The Mistletoe Wager

by Christine Merrill

  ‘But if you are playing then you cannot dance yourself,’ he pointed out.

  ‘It is only polite that I sit out in any case.’ Her voice was cold reason. ‘It is slightly different than I feared, but I was marginally correct. Your numbers are unbalanced, and in favour of the women. Several families have brought daughters, and there are no partners for them. Better that I allow the others to dance in my place.’

  ‘But no one expects you to forgo the pleasure all evening,’ he said. ‘You do not have to play for the whole time.’

  ‘Really it is no problem. I enjoy playing. And I will have the opportunity to sit down while doing it.’ The look in her eye said if the party knew what was good for it, they would dance and be glad of it, because she did not wish to be crossed.

  Harry put on his most fraternal smile. ‘But you also enjoy dancing, do you not? I can remember the way you stood on my boots and let me waltz you around the drawing room.’

  She gave him a pained look. ‘Twenty years ago, perhaps. Then, it was not so important to have a partner.’

  He clutched at his heart. ‘I am no partner? You wound me, Rosalind.’

  ‘You are my brother,’ she said firmly. ‘And if you are the only unpartnered man in the room I suppose it is not improper that we dance. But it would be far more pleasant for me if you stand up as a courtesy to the daughters of your guests than with me out of pity.’ For a moment she did sound a bit pitiable. But then she snapped, ‘If you cannot manage that, then perhaps you should dance with your wife. It is what you want to do, after all. It does no good to pretend otherwise. But for myself? I prefer to remain at the keyboard. Thank you very much.’

  Guests had begun to filter into the room behind them, and she sat down and began to play a tune so brisk that they could not resist standing up to dance.

  Harry did as she’d bade him and offered his hand to a blushing girl of sixteen. He was gratified to see the look on her face, as though the room could hardly contain her joy at being asked. When they stood out, he had an opportunity to view the others in the room.

  His wife was standing up with Tremaine, of course. They made a most handsome couple, as they always had. Their steps were flawless, their smiles knowing. It was painful to see them together, so he smiled even wider and raised a glass of champagne in toast to them.

  Rosalind sat at the piano, playing a seemingly endless progression of happy melodies. To look at her was to suspect that the instrument in front of her had done her an injury, and that she wished to punish it with enthusiastic play. Her eyes never wavered from the empty music stand in front of her, even though she was playing it all from memory, and her hands hammered away at the keys with an almost mechanical perfection. She seemed to focus inward, and there was no sign that the sights she saw were happy ones.

  And suddenly Harry felt the fear that if something was not done he would see her in the same place next year, and the year after, ageing at the piano stool, the lines in her face growing deeper and her expression more distant as the world laughed and went on without her.

  So he smiled his best host’s smile, remarked to all within earshot that it was a capital entertainment, and encouraged them to help themselves to refreshment when the music paused. If they thought him a naïve cuckold, so be it. Perhaps after this holiday they would have no reason to. But, no matter what became of him, he would not allow Rosalind to become the sad old maid who kept his house.

  He turned to the girl beside him, pointed to Rosalind, and enquired if she played as well.

  ‘Not so well, sir. But I have lessons. And my piano master says I am his most proficient pupil.’

  ‘I would see my sister stand up for a set. But first I must find someone to replace her at the instrument. Can you help me?’

  The girl was radiant at the thought.

  Very good, then. He was only being a good host by making the offer.

  He went to Rosalind. ‘Dear sister, I have a favour to ask of you.’

  She sighed, but did not pause in her playing. ‘Another favour? Am I not busy enough for you, Harry?’

  He laughed. ‘Too busy, I think. Templeton’s daughter was remarking at what a fine instrument this appears to be, and it seems she is a musician. But obviously not much of a dancer, for she trod upon my toes on several occasions. If she is thus with the other guests it might benefit all to have her play for a time and rest from dancing. If you could give up your seat to her, I would be most grateful.’

