“My god.” Hogart shook his head. “But I cannot criticize them, as I fell for the same swindle, and who could blame me? Ratking gives every appearance of being a successful businessman, given the lifestyle he keeps, and he possesses the right connections, as he is related to a duke, or some such.”
“Well, that is not necessarily true.” Percy recalled his solicitor’s report.
“Which part?” Hogart inquired.
“All of it.” Percy trailed the flight of some poor creature, as it fought the wind. In some ways, that unfortunate bird shared much in common with Ratking’s clients, as neither appeared headed for success. “My man engaged the services of an investigator to make a study of Ratking, and we cannot locate any evidence to corroborate the supposed illustrious connections. And then there is the issue of Ratking’s income and how he supports himself. Given his unutterable failure as a financier, I am unable to identify a source of funds.”
“Do you mean to say he could be just anyone?” It struck Percy as the height of absurdity that Mr. Hogart appeared more upset that he was taken by a commoner than the fact that he had lost his fortune. “I was cheated by an ordinary man?”
“Indeed, it would seem so.” As the storm intensified, a tree limb broke and fell to the graveled drive. “I have my man looking into Ratking’s friends and associates, as well as his wife’s relations, because we cannot risk missing even the tiniest bit of information.” Percy glanced over his shoulder. “You made it just in time, as I fear the roads may be impassable by the morning. By the by, does Margaret know anything of our arrangement?”
“We are blessed in that.” Hogart rubbed his chin and shook his head. “And, no. As you requested, I told my wife and daughter that we met to discuss a marriage between our two families and naught more.”
“And they did not doubt you?” As the gale whipped and howled, Percy moved to the hearth. “Because I do not want Margaret to think I accepted her as payment for my services. I would have helped you without a betrothal agreement.”
“Daresay Mrs. Hogart was too overjoyed to doubt your sincerity, as we despaired of ever finding someone to marry Margaret, and my daughter knows her place is not to question her father.” Hogart’s rude assessment of his own offspring grated on Percy. Did no one actually see her? “As we discussed, I apprised them not of the true nature of our business, and our secret is safe. Trust me, I am in no hurry to divulge the state of my finances with Mrs. Hogart, as I fear what it might do to her heart.”
“Then we will stay the course.” Given the speed with which Percy hoped to claim his bride, he required other alterations. “But I would ask that you permit me unfettered audience with Margaret, as we celebrate the holidays, and I would fix a date for the wedding, now.”
“Are you that certain of your path?” Again, Hogart displayed ambivalence, regarding the union. “You hardly know my daughter, not that it matters, but I would not have you regret your actions, as I would still pay you, once my estate is recovered, if it is your preference.”
“Sir, with all due respect, it is not my preference, as Margaret will be my wife. On that, I have your word as a gentleman, and I hold you to it.” Resolute, Percy downed the brandy and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “I would marry her in April, at the start of The Season, as I require her to perform the requisite hostess duties associated with her new station, and I would have her at my side, at the parties and balls that command my attendance.”
“Of course.” Hogart opened his mouth and then closed it. “But my accounts do not support such extravagances, as of yet, and, as the father of the bride, I must shoulder the related expenses. Might you consider an elopement to Gretna Green?”
“Absolutely not.” The mere suggestion gave Percy a wicked shudder. “I envision a fantasy ceremony, the envy of every debutante, with Margaret at the center, and I shall transfer sufficient funds to cover the costs, as she will have only the finest trousseau and gown. I rely on you to get it done, with all expedience, because I am an impatient man where she is concerned.”
“Mr. Howe, at the risk of offending you, might I inquire after the true nature of your acquaintance with my daughter?” Hogart sputtered and blinked. “Given you intend to do the honorable by her, I will not be angry if you have some prior familiarity with her. Is there a reason you are in a rush to the altar?”
“Sir, Miss Howe has behaved as nothing less than a lady, and I claim no prior knowledge of her.” Yes, that was a lie, as even then Percy revisited that sweet kiss in the Netherton’s music room, but that cherished memory belonged to him and his woman. “Suffice it to say that you grossly underestimate Margaret’s worth, but that is not a mistake that I shall ever make.”
