A Christmas Bride

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  “Delighted, my boy.” She rose with a whisper of satin and lace. “I wonder who it could be.” Pausing at the door, she asked, “Serenity, my dear, are not you joining us?”

  “I thought I might—”

  “Nonsense!” Aunt Ilse motioned for her to stand and follow them. “We shall greet this visitor; then I shall have that discussion with you that you must have posthaste. I cannot believe that your mother neglected your education like this.”

  “My mother died when I was younger than Theodora.” Serenity halted in midstep. That was the truth, a stitch of memory that somehow had been resewn into her mind. She clasped her hands in front of her as she recalled the day her mother had died. Around her was a sea of black. She could hear weeping and see the raw wound of the opened earth. The sunshine was sparkling off the sea beyond some cliffs where houses were set close together. Yet she could not see a single face or anything to distinguish this village from the hundreds that lined the British coast.

  “Serenity?”

  At Aunt Ilse’s impatient call, Serenity regretfully shook off her thoughts. She did not want to lose these memories again, but they offered her no help now. Hurrying to where they waited, she said nothing as they went down the stairs to meet whomever was waiting in the foyer.

  Serenity could not keep from smiling when she saw Timothy below them, just stepping off the lowest step. Nor could she halt her feet from carrying her down the stairs with untoward speed. When he turned, he offered her a smile of his own. He held out his hand, and hers rose to weave her fingers through his. He folded his elbow, drawing her closer.

  “I hear we will be stringing berries next,” he said with a laugh. “Does Theodora wish to have berries to feed her bear in her snow den?”

  “To own the truth, your aunt asked me to help with that.”

  “Why?”

  “I am not sure. She said we all would be pleased to see how she intends to use the strings of berries.” She glanced up the stairs. “I thought we would bring Theodora to the parlor later this afternoon and begin the work.”

  “An excellent idea. Then we show off what we have accomplished at dinner.”

  The front door opened, sending an icy wind swirling around the foyer. Branson held out his hand for the cloaked man’s hat as he greeted him.

  Serenity stared. As surely as she had known that bit of memory was of her mother’s funeral, she knew she had seen this man before. Again disquiet surged through her, but she was not certain why.

  When Timothy drew her forward, he said, “Welcome home, Uncle Arnold.” He smiled at her. “Serenity, allow me to introduce my uncle, Arnold Wayne, Felix’s father. Actually, to keep you from being confused, I should say my grandfather’s nephew. Uncle Arnold, this is Serenity Adams.”

  “Your betrothed?” asked Mr. Wayne with a broad smile.

  “A pleasure, Mr. Wayne,” she said, trying to ignore her instinctive yearning to pull her hand away. She was not sure what was causing the uneasiness in her stomach.

  Arnold Wayne resembled his nephew more than his son, because he had pale golden hair. It did not have the sheen of Timothy’s hair, which seemed to capture the sunlight. His nose was broader, and his eyes seemed to be watching all of them with an odd intensity.

  And what was oddest of all was that she was sure she had seen him before. Although she knew that was unlikely, she could not rid herself of that sensation. She had endured it with only one other person—Felix Wayne.

  Mayhap they had called at the household where she had been in service. If that were so, she could have seen them when they called, although they would have not taken note of her.

  Sorrow cut through her. If Mr. Wayne had recognized her, he might have been able to answer some of the questions that haunted her. The foremost one was her real name. Then she wanted to know why she had glimpses of a mother and a father, but the idea of a brother and sister seemed alien.

  Mr. Wayne bowed over her hand. “I am delighted to meet you. I trust you will allow me the informality of family, so I may call you Serenity.”

  “Of course,” she replied, although she wanted to ask, Have you seen me before?

  “You are every bit as beautiful as Felix led me to believe.” He smiled at his son. “You did not tell me that Serenity would be joining us here at Cheyney Park.”

  “It was a surprise for all of us.” Felix chuckled. “But a most pleasant surprise.”

  “You must tell me all about it while I go up to my rooms and change into something appropriate for dinner.” He looked down at his clothes, which were stained with mud. “I had hoped to get here earlier, but the weather is determined to make this celebration an intimate one with only family.” He flashed a smile at Serenity. “Or future family.”

  She smiled back. She could not fault him for her own uncertain memories. Why should she trust a single one of the images that flashed through her head? Even though she believed the ones of her father and mother were true, she could not swear to that.

  As Felix and his father climbed the stairs, Aunt Ilse following them and chattering about how much she had to show her cousin, Timothy said, “If we want to get started stringing those berries, we should begin now. Uncle Arnold will want us men to stay late at dinner tonight over port and cigars. He always has many opinions that he likes to air.”

  “It does not sound as if you agree with all of them,” Serenity replied.

  “I agree with a few of them some of the time.” He grinned as he offered his arm. Leading her up the stairs, he glanced toward the window. “He is right about one thing. If this snow continues to fall as it has, Grandfather’s birthday ball will be a very lightly attended one.”

  “Which may please him.”

