"Gads, no!" Nigel exclaimed as a look of relief flooded Aubrey's face. "Susan and her family appear to believe that I'm going to be offering for her, but that's all flummery! I have no interest in her at all," he said, emphasizing the words "at all."
"Good, I was just curious. Did you know that Emily left a few minutes ago? I think she may have been headed for the garden," Aubrey said, a sympathetic smile on his cherubic face.
"Really?" Nigel asked, glancing toward the door.
Aubrey practically grinned. Nigel did have a tendre for Emily, which suited his purposes marvelously. "Why don't you go see if she's all right? She seemed to be rather blue-deviled tonight," Aubrey said, glancing over at Susan, who was talking to her mother.
Nigel smiled, his features transformed. "I think I'll do just that," he replied, and strode confidently out of the room, looking for his greatcoat. The weather was still dashed bad, and he didn't want Emily to catch a chill outside.
Emily stood in the garden, the moonlight streaming onto her face, making her look rather ethereal. She held twelve sage leaves in her hands, and had been looking up at the moon, waiting to see the image of her future husband. At least that's what Mrs. Casper, one of their tenants, said would happen.
Snowflakes covered her hair and her shawl, and her hands were turning white with cold. Emily still didn't have any sort of vision. But, in retrospect, standing alone in the garden was preferable to seeing Nigel and Susan slavering over each other like they were aching to be leg-shackled.
"You're going to catch your death out here," a voice from behind her said, and Emily jumped back, startled.
She quickly turned and was facing Nigel, who held out his greatcoat for her. "Here, put this on. There are as many snowflakes on you as there are on the ground," he said, wrapping his coat around her shoulders.
"Thank you," she said, feeling very young and awkward. Why is he out here? she wondered, looking everywhere but at the handsome peer who was standing with her.
"It's a beautiful night," he said in a husky voice.
"Yes, it is," Emily replied, looking up at the yellow moon shining down on them.
Nigel studied the woman beside him. Her long, auburn hair fell like strands of fire down her shoulders, and her skin glowed like alabaster in the moonlight. Her long, delicate fingers were wrapped around his greatcoat, and her lips were trembling delicately in the cold. "You look lovely tonight, Emily," he said in a voice thick with emotion.
Emily managed a false chuckle. "Lord Stratford, you are a veritable rogue!"
Nigel put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. "Emily Winterhaven, you are the most mutton-headed female I have ever had the pleasure of knowing! I am not a rogue and I'm dashed tired of telling you how beautiful you are and being fobbed off like a half-witted, unlicked cub!" he declared passionately.
Before Emily could respond to his shocking tirade (in truth, Emily was too shocked to say anything at all), Nigel wrapped his arms around her. As his lips touched hers, she was enveloped in a kiss that set her blood afire.
Nine
"Emily? Are you outside?" Harriet asked hesitantly, walking into the darkness of the garden.
There was a rustling toward the west side of the garden, on the far side of the hedge, and two figures appeared out of the moonlight.
"Harriet, shouldn't you be attending to your rout?" Emily said in a strained voice that sounded dashed odd to Harriet.
Harriet squinted. "Nigel? What are you doing out here?" she asked innocently, noting with interest that Emily had Nigel's greatcoat around her shoulders.
Nigel coughed. "I saw Emily come outside and thought she might need a coat," he said in a strained voice, his eyes never leaving Emily.
Emily laughed cheerily, and took hold of Harriet's arm, leading her back inside. "Actually, Lord Stratford was attempting to seduce me," she said in mock confidentiality, glancing pointedly at Nigel. "You forgot to tell him that I'm a stickler for propriety, and I was forced to give him the same set-down that I gave the comte last summer," she explained as the pair walked back into the house.
Nigel trailed behind them, his mouth dropping open as he listened to Emily's simple explanation. By the look on his face, he apparently wasn't pleased with what he was hearing.
"Do have Henry talk to him, will you?" Emily asked Harriet as they reached the doors. "You see, Lord Stratford seems to think that all women without titles are birds of paradise," she finished in a voice loud enough for Nigel to hear.
