A Christmas delight

by Anthea Malcolm

  Her maid swept her hair up into a coil on her head and surrounded it with a silver bandeau. Silver and sapphire jewelry completed the outfit.

  When she checked the final effect in the mirror, however, Alice was shocked to realize how much her outfit resembled a Hussar uniform. It was the blue with the silver braid which created the effect and was a poignant reminder of Tyv Norman all those years ago. Surely she had never intended this when she'd designed it. Had she?

  Would anyone else notice?

  She forced herself to be sensible. Even if anyone did, there was only one person who would think it of any significance and he could go to hell.

  Alice draped eight feet of silver shawl over her arms and swept out to her first evening as hostess of the Conyngham Twelve Day Festival.

  Conyngham Castle was a genuine medieval home. Though it had been extensively added to during the last six hundred years, it retained the original castle at one end—or at least, the bottom two floors.

  The lower floor was still used for storage as it had been when first constructed in the twelfth century, though now the cool wine cellars were floored and plastered. The medieval top floor had been greatly altered to make the family chapel. The middle floor was the old Great Hall. This had been preserved in its original form except for the addition of glazing in the windows and more efficient fireplaces, and it would be the center of the medieval Twelve Day Festival.

  Tonight, however, was the last night of modern living, and family and guests were gathered in the Blue Saloon which was one of the finest examples of the work of the Adams brothers. Alice reminded herself that she'd designed her gown with this room in mind, not with any thought of a dashing Hussar.

  Alice's father came over to her—a tall, hearty man with

  the same heavy brown hair as his daughter, but muted now by gray. "Everything's as it should be," he said with a wide smile. "Your mother would be proud of you, Alice."

  "Thank you, Father, but it is mostly the staff, you know. I think they could run this on their own. They doubtless only consider my instructions unnecessary interference."

  "Don't downplay your hard work, my dear. Capital job. Fine company." He beamed around. "All the old favorites and enough new blood to keep us on our toes, eh? Glad to see Standon here." With a slight frown he added, "Bad business, that." Alice wondered if after all these years her father was going to choose this moment to upbraid her for her conduct, though he did not know the whole of it.

  She should have known better. He and Roland were very alike. "Seems to have kept him away for some reason," the earl said vaguely. "Shame. Always liked Standon."

  He wandered off to have a word with Lord Standon. His place was soon taken by Roland. "What the devil have you got against Ivanridge?" he asked. "Fine fellow."

  "What do you mean?" responded Alice coolly.

  "You've put Ewing in my room—I'd rather have had TVr, by the way—and he says you tried to throw him out. Tyr, I mean."

  "Nonsense," said Alice with deliberate lack of interest, though she'd just had a paralyzing thought. "I was a little surprised, that's all. I wasn't aware that he'd inherited a title and so I didn't expect him."

  "No reason to swear at him. Quite shocked poor old Ewing."

  Alice could cheerfully have wrung poor old Ewing's neck, and tension had seized the back of her neck. "He must have misunderstood," she said shortly. "Go and mix, Roland. There must be some quiet souls who need bringing out. And," she added, "don't think of changing your place this year. I've put you by Miss Travis, who's very shy. Look after her."

  "Shy girls are a terrible bore," he complained with a twinkle.

  "She's tolerable enough when she relaxes. Relax her."

  He gave a snort of lewd laughter, and Alice felt her color rise. She remembered a man holding her close and saying, "Relax, puella miranda. Relax," as his hand and voice had brought relaxation of the sweetest kind. As if drawn and caught, she found her gaze fixed on Tyr Norman across the room. He returned her gaze pensively.

  Alice dragged her eyes away. The thought that was torturing her was that she had carelessly put her seducer and her jilted betrothed to share a room and a bed. She wouldn't put it past Ivanridge to use the occasion to make trouble.

  She became aware that she was standing among the company like a wax dummy. She couldn't do anything about the situation at the moment, but tomorrow she'd either find a way to throw Ivanridge out or find him another room, even if it had to be the coal cellar.

