair of black pantaloons, his white shirt was dashed wrinkled, and he appeared to need a shave. His midnight-black hair was rather untidy, and he looked almost like a cit. But a well-dressed cit.

  "Is Miss Winterhaven a harpy?" Nigel asked curiously, trying to find a reason why she was chosen to be the victim of the rogues' prank.

  Roger shook his head. "Not at all."

  "Is she pox-faced? Fat? Simpering?"

  "No. Not at all," was Roger's reply.

  "So why was Miss Winterhaven chosen to be your victim? Surely there was some reasoning behind it, or were you all just being deliberately vindictive?"

  Roger couldn't look his brother in the eyes. "Miss Winterhaven is connected to trade. And she is the opposite of everything that a successful young woman in Society should be. That's why she was chosen," he finished, sipping his port.

  "And what exactly does that mean?"

  A deep sigh escaped Roger. "Miss Winterhaven is an atrocious dancer. She can't sing. She doesn't do watercolors or needlework. And she's the most outrageous bluestocking. She speaks several languages and used to talk about politics," he finished lamely.

  "So you ruined the girl's chances in Society because she wasn't a simpering flat. Does that sum it up accurately?" Nigel said harshly, his irritation very apparent.

  Roger sagged in his chair and stared at the maroon patterned Turkish carpet at his feet. "Yes, I suppose."

  Nigel downed the rest of his port and stared at his brother, his eyes as black as coal. "That was a dashed selfish thing to do, Roger. You were only a child when Mama died, so you don't remember her as well as I do. She could speak more languages than Father, and they used to have long, heated arguments about what was happening in Parliament. You couldn't have shamed her more if you had tried," he finished, rising from his chair and stalking out of the room in disgust.

  Nigel sighed and stared out into the dreadfully cold and drab English countryside. Small snowflakes could be seen occasionally, thick, dark clouds enveloped the sky, and the wind howled wildly around them. The carriage was warm and fairly comfortable, but, to be honest, he was dashe
d bored with traveling.

  He glanced over at Hughes, his valet, seated across from him. He was slumped down into the upholstery, snoring. So much for witty conversation, Nigel thought wryly, craning his neck to see the house.

  The country home of Henry Langely, Viscount Ashton, loomed ominously on the horizon. Harriet's daughter Victoria was playing on the frozen grass near the road, and a young woman, probably her nanny, was supervising her.

  As the carriage continued toward the vast, ivy-covered house, he could see the nanny laughing with Victoria, her auburn hair falling loosely around her shoulders. He also noticed a small, brown-and-white puppy racing around their feet. The nanny laughed as freely as the child, and her whole body seemed to radiate a freedom that a firstborn son had never known.

  She's incredibly beautiful, he thought, noting her tall, modest figure. Most young ladies didn't even reach his shoulders; the nanny could easily meet his eyes. Her dark blue pelisse hugged her body provocatively, and he could easily imagine her soft form pressed up against him.

  As his imagination strayed, he didn't notice that the puppy, in his excitement, had begun barking furiously at his matching pair of chestnuts. The horses, a rather fidgety pair from the get-go, began to slow their pace a bit.

  Before Nigel realized what was happening, the carriage was swaying precariously and he could hear his luggage falling off the back. From the window he could see little Victoria running toward the carriage, apparently yelling.

  As soon as the carriage stabilized somewhat, Nigel quickly opened the door and headed out into the bleak English cold. As he went toward the front of the carriage, he could see Lawson, his driver, holding the reins tightly.

  "What happened, Lawson?" he asked, unaware of the young woman sitting on the ground on the other side of the carriage, holding the puppy in her lap.

  "The puppy scared the pair, m'lord. They started to rear, and I lost control of them for a moment," Lawson said apologetically, aware of the fact that the luggage was now lying open in the dirt behind them.

  "Is Wellington going to be all right?" he heard little Victoria say from the other side of the carriage.

  "I think so, dear. You never told me he was afraid of horses," a soft, musical voice answered, and for one brief moment Nigel could imagine that voice whispering his name passionately into his ear. Gads, I'm daydreaming about the nanny! I must get out more, Nigel thought, running his hand distractedly through his hair as he briskly walked to the other side of the carriage to see what had happened.

  She's even more beautiful than I thought, he mused, as he stared down at the nanny sitting on the ground, holding the brown-and-white puppy at her breast. Her eyes were a radiant shade of green, and her skin was the color of alabaster. Victoria hovered near her, and it was obvious that she trusted the servant entirely.

  As he stood admiring the serene picture the nanny, Victoria, and the puppy made, Victoria suddenly turned and spotted him.

  "Uncle Nigel," she cried exuberantly, and ran over to him and immediately threw her small arms around his long, muscular legs.

  Nigel leaned over and scooped her up in his arms as if she were a toy and exclaimed, "Dearest Victoria! My, each time I see you I find you're a head taller!"

  Victoria giggled as she stared at him in rapt admiration. "You're gammoning me, Uncle Nigel!" she giggled, and then turned back toward the nanny and the puppy.

  "See my new puppy? His name is Wellington, and he's ever so much fun," she said, as Nigel walked over to the nanny and the puppy.

  The nanny smiled hesitantly at him, which tugged at his heart even more. She doesn't even realize how beautiful she is, he mused. And she's probably too honorable to dally with me, he mentally added, giving the nanny a wide smile. "Has Wellington survived the encounter with my chestnuts?"

