A Christmas delight

by Anthea Malcolm

  she had behaved in a manner wholly unsuited to a lady. She had, in fact, sunk herself beneath reproach. It naturally followed that her elevation both in temperature and pulse was due not to a reaction to blue eyes like steel points of flame but to simple mortification at where her unruly tongue had led her.

  She was jarred out of her reverie at that instant by the sudden realization that they had come to a halt. It was, in fact, more of a jolt than a jar.

  "Faith, are you mad to bring me to the front door?" she exclaimed upon finding herself at the very threshold of Willoughby Hall. "Pray put me down before we are seen."

  "I suggest it is far too late for subterfuge," drawled the gentleman, insufferably cool. "Or had you imagined Miss Hinkle, not to mention her numerous charges, would miraculously have the entire matter struck from memory? The truth is there was never any hope of keeping our little adventure from your parents."

  "Of course there was not," she retorted, blushing furiously at his sarcasm. "It was possible, however, that they might have remained in ignorance until after the holidays. If you must know, Chloe and her entire family are departing for Twitchen in the morning to spend Christmas with her paternal grandparents. Not that it matters now," she groaned as a landau bearing the crest of the Duke of Almouth swept into the drive and came to a halt a short distance behind them. "The fact of my ruination is about to be broadcast to the world."

  Had she expected to impress him with the hopelessness of her plight, she was soon to be disappointed. There was, in fact, an unholy gleam of amusement in his eyes as he stepped easily down from the saddle. Nor was that all or the worst of it. After closing strong hands about her waist to lift her down to the ground, he had the further audacity to swoop her off her feet into his arms at the very moment that the Duchess of Almouth and her

  daughter were helped to disembark from their carriage.

  Maggie's gasp of protest was silenced by the stranger's warning arch of an eyebrow.

  "You have only to trust me, Miss Willoughby," he said quietly, "and play your part."

  There was little else she could do in the circumstances. No sooner had the Duchess of Almouth lifted an ivory-handled quizzing glass to her eye the better to observe them than they were confronted by Mr. and Mrs. Willoughby, who, in the company of a handful of servants, had emerged from the house presumably to greet the arrival of their guests.

  "Why, I believe it is Miss Willoughby, Mama," crooned Lady Gwendolyn's silken voice. "And, am I not mistaken, the gentleman is . . ."

  "Charlesworth, my boy," boomed Maggie's father, striding forward with a beaming smile. "Good to see you, lad. I believe you are acquainted with the duchess and Lady Gwendolyn, her daughter?"

  "Oh, indeed, sir," the blond beauty answered for him, her green eyes coolly amused beneath luxurious dark eyelashes. "We are old friends, are we not, Lord Charlesworth?"

  Unaccountably Maggie, who was still reeling from the shock of discovering her rescuer was Charlesworth, clenched her teeth. Lady Gwendolyn's look would seem to bespeak of a more than intimate acquaintanceship.

  "But of course you are old friends," rasped Her Grace, the dowager duchess. "Charlesworth went to school with your brother, after all. Spent one of his holidays at Brierly as a boy."

  "I remember it well, Duchess," drawled his lordship, as if it were perfectly natural to exchange pleasantries while supporting a female in his arms. "How is Reggie? Still away on the Continent with his new bride?"

  "Indeed, yes, the young scalawag. Couldn't bring himself to come home even for Christmas. Can't imagine

  what he's about. You may be sure his father did not fritter his time away gallivanting about in a lot of foreign places."

  "I am quite sure he did not," agreed Mr. Willoughby, who was well aware the former Duke of Almouth had preferred frittering away both his time and his fortune at the gaming tables in London. "And, now, Charlesworth, since you have already met my daughter, you must allow me to present to you my wife."

  For a moment Maggie thought she must be dreaming as, next, she beheld her mama coming toward them simply radiating pleasure.

  "Welcome, Lord Charlesworth, to Willoughby. I do hope you found something in the local sights to entertain you. I am sure I could not have been more pleased when Mr. Willoughby informed me you had enlisted our daughter to serve as your guide."