Harriet giggled. "What a Banbury tale! Nigel isn't the rake in the family at all. You have the most delicious sense of humor, Emily," she replied lightly, completely disregarding what Emily said.
The trio walked back into the Christmas Eve celebration, oblivious to the fact that Aubrey and Susan were glaring at them.
"What do you mean, you don't have my slippers?" Nigel all but bellowed at Hughes, his unflappable valet.
Hughes straightened himself to his full height and replied evenly, "Sir, as I've explained, that… animal ate your slippers this evening while you were at the Christmas Eve festivities."
"Dash it all! Didn't I tell you that I didn't want that cursed puppy in my room? You are certainly becoming lax in your duties, Hughes, very lax," Nigel concluded, sitting on the bed, his dressing robe wrapped tightly around him. The evening had not gone as he had planned.
A slight smile quivered on Hughes's lips. "My lord?"
Nigel sighed. His life was a Cheltingham tragedy. Emily thought he was toying with her, and he wasn't. He was being plagued by a ridiculous curse that had nothing to do with him. Susan Claredon was intent on marrying him. What else can go wrong? he wondered in disgust. "Yes, what is it?" he answered, thoroughly tired of his life.
"My lord, you did instruct me to notify you if you started sounding like the marquess. Well, pardon me for saying so, but you are doing a very remarkable impression of him," Hughes concluded, hoping that Nigel wouldn't be too angry with his observation.
To his delight, Nigel just sighed and replied, "I'm sorry, Hughes. Thank you for pointing it out to me. I'm making a mull of things, and I really have no idea how to put matters right," he concluded, staring blankly at the carpet.
"Pardon my vulgar curiosity, my lord, but does this have anything to do with Miss Winterhaven?"
Nigel looked up, quite startled. "What do you know about Miss Winterhaven?"
Hughes folded his hands together and tried to be diplomatic. "It's been noticed among the staff that you're paying singular attention to the lady in question."
Nigel sighed. "Yes, I am paying singular attention to Miss Winterhaven, but she thinks that I'm a rake," he concluded, and gave Hughes a dark look when his valet stifled a laugh.
"I'm sorry, it's just that the idea of a lady mistaking you as a rake is so… uncharacteristic," Hughes said, trying to hide his grin.
"Yes, I know that. But Miss Winterhaven seems to find the idea that I may… think highly of her completely unbelievable, since she is connected to trade and is not a peeress," he concluded, becoming more depressed by the moment. In fact, he was so depressed that he was confiding his innermost secrets and feelings to his valet, which wasn't the thing to be doing at all.
"Miss Winterhaven is a very fine lady, although she doesn't have a title," Hughes said, springing to her defense. "She is kind to all of the servants, and her abigail, a charming young girl, cannot say enough in her praise. Lady Susan and Lady Markston's staff are quite another matter entirely. Miss Winterhaven may be connected to trade, but I believe that there isn't a finer lady in this household," Hughes concluded with a slight blush at his temerity.
A slight smile reached Nigel's lips. "I'm shocked by your forwardness, Hughes! But I'm inclined to agree with you. Just because someone is born with a title doesn't necessarily mean that they're kind, generous people," he concluded with a sigh.
Before Hughes could reply, there was a slight rap on the door, then another. Both men frowned, since it was prodigio
usly late to be receiving any sort of visitor.
There was another rap on the door, and Nigel shrugged slightly. "You may as well see who it is," Nigel said, his blue devils very apparent.
Hughes opened the door slightly, and his mouth dropped open in shock. The lovely Susan Claredon pushed her way past him and barged into the room, completely disregarding propriety.
Susan, clad in a frilly, pink dressing gown with pink slippers, looked as delicious as a Covent Garden bird of paradise. Her hair was still in the ringlets she wore at the festivities, and Nigel could smell the heavy perfume floating around her.
"Nigel dear, I must talk with you. Send your valet away," she said, waving her arm at Hughes.
Nigel's mouth gaped like a fish gasping for air. It was dashed forward for Susan to be visiting his bedchamber, and he would assuredly compromise her if he sent Hughes out of the room. "I think not. Hughes, please open the door while I speak with Lady Susan—I won't be accused of compromising her," he said with a frown.
