Christmas Delights

by Heather Hiestand

  “I think the booth is ready now,” she ventured. “Let us join the others.”

  He nodded and offered his arm again, but she shook her head and merely walked alongside him. It was too soon to make what amounted to a proclamation that they were courting. She couldn’t imagine Lewis doing anything so public.

  She saw her father standing with Penelope and Rose Redcake to the left of the stage. Behind them, footmen were arranging chairs, and to the right, maids were adjusting rugs so the children could sit close to the stage. A long table had been set with steaming teapots, ready to warm the audience. Victoria longed for a hot cup of chocolate instead, but she would not turn to gluttony now, after so many months of abstemious behavior.

  “Shall I bring you a cup?” Ernest asked.

  “Let me introduce you to my father first.” She took him over to the trio and made introductions.

  Her father nodded at her companion and made general inquiries appropriate to the occasion, while Penelope took her hand and pulled her a few steps away from the men. She was pink with excitement, while Rose had a white scarf tucked up over her mouth.

  “The nursemaid made me wear a coat and hat, but your friend isn’t wearing any. I’m not cold. Can I take my coat off?”

  “You’ll get cold once you’re sitting down,” Victoria said absently, her eyes scanning the crowd for Lewis. She saw the earl standing with some of his workmen. Women who were likely their wives were streaming around the far side of the castle, a dozen or more children in tow.

  Penelope clapped her hands, eager for more playmates. Victoria didn’t see the harm in one afternoon with the village children. As her cousin ran off, Lady Barbara joined her. They were out of earshot of both Mr. Dickondell and Victoria’s father.

  “What are you playing at?” Lady Barbara said in a low voice.

  “Mr. Dickondell spoke to me when I was out for a walk and continued on with me.”

  “He’s a very naughty gentleman,” her friend warned her.

  “Even naughty men can settle down.” At least she hoped so.

  “He’s twenty-four, Victoria. Hardly mature.”

  “He’s young enough to want to train with Father,” she said, piqued. “He’s already spoken of coming up to Liverpool.”

  “Culled you from the herd, has he?” Lady Barbara said.

  One side of the stage began to rock, and some of the earl’s men ran up to stabilize it. A child capered between the men’s legs, unaware of the danger if the stage collapsed.

  “Why so sour? He is younger than you; surely you did not want him?” Not that she did, but she couldn’t understand her friend’s mood.

  Lady Barbara pressed her lips together and looked away for a moment. “Of course not. I’m an earl’s oldest daughter.”

  “For Lady Rowena, then?” Victoria asked.

  Her friend was too much of a lady to shrug. “You may have a battle on your hands.”

  “Will she be the Queen Avice to my Princess Everilda?” Victoria joked.

  “I just wanted to make you aware that my sister may have plans for Mr. Dickondell.”

  “Why? He has no money and, I have the impression, not a great deal of education.”

  Men came from the stables with boards and took them behind the stage to stabilize it.

  “We need someone interested in farming in the family. My brother is not the person to make the best use of our land. Mr. Dickondell would suit us fine here.”

  “I feel for your sister, since Mr. Dickondell approached me,” Victoria said.

  “My sister may not be beautiful, but she is stubborn,” Lady Barbara said with a smile. “She generally gets what she wants.”

  Victoria sighed. What she didn’t say was that this party wouldn’t last much longer, and they’d be free of Pevensey-Sur-Mer Fort. Mr. Dickondell could go where he wanted, then, even as far north as Liverpool. Lady Rowena could have no effect on their courtship from here, assuming she wanted to pursue it. In fact, the lady had very little claw with which to swipe at her.

  CHAPTER 9

  Though Ernest Dickondell soon returned to her side, Victoria couldn’t stop looking for Lewis. He still hadn’t appeared from the direction of the stables. However, her two Liverpool suitors, Mr. Dandy-Hill and Mr. Parker-Bale, appeared from the Fort, walking together. She did find it odd that rivals for her hand would be such close companions. But then, she had avoided their company in the day and a half since the disastrous dinner. Lady Barbara drew away, giving her one last significant glance of warning, as two of the village mothers approached her.