  He paused on the stairs. As she continued up and around the banister at the top, he put his hand on hers. He looked up at her as if she were standing on a balcony and he in the garden below. “You seem to understand my grandfather well already.”

  “He likes his quiet. I believe he would rather spend his day with a book than anything or anyone else.”

  “He says often that reaching an advanced age allows him to do as he wishes instead of as society wishes.”

  She laughed. “I have heard him say that.” Biting her lower lip, she hesitated, then asked, “Why, then, are you planning such an assembly to celebrate his seventieth birthday?”

  “Because he would be distressed if we did not.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He laughed as he stroked her fingers beneath his on the railing. “Neither do I, but that is the way Grandfather is. He has his opinions of how things should be done. His life should be quiet when he wishes it to be quiet. He can have a grand party, although he wants the guests not to disturb him before that hour.” His smile faded. “And he wants his heir to have an heir or two of his own before his thirtieth birthday.”

  “Felix tells me that you had intended to marry.”

  “Felix has a problem with keeping any secret.” Timothy continued up the stairs.

  She stepped in front of him to keep him from walking away. “Then why have you taken him into your counsel about all of this?”

  “He was the one who persuaded you to sell a few weeks of your time for five hundred pounds, if you will recall. I could hardly keep him from knowing about that.”

  “No, I mean about the letters you wrote to your grandfather about Serenity.”

  “Actually Felix had a hand in creating Serenity when Grandfather asked for more details about this paragon who I had told him had touched my heart.” He shook his head. “At the time it seemed amusing and harmless. I should have known that no lie is ever without hidden dangers.”

  “Did you lie because you wanted to hide your broken heart?”

  His fingers curved along her cheek. “My pride was hurt, I must own. My heart? Not really. Do you know how few of the ton marry for love?”

  “I have never understood why people who have every other advantage feel it is adequate recompense
for a lack of love in their lives.”

  “You are such a romantic, Serenity.”

  “I know that I would never settle for less than love.”

  As his fingertip traced along her cheek to the corner of her lips, he said, “You will make some man very happy when you give him your heart.”

  “As you would make a woman happy, if you would give your heart.” She could not believe they were speaking like this when her heart pounded against her breast, demanding to be heard. She must not heed it and its plea to be offered to him. His words made it clear that he considered the proper wife who would give him the proper heirs more important than love. Through all of this, she could emerge with her heart unscathed only if she guarded it well.

  “Charlene Pye was a woman I believed I could be happy with all my days, as I thought she would be happy with me.” He sighed and locked his hands behind him. “However, she had no interest in sharing me with anything else.”

  “What anything else?”

  “My work.”

  She frowned. “Forgive me, Timothy, but what work does a viscount do? I have heard Felix speak of nothing more onerous than deciding which cravat to wear when he goes to the theater or to the card table.”

  “Do not regale me with your lower-class arrogance. What do you know of my life?”

  Serenity stared at him in astonishment. He never had spoken to her with such coldness. She had not intended to hurt him with her blunt question, but it seemed she had touched upon something that unsettled him greatly. “Timothy, I—”

  “No, you should not apologize.” He sighed as he drew her into the parlor where she had been sitting with Aunt Ilse. Closing the door, he said, “I should apologize to you and to my grandfather. You have done all you can to help me, and he wishes only to see me happy and settled with a family of my own. Instead I treat you both as if you are the ones who have created this muddle.”

  “But what is it that upset you when I asked that question? I did not mean to probe where I should not.”

  “Why should not you ask anything you wish? I have demanded nothing less of you than to remake yourself in the image of a woman I invented.”

  She sat on the settee next to Aunt Ilse’s paintings. “To be honest, I am grateful for that.”

  “Really?” He sat beside her. “Why?”

  “If I had not been able to become Serenity, I might have been completely lost.” She put her hand on his fist, which was balanced on his knee. “Why did you invent Serenity?”

  “Because I did not want to be bothered by another fiancée like Charlene Pye. I wanted to be able to concentrate on completing my project.” Sliding his other hand over hers, he smiled. “One thing I should tell you, Serenity. I enjoy supervising the building of things.”

  “I saw that in the nursery.”

  “What?”

  “With the blocks.”

  He chuckled, the tension leaving his face. “In this case, I was building a factory for one of the textile companies that Grandfather owns. I know a gentleman is supposed to let others deal with such matters, but I like to be part of the creation of something new and wondrous like a factory.”

  “That would not surprise your grandfather, if you have been this way since you were a child.”

  “He has been determined that I know a gentleman’s duties and obligations.”

  “But he must have seen how you loved building things with blocks.” She smiled gently. “And with clocks.” Sympathy rushed through her. Timothy had been so pleased to help with hanging the snowflakes and making the snow den for Theodora. Yet no one in this family considered that gift of good sense as important as finding a suitable wife who would give him sons to continue the family name. No wonder he had created Serenity Adams to placate his grandfather.

  “Grandfather knows that I dabble in the work. He does not guess how much time I spend with it.” He sighed. “Until now, only Felix knew. Now you do, too.”

  “Felix knows a lot about you.”