Susan pouted. "Nigel, what has gotten into you?" she asked, her rosebud lips turning up most unbecomingly.
"What do you want, Lady Susan?" he said formally, walking toward the open door. He didn't want Susan to be in his room at all, and the sooner she left, the better.
Batting her eyelashes, Susan walked over to Nigel and said, "Nigel, it's Christmas. I've brought you your present." She took a small, wrapped box out of her pocket and stretched out her hand.
Truth be told, Nigel was terrified to take the package. Lady Susan had been acting dashed odd lately, and he wouldn't put it past her to give him an engagement ring. But the box looked much too large for a ring, so he reluctantly took it out of her hand. "This is quite unexpected. Wouldn't it be more the thing to exchange presents tomorrow, with the rest of the guests?"
Susan smiled angelically up at him. "I think not—this is a very special gift. Open it," she commanded, her breasts heaving in excitement.
Nigel glanced at Hughes, who simply shrugged his shoulders. The door was wide open and there was a chaperon present, so Lord Stratford couldn't be faulted for not observing the proprieties.
"I know what you wanted for Christmas, Nigel," she said in a sultry voice, "and I hope that once you open it, you'll forget all this nonsense and come home with Mama and me."
Nigel frowned. What is she talking about? he wondered, as he lifted the lid of the box. And stared in shock at the Manning Mermaid winking up at him. He was speechless.
"I know about the curse, you see, and why you're here. Everyone else might think you're being nice to Miss Winterhaven because you've formed a tendre for her, but I know the truth. I know you came to get the pendant back. So here it is," she announced triumphantly. "Merry Christmas," she said in a deliberately coquettish voice, and leaned closer to him, pursing her lips.
Nigel began to turn red with rage. In a controlled voice, he said, "You've stolen this from Miss Winterhaven."
"Posh, who is she? It is your family pendant, Nigel," she explained with a frown.
"Lady Claredon, you had no right to steal this, and I will see that it is somehow returned to Miss Winterhaven. My family concerns have nothing to do with you, nor will they ever concern you," he said in a clipped voice, opening the door even wider. "Now, I suggest you return to your room before I give you a dressing-down that you won't soon forget."
Susan's mouth dropped open, making her look like a lack-wit. "But Nigel…" she began, only to be cut off in mid-sentence.
"Lady Claredon, you will return to your room now, and we will never discuss this matter again. If you refuse, I'll have Hughes remove you bodily," he said, clenching his teeth in anger.
Susan looked up at him, her blue eyes large and childlike. "Good night, then," she said softly, and walked out of the bedroom, obviously defeated.
Hughes shut the door noiselessly behind her and commented, "That was well done, my lord."
Nigel went over to the bed and sat down, staring at the pendant. "I can't keep this. We have to return it to Emily," he said flatly.
"My lord, didn't you come here to retrieve the mermaid from Miss Winterhaven?" Hughes asked curiously.
"Yes, but she's quite attached to it, so I decided to hell with my father, Roger, and the curse. It's her pendant now, and I decided to let the matter drop," he finished.
"So you're going to return it?"
Nigel stared at the mermaid that seemed to be mocking him. If he kept the mermaid, his luck would probably change, and his family would be delighted. But Emily would be heartbroken, and her Christmas would be ruined.
Finally Nigel looked up at Hughes and replied, "I'm not going to return it, you are. Tomorrow, or should I say, today, when the family goes to Christmas mass. You're going to sneak into Emily's room and place it on her dressing table. Or anywhere her abigail will find it. No one needs to know about Susan's involvement, or our involvement, either. It will be our special Christmas present to Miss Winterhaven," he said softly.
"Well done, sir," Hughes said softly, and realized that his employer and friend was actually very much in love.
"Do you think it will help any, Miss Emily?" Eliza asked, staring at the small piece of Christmas cake in her hand.
"It certainly can't hurt," Emily began, and took the cake from Eliza and wrapped it in a small, white handkerchief.
"Do you really think that sleeping on a piece of Christmas cake will improve your love life?" Eliza asked with a blush.
Emily shrugged. "I just hope I don't ruin Harriet's linens," she said practically, and placed the wrapped cake under her pillow.
