Marry Christmas (Zebra Historical Romance)

by Jane Goodger

  “You could at least pretend to be happy to see me,” he said lightly when he reached her side. The two girls next to her giggled.

  “My cousins, Miss Julia Cummings and her very much younger sister, Miss Sarah Cummings,” Elizabeth said, frowning at the giggling girls.

  Rand gave them a sharp bow, eliciting more giggles from the pair.

  “Go find your mother,” Elizabeth said, and the two girls rushed away. But not before Rand overheard one say to the other, “I thought she said he was horrid. He seemed quite nice to me.”

  Elizabeth had the good grace to turn violently red.

  “Horrid?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.

  “I don’t believe that was the precise word I used,”

  Elizabeth said with a small groan. “I do apologize. They are very young.”

  Rand looked longingly toward the table of food.

  “Would you care to accompany me to the pastries?”

  Rand wished he could capture the look on her face at that moment, for she looked so ridiculously pleased by his suggestion he wondered if, in addition to everything else, her mother starved her. At least she was smiling and showing a mouth of even, white teeth. She had a lovely smile that transformed her from a pretty girl into a beauty and he was nearly struck dumb by the change in her. “I see you are as famished as I.”

  Elizabeth gave him a startled look. “Oh. Yes,” she said almost absently, for her heart was racing madly as she drank in the sight of Henry standing by the refreshment stand staring at her like, well, like a starving man looks at food. She couldn’t believe her mother hadn’t noticed his appearance yet, though she didn’t know what Alva would do if she did. For now, he was here, Henry was here and looking at her and smiling the way he only smiled for her.

  The duke held his arm for her and she placed a gloved hand as lightly as she could without ignoring it completely. He was taking far too long to reach the other side of the lawn where Henry stood in a small circle of people.

  “I’d like to introduce you to my friend, the Earl of Wellesley. He’s accompanied me here to keep me company. I have asked your mother to include him in any invitations I receive and she graciously has agreed,” he said. Elizabeth was hardly listening as he went on about his friend and his estate and for goodness’ sake how could she think of anything but her Henry who was standing just a few feet from her?

  The duke had finally stopped talking and was looking down expectantly at her. “I’m sorry, it’s so noisy here, what were you saying?” she asked. She should at least attempt to pretend interest in him.

  He gave her a strange look, then smiled briefly. “My friend, Lord Hollings, the Earl of Wellesley,” he said, obviously repeating himself. Elizabeth turned to find herself looking up into the face of a dashing fellow, with bright blond hair and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. She quickly curtsied. “Pleased to meet you, Lord Hollings.”

  “I see Rand has dragged you to the pastries. He eats like a fiend and not an ounce of fat on him,” Edward said.

  Elizabeth forced herself to look at the two English men, though she felt as if her head were being pulled by a magnet in Henry’s direction. She could still see him from the corner of her eye and she longed to go over to him, just to let him know she loved him still. How awful it must be for him, she thought, to see her walking arm in arm with the man she was to marry. She dropped her hand then and dared to look his way, being careful to school her features before she did so.

  Oh, Henry, Henry. He looked so wonderful, but so very sad. He took a hesitant step toward her and her heart nearly beat from her chest.

  “A friend of yours?” said a deep voice by her ear. She started so quickly she nearly knocked heads with the duke.

  “An acquaintance,” she managed to say, chastising herself for allowing the duke to note her interest in another man.

  “Your acquaintance is coming over,” he said, then moved to face Henry as he approached.

  Elizabeth darted her eyes around, frantically looking for her mother. Please, please don’t let her mother see them chatting together as if all were right in the world. She realized that this might be the last time she would ever see Henry if Alva discovered them. No one had more social power than her mother and she would guarantee that Henry would not appear on anyone’s guest list for the rest of the Newport season.