  Dinner was announced at that moment, and everyone progressed, chattering, into the magnificent dining room with its walls and ceiling painted by Laguerre. A string trio played softly in an anteroom, invisible but audible through the open door.

  Despite this grandeur, the tone of the Twelve Days was informal, and so there was no head or foot to the long table and the family was scattered among the guests.

  As she took her place, Alice checked and was relieved to see Roland assisting Miss Travis to her seat. Their mother had indulged his yearly game of rearranging places so he was seated by some racy young matron. Alice would have no part of it.

  She was seated between the Reverend Herbert, the Con-yngham chaplain, and Sir George Young, the local squire. They were the two most boring guests and so she had taken them for herself. As she took her place her attention was all on last-minute checks that everything was in order and everyone was comfortable.

  It was only as she settled with relief into her place and pulled off her long white gloves that she realized she was

  seated opposite Tyr Norman. She'd given no thought when she arranged the table to putting Lord Ivanridge opposite her own seat. Now she cursed the mischance.

  He raised a brow, as if implying she had arranged this seating deliberately. She gave him a frigid glare and turned to engage the chaplain in a lengthy discussion of the actual date of Christ's birth.

  ". . . So you see," he was saying some time later, "that it was unlikely to be the year zero, Lady Alice, even if there had been a year zero . . ."

  Alice saw nothing, for she had only been pretending to listen as she kept a watching brief on Ivanridge. It had occurred to her that he was a very dangerous man, and she had carelessly placed him between two susceptible young women.

  On his right was her friend, Rebecca, Lady Frederick Stane. Rebecca was a widow and should know what she was about, but Rebecca had been granted only two months of marriage before her husband had sailed off to the Peninsula and death. That had been two years ago, but she had taken the loss hard and was only just resuming a social life. Also, Alice knew Rebecca was lonely and possibly susceptible to a handsome rogue.

  On Ivanridge's left was Miss Bella Carstairs, a local beauty who considered herself up to every trick. Alice was not convinced, and she mistrusted the glittering excitement in the girl's eyes. Had she once looked at Tyr Norman like that? She prayed not.

  Surely not, or no one would have been mystified when she threw over Charlie.

  Bella was ignoring both the food and the gentleman on her other side. She was not only hanging on Ivanridge's every word but leaning all over him as well. Her bodice was shockingly low. If the table were less wide, Alice would have kicked the chit on the shin.

  As best she could tell, Ivanridge was not encouraging either lady but then, Alice remembered, he hadn't appeared to encourage her either. Though he had changed, he was

  still the sort of man who could draw women to him without any effort at all. Perhaps more so. The sheer anticipation of life which had shone so brightly six years before was muted, but in its place was an aura of achievement, experience, and power.

  Alice caught herself up. It was merely a rather showy kind of virility.

  "Lady Alice? Lady Alice?"

  Alice snapped back her attention to Reverend Herbert. "I'm so sorry, Reverend. 1 thought there was trouble with the wine." She dredged her mind for the last thing she had heard. "You were referring to the reign of Herod . . ."

  "Ah, yes," said th
e gentleman with a twinkle in his eye.

  Alice grinned back at him. That had doubtless been ages ago. "I'm sorry," she said. "I feel I have to keep my eye on so many things."

  She resolved to ignore Ivanridge and all his doings. After all, there was nothing she could do about him short of telling her father the truth and having him thrown out on his ear. In that case, however, Roland might feel obliged to call Ivanridge out. She shivered at the thought of that unequal contest.

  By the time the meal drew to a close, the situation had given Alice a headache. The music, the chattering voices, the smell of food and candles were all making it worse. If she had not been hostess, she would have slipped away.

  At last the meal was over and her father took over the managing of the affair. "My friends," said the earl, "we are set to enjoy twelve right merry days here at Conyngham, but let us not forget the cause of the celebrations. We are here to celebrate the birth of our Saviour."