  "We didn't know that he is rather fearful of horses. Of course, it probably doesn't help that they're so much larger than he is," Emily said in a soft voice, glancing toward the carriage. "Oh my, I'm dreadfully sorry. Wellington and I seem to have caused you to lose most of your luggage," she said apologetically.

  Nigel turned and looked behind the carriage. The charming nanny was quite correct. At that very moment Hughes was trying in vain to stuff his now-dirty clothes into his trunks. The Manning Curse, he thought. Now my clothes are ruined. Why am I suffering when Roger was the one who sold the damnable mermaid, he wondered, putting Victoria back on the ground. "Well, let's have a look at the damage," he said philosophically, walking toward the catastrophe.

  It was quite a sight, all of his belongings being blown about the road. He could see a nightshirt near the base of a tree, and his cravats were blown clear toward the hedgegrow.

  "I'm so dreadfully sorry," Emily said, bending down and handing Wellington to Victoria, who hugged her puppy to her olive woolen pelisse.

  "It wasn't your fault," Nigel said automatically, walking slowly toward Hughes. "How were you to know that the pup and my chestnuts were both a bit skittish?" he asked, a frown beginning to form on his features. How am I supposed to impress this charming young woman if all of my clothes are now covered in dirt, he wondered, thrusting his hands in the pockets of his black Polish greatcoat.

  Nigel was more than amazed when the nanny, who was as well-mannered as she was alluring, actually went over to Hughes and said, "Let me help you," in that soft, sensual voice.

  To his astonishment, Hughes, his very ordinary valet, gave the nanny a wide, heartfelt smile. "Thank you ever so kindly, miss," was Hughes's reply.

  Nigel's jaw dropped open as the nanny began walking around the coach, picking up his unmentionables and handing them to Hughes. His face turned a slight shade of red. How ghastly, he thought, joining in the quest for his clothes.

  A few moments later, all of his belongings were hastily stuffed back into the trunk, and Hughes smiled once again at the nanny, as Nigel gave him a distinctly dark look.

  "Thank you ever so much for your help, miss," Hughes said, and was rewarded by a smile from the nanny.

  "You're welcome," she said simply, and began to walk slowly toward the house, Victoria trailing silently behind her.

  Nigel stared wistfully after her retreating form. Maybe this visit won't be a complete farce, he thought, running a hand through his hair. I'll be rid of the dashed dull Lady Susan and her harpy of a mother, and I'll be able to get to know the nanny. Henry and Harriet will probably be scandalized, but I don't really care. If I have to spend my holiday cajoling Miss Winterhaven to sell the mermaid back to the family, at least I'll be able to amuse myself elsewhere, he concluded, walking toward the front door of the house.

  As the butler opened the door, one thought lingered in his mind: how does one go about seducing a respectable nanny?

  Three

  "Henry, you never told me that little Victoria had such an attractive nanny," Nigel said casually, staring at the truly bizarre Egyptian artifacts in the parlor.

  Henry frowned at Nigel as he sipped his port. "Miss Turner? I suppose she's attractive enough—I've never really thought about it," he replied, his eyebrows raised slightly.

  A relaxed smile found its way onto Nigel's face. "Of course you wouldn't notice her—you are still quite enamored of Harriet, aren't you?"

  Henry smiled boyishly. "It's so dreadfully vulgar to actually admit to a tendre for one's wife, isn't it? I suppose I'm completely guilty of that offense, and don't pay much heed to any other females," he admitted, a trifle embarrassed.

  "Well, we are family, so your secret is safe," Nigel said good-naturedly, sipping his port. "So, is Miss Winterhaven here yet?"

  "Yes, she arrived a day or so ago. Harriet is having a wonderful time with her, and so is Victoria. I think you'll like her. She's much more the thing than Miss Turner," Henry added casually.

  "Miss Winterhaven cannot possess the magnificent, flashing green eyes that I found on Miss Turner, or the sweet disposition. You see, I met her when Victoria's puppy spooked my bloods and found her to be utterly charmi
ng," Nigel concluded, and was rewarded by an even more severe frown from Henry.

  "Miss Turner? Charming? Nigel, you've been spending much too much time in the country with your father," he concluded. Then, for good measure, he added, "But of course I'm head over heels over my wife, so I suppose I'm not an accurate judge."

  Nigel leaned back a bit in the Egyptian-style chair that was painted black and accented with gilt ornaments, and studied a small, brass replica of a pyramid sitting on the mahogany sideboard to his left. "She is quite magnificent," he said softly, to no one in particular.

  "Mama, Mama, look what Aunt Emily has!" Victoria proclaimed, rushing into the morning room, a lively bundle of energy in her Pomona green dress embroidered with small roses.

  Harriet looked up from the Gothic that was helping her pass the time, as Victoria climbed onto the sofa next to her. Emily, wearing a very modest gray kerseymere walking dress, followed behind her daughter.

  "What do you have, dearest?" Harriet asked curiously, putting the leather-bound book down on her lap.

  "It's a necklace that Aunt Emily said her grandfather got her for Christmas. It's a mermaid!" Victoria exclaimed, dangling the sparkling pendant in front of her mother.

  Harriet took the pearl pendant from her daughter and held it in her delicate, fair hands. So, this is the famous Manning Mermaid, she thought, marvelling at the workmanship. This is the last thing I expected Nigel to have in his family, she mused, noting the large center pearl and the crown encased in small emeralds.

  "So, what do you think of it?" Emily asked, seating herself on a small mahogany chair with spiral reeding next to the gilded sofa.