  Rosalind considered for but a moment. ‘It would be for the best-if she does not seem to mind.’

  ‘Very good. Have a glass of champagne, and I will see her settled here.

  He installed the Templeton girl at the piano, then watched as his sister visited the refreshment table and became occupied with haranguing the servants about the dwindling supply of wine. When he was sure she would take no notice of him, he swallowed his distaste, refreshed his smile with another sip of wine, and strode into the room to find a partner for Rosalind.

  ‘Tremaine-a word, if you please?’

  It was always a pleasure to see the way the man cringed when Harry addressed him directly, as though snivelling and subservience were sufficient apology for all he had done.

  ‘Harry?’ He took a deep sip from his glass.

  ‘I need a favour from you.’

  ‘From me?’ Now the man was totally flummoxed. And then suspicious. His eyes narrowed. ‘What can I do for you?’

  Jump off the nearest cliff. Harry pushed the idea to the back of his mind, readjusted his smile, and said, ‘I need a dancing partner. Not for me, of course.’ He gave a self-deprecating laugh. ‘For m’ sister. She will not stand up from the damn piano if she must stand with me. And you are the only man in the room who could pass, in dim light, for eligible.’

  Tremaine looked past his usual partner towards Rosalind, who had seated herself next to a potted palm, almost out of sight of the crowd. His face took on a curious cast in the flickering light of the candles. ‘And she does love dancing,’ he said. His voice was distant, as though lost in memory.

  Harry wondered if he needed to repeat his request, and then the man next to him seemed to regain focus.

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘You are right. She should not be forced to sit out the whole evening because of some misplaced sense of duty to her guests.’

  ‘Make her think it is your idea, for I doubt she will do it for me. She was most cross that I even suggested she dance before.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ And Tremaine strode across the room and passed by Elise as though she did not even exist.

  Elise raised her eyes to follow him, and nodded with approval when she saw him go to Rosalind.

  Tremaine smiled his cynical London smile and bowed to Rosalind, offering his hand.

  Rosalind shook her head, gave him an outraged glare, and replied with something tart and equally cynical, which must have amused him. He laughed, and then repeated his offer, with a deeper bow and hands held open in front of him.

  She tossed her head, and made a great show of getting up, against her better judgement, to take his hand and let him lead her into the room. But Harry could see the faint flush of guilty pleasure on her face, and the exasperated curve to the lips that had replaced her stoic lack of expression.

  Harry went to stand next to the girl at the piano, who was looking nervous now that the attention was to be on her. ‘Something simple to start, I think. You can manage a waltz, can you not? They are slow, and the beat is steady.’

  The girl nodded and began.

  When Rosalind realised what was about to occur, alarm flashed across her face, and the pink in her cheeks was replaced by white. She hissed something to her partner, stepped away from him, and made to sit down.

  But Harry watched as Tremaine caught her hand easily in his and pulled her back into the dance, giving another slight bow before putting his arms about her.

  She still hesitated for a moment, and then looked down at the floor and coloured
again, as though she would be anywhere in the world but where she was. But as the dancing began she relaxed. Her small body settled into the circle of his arms like a sparrow seeking warmth in the winter.

  For his part, Tremaine stood close enough to her that she could not see his face. He gazed over her head and past her, into the room. And wherever he was it was not in the present. His eyes were looking somewhere very far away, some place that gave him both great happiness and great pain, for there was more sincere emotion in his eyes than Harry had ever seen. The man was in torment, and yet there was a faint smile on his lips.

  For a moment Harry sympathised.

  As the couple danced it was not with the easy, perfectly matched grace of Tremaine and Elise, but as one person. Their steps were not flawless, but their mistakes matched their successes, and the false notes in the music did nothing to hinder them.

  And then the dancing was over, and Rosalind pulled away from him and rushed from the room.

  After a moment’s hesitation Tremaine went after her, his urbane lope failing to disguise the speed of his response.