~
Owing to the horrid weather, Lord and Lady Ravenwood dispatched a messenger to explain they could not risk the health and welfare of their two small children, to make the relatively short drive in the heavy snow, to Whitstone. Thus, there were six in the chasmal residence, and Margaret longed to get lost, while mama and Mrs. Howe napped, and the men played billiards.
Skulking along the maze of hallways, Margaret peered into various chambers, until she found what she sought. Glancing left and then right, she checked the vicinity for an interloping footman or maid and sidled into the music room.
Embroidered tapestries covered three walls, while mirrors overlaid the fourth, and a colorful pastoral decorated the ceiling. In pride of place at the center of the elegant space sat a priceless treasure, an ormolu mounted Broadwood grand piano, made of rich mahogany and boasting delicate marquetry in sycamore, satinwood, and fruitwood, and she perched on the bench before the stunning instrument.
At the first touch of the keys, she sighed with pleasure, opened the door to her heart, and let her soul sing through her fingers, because the ivories manifested a world all her own. A place where she existed as the talk of the ballrooms. Where every rake sought her company, and every debutante wanted to be her.
Given her mood, she launched into a sublime rendition of Beethoven’s Fourth Piano Concerto, in G major, and gave herself to the poise and grace of the subtle notes that commenced the piece, and she soared ever higher.
The walls yielded to emerald meadows, pristine skies of pure azure, and colorful blooms in every conceivable color, and in her mind Margaret charged the verge.
Confident in her abilities, and enrapt in the movement, she transitioned swiftly into Bach’s Harpsichord Concerto, in D minor, which sounded entirely different on the piano, and the accompanying vision yielded to an untouched beach, an incoming tide, and a mosaic of moonlight danced on the waves. Then she launched into Haydn’s quick-paced Sonata, in C major, as imaginary couples, garbed in their best formalwear and sparkling gems, twirled about her. Riding a crest of unfettered joy, she completed her impromptu concert with Scarlatti’s Sonata, in A major, as the gentle, fluid melody always calmed her, but by the time she stilled she was breathless.
“What do you play for an encore?”
At Percival’s query, she shrieked. “You should have made your presence known, Mr. Howe.”
“And interrupt your glorious performance?” He clucked his tongue. “Not a chance, Miss Hogart.”
“Why are you here?” Admiring his thick blond hair, patrician features, and broad shoulders, she searched for a diversion, as she had been caught and her ruse uncovered. “What of my father and Lord Ernest?”
“My cousin contrived a pathetic excuse to retire and seduce his wife, and your father reclines in a high back chair, in the billiard room, imperiling the rooftop with his snoring.” With hands behind his back, he neared. “Thus, I sought your company.” He arched a brow. “Must say the country air agrees with your prowess on the piano, as you are a vast deal improved. Perhaps, your mama should schedule your musicales at your summer residence.”
Cursing herself a fool, Margaret rued her careless decision to shelter in the music room, because for years she ruthlessly guarded the extent of her talents, and only one other person
, her mysterious knight, knew the truth. Still, all was not necessarily lost.
“You will not tell anyone, will you?” She gulped and uttered a prayer for sympathy. “Because I would not embarrass my sister, given our skills are so disparate, and I am no braggart.”
“How intriguing I find your compassion, given she has never shown such concern for you.” He inclined his head. “In fact, she often takes sport in what others perceive as your deficiencies, and she can be brutal.”
“Please, do not say such things, as we cannot all demonstrate charity.” Although he spoke with unvarnished candor, she refused to besmirch Miranda. “Whatever her proclivities, I love my sister, and I am proud of her gregarious nature. Indeed, I envy her ability to converse with anyone, and I wish I possessed half her spirit, given my attempts to mimic her efforts always result in miserable failure and embarrassment.”