  The thought came that they had planned that simultaneous attack on her lower limbs the other night. But if so, what had they hoped to accomplish? Did they expect her to distinguish one of them from the other when their behavior was the same?

  “You look pensive, Lady Allen-Hill,” Ernest said, taking her elbow and directing her to two newly placed chairs.

  “My father wishes me to wed again soon,” she said bluntly. “Do you know those two gentlemen?”

  He nodded. “Imported from Liverpool, yes? I didn’t see why they had to come here and ruin the fun for the rest of us. You could speak to them when you are in residence again.”

  “Perhaps that is exactly why my father sent for them, so that I did not marry someone who lives in the south.” She shifted on the flimsy chair. “The house party invitation came courtesy of my late husband’s relation to the Gills. My father did not orchestrate it.”

  “You need a rug,” he said. “It’s dreadfully cold. Shall I fetch one?”

  “Just ask a servant when one wanders by,” she said. “I am still rather warm from our walk.”

  “A cup of tea, then?” At her nod, he lifted his chin to a passing footman with a tray and received two steaming teacups.

  “Thank you.” As she took her cup, the curtains on the stage began to wiggle, as if there was action going on behind it. Was the Professor ready to begin?

  “Just because a man lives in Sussex doesn’t mean he wants to stay there forever,” Ernest said. His cut-glass jaw looked uncharacteristically tense.

  The Bottler came out from behind the stage and rang his bell, announcing the performance. As the children quieted, he began to instruct them on how to behave during the show. Victoria remembered how much fun it was to call out reactions and instructions to Punch and the other characters as a child. In most circumstances children were meant to be quiet in public, but not during a Punch and Judy show.

  Ernest’s face relaxed as he smiled at her. “A bit of childish nonsense, eh?”

  “No harm in it that I can see,” she told him.

  Her suitors came up to her and bowed in tandem.

  “May we sit avec vous, Lady Allen-Hill?” Mr. Parker-Bale asked. With a hat covering his thinning hair, she could see he had a handsome face, if not a handsome personality.

  She nodded reluctantly, and he sat in the open chair to her right, the other man sitting on Parker-Bale’s far side.

  “Of course not,” Ernest said. “But we do not have to sit through it. Wouldn’t you rather go warm yourself in one of the parlors? I understand there is a puzzle room, or you could play the piano for me. I would love to sing with you.”

  She found herself irritated at his suggestion. Toby the Dog had come out and was lolling his tongue at the children. “I’m happy to remain here, Mr. Dickondell, but thank you for your concerns for my comfort.”

  Her companion sat back in his chair and sipped his tea in silence, occasionally bumping her elbow in a way that she thought was deliberate. However, she couldn’t find fault with that . . . not exactly.

  The Liverpudlians, on the other hand, were guffawing at Toby the Dog with the glee of children. While they were both older than Mr. Dickondell, they did not have his air of assured masculinity.

  Her thoughts wandered to Lewis in comparison. Thirty-two years of age, she’d been told by Rose Redcake. He knew who he was, for certain. A man who had work he felt passionately about did ex
cite a certain admiration. His looks were flawless, his body muscular perfection. And his touch . . . well, she’d found heaven indeed.

  She lost track of the show, remembering their passionate encounter. Really, she couldn’t possibly imagine doing that with another man. Had her father done any investigating as promised? Could there be a chance that he might be willing to live in Liverpool? She didn’t really think he would be insolvent, though. He struck her as too careful a man. Still, any inventor might overextend on the cost of making prototypes. A couple of her father’s associates had lost their fortunes on failed dreams.

  Judy brought the Baby onto the stage. The children laughed as they saw how ugly it was. Punch complained in his Swazzle voice. Babies. The reason Victoria was in this mess in the first place, instead of reveling in a widow’s independence. Her father wanted grandchildren.