  “Your Grace, Henry Ellsworth,” Elizabeth said, proud that even through her frayed nerves she sounded calm.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Your Grace,” Henry said smoothly. He nodded to her as if, indeed, she was simply another woman he slightly knew. And then, he grasped her hand and squeezed without looking at her eyes, pressing something into her palm. Elizabeth’s heart sang as she closed her hand over a folded piece of paper. No matter what it said, she would cherish it forever, for Henry had written it, had kept it with him on the chance he might pass it to her.

  She nodded genteelly, then turned back to the two peers, who were politely waiting for her attention, knowing she had managed to fool them and anyone else who had been looking. Though her heart ached with a terrible combination of joy and pain, no one would know. No one would ever know, she thought, smiling up at the earl.

  Rand clenched his jaw, his eyes glancing down at her still-fisted hand and he had the most curious urge to force her fingers open so he could read the missive. Now he knew why his lovely bride-to-be did not want to marry him. It was far worse than not wanting to marry a duke or not wanting to marry at all. She was in love with another man. For some reason, that thought bothered him far more than it ought. After all, hadn’t he told her just the day before that their marriage was nothing more than a way for him to get money and an heir? Perhaps it was the thought of her trying to be brave in the light of such a tragedy. While he hadn’t expected a wildly enthusiastic bride, he’d hoped for one who was not mourning a lost love.

  Rand longed to pull her away so he could speak privately to her. Obviously this Henry fellow was considered part of the New York Four Hundred else he’d not be among this crowd. He wondered why, when the two so obviously loved each other, they had not been allowed to marry. He made a mental note to find out more about the man who moved so easily among those gathered in the piazza.

  “Rand, did you know Miss Cummings speaks four languages?” Edward asked, apparently already smitten with his future wife. How she managed to be so charming to every man but him, he couldn’t fathom.

  “English, of course. French, German, and a bit of Italian.”

  “Very impressive, Miss Cummings,” he said, meaning it. He’d had no idea she was so educated.

  “My mother always stressed the value of education for women.”

  “Ah. So your mother is a student of Emmeline Parkhurst,” Rand said, referring to England’s most ardent suffragist.

  “She’s not so radical as your Mrs. Parkhurst, but she does admire her ideals,” Elizabeth said.

  “And what of you, Miss Cummings?”

  “I do believe women deserve the same rights as men. It makes no sense to me that we cannot vote,” Elizabeth said. “I’m not quite so enthusiastic as my mother. I am the product of her zeal, which meant for me long hours in the classroom learning tedious lessons while I longed to play outside,” she said, smiling.

  Rand had a picture in his head of a small girl with an unruly mop of hair sitting in a gloomy classroom being browbeaten by a tutor. “Like you, there were many times I wished to be anywhere but the classroom,” he said.

  “I think I’ll wander to the tennis courts, if you don’t mind. I play a bit myself and would like to see your American courts,” Edward said, smoothly removing himself from their company.

  “Would you care for some pastries?” Rand asked when Edward had left.

  Elizabeth looked at the table rather longingly, then seemed to abruptly change her mind. How, indeed, could she hold a plate and eat while clutching an illicit note? Again, Rand had to remind himself he should not be jealous of a girl he wasn’t even certa
in he liked. Strangely, he already felt possessive of her even though nothing had been formally settled between them. In fact, nothing informally had been settled either. Her parents had made the rather gauche offer, which he was, also rather gauchely, considering. Still, the fact she so ardently held a note from her lover while standing next to him was more than disconcerting.

  “Perhaps you should put the note in your reticule,” he suggested in an overly pleasant tone. She blushed scarlet, as he intended she should. She started to speak with a small shake of her head, as if she was about to deny having a note, but then she stopped.

  “That is a good suggestion,” she said, looking straight at him, as if challenging him to take the note away. And damn if he didn’t want to. She took the note, not bothering to hide it, and slid the pink-tinted paper carefully inside. Rand couldn’t help but wonder what sort of man used pink stationery.

  “I would ask that you not make a spectacle of yourself. Or of me,” he said, feeling uncharacteristic anger shoot through him. His anger must have come through in his voice, for she shot her chin up.

  “I have done nothing of the sort,” she said.