“But you do possess her spirit.” Percival stepped even closer. “Can you not see? You stand as her equal and so much more.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” While everything inside Margaret screamed a repudiation of his less than graceful declaration, she desperately wanted to believe him. More important, she needed him to have faith in her, if he was to be her husband. “While I am touched by your assertion, I do not agree. However, I wonder if that is why you wish to marry me? In the interest of honesty, I must warn you against unrealistic expectations.”
“And I feel honor-bound to warn you that you grossly underestimate yourself, but I will never make that mistake.” Atop the piano, he placed a decent-sized parcel. “As for your initial query, suffice it to say that I have never been known to make hasty decisions, and I have long admired you. Given my position in society, and the myriad responsibilities required of my future wife, I hold very high standards, all of which you fulfill, and then some.”
“So you genuinely wish to marry me?” Was it possible? Had her fondest dream come to fruition, just when she gave up hope? “You have not made some sort of bargain or exchange with my father, and you have no need of my dowry? There is naught more to our engagement?”
“My dear, if I may be so bold to address you as such, I state, with a clear conscience, that I neither need nor want your dowry, and I choose you as my bride.” As she held her breath, he scooted the package in her direction. “Now, be a good girl, and open the gift I brought especially for you.”
“You mean this instant?” In confusion, she blinked, as she knew not what to make of him. “I thought we were to offer presents, tomorrow, and I do not have yours with me.”
“But I have something else for Christmastide, which I anticipate you will appreciate.” As he crowed, she was not sure what to make of his sly smile. “This is for you, simply because I wish you to have it.”
“All right.” Biting her bottom lip, she stood from the bench, lifted the lid on the box, and parted the swath of white silk. “Mr. Howe, it is beautiful.” Heavy in her grasp, the wooden soldier boasted brightly painted regimentals, in red and white, complete with gold epaulets, tufts of cotton for his beard and hair, and a strange lever at the back, which operated his jaw. “But—what is it?”
“It is a nutcracker, from my private collection, which includes a Roman version cast in bronze.” To her surprise, he eased to the bench and drew her to sit beside him. “The Germans refer to it as a nussknacker, and according to legend, a gifted nutcracker represents power and strength. It is a guardian, to protect your home and your family.” Percival pointed to the mouth. “See the painted teeth?” When she nodded, he smiled. “The nutcracker bares its teeth to ward off evil spirits, even as it brings good fortune and luck to its owner.”
“How enchanting.” Struck by the thoughtfulness of the gift, she hugged it to her. “I shall treasure it, always, and I am at a loss as to how I can repay your generosity.”
“I am pleased it meets with your approval.” Then he caught her in a narrow-eyed stare. “And I have a request, if you are amenable.”
“In light of your munificence, I do not see how I can refuse.” As she toyed with the fluffy beard, she laughed. “What would you ask of me, Mr. Howe?”
“First, I would ask that you call me Percy, in private. And, with your consent, I shall call you Margaret. Also, I would have you play the ‘Andante,’ from Mozart’s Piano Concerto Twenty-one.” When she started, he frowned. “Do you not know it?”
“Actually, I k-know it quite i-intimately.” Stunned by his selection, she stammered, as that particular piece harkened to the chance meeting with her own Prince Charming. Yet, he never approached after that night at the Netherton’s masque, whereas Percival perched to her right, and he wanted to marry her. She was his choice. “As to the rest, I agree, Percy.”
“Excellent.” With a gentle nudge of her shoulder, he nodded. “Now, amaze me, Margaret.”
“All right.” Resting her fingers to the keys, she paused. “Are you partial to the piano?”
“Only of late, given the musician.” Not for a minute could she mistake his meaning. “But the concerto is my favorite and holds a special place in my heart, as it evokes a cherished memory.”
“What a coincidence.” In that moment, she looked on him with renewed interest. “Have you a piano in your home?”
“No.” He shook his head, and her spirits deflated. “I had thought, after we wed, that we might purchase one, together, so you may pick the instrument of your fondest desire. Something that suits you and your unique taste.”
