A Christmas Bride

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  He continued along the hallway, noticing again how empty the house seemed. Was it just the house, or was it he who was empty?

  “It will have to do.” Mrs. Scott clucked her tongue in dismay as she moved to view Serenity from another angle. “Nan, there is nothing else?”

  The maid shook her head. “That is the last of the lot that Mrs. Danton left behind.”

  Serenity looked down at the light blue gown and brushed her fingers along the sprigged linen, which was highlighted with white blossoms. “It is lovely.”

  “But it does not fit you!” moaned Mrs. Scott. “It is too full at the waist, and Nan left the hooks undone at the top, for they will not close at the bodice. You cannot go out of this room half-dressed.”

  “Do you have a shawl amid all those things?” Serenity asked, turning to look at the bed that was nearly lost beneath the clothing that Nan had brought to the room. The abigail was not much taller than a child, and when she carried all those dresses that apparently belonged to one of Timothy’s cousins, she looked like a stack of clothing with legs.

  Nan rushed to the bed, reached in, and plucked out a white lace shawl. Smiling, she brought it to Serenity.

  “If,” Serenity said, “you can latch the top two hooks, I think this will cover the rest of them.”

  Mrs. Scott’s eyes threatened to bounce right from her skull. “Miss Adams, you still would be half-dressed.”

  “But no one shall be the wiser.” When the housekeeper opened her mouth to argue, Serenity added, “Would you rather that I wore my mended dress to dinner with the earl?”

  Taking a deep breath, Mrs. Scott released it slowly. “No, you cannot wear rags to dinner with Lord Brookindale. Very well, but keep the shawl about you at all times.”

  “I promise to you that I shall. I don’t want to do anything to shame Timothy.”

  Mrs. Scott’s smile returned, but she did not answer as a knock sounded on the door to the hall. Motioning Nan to open it, she settled the shawl over Serenity’s shoulders.

  Serenity smoothed it around her just as she heard Timothy ask, “Will you inquire if Miss Adams is ready for an escort down to dinner?”

  Glancing into the glass once more and making sure that her hair covered the small bandage Mrs. Scott had placed on her forehead, Serenity found herself instead admiring Timothy’s reflection. His black coat was the perfect contrast to his tawny hair. His buckskin breeches were topped with a crimson-striped waistcoat. The hint of gold must be his watch chain.

  She would have liked to stand there and drink in the sight of him, but she was aware of Mrs. Scott and Nan—and Timothy—watching. She went to the door. “Thank you, Timothy. I hope you will escort me every evening until I know my own way.”

  “And beyond that,” he said with a smile. It broadened as he eyed her from head to foot and then back again. “You look lovely, Serenity.”

  “I never have looked my best with mud and scratches on my face.”

  He chuckled and offered his arm. “I shall endeavor to remember that.”

  Putting her hand on his arm, she let him sweep her out of her room and along the hall. He soon had her laughing as he pointed out portraits of some of his less illustrious ancestors, portraits that had been banished from the more public regions of the house, but could not be put in the attics. He regaled her with the story of a several-times great-uncle who had tried his hand at finding gold in America and had found only icy winters that sent him fleeing back to Cheyney Park.

  Voices reached toward them as they came down the stairs, and Timothy grew suddenly somber when he asked, “Are you sure you feel well enough for this?”

  “I will reassure your grandfather that I insisted on coming down for dinner. If you would like, I can add that you tried to persuade me to remain in bed.”

  His smile flickered across his lips. “Trust me, Serenity, if I had tried to persuade you to remain in bed, I would not want my grandfather to witness my failure.”

  Heat flashed along her face. “You are misconstruing my words.”

  “I know.”

  She scowled at him. “A fiancée should be granted a certain level of respect that does not include such comments.”

  “You need not fritter away your ladylike airs on me. Save them for Grandfather.”

  “Timothy, what is wrong?” she asked, tightening her hold on his arm to keep him from walking away. “Did something happen while I was resting?”