  “I have seen that you are uncomfortable in his company.” When she drew her hand away and stood, he gazed up at her. “I saw as well the peculiar look you had on your face when you met Uncle Arnold.”

  “He looked familiar to me.”

  He grasped her hands, folding them between his. “Do you know when you might have seen him?”

  “No, and it seems he does not recall me. He said nothing to suggest we had ever met.”

  “Mayhap he thought you would prefer he not say anything when others were about.”

  Serenity gasped. “Does he know the truth about this charade?”

  “I would not be surprised. Felix and his father are very close.”

  She put her hand on his shoulder. “I am sorry, Timothy.”

  “Sorry?” He looked up, amazement widening his eyes.

  “It must be difficult for you to see Felix with his father and think about what life would have been like if your father had not died.”

  “I cannot think of that.”

  “I would.” She rubbed her arms as she crossed the room to look out the window, which was draped in holly. Snow drifted past the glass, then whirled in a mad dance as the wind gathered it up and tossed it away. “I know how I look at you when you are with your family, and I think of all I have forgotten. My mother died when I was young.”

  “You remembered that?”

  “Yes, just before we came down to greet your uncle. Do I have any family living other than my sister and brother? Mayhap I have cousins, too.”

  Setting himself on his feet, he put his hand on her shoulder, then raised it to run it gently against her cheek. “I should have considered that, but I have been wrapped up in my own fretting.”

  “You did consider that. You wrote to London to find out what you could about my brother and sister.”

  “And heard nothing.” He took in a deep breath, then let it slide past his clenched teeth. “I think ’tis time I jostle Ballard’s elbow.”

  “Ballard?”

  “My solicitor. ’Tis time to remind him that you are waiting anxiously for any information he might have garnered during his prowls about Town.”

  “No matter what it is, I shall not leave before your grandfather’s party on Christmas Eve.”

  “As you promised.”

  “I know I promised, but I wanted to reassure you on that point.” She gave him a weak smile. “My head has been banged up some, but not enough that I would not recall a promise I had made to you.”

  “I suspect you hold all vows you make most dear.”

  “Yes.” Should she say more? Should she speak of how, when she came down the stairs each morning, she listened for the sound of his voice among all the others? Should she tell him how his touch trilled through her like the first birdsong of spring? “I know how important this is to you.”

  He turned her slowly to face him. “But do you know how important you are to me through all this?”

  A knock on the door halted her answer. Clamping her lips closed before the words could tumble out, she threaded her fingers together in front of her as he went to the door. She heard Theodora’s nurse’s apology for intruding.

  Going to the door, Serenity said, “Tell Theodora we will be there posthaste.”

  Nurse nodded, her ruddy hair bouncing out of its bun, before she turned and rushed toward Theodora’s room.

  “We have berry strands to make,” Serenity added into the silence that was left behind the nurse. “I do not want to disappoint Theodora by making her wait a moment longer.”

  “But you will disappoint me?”

  She backed away a step from the potent need in his gaze, but bumped into the open door. As he closed the distance between them, she gripped the edge of the door to keep her fingers from sweeping up his arms as she invited him to enfold her to him. “Timothy.…”

  “Don’t tell me you don’t understand what I mean,” he whispered. “I can see the truth in your eyes that glow like soft pools of a sunlit sky.” His hand ra
ised to cup her cheek, then lowered. “And I can see, as well, that you are the wiser of the two of us to know that, if I do not wish to disappoint my grandfather, I must be disappointed.”

  “Yes.” She dared say no more, for the entreaty for him to pull her into his arms burned on her tongue.

  “You do not say that you are disappointed as well, sweetheart.”

  Her fingers tightened on the door at the endearment she longed to believe he meant with sincerity. Quietly she said, “I know what I must do and how I must act if I am to have the life I should after this is over.”

  “And you are gone away?”

  She nodded.

  “I don’t like to think of that time,” he whispered.

  “Nor do I, but I must.”

  With a sigh, he stepped back and held out his hand to her. “Let neither of us think of that now. Let’s think only of how many more berries I can string this afternoon than you can.”

  “Do you really think you can best me in stitching them together, Timothy?” She let her voice lighten and saw his lips tilt in the beginnings of a smile. “You may be able to build a fancy factory, but I must have much more experience than you with a needle.”

  “Shall we see about that?”

  She slipped her hand into his, wondering how anything that should not be could be so wondrous. “Yes, we shall.”

  Eleven

  “What the …”

  Timothy looked up from where he had been watching Serenity help Theodora thread cranberries and crab apples along a string that reached from her chair nearly to the hearth in Grandfather’s favorite reading room. He laughed when the earl wiped spots of juice from his face.

  “I thought this was supposed to be dried fruit,” Lord Brookindale grumbled.

  “Apparently some of it is not totally dry.” Timothy handed his grandfather a handkerchief. Sitting back on the floor and picking up his own needle and piece of thread that was almost covered with fruit, he asked, “How long does Aunt Ilse want this strand of dried fruit?”

  “She said to fill up all the threads.” Serenity turned to look at the lengths of stringed fruit that snaked around the room. “It appears that we are almost finished.”