  "Nor could I have been better entertained, Mrs. Willoughby," his lordship assured her. "Though I fear Miss Willoughby has sustained a slight injury to her ankle. I feel sure it is nothing serious. It did seem advisable, however, to keep her off it for a time."

  "Maggie, my poor dear," exclaimed her mama, all solicitude. "I did wonder if there was not something wrong when I saw his lordship did not put you down at once. Perhaps you would be so kind, Lord Charlesworth, to carry her inside. Indeed, everyone. Why do we not all go into the house?"

  "Really, Mama," said Maggie no little time later, "this is not at all necessary." In dismay, she stared at the rickety wheelchair Mrs. Willoughby had caused to be dragged down out of the attic. It was inconceivable that she was actually expected to appear in such a thing. "It is only a slight strain," she ventured, struggling not to wince as she attempted to put her weight on the injured ankle.

  "I am sure I can walk the short distance downstairs to the dining room."

  Her mama, looking elegant in a pale green jaconet evening dress, her brown hair combed back and caught up in curls at the top of her head, finished fastening her pearl necklace around Maggie's slender neck.

  "Nonsense, child," she said, cocking her head to one side as she studied the effect of apricot-colored lutestring against Maggie's ivory skin. Suddenly she blinked as a mist threatened to cloud her vision. Never had her sweet, impossible Maggie looked so grown-up before or so lovely. / must be getting old, she thought, half smiling to herself. All at once there were so many things she would like to tell her daughter. Wisely, she held her tongue. When the time was right, Maggie would know without being told, and then, no doubt, she would understand that not everyday could be Christmas, that, indeed, there was a great deal more to life than skating parties and figgy pudding.

  "I'm sorry, dear," she said, that thought having recalled to mind the hundred and one responsibilities that awaited her below as hostess to more than forty guests. "Your papa agrees with me that we must not chance any further injury."

  Maggie groaned.

  "But I shall be made a laughingstock, wheeling around like old Aunt Agatha with the gout. It simply does not bear thinking on, Mother."

  Mrs. Willoughby's delicately arched eyebrows shot up. "Oh, so it is 'Mother' now, is it? Well, Miss Margaret Willoughby, it will do you no good to set your back to the wall. Either you will resign yourself to sitting in this chair and letting Carleton convey you downstairs, or you will remain in your room and miss everything. I shall leave you to decide which it is to be."

  "But, Mama . . ."

  "No, Maggie," said her normally tolerant parent, her

  patience apparently having uncharacteristically worn thin for the second time that day, "I am in no mood for an argument. Indeed, I haven't the time. You must simply ring for Carleton if you make up your mind to join us."

  Maggie, left standing on one foot in the middle of the floor, stared at the closed door with the feeling that the whole world had gone suddenly topsy-turvy. Could it have been only that morning that she had awakened, tingling with anticipation of the events that lay before her: assisting her mama in preparing the plum pudding; spreading the boughs of evergreens interspersed with rosemary and holly through the house; Chloe's skating party, followed at long last by the bringing in and lighting of the yule log? Somehow it had all gone awry. Indeed, she could see now that it had been doomed to failure from the moment the Earl of Charlesworth had agreed to honor her papa's invitation with his presence.

  "It is all his fault," she announced aloud to the room, unreasonably affixing the blame to the earl for having accepted the invitation rather than to her fa
ther for having extended it. "And now that I am once more confined to my prison on his account, he, no doubt, is enjoying himself immensely in the company of Lady Gwendolyn." Apparently having forgotten that only that morning she had been hoping for exactly that very thing, she now found herself growing increasingly more incensed at the thought.

  It was all patently unfair, she fumed. The brown eyes staring back at her from the looking glass flashed sparks of resentment. Well, if it took appearing in a stupid wheelchair to show him she did not care a whit that he was making eyes at the "Ice Queen," she would do it.

  Hopping on one foot to the other side of the room, she gave the bellpull an emphatic tug—too emphatic it seemed, as the tapestried cord plummeted to the floor, one end left dangling from her closed fist.

  "Ohh — ./Wdle-faddle!" she blurted for want of a better

  word. "Now what am I to do?"