  “Yes, my grandfather swallowed the whole of this clanker.”

  She dampened her lips, then whispered, “If you want to have that brangle now that will put an end to the betrothal, you need only say so.”

  “And what would you do then? You have not recalled anything of where you have been living, I assume.”

  “Nothing.”

  His hand curved along her cheek as he smiled sadly. “It seems we both are captives of our own machinations.” His hand dropped away. “Shall we?”

  “Yes.” She hesitated, then said, “Timothy, I do not mind if you blame any mistakes I make on my uneven memory after the accident.”

  “I would prefer not to make your misfortune my good fortune.”

  “We shall need all the good luck we can find.”

  He put his hand over hers on his arm. “Sweetheart, for once we are in utter agreement.”

  As before, the endearment sent a warm flush through her. Telling herself not to be ridiculous, for she realized he had spoken thusly because they were within earshot of those within the parlor ahead of them, she could not keep from imagining how wondrous it would be to have a handsome man like Timothy Crawford addressing her like that with complete sincerity.

  Serenity had no time to do more than form that thought, because Timothy drew her into the room, which was decorated with oak throughout. Pottery that she recognized as being from the Far East, although she had no idea how she knew that, was scattered over every surface. Blue and white mixed with jade, each fanciful figure capturing and holding the light from the brass chandelier that hung from a medallion in the very center of the ceiling.

  “How beautiful!” she said with a gasp. “That female temple lion is exquisitely carved.”

  Lord Brookindale came forward with a glass of wine, which he offered her. As she took it, he asked, “Do you assume that the sculpture is female because of the filigree of curls in the mane?”

  “No,” she said, releasing Timothy’s arm and squatting to point at the small creature beneath the lion’s raised paw. “See the cub there? That means the statue is meant to depict a female. A male usually has an orb beneath his claws.”

  “You did not tell me, Timothy,” the earl said with a smile, “that Miss Adams was so expert in Chinese art.”

  “Mayhap not, but I did mention, I assume, that I have found her to be a constant surprise.” He held his hand out to her.

  Serenity hoped she had not spoken foolishly. Letting Timothy bring her back to her feet, she started to whisper that question to him. He warned her to silence with the slightest shake of his head.

  “I don’t know,” she murmured when, as his grandfather turned away to go into the elegant dining room she could see through the arched door, Timothy asked her how she had known about the lions. “These tantalizing bits of memory appear, but nothing that will help me know the truth about—” She clamped her lips closed as a familiar laugh sounded from just behind her.

  “Good evening, Timothy, Serenity.” Felix bowed his head toward each of them.

  “Good evening,” she replied, but glanced at the woman beside him, her hand possessively gripping his arm. She was tall and slender, with lush curls that were only a shade darker than Timothy’s blond hair. Although her nose might be a bit too long for the dictates of society, she was an elegant woman in her gown of flawless white.

  “Serenity,” Timothy said quietly, “allow me to introduce Miss Melanda Hayes.”

  Before Serenity could react to the name that had brought a grimace from the housekeeper, Miss Hayes g
ushed, “So you are the one who captured Timothy’s broken heart and put it back together. I doubted it would ever happen, but it seems you did a first-rate job.”

  “Broken heart?” Serenity asked, glancing at Timothy.

  “’Tis nothing,” he said, as he drew her arm within his again. “Grandfather does not like to let dinner wait. Shall we indulge him?”

  “Of course.” She knew this was not the time to ask such questions. If she and Timothy had met in London, certainly she would know all the on-dits about the man whom she had promised to wed. She hoped he would explain later. Every word that was spoken had the potential to trip her into revealing the truth.

  When Serenity turned to enter the dining room, Melanda cried, “You cannot go in yet!”

  “What?” Timothy looked at her as if she were quite mad.

  Melanda pointed over Serenity’s head. “You cannot tell me that you did not steer your betrothed under the mistletoe apurpose.”