  The candles in the huge chandeliers were extinguished and people put out the table candles nearest to them. Ivanridge reached forward to pinch the one between Alice and him. The room was left dim except for the lamp stands in the corners of the room and the burnishing light of the leaping fire. All was quiet.

  Led by the earl and the musicians the company sang the

  old carols, the holy ones — "O, Come all ye Faithful" "While Shepherds Watched" and "Unto Us is Born a Son." Then began the solos. Lord Raneleigh started with his own setting of Robert Herrick's "What Sweeter Music Can We Sing than a Carol?" Roland obliged with "The Burning Babe," a somewhat startling Puritan hymn which appealed to his sense of humor. He particularly relished the line, "So will I melt into a bath to wash them in my blood!"

  There was a pause and then the Duchess of Portsmouth sang, soon followed by others. Now there was no set program and the singers were unaccompanied. All went well, however, for everyone knew the musical standard was high at Conyngham and those who chose to perform were gifted amateurs.

  Then Ivanridge rose to his feet. Alice caught her breathy She had never heard him sing—had no idea whether he could. What was he up to? Mixed in with suspicion was an absurd protectiveness. Was he about to make a fool of himself?

  His voice was not remarkable, but it was a pleasant baritone. The song was one she had not heard before but clearly very old. "There is no rose of such virtue as is the rose that bore Jesu. Alleluia. For in this rose contained was, Heaven and Earth in little space. Res Miranda . . ."

  Miranda! Alice felt her face flame at his use of that name, the one he had murmured in the dimness of his bedroom. Puella miranda, deliciae miranda . . . Wonderful girl, wonderful darling. She looked down at her hands and fought to keep her face blank and at least deprive him of the satisfaction of knowing his weapon had found its mark.

  For it must have been planned, this song. He had been given plenty of time to prepare for this evening while she was still trying to cope with the shock.

  There were three more songs and then Alice saw her father's sign and rose. It must be close to midnight and for the last ten years she had been the last performer, singing the haunting old carol,"I Sing of a Maiden."

  Her contralto voice was naturally excellent and had

  been trained by masters. It filled the beautiful room:

  I sing of a maiden that is makeless. The king of all Kings to her son she chese. He came all so stille to his mother's bower, As dew in Aprille that falleth on the flower.

  He came all so stille where his mother lay, As dew in Aprille that falleth on the may, He came all so stille where his mother was, As dew in Aprille that falleth on the grass . . .

  Despite her intentions she found herself looking at the man opposite, permitted the foolishness by the fact that he was now looking down. His face was mysterious in the half-light—dark hair, dark eyes, dark shadows like blades across cheek and jaw. She remembered singing this carol six years ago. He had looked up at her then, over half a room, bright-eyed and moved. That was when her heart had first trembled for him.

  As the resonance of her last notes faded there was a hushed pause suddenly filled with the sound of distant bells. The servants threw wide the windows and the pealing bells of the village church rippled in on the frosty air.

  The candles were lit again, the lamps turned up. "Merry Christmas!" called Lord Raneleigh. "Merry Christmas all!"

  It was picked up by the whole company and everyone embraced their neighbors. Bella Car stairs will like that, thought Alice sourly, grateful she had not by mischance put Ivanridge beside herself.

  Then the earl led them all in "Christians Awake" as they made procession into the old part of the house and up the worn stone stairs to the chapel. It was soon packed with the guests and most of the servants, but all found a place to kneel as Reverend Herbert led them in the Christmas service.

  Alice loved Christmas. She felt the familiar peace and joy settle in her heart and swell out to encompass her fam-

  ily, the guests, and even Lord Ivanridge. It had all been so long ago. If she had been a naive seventeen, he had only been twenty-one. Mistakes had been made but should be put behind them, and that choice of song had doubtless just been an unhappy accident.