  Punch threw the Baby, and Judy appeared with her stick. They began to battle, and Victoria was horrified to see the two Liverpudlians begin to mimic the actions of the warring couple, slapping each other on the back of the head.

  “Gentlemen!” she cautioned in her most reproving voice, one she’d only developed recently in response to Penelope’s antics.

  Mr. Parker-Bale giggled, but they both subsided. On the rugs below, the children, Victoria saw, were keeping their hands to themselves for the most part. Honestly, her father had found men for her who were less mature than a set of village children. She found herself subtly shifting her bottom in her chair to move toward Mr. Dickondell.

  The Beadle made his appearance to arrest Punch, and she glanced away from the stage. Lewis had appeared, standing just past the children. He was staring right at her, a line between his eyebrows as he frowned. No, that wasn’t his expression exactly; it was more like hurt.

  She wanted to melt into her chair and disappear. Not an hour before, she’d kissed this man, and now she was sandwiched between multiple suitors like some kind of. . . what, belle of the ball? She felt her spine straighten even before her mind recognized her right to pride. Why not make the man she desired realize that she was desirable to other men?

  He didn’t approach her; indeed, he disappeared before the end of the performance. However, he did reappear while she sat in the drawing room before dinner with the rest of the house party guests. He didn’t work his way through the crowd either but came to her directly upon entering the room with the earl. Not only that, but the earl looked surprised by his henchman’s defection.

  She didn’t smile as he approached yet could not help drinking in his broad, lanky form. His hair appeared to be growing longer by the day, curling over his brow. He’d look like a faun if he wasn’t careful, with tufts over his ears. The thought made her smile.

  “May I sit with you?” Lewis asked, smiling in response to her expression.

  She held back a giggle. Control yourself, my dear. “Of course, Mr. Noble.”

  “Why are you sitting alone? You have so many friends and admirers here.”

  Was this a rebuke? She could not say because his tone was so mild. “Your cousin and my father were seated with me, but Rose began to cough and my father took her away from the fire.”

  “They are getting along very well,” Lewis commented.

  “My father is a gentleman,” Victoria countered. “What else could he do with her in distress?”

  “Indeed,” Lewis said, glancing at the fire. Thankfully, a servant had tended to it, and now most of the smoke was headed properly up the flue. “I cannot help but notice your general popularity. There is a rumor that you are spinning a fairy tale. I should like to hear it sometime.”

  Ernest Dickondell entered the room, followed by the Gill sisters, who took up posts on either side of him and began to converse with much gesturing of fingers and fans. “Do you like fiction, Mr. Noble? Many men do not.”

  “I admit I am more a reader of scientific journals and the like, but I would like to hear what you have created.”

  She paused at that. “So you think to judge me on the basis of one silly tale?”

  He adjusted his position on the sofa so that he was subtly focused on her. “No, I judge on the entire person. But you are more than a lovely form, Victoria. I want to know more. I crave it.”

  Her heart seemed to catch in her chest at his use of her first name. How bold he was being. How complimentary. Perhaps her inadvertent show of beaux had done some good after all. She must discover whether there was any chance of him leaving Battersea for Liverpool before her heart became entirely broken. An engagement to someone else while her mind and soul were full of regrets for Lewis was not what she wished for herself.

  “I will be happy to tell you my tale-in-progress, but not here. It always draws a crowd, as you have heard. Besides, I have no idea where it is headed.”

  “You make it up as you go along?”

  “Exactly,” she confessed.

  “I often design the same way. Not with actual components, of course; they are too expensive. But on paper, it is all about flights of fancy.”

  “A fairy tale is nothing but exactly that,” she said ruefully.

  “The rumor is that your fairy tale is coming true,” he said.

  “If that were so, and I was my princess, I could look forward to a very happy ending when this house party is done.” Unable to meet his gaze, she stared down at her clasped hands. The pearl on her ring had slid to the side and she righted it.

  “It’s early days yet. You shall have to see what Twelfth Night brings.” The corners of his eyes crinkled at that, and she thought he might appear at her door during the wee hours that night. The thought caused a cascade of reactions throughout her body, culminating in an electric sensation between her legs that she was only beginning to understand was mature, knowing desire.

