A Christmas Bride

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  She had learned that a kiss on the cheek from him was not enough.

  Seven

  “It will do.” Madame DuLac tapped her teeth with her needle and shook her head, which was topped with curls of perfect white.

  “It is lovely.” In the past few days, Serenity had become accustomed to the modiste’s ways. Madame must have been born beneath a gloomy cloud, for she saw disaster at every possible turn. She was never happy with anything, even the incredibly beautiful confections she and her team of four seamstresses had created for Serenity since their arrival at Cheyney Park.

  “Yes, ’tis the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” Mrs. Scott murmured as Serenity looked over her shoulder into the glass to see the scarlet ribbons running down the back of the white gown. More ribbons were laced through the eyelet along the sleeve cuffs that ended at her elbows and in the ruching at the hem.

  The housekeeper had come whenever she could into the room that Madame had taken over as her work area next door to Serenity’s bedchamber. With sunlight reflecting off the snow and pouring through the window, it was perfect for sewing.

  “It will do,” the modiste announced in the same dreary voice. “Of course, we have time to make it better, because you shall not need this until the evening before Christmas, no?”

  “No—I mean, yes.” Serenity raised her hands compliantly as the dress was unhooked and lifted over her head. “That is, for the ball to celebrate the earl’s birthday.”

  She was not sure if Madame heard her, because the modiste was talking to her seamstresses in a mix of French and English that Serenity guessed the Yorkshire lasses did not understand completely. However, they seemed to guess what she wanted, because they bent to their work on the three other gowns that still had not been completed.

  “Allow me, miss,” Nan said, edging forward. The young abigail had been chided once by Madame for being in the way and since had clung to the most distant corner whenever the couturière was in the room. “The pink one, I believe, is your choice for today.”

  Serenity would have been delighted with any of the rainbow of gowns that were scattered across the settees and chairs of the room. Did any one woman need so many clothes and small clothes? Mrs. Scott had assured her that, with the many events to come during the holidays and the earl’s birthday celebration, this wardrobe would be barely enough. It appeared that the betrothed of the earl’s heir must not be seen in the same dress twice.

  In spite of her thoughts, Serenity could not keep from stroking the soft gauze flowing over her gown. It dropped from the bodice to subdue the already pale pink satin beneath it. With every step, the fabric whispered and fluttered the lazy white lace bow beneath her breasts. The white slippers that Madame had provided were each topped with a small piece of the same lace as her bow.

  She thanked Nan, bade Madame a good afternoon, and made her escape. Standing and not daring to breathe while surrounded by dozens of pins seemed the waste of a day, although she was not sure what else she might be doing. She had not seen Timothy, save at meals, for the past two days. What he was doing to keep busy was something he had not mentioned.

  Mayhap he was away from Cheyney Park on calls. That made no sense, for he would take his betrothed with him on such visits.

  Unless he is calling on someone who would not welcome his fiancée.

  Serenity sped along the corridor, but could not evade that thought. Had she lost her good sense as well as her memories? The thought that he might be calling upon a woman should not trouble her.

  Pausing by a large window seat, she sat on it and gazed out over the moors. Her smile returned as she admired the untamed beauty. She was being witless. Timothy was so determined to prevent his grandfather from being disturbed by his falsehoods that he had agreed to this arrangement. That he preferred to spend time on other matters was his choice, although they must be seen together enough to persuade everyone—except Felix—that they were happy that they were about to be wed.

  A motion in the distance caught her attention. Rising to her knees, she bumped her head against the greenery that was draped along this window as it was at every window in Cheyney Park. She pushed the holly and pine aside as she watched the rider who was headed straight for Cheyney Park’s gate. The glitter of sunshine off his golden hair told her that it must be Timothy.

  “He rides very well,” came a rumbling voice from behind her.

  Serenity tried to turn to face the earl and nearly collapsed onto the cushions of the window seat. He put his hand out to steady her as he sat beside her.

  “Timothy has been riding across these moors all his life,” Lord Brookindale said with a smile. “Sometimes I think he has these winds in his blood. The few times I have visited him in Town, he seemed somehow less alive.”

  “You may be right.” What else could she say? She knew nothing about what Timothy was like in London.

  “But he will become as grim as a countinghouse clerk peering along his row of numbers if he continues to work as he has since he arrived at Cheyney Park.”

  “Work? So that is what he has been doing?”

  The earl chuckled and patted her arm. “I have seen your curiosity, young lady, so I know you have wondered where he has been taking himself off to while you have been imprisoned in the care of that arrogant Frenchwoman.” He sighed, and his smile fell away. “He thinks I don’t know what he is up to. I know the work he does overseeing the building of my factories invigorates him nearly as much as these winds.”

  “You may be right about that, too.” Again she was at a loss for an answer. She wished she had had a chance to learn more about this man she was supposed to be in love with. Hoping she was not choosing the wrong response, she added, “He seldom talks to me of such things.”