“Really?” At his pedestrian comment, she could have shouted for joy, and she bounced in her seat. Even a Broadwood grand?”
“Truly.” He nudged her with his shoulder. “Even a Broadwood grand. And, henceforth, you shall play for me, exclusively.”
“Is that a promise?” Perhaps, it was time for Margaret to surrender the illusion of the past. While she would forever adore her anonymous Prince Charming, Percy was flesh and blood, life-size, and he was to be her husband. “I mean—that I will play only for you?”
“Do you not enjoy performing before an audience?” Was it her imagination, or did he study her mouth as they spoke? “Given the musicales, and your regular participation, I presumed you basked in the attention.”
“Why would I, when we are the joke of the ton?” When he averted his gaze, she realized he knew exactly to what she referred. “Do you think me ignorant of the none too nice comments, at my expense?”
“My dear, after we marry, you may do as you please.” To her surprise, he caressed her cheek in a brazen display of familiarity. Of course, as they were alone, there was no one to witness the demonstration. “But I would be honored and more than a little proud to have you entertain our guests, in our home.”
“Then I should be delighted.” With that, she settled her fingers on the keys and commenced the piece she knew so well.
As usual, when she progressed through the masterpiece, an imaginary orchestra rose in the background, and she closed her eyes and surrendered to the fluid composition.
Uncompromising acceptance enveloped her, and she relaxed, as with music she found her place in the world. Reveling in unshakable confidence, she commanded the piano, and the keys answered the summons, as in that realm she was a master.
Despite Percy’s presence, she unleashed all the passion and fervor she kept hidden from everyone else, and the notes carried her to new heights. Just as she reached some heretofore-unknown pinnacle, she reached the end.
Silence weighed heavy in the room.
Aware of naught but the beat of her heart, Margaret opened her eyes and peered at her fiancé. For a while, he simply studied her, and then he traced the crest of her ear with his finger. He was close—so very close, and she admired his thick lashes and full mouth. She wondered how those lips might feel pressed to hers.
As if Percy read her thoughts, he bent his head and kissed her, and she bade a warm welcome to her new Prince Charming.
once upon a christmas knight
chapter three
As Per
cy stood before the long mirror, his valet adjusted the lace edge of a sleeve. Dressed for dinner, in a pair of buckskin breeches and a black waistcoat and coat, Percy scrutinized his image and raked his fingers through his hair. Nervous, he tugged at his cravat and tried not to focus on that kiss in the music room, but the sweet rendezvous with his future wife remained at the forefront of his thoughts.
Unutterably charming in her untutored enthusiasm, he could not stop thinking about Margaret, after he returned to his chamber, the previous night. In desperation, he slept with a window open, to cool his lust, and he bloody well nearly caught his death, in the process.
“Will that be all, sir?” Jameson retreated.
“Yes, thank you.” After dusting off a speck of lint, Percy rolled his shoulders, strolled through his sitting room, and walked into the hall.
The massive home reflected the personalities of its owners, with masculine wall treatments in a combination of mahogany, leather inserts, and burgundy flocked wall coverings, along with delicate porcelain and crystal trinkets, as well as vases filled with hothouse blossoms, indicative of a woman’s influence, about which Ernest complained.
Yet Percy knew his cousin loved his wife and her unconventional taste, every bit as much as he enjoyed grousing, given Barrington exhibited the same behavior, regarding Florence. It struck Percy as a strange rite of passage for long-suffering spouses who did not genuinely suffer.
When he entered the gallery filled with portraits of Howes past, he almost knocked over his fiancée, as she charged forth from the east wing.
“Oh, Mr. Howe.” Garbed in a fetching gown of rich blue velvet, in a style typical of Henrietta’s designs, with a conservative neckline that did nothing to bridle his passion, and her hair piled high, with a single flirty curl dangling at her throat, he longed to share another kiss. “My apologies, as I was not paying attention, and I almost toppled you.”
Once Upon a Christmas Knight Page 3