  “Accepting a note from another man while standing with your intended would qualify as a spectacle had even one other person seen what you did,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I am many things, Miss Cummings, but I am not a fool. Nor will I be made to look like one. I have come here in good faith, at the request of your parents, and I will not—”

  “Your Grace, if I might interrupt, I would like to introduce you to Mrs. Astor,” Mrs. Cummings said.

  It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Mrs. Cummings that she may not interrupt, but good breeding prevented him from doing so. “Of course,” he said, looking quickly to Elizabeth, whose cheeks were flushed with anger, before bowing toward the acknowledged leader of the New York Four Hundred. But from the corner of his eye, he saw Elizabeth clutch her reticule containing the precious note even harder.

  Chapter 6

  “I cannot marry the girl,” Rand announced to Edward when they were finally back to their rented cottage.

  “The note, you mean?” his friend asked.

  “You saw it, too, then. Good God, the girl could not be more indiscreet if she tried.”

  “I’m afraid I would lay blame on the gentleman,” Edward said blandly. “He does seem a good deal older than Miss Cummings. In fact, he looks a good deal older than you.”

  “His name is Henry Ellsworth,” Rand said, conveying without saying aloud that he wanted Edward to make some inquiries about the man. Finding out information without letting people realize he was looking for information was one of Edward’s greatest skills. “It’s clear to me that she’s in love with him.”

  “It is unfortunate,” Edward said, walking over to the sideboard and pouring himself a brandy. He lifted the decanter, asking if Rand wanted a bit.

  “I suppose I could use a drink, but no. I have a blasted ball tonight and I think it’s best that I be completely alert.”

  Edward smiled a bit too broadly for Rand’s liking. “You think they plan an assignation? Ah, how I love drama.”

  “As long as it doesn’t involve you, you mean.”

  Edward shrugged. “If she’s planning to meet him, it will be far easier for me to trail behind her than you. And I’ve a feeling you wouldn’t handle it very well if you did stumble upon the young lovers.”

  “I thought we agreed he was not so young,” Rand said, feeling slightly put out by the entire thing. “Honestly, I refuse to force the girl to marry me.”

  “You’re not forcing her to marry you. Her mother is,” Edward pointed out. “And based on what I saw at the Casino this morning, if this heiress doesn’t work out, there are more. And more. And more.”

  “You are drooling,” Rand said dryly. “And you don’t have nearly the debt I do.”

  “Still, it would be rather nice to live the life of leisure our forebearers did. Though I daresay I’m more than glad I’m not in your position.”

  “I honestly don’t want a life of leisure,” Rand said. “I don’t mind work, as long as it’s meaningful. But I could work for the next hundred years and not pay off even the interest of the debt my brother accumulated. How he did so while so sick, I’ll never know.”

  “Perhaps that’s why he did it. He knew he would die and so decided to squander it.”

  “I’ve thought of that,” Rand said quietly. “Many times.”

  Edward took a small sip. “We’ve gotten off the subject of your jilting the poor girl.”

  “I think the ‘poor girl’ would do a jig if I announced to her mother that I could not marry her.” Rand threw himself down onto a large leather chair and stared at the empty fireplace, feeling out of sorts. It wasn’t as if he didn’t fully realize why he was here. It shouldn’t bother him that he had an unwilling bride. She’d get over it or not and he would be able to save Bellewood and finally help his tenants.

  “This truly troubles you, doesn’t it,” Edward said, his tone slightly amazed.

  “Of course it does.”

  “Surely you didn’t think to have a love match.”

  Rand raise one eyebrow. “Hardly. But I didn’t expect my bride to hate me.”

  “Hate is a bit strong, don’t you think?”

  “Fine then,” Rand said, standing and walking over to a bank of windows that overlooked a small rose garden. “Not hate. Resent. And I don’t want my bride looking at me and—” He stopped and let out a soft swear.

  “And wishing you were someone else,” Edward finished for him. It was one of the curses of knowing someone for so long; they almost always knew what the other was thinking.