  “Really? You have an obvious intelligence, Serenity, that I have not come to associate with the maids who set upon the Season in search of a husband. I would have guessed that he had regaled you with all the details of his work. If—” His forehead furrowed as he scowled. “Or mayhap I spoke too hastily.”

  Even though she was certain of so little, Serenity knew the earl was avoiding speaking of something that unsettled him. She wanted to ask what, but again feared that to ask would reveal how little she knew of Timothy.

  He heaved himself to his feet. “I think I shall have a few words with my grandson about this. If you will excuse me, Serenity …”

  She replied, but doubted if he heard her as he strode along the hall, looking as hale as any man two decades younger. Although she wanted to draw her knees up and sit and ponder his words, she resisted that temptation. She needed to get answers for her questions, and only one person could give them to her.

  Timothy.

  Serenity pushed herself to her feet and hurried along the hall. It took her only a few steps to realize she had no idea where she was in the massive house. While she had walked here from her rooms, she had been so lost in silly thoughts that she had paid no mind to her route. The earl was nowhere in sight, and she did not know which corridor to take to lead her back to where she should be.

  Slowing, she decided the best thing to do would be to look out a window and use the outer wall to tell her where she was within the house. She had not seen the full length of the wall, so she hoped this would work.

  The first door she tried was locked, as was the next. On the other side of the hall, her luck was no better. She wondered if this was a wing that had been closed off. Odd then that the earl would have been here.

  Her eyes widened when she saw a door that was ajar. Opening it wider, she peered in to see what looked like a child’s room, for it had a small bed, several chairs, and a bookcase filled with books. No toys were visible anywhere except for one doll on the bed.

  “Who are you?”

  Serenity flinched at the demanding question, then smiled at a child who was perched in a chair that seemed far too big for her delicate frame. Glancing around the room, she wondered why such a small child had been left alone. “
I am Serenity Adams.” For once, she did not stumble on the name. Mayhap she was becoming accustomed to it.

  “Are you the Serenity Adams my uncle Timothy is marrying?”

  “Yes.” That question sounded too mature for such a tiny child. She sat on a chair beside the child. “And who are you?”

  “I am Theodora.”

  “Timothy is your uncle?”

  “Not really, but I call him my uncle. My mother is his cousin, twice removed.”

  Serenity fought to hide her bafflement. This little girl looked no bigger than a six-year-old, but she spoke with the confidence of an older child. She used her left hand when she spoke, but her right one rested in her lap, never moving.

  “You have a big family,” she said, knowing she must say something to Theodora.

  “I guess so.” She looked back out the window.

  Serenity followed her gaze to see that Theodora had a perfect view of what must be the house’s water garden. A pool glittered icy blue amid the snow. It was surrounded by follies that might be buildings or simply facades to enhance the flowers that must grow there in the spring.

  “I have not seen you before,” Serenity said.

  Theodora looked at her. “That is because you have not come here before.”

  “This is my first visit to Cheyney Park; you are right.”

  “No, I meant here.” She tapped the arm of her chair. “I don’t go anywhere else.”

  The child must be jesting. Mayhap she shared Timothy’s sense of humor. Not wanting to be caught accepting a falsehood, Serenity asked carefully, “Are you restricted to this room because you misbehaved?”

  “Of course not!” Theodora gave her a glance that could be described only as withering. It certainly made Serenity want to crumple up in a ball. “How could I misbehave when I have no chance to?”

  “Now you have confused me.”

  Raising her chin, she brushed her hand against the ribbons on the front of her simple dress. “No one has told you about me?”

  “Not a word.”

  “Oh.”

  Serenity smiled, but her curiosity gnawed at her. “Will you tell me about you?”

  “There is little to tell. I cannot walk, and this hand,” she said, pointing to her right hand, “does not work.”

  “So you sit here all day?” She clasped her hands together to keep them from quivering with her sudden anger. A child should not be left to molder alone in this empty wing of the house simply because she could not walk.

  “I cannot do anything else.”

  “But you could go outside. Someone could carry you.” The child was so delicate that Serenity guessed she could carry her easily herself.

  “Mama does not want me to chance taking a chill.”

  “Is your mama here? I would be glad to speak with her.”

  She shook her head. “Mama prefers to spend winters in Italy.” She lowered her eyes. “Of course, the ocean voyage would be too exciting for me in my condition, so I cannot go with her.”

  “Are you ill?”

  Theodora scowled. “I told you that—”

  “I know. Your arm does not work, and your legs don’t hold you, but are you ill?”

  “Like sick with a fever?”

  Serenity nodded.

  “No.”

  “Then you should be able to go outside and enjoy the snow.”

  “Mama is afraid I will take a chill and become sick.”

  “How about in the summer. Does your mama come here in the summer?”

  “Sometimes.”

  Serenity’s heart threatened to break, even as rage boiled in her. How dared Theodora’s mother turn her back on her child! Knowing she should not judge a woman she had never met, she still could not submerge all her fury.

  She must say something that would not upset the child. “You are lucky that this room gives you a lovely view of the water garden.”