  Having already determined that the one thing she would not do was remain exiled in her room, it was not long before she was assaying to make her way along the gallery in her less-than-elegant conveyance.

  She got no farther than the head of the stairs. Feeling absurdly helpless, she searched in vain for Carleton, the footman, who was not at his usual post near the door. He had no doubt been recruited to help with the serving, she realized with a sinking heart.

  "Oh! I simply cannot conceive how it is that in a house full of servants, there is none to be found when one needs one."

  Hardly aware that she had spoken out loud, she was considerably startled when a deep voice from behind her replied: "Know exactly what you mean. Damned unreliable, the help one gets these days. Perhaps I can be of some service?"

  Maggie, starting violently, accidently caused the chair to lurch forward. She was only just saved from hurtling down the stairs by a quick hand grasping one of the handles on the chair back.

  "Hold on, little miss madcap. You cannot possibly be in such a hurry as to wish so precipitous a flight as that would be. Only wait, and I shall be only too happy to make sure you reach your destination in safety."

  "Oh, indeed!" Maggie uttered witheringly, having been given in the dim light of the hall lantern to glimpse boyishly handsome features topped by rebellious blond hair fashionably brushed in the windswept. "I seem to recall a similar promise only this afternoon, and just look what has come of it. I find I am now confined to a wheelchair. Just what do you have to say to that?"

  A gleam of amusement leapt in the eyes the color of lapis lazuli.

  "I say it is a damned shame. Why? What would you have me to say?"

  "Well, you might say that you are the tiniest bit sorry," she answered, gazing beyond the tall figure garbed handsomely in a dark brown coat and white unmentionables above gleaming brown Hessians. "But since you obviously are not in the least concerned, indeed, since you fail to show that you feel in the smallest responsible, I should prefer that you say absolutely nothing."

  "I see," said the cause of all her troubles, appearing to ponder the matter. "And naturally, as a gentleman, I should respect your wishes. It does seem, however, that such a restriction would put something of a damper on polite conversation, would it not?"

  Maggie gasped, torn between indignation and an unwitting appreciation of the humor of his observation. Nor did it add to her equilibrium to detect a slight quiver at the corners of his handsome lips.

  "Oh, what an abominable creature you are," she choked, unable to keep the tremor of laughter from her voice. "I suppose you think I owe you my gratitude for having rescued me not once, but three times today."

  "No, did I?" he queried, apparently much struck at the notion. "Three times, did you say?"

  "I do wish you will cease to play the gaby with me," retorted Maggie irritably, wondering at just what game he was playing. "You know very well you did. First at the skating pond, when I was nearly struck down by the sledge, then when you brought me home, and again just now, when you saved me from hurtling down the stairs."

  "Oh, well, then, I suppose you do owe me some sort of thanks, though I was laboring under the impression that you held me in some way at fault for your apparent misfortunes. Tell me, just as a matter of curiosity, do you normally find yourself in need of deliverance any number of times in a single day?"

  In spite of herself Maggie blushed. How very absurd he made it all sound.

  "Not until you came into my life," she retorted darkly.

  "Since that time I seem uncommonly prone to mischance!" Immediately she bit her tongue in consternation at where it had led her. He had, after all, gone out of his way to render her aid. "I beg your pardon. I should not have said that. The truth is I have only myself to blame for everything that has happened. Furthermore, I am well-aware that I am in your debt for your repeated kindnesses. Though," she added, reminded of at least one grievance that owed its source to him, "I confess I cannot but hold something against you."

  "But of course you do," agreed the gentleman, encouragingly. "Don't be afraid to open the budget. I was beginning to suspect you had turned into a reformed character, and how very dull that would be."

  Maggie choked. "Oh, you really are quite impossible," she gasped, struggling not to laugh. "I warn you. I have no intention of allowing myself to be distracted, not after what you have done. To have my parents discover me upon their doorstep, clasped in the arms of one whom I supposed to be a stranger, was bad enough, but to have the duchess and her daughter witness what I naturally assumed was to be my imminent ruination was quite beyond bearing."

  "The duchess, you say, and her daughter." He clucked his tongue in sympathy. "A hideous prospect, I must admit. I daresay you may have been wishing me at Jericho."