  “I suppose that’s it. If she disliked me for me, then I think I could take that. I would still proceed and marry her and get my heir and leave her be.”

  “You’re charming enough. When you want to be. Make her fall in love with you.”

  Rand looked horrified. “Good God, why would I do that?”

  Edward laughed. “No reason, old man. No reason at all.”

  Caroline Astor made it her business to put on the most elaborate ball of the season, known as the Summer Ball. Knowing that the Cummings were hosting a duke and would no doubt try to usurp her as the unofficial leader of the Four Hundred, she put forth all her effort to throw one of the most lavish balls ever, though she would never have admitted such a thing. The Astors and the Cummings had been having a quiet and unspoken social war for more than two decades.

  Elizabeth had never before been allowed to attend the famous Summer Ball, by far the grandest event every summer, but this had nothing to do with the fierce rivalry. She had been too young, and then her mother had dragged her all over Europe and foregone the Newport season. Until now. Now she was supposed to be enthralled and charming when she was truly miserable.

  Henry would not be here.

  His strange note told her as much and that was all it said, which was cruelly disappointing. He had not even told her he missed her or loved her or any of the other things she was longing to hear from his lips. She knew he was likely being overly cautious, and rightly so. But still…one kind word would have gone so far to make her happy this night.

  She walked through the gracefully arched Italianate entry to the Astors’ Beechwood on her father’s arm, grateful that he had decided to attend the ball rather than sail off on his beloved sloop. While her father almost always gave in to her mother’s demands, at least he was a strong shoulder to cry on when things were at their worst. He, unfortunately, had been in Bermuda when her mother locked her in her room and so had missed the high drama occurring in Newport. Elizabeth wondered if his presence would even have made a difference. Probably not. But at least he would have given her some comforting words.

  Now, it was too late. The duke was here and she imagined it was only a matter of time before he proposed. He hadn’t seemed the least deterred by her rather blunt statement he should return to England. At least she would
be able to see her friends who had been barred to her all summer while she remained a prisoner in her room.

  The thirty-nine-room mansion was not nearly as large as Sea Cliff, but then, Caroline Astor had wanted to convey the feeling of a true summer cottage. Elizabeth liked it immediately, from its beautiful understated exterior to the welcoming interior. Elizabeth couldn’t help but smile when they walked through the crush of people into the white and gilt ballroom. Her father pointed to the ceiling where smiling mermaids gazed down at her.

  “Supposed to be like we’re underwater or some such,” her father said.

  The ballroom was not overly large, but it was a whimsical place where guests danced beneath sparkling chandeliers. Dangling from the chandeliers were droplike crystals that Elizabeth guessed were meant to evoke a feeling of floating beneath the sea. Three hundred guests, fairly dripping diamonds, gathered in the ballroom and mingled outside on the terrace overlooking the Atlantic Ocean.

  “This is your first Summer Ball, is it not Elizabeth?” her father asked. Lately, it seemed as if her father had lost touch with her and found it surprising that he saw a woman coming toward him instead of a little girl.

  At that moment Elizabeth wished with all her being that she was still the little girl her father doted on so shamelessly.

  “It is. And probably shall be my last,” Elizabeth said blithely. She looked up to her father and was struck by how very sad he looked for a small moment before he forced a smile. It was almost impossible not to plead to him then and there, amongst all these people, to stop the inevitable wedding. He squeezed her hand as if he knew what she was thinking and needed to give her strength.

  Elizabeth’s heart wrenched, but she smiled and was glad when her father looked relieved.

  “Chin up, eh, Elizabeth?” he said.

  She almost gave in to tears, but smiled brilliantly in stead just knowing he understood.

  Once she’d read Henry’s note, she’d completely dreaded this ball, for she would have to suffer the company of the duke. Oh, she knew she was being unfair and catty, but she did not care. She could think of him only as “the duke” for that is how she’d thought of him for weeks now. If he did not exist, if her mother had not attended that particular art gallery on that particular day, she would most likely be walking arm in arm with Henry right now.