  “It is much prettier in the summer, when the flowers are out and the ducks take their ducklings for a walk up the hill.”

  “Lots of ducklings?”

  Theodora wore the condescending expression only a child could don in the company of an adult who was treating her as if she were a baby. “They usually have four or five ducklings for each nest.”

  “I did not know that.”

  “I have watched, and so I know.”

  “I am sure you do.” She clenched her hands again, then loosened her grip before Theodora took notice of her anger. This poor child had had little else to do but sit here and watch the ducks.

  Serenity remained talking with the little girl until the child’s nurse, who looked no older than her abigail, Nan, came in. The nurse either did not know how to answer Serenity’s questions or chose not to answer, telling Serenity that she must speak with the earl before calling on Miss Theodora again. The child must be closely monitored so that she was not overwhelmed and did not take ill.

  Wanting to tell the nurse that the only threat to Theodora was boredom, Serenity held her tongue. She must not jump to conclusions, especially when she had nothing to base her opinions on, save this general disquiet about the whole of the way the child was being treated.

  Her Vexation carried her along the hallway until she realized she knew where she was. The portraits of the Cheyney Park ancestors glowered at her, and she glowered back.

  “You will not make them smile, no matter how many faces you make at them,” Timothy said as he walked toward her.

  Crossing her arms so she did not reach out and shake him, Serenity demanded, “Do you know all about Theodora’s situation? How can you be a party to it? Don’t you have the least bit of compassion for that poor child? If—”

  “Whoa,” he said, chuckling as he raised his hands in surrender. “One accusation at a time, please.”

  Serenity took a deep breath, then released it. Bother! Why did he have to look so handsome with his face still reddened from the wind and his hair tousled back by his ride across the moors? Her fingers wanted to brush that vagrant strand back and slip along his roughly chiseled face.

  “I met Theodora,” she said, clamping her arms even closer to her to resist that temptation.

  “That much I understood.”

  She looked away from his scintillating smile. She did not want to let him woo her anger away until she said all that she must. “The way she is being made to sit like an old tough chaperoning a rout is absurd.”

  He put the tip of his riding boot on the very toe of her slipper as he drew her arms out of their stern pose. “Crossed arms and a tapping foot show me that you are in a pelter, Serenity. No need. No one is trying to abuse the child. We are simply grateful that she has survived this long. The doctors did not believe she would live until her first birthday.”

  “But what type of life is it for a child to sit in a chair and do nothing save for staring out the window all day? Can she read?”

  “She can, but it is easier to read to her, because she cannot hold a book and turn its pages.”

  She scowled. “She has the use of one hand.”

  “Some use of it. That is all. The books close when she tries to turn the pages or fall from her lap.”

  “I refuse to believe that no one can do something for her.”

  His hands slid along her arms so his fingers could lace through hers. “I chose the wrong name for my betrothed. There is nothing serene about you.”

  “Don’t try to change the subject.” She scowled up at him. “Can you devise something to help her?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Will you try?” She tightened her fingers around his as she leaned toward him. “Timothy, I know you are very busy with the plans for your grandfather’s party and the many calls you need to make and receive while you are at Cheyney Park.”

  “You need not make me sound so heartless.” Without releasing her hand, he ran the back of his own along her cheek. “Such fire you have! You must have been a vexing scold to your lady.”

  “I hope I was
if she did something as misbegotten as letting a delightful child let her life slip away.”

  “Your point is well-taken.” He hesitated, then asked, “Why is this so important to you?”

  “She is a little girl all alone in that empty wing.”

  “I can understand why that would bother you, but, Serenity, I have never seen you in such a snit. You were ready to banish me to perdition without giving me a chance to explain that I share your dismay, as does my grandfather.”

  “Then why—”

  “We have no choice but to follow her mother’s wishes.”

  “What of Theodora’s wishes? She is not a baby any longer. I would wager she is almost six.”

  “Actually she will celebrate her tenth birthday in the spring.”

  “Ten?”

  Timothy sighed. “The doctors have said that her lack of growth is part of her whole condition. As I said, she was not expected to live at all.”

  “Then that is an even greater reason to make the time she has more precious and filled with joy.”

  “All right, Serenity. I will try to devise something to help her read her books.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled and let her shoulders drop from their angry pose. “And I should thank you again for the wonderful clothes that Madame DuLac has been designing for me.”

  He raised her hand and twirled her about beneath it. Chuckling, he said, “I had heard she was a true mistress of her art of stitchery, but you are the proof. This gown is lovely.”

  “It is, is it not?” She plucked at the pale pink gauze over the underskirt, then looked up at him. “Timothy, you have ordered more than I will need, even for the time between now and Christmas. What shall you do with all these clothes when this is over?”

  “Me?”

  “A lady’s maid has no use for such elegant clothes.”

  “No, a lady’s maid would not.” He frowned.

  “What is wrong?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing but the course of this conversation. The clothes are for you, Serenity. You may wear them or give them away or sell them, if you wish, but I do not take back gifts.”