"Will that be all, Miss Emily?" Eliza asked, throwing back the covers and placing a warm brick at Emily's feet.
Emily crawled into bed and smiled fondly at her servant. "Yes, you can blow out the candles—I'm more than ready for some sleep," Emily said, and added, "Merry Christmas, Eliza."
Eliza took a single candle and moved to the door of her adjoining room. "Merry Christmas, Miss Emily," she said softly, leaving Emily alone.
As the moon peeped through the heavy curtains, Emily stared at the shadows that danced around the room and wondered what exactly was happening at this simple holiday house party. Was Lord Stratford really courting her? It would appear that he was, but then that's what I thought when Roger Manning was my constant companion, she mused, unable to sleep. Does Lord Stratford really think I'm a doxy who can be toyed with? Or does he actually care for my company? she wondered, her thoughts in a whirl. And what will he say when he receives my Christmas gift? Sleep would not be coming easily to Emily Winterhaven on the night before Christmas.
"We're going to church in the sleigh?" Lady Markston asked, a frown creasing her heavily painted forehead.
Standing at the front door, Henry, in his Christmas finery, refused to be daunted. "The weather is still rather impassable, Lady Markston, and Blackmore sent his sleigh over this morning. It's the only way to travel in this snow," he concluded, waving his hand toward the window.
Lady Markston gazed out the window and surveyed the situation. The ground was indeed covered with several feet of the white powder, and the trees, now covered in ice, glistened in the winter sunlight. She glanced over at Susan, who was pouting at her side, and sighed. "I suppose you're correct," she conceded, and tucked her hands into her furry brown muffler.
"Is Nigel going to be attending the service?" Susan asked coyly, flicking an invisible piece of lint off of her black velvet, fur-trimmed pelisse.
"Yes, I expect him to appear at any moment. In any case, I'll have to make a few trips with the horses since the entire party is too large to fit into the sleigh," Henry said, almost to himself, since Lady Markston and Susan were both craning their necks, looking for someone.
Moments later, Aubrey, looking all the crack in his black satin breeches, golden-striped waistcoat, and a dark green coat (obviously by Weston), strolled down the stairs, smiling at Susan. "You look as lovely as ever, Susan," he began, his eyes devouring her. "You must
be so proud to be the mother of a diamond of the first water," he exclaimed, beaming at Lady Markston.
Lady Markston immediately brightened and replied, "Yes, Susan has been the toast of London for several Seasons now."
Aubrey gazed down at Susan. Her blond hair was curled into perfect ringlets and she looked incredibly angelic. "Henry," he began, "why don't I take Lady Markston and Susan now and come back with the sleigh? It will give everyone else some time to get ready, since we seem to be the only prompt members of this house party."
Henry glanced at the trio and smiled. Yes, that would be a wonderful idea. A moment away from Lady Markston was like a moment in heaven, he decided. "That's a dashed good idea, Aubrey. I'll send word to the stables to have Jem bring the sleigh up to the front door," he said with a smile. Life was suddenly improving by leaps and bounds.
Nigel was in a dashed bad mood. It was obvious to him that Emily Winterhaven thought he was a rake. And, since he had never actually tried to attract the attention of a respectable female before, he was at quite a loss about how to behave. But he did have the most delicious Christmas gift planned for her, one that he hoped would take him out of her black book. And, once the party left for church, she would have the mermaid back in her possession. Perhaps that would cure her blue devils, he thought optimistically.
"Am I presentable, Hughes?" he asked distractedly, putting on his black velvet coat.
Hughes straightened up and surveyed his employer. His mane of long, black, wavy hair had been coaxed into what could resemble a style. The velvet coat, paired with black satin breeches, an embroidered black silk waistcoat, and a crisp white shirt with ruffles at the wrist made him look a bit austere, but respectable.
Finally, after an interminably long inspection, Hughes commented, "Yes, I suppose you look well enough," with a marked absence of enthusiasm.
Nigel chuckled. "I am a trial, aren't I? It's no matter—we are in the country, mind you," he finished, walking toward the closed oak door. "You will take care of the mermaid, won't you?" he asked, his nervousness quite apparent to Hughes.
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