  When the service was over the company surged down to the Chinese Room for a nightcap among the scarlet and black lacquer and bamboo-style furnishings. Alice whirled around in high spirits, making sure everyone had their choice of caudle or posset or hot spiced wine.

  She was standing and surveying the company with satisfaction when Roland came over, the center of a merry group of bachelors. "Aha!" he declared. "Look where she is, my good men!"

  Alice looked at him, then up and sighed. She'd taken a spot under one of the many bunches of mistletoe. *Fair catch," she admitted.

  Roland moved forward, but someone else was before him. "We can hardly start Lady Alice's Christmas with a kiss from a mere brother," said Ivanridge. "Allow me."

  Alice took one step back but realized in time it would be unpardonable to retreat. But how dare he do this to her? She sent that message full force with her eyes.

  As his head came down to hers he murmured, "I've charged an enemy battery, Miranda. Your flaming eyes won't stop me."

  It was an appropriate Christmas kiss, just his lips soft and warm against hers, his hands resting light on her shoulders. Alice stood rigid, turned to stone by his brutal use of that name. The song had not, after all, been an accident.

  He let her go. "Merry Christmas," he said coolly as he reached up to pluck a berry from the bunch. His eyes were shielded, but she sensed he was not as cool as he wished to be. Could Tyr Norman at long last be experiencing guilt? She prayed for it.

  "Now can a mere brother get a peck in?" asked Roland and swung her close for a merry buss.

  Major Ewing took his turn next, stiffly but thoroughly,

  then it was Charlie. His lips were butterfly soft against hers, but his eyes were kind. "Merry Christmas, Alice."

  "Merry Christmas, Charlie." If she had any sense she'd marry him, smirched honor or not. She shrugged off the thought. She accepted three more kisses then looked humorously up at the bush. "We certainly made inroads into that one, didn't we? I think you should all go off and assault some other lady." She looked around and then at Ivanridge. "I see Bella Carstairs posted hopefully beneath a kissing bunch, my lord."

  "So she is," he said with a smile. "And Christmas kisses don't mean a lasting commitment, do they?"

  With that he walked away and Alice, by dint of great will power, did not glare after him. As she wandered around checking on her guests, however, the thought rang through her head like the Christmas bells. How dare he taunt her with his own callousness? How dare he?

  She'd been wrong. Christmas peace or no, she couldn't have Ivanridge here for twelve long days. She would have to get rid of him, and now was a good time to tell him to go. As the guests began to disperse she longed for her bed too but lingered, hoping for an opportunity to speak to him in private.


  It looked for a while as if the younger men were going to make a night of it, but then Roland reminded them they'd be expected to be out early the next morning in medieval garb to find and cut a yule log.

  As they began to disperse, Roland said, "You don't have to stay up, Alice. I'll make sure all's right here."

  She gave in. It had been sheer desperation which had made her think of confronting Ivanridge at this hour, and it was clearly impractical. As she headed for her room she tried to think of a reasonable way to throw him out without raising anyone's suspicions. The more she thought about it, the less likely it became.

  Then, as she walked along the upper gallery, she saw him going down the opposite stairs, which certainly did not lead to his, or any other, bedroom.

  She slipped down a different set of stairs and followed.

  For a moment she wondered if he was up to no good, thievery even—nothing was too low for this man —but then he turned to a candle in a wall sconce and lit a thin ciga-rillo. Trailing wisps of aromatic smoke he turned into the conservatory.

  Alice followed as if drawn by magnets but hesitated at the doorway. Now that she had come this far, she wasn't at all sure what she was going to say or that this encounter was wise.

  She took a step of retreat. He sensed her and turned with alert speed, then relaxed but only slightly. "It's unwise to creep up on a man not long away from war. What do you want?"

  The terse rudeness of it brought heat to her cheeks. "I might be here to tell you we do not permit the cigarillo habit in the house."

  "Are you?"

  Alice felt a fool. "No."

  "Didn't think so. Your brother smokes 'em." He blew out a stream of silver-gray. "So?"