  "As a matter of fact, I was. You must have known how mortifying was my position. Why did you not inform me that all was well, that my father had, as I presume he must have done, sent you to find me? Faith, why did you not tell me that you were Charlesworth?"

  He smiled apologetically.

  "But how could I, my dear Miss Willoughby, for 50 I must presume you to be, when I am not Charlesworth?"

  "Not Charlesworth?" she repeated in no little astonishment. "But of course you are. Indeed, who else could you be?"

  Maggie, who knew as soon as the words were out, clapped her hands to flaming cheeks. "Oh, dear, what an utter gudgeon you must think me. And you would be quite right: It is Mr. Crandall, is it not? Mr. Oliver Cran-dall?"

  "Right you are, Miss Willoughby. You are mistaken, however, do you believe I could ever think you the least gudgeonish." Tkking her hand in his, he bent his head to salute her knuckles. "On the contrary." His eyes lifted to look straight into hers. "I am exceedingly charmed to make your acquaintance."

  "Are you?" queried Maggie, supremely conscious of the fact that this was the first time a gentleman had ever kissed her hand. It was, she decided, a not altogether unpleasant experience. Indeed, she supposed she liked it very well. "It is very kind in you to say so, especially since I am afraid I treated you quite shabbily."

  "Not at all, though I daresay brother Milt's ears are burning." He grinned appreciatively, a wholly engaging smile that made him appear not only much younger than his reputed eight-and-twenty years but an absolute devil as well. "The truth is, Miss Willoughby, that I have seldom been better entertained."

  Maggie, however, was only half listening.

  "It is the absurdest thing," she said, unable to take her eyes off his face. "I knew, of course, that you and Charles worth were twins. I simply never dreamed you would be so very alike. Indeed, I should marvel if your own mother could tell you apart."

  "Very often she cannot," he admitted, "a circumstance, which, I confess, we have used to our advantage on more than one occasion. There are certain compensations for being one of identical twins—take now, for instance."

  "Now?" she echoed, her smile uncertain.

  "Indubitably. You see, I should not have had the pleasure of viewing as lovely a pair of eyes as it has been my privilege to see were it otherwise."r />
  "I beg your pardon?" Maggie queried guilelessly, well-aware that he was teasing her but liking him nonetheless for it. "I'm afraid I fail to see what the one has to do with the other."

  "But it is quite simple," he answered with studied gravity. "It is only natural for twins to inspire a certain amount of curiosity in people who normally would be too polite to show it. Tkke the case in point: you, my dear, have been staring at me quite unaffectedly for the past five minutes, a circumstance for which I can only be grateful, since it allows me the opportunity to stare back at you."

  "Now you are bamming me." Maggie laughed, not the least embarrassed. "Indeed, I very strongly suspect that where females are concerned, you, Mr. Crandall, are not to be trusted."

  "And you would be quite right in your assessment," agreed a voice, wholly unamused, from the foot of the staircase. "It would seem, Ollie, that Miss Willoughby has you pegged."

  Irritated to find that the mere sight of a masculine figure with indecently broad shoulders encased in a tightfit-ting coat of blue superfine had the power to make her heart begin to pound, Maggie frowned.

  "No more so than in my assessment of you, Lord Charlesworth," she retorted, irrationally taking her anger at herself out on the earl.

  "I should beware, Milt, old boy," grinned Oliver Crandall. "I have been given to witness just how lowering that opinion is of you."

  "Then," observed the earl, mounting the stairs to them, "I must take it to mean that Miss Willoughby has yet to forgive me for this afternoon. I should, no doubt, have told you who I was from the very beginning."

  "Yes, you should," agreed the young lady, refusing to look higher than where white unmentionables hugging muscular thighs went into the tops of brown Hessians

  polished to an unnatural shine. Not for the world would she have him see how easily he upset her equilibrium.

  "I see. And would it make any difference were I to tell you that I have come expressly with the wish of making it up to you?" Maggie started as his tone noticeably altered. "They are about to bring in the yule log, Maggie, and I have not forgotten how much you looked forward to it. Will you at least allow me to take you downstairs?" Her eyes lifted at last to his and held.