  Serenity looked up, then at Timothy’s shocked face. Lost as they had been in their conversation, he must have taken no more notice than she of the kissing bough hung above their heads in the doorway. Although it was made mostly of the holly that was swagged from one side of the doorway to the other, there was no mistaking the leaves of the mistletoe woven through it.

  Felix chuckled. “You know Timothy well, Melanda. He never does anything without a good reason, and it seems as if he has a very good one right now.”

  “He does, doesn’t he?” Serenity returned with a smile she hoped did not look brittle. “However, he will have to content himself with my hand.” She held out her fingers to Timothy, “At least until my head has stopped aching.” As he took her hand and bowed over it, she laughed. “I fear anything more would set my head to spinning even more than it does now.”

  Dropping her hand, unkissed, Timothy put his arm around her waist. “Do you need to sit, Serenity? Mayhap you should not have been so insistent about coming down to join us tonight.”

  She rested her head against his shoulder. “I think I am fine, but you are right. Sitting would be the wisest thing now.”

  “Nicely done,” he murmured as he led her toward the dining room. “And true as well.”

  “True?” She tilted her head back to see his smile.

  “I cannot think of anything that would make my head spin more at the moment than stealing a tender kiss from a lovely lady.”

  She looked hastily away as his teasing words brought forth that dangerous warmth again. Glad for the excuse of being seated in the oak-walled dining room at the table between the earl and Timothy, she let the conversation flow around her as she enjoyed the delicious vegetable soup set in front of her. The food at the inn had been plain, and the meal that the innkeeper had sent with them had been hearty, but the fragrant spices in this were as exotic as the statuary in the other room. Each course was as succulent, and she savored the flavors as Melanda talked about the party that she had attended just before leaving Town and who had been there and who had not.

  “You are very quiet this evening, Serenity,” said the earl as the dessert plates with the final crumbs of chocolate cake were taken away.

  “I am enjoying this excellent repast,” she replied. Folding her hands in her lap, she smiled. “You are lucky to have such a skilled cook, my lord.”

  “My lord? I shall hear nothing of the sort from you, young lady. As my grandson’s future bride, you should call me Grandfather as he does.” He looked past her. “Isn’t that right, Timothy?”

  “Y-yes.”

  Serenity glanced at Timothy when she heard the hint of hesitation in his voice. His smile was unchanged, but she noted how his hands clenched just beneath the table. How it must hurt him to be false with his grandfather! Wanting to put her hand over his, she could not as the earl asked her how she was feeling in the wake of the accident.

  “Better with each passing hour,” she replied.

  “It must have been horrible,” Felix interjected.

  “Yes.”

  Timothy’s arm curved around the back of her chair. “I know you all are curious about the events around the accident, as I am, for I do not want to think of something like that happening to Serenity ever again, but speaking of it is certain to unsettle her. I beg your indulgence in speaking of another subject.”

  “Of course,” the earl said, aiming a glare at his younger grandson. “We all will keep that in mind.” As he came to his feet, he added, “We shall enjoy so many events in the coming weeks that you shall have no time to let your thoughts linger on what happened, Serenity.”

  “So Timothy has told me.” She was glad when Timothy offered her his hand to help her to her feet. Although she had relished every bite, she had not guessed that the mere task of eating a meal would tire her so much. She wobbled, and he put his arm around her waist again. “Forgive me.”

  “There is nothing to forgive.” Lord Brookindale motioned toward the door. “Timothy, I believe we have kept Serenity too long at our conversation. Will you see that she is settled under Mrs. Scott’s care?”

  “Thank you,” Serenity said.

  When the old man smiled, she saw a hint of the dashing rogue he must have been a half century before, when he would have been as handsome as his heir. He folded her hand between his. “Rest well, young lady. I don’t want you to miss a moment of the entertainments that these young bucks have planned supposedly for me.”