  The first footman came in to ring the ancient dinner gong. She wanted to whisper something provocative, something erotic, but the crowd was assembling in order of precedence and she was too far above him to take his arm.

  Instead, she found herself escorted by John Alexander, the Baron of Alix. At twenty-seven, the handsome Scottish nobleman had the slightly anxious air of a fox at the start of a hunt; he knows something bad is coming but isn’t certain what. When she saw him flinch at the sight of Lady Florence, she suspected the countess’s sister had already made her move.

  She squeezed his arm. “You’re safe with me,” she whispered.

  “Why is that?” he asked in a low brogue.

  His breath danced over her ear, but she was pleased to see it didn’t create any sensuous raptures in her. “I’m destined to spend my days in Liverpool.”

  “Ah,” he said. “I understand your point. I am bound tae the Lowlands. We can be friends, then.”

  She smiled at him. “Exactly. We can likely both use a friend.”

  “Are ye close tae any of the ladies of the house?” he asked.

  “Lady Barbara is my friend,” she said, noting his nostrils were still reddened from his recent cold. “And I know Lady Rowena has her eye on a certain gentleman.”

  “Not me?” he asked.

  She laughed. “No. I wouldn’t tell you if that were the case.”

  “I haven’t been social enough for any lady tae form a connection,” he said ruefully. “Dratted illness.”

  “Are you looking for one?” They were seated next to each other, which pleased her because this had to be one of the more intriguing conversations she’d ever had with a man.

  “My brother is so happy with his new wife that I’ve been made quite jealous. And we have bad weather in Scotland, ye know. It’s wonderful tae have a warm cuddle under the furs at night.”

  “Still sleeping in caves under furs, then?” she teased.

  “I guess ye will never be permitted tae find out,” he said with a mournful cast to his mouth. “What with your ties tae Liverpool.”

  “Ah, I think I will be a better friend than a lover to you,” she told him, keeping her voice low.

  He winked. “Do
n’t underestimate yourself.”

  “Ah, but I am a widow, sir. I should know these things about myself.”

  “I believe that the advent of a new person in your life can change outlook, behavior, even personality tae some degree. Man is a social animal.” The baron looked with disfavor at the soup placed in front of him.

  “What is the matter?” she asked, then drew back herself when she saw the greasy lump of skin-on chicken in the bowl. “The hazards of hiring a French chef, I suspect.”

  “The man must be in a terrible snit,” the baron agreed. “I’d rather eat haggis.”

  He grinned at her, and they spent a delightful meal together, trading anecdotes. She all but ignored her father, on her other side, but he seemed wrapped in conversation with Rose Redcake about one of Sir Walter Scott’s novels. Her father had read novels? She’d never seen any. If there were a secret chest full of novels in the house, she’d have to investigate and find it. She never had enough books to read.

  “I think I shall ride tomorrow if the weather is fine,” she announced.

  “I will be happy to escort ye,” the baron said. “Would your friend Lady Barbara care tae go with us?”

  She grinned. So that was where his thoughts lay. “I shall endeavor to add her to our party.”

  “And who would ye like me to invite?” he inquired playfully.

  She sighed. “He would never go, so Ernest Dickondell, I suppose. He is amusing. It would be best to spend some time with him in a crowd.”

  The baron nodded thoughtfully. “A picnic, do ye think?”

  “At the end of the year?”

  “My lady, I am Scottish,” he said. “The weather here is balmy tae me.”

  “I thought you were from the Lowlands.”

  “There is still rain and damp.”

  She detected an air of defensiveness and proceeded to tease him through the pudding course. After, the baron stayed close to her once the men returned from their cigars but made eyes rather blatantly at her friend, who was all but oblivious to him as she chatted with her siblings in a tight family circle. Victoria wondered if she stared at Lewis so desperately and obviously. The thought gave her a headache and she went up to bed, reminding herself that Lewis had looked rather hapless himself today when he saw her at the puppet show.