  “Felix has been telling me all about the ball on Christmas Eve,” Melanda said, clearly distressed at being left out of the conversation, for her lips were pursed in a pout. “It will be the very best of anything planned. Better than the mummeries or anything else.”

  Chuckling, the earl replied, “I am looking forward to the good food, but I doubt if I shall do anything as strenuous as riding into the village.” He looked back at Serenity, who wondered if he guessed what a fierce scowl Melanda was wearing now. “However, from what Timothy tells me of your family’s dirty acres, Serenity, I suspect you soon will be in the saddle again. He was relating about your adventures in the hunt with your father’s master of the hounds. You should share the tale of that with Melanda and Felix, if Timothy has not told him already.”

  Serenity did not dare to falter. “My lord—Grandfather, I must own the truth. My memories are a bit unsteady in the wake of the accident. Some parts of my past seem to be gone.” She sighed. “So I don’t recall ever riding to the hunt.”

  “Did you know of this, Timothy?” the earl asked, his smile vanishing.

  “Yes, Grandfather.”

  “Have you sent for Mr. Lockins to come and check her to be certain there is no lasting damage?”

  Serenity put her hand on the earl’s arm. “Unless your doctor can reach into my brain and retrieve my memories, there is little he could do. I assured Timothy of that before we left for Cheyney Park this morning. He would not have allowed me to travel if he had been uncertain of my health.”

  “And because of that, I must insist that Serenity retire now,” Timothy said quietly.

  “Of course, of course.” The earl waved his hand in their direction. “I wanted to finish that book before I went to bed, so this will give me a chance.”

  Serenity saw the glance between Felix and Melanda, but could not guess what they were thinking because Timothy led her out of the dining room. He kept his hand on her elbow as he guided her back up the stairs.

  “What is wrong?” she asked when they were walking along the upper corridor toward the wing where her bedchamber was located.

  “Grandfather is acting oddly,” Timothy said.

  “I thought he was being most kind.”

  “He is. Most oddly kind. I understand that he did not give my mother permission to address him as anything but ‘my lord’ until the day she wed my father. Apparently it was even longer with Felix’s mother.”

  “People grow more mellow and forgiving as they grow older and family becomes so important.”

  He laughed tersely. �
�For someone who has lost every bit of her life, you seem to have great insight into the lives of those around you.”

  “Mayhap it is simply because I am learning everything anew that I am aware of these things. Often one sees things most clearly the first time.”

  He paused by her door. “As I saw how your shawl covers the back of your gown, which is undone?”

  “I did not realize that you had noticed.” She was glad the dim light hid any blush that might be coloring her cheeks.

  “I doubt if the others took note, but then the others did not assist you from your chair and see how your dress gapped at the back.” His arm slipped around her waist and brought her to face him.

  She put her hands up, intending only to keep a respectable distance between them, but her rebellious fingers stroked the front of his satin waistcoat. The firm muscles beneath it told her again that he did not lead a sedentary life. Wanting to ask what he did to forge these strong sinews that begged her hands to be even more bold, she found words impossible. She was caught between his sturdy arm and the ebony fires in his gaze.

  His finger under her chin tilted her face toward his. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered. “Just as I imagined Serenity would be.”

  “But she is only a fantasy.”

  “Then that makes you a fantasy come true.” He drew her even closer. His fingers brushed the back of her open dress as he bent toward her.

  She held her breath, knowing she should push him away. When his lips brushed her cheek, he released her with obvious reluctance. She stared at him, astonished.

  “But,” he said softly, “you are not a fantasy. You are real, and I am a fool.”

  “Timothy—”

  “Good night, Serenity.” He turned on his heel and continued along the passage.

  She leaned back against her bedchamber door, not moving until she heard a distant door open and close. So much she had learned about Timothy Crawford tonight—of his devotion to family, of his inability to suffer skimble-skamble comments, of his deep integrity. And she had learned something about herself as well tonight.