  Harry sighed. That answered that. It would be even more complicated than he had hoped. But it was just as he had always feared, and he could not pretend surprise.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Elise watched the couple on the dance floor too, trying to disguise her ill ease. They were an unusual pair, for Nicholas was a head too tall to dance easily with Rosalind. But they were attractively matched in colouring. And of a similar temperament. If circumstance had been different, and Elise had been hostess at Harry’s side, she would have seated the two together at meals just to see what became of it. It was disturbing that the idea held such appeal. For it showed her how easy it would be to forget the man who had stood by her side for so long, and had so graciously escorted her back to this house, although he must have known what it might mean.

  She watched the dancers take another turn, and saw the expression upon Nick’s face. The most incorrigible rogue in London looked the picture of restraint-and none too happy about it. For a moment Elise flattered herself that it was for her benefit, to show his loyalty. But only for a moment. She knew the man too well for that. He must want the girl in his arms most desperately to make such a great effort not to want her.

  And as he turned again she could see Rosalind. It was as though the girl were dancing to her favourite tune on the edge of a cliff-for she was clearly struggling not to enjoy the waltz, nor her contact with the man who danced with her.

  So that was the way it was to be. It pained Elise to think that she had not matched the two long ago, for Rosalind needed a way to escape from her father, and Nick needed a steady hand to hold his. She shook her head at her own folly. Rather than help him she had stood in his way, making it more difficult for him to leave her. How great a fool she was, to realise it now that things had grown so complicated.

  But perhaps it would be easier if Tremaine wished a parting as much as she did. At least she would not be obliged to break his heart before returning to Harry. For, after their conversation of the afternoon, she was sure she meant to return-if he would still have her.

  She frowned. Had she gained anything by her two months away? She suspected that once she was back in his house, Harry would cease his complaints about her loyalty and drop easily back into the role of affectionate but distant husband. She must learn to tolerate his silences without complaint now he had shown her the reason for them. And she would not trouble him any more with Nicholas, or any other foolish flirtations.

  Although Harry had not run to fetch her from London, he had at least admitted, aloud, that he wanted her back. And she knew she wanted to be with him, perhaps even more than she had before. If he was willing to overlook their barren union, then she should count her blessings. Most men would not have bothered to disguise their dissatisfaction with her, or to mask their disappointment in false smiles and silence. Perhaps she should learn to view Harry’s self-restraint as a gift.

  She saw Nicholas whisper something to his partner, and the girl started like a frightened fawn. Then she broke from him and left the room.

  For a moment Elise thought to go after her, but she saw Nick glance once around the room to see if the other guests had noticed. Then he followed in the girl’s wake.

  ‘I wonder what has got into Rosalind?’ Harry had come to stand by her side.

  ‘She is probably overcome with the burden you have forced on her with this party. It was most unfair of you to saddle her with it at so little notice.’ Elise gave him a mildly disapproving look, and then smiled to prove it a joke.

  He smiled and answered back, ‘Perhaps it is unfair to my sister to say so, but you would not have had the trouble she has. I have seen you rise to greater challenges than this without faltering. Should we go and see to her, do you think.’ He paused dramatically. ‘But wait. I saw Tremaine go after her. So I needn’t worry. He is very good at taking care of women in distress, is he not?’ His expression was supremely innocent, but he was obviously trying to make her jealous.

  ‘I have always found him so,’ she answered with an equally blasé look, ignoring the bait. If he did not wish to question her directly about what he had witnessed in the hall, then did she really need to explain it? And then she remembered how he had been in the afternoon. And she responded in kind, ‘Sometimes things are not as they appear.’

  He glanced at her, as though surprised at her acknowledgement. And then he gave a small sigh, of fatigue or relief, and said, ‘So I assumed.’

  The girl at the piano began another waltz, and he bowed to her, holding out a hand. ‘Will you favour me with a dance?’

  When she hesitated, he added, ‘You need not read too much into it. It is only a waltz. I trust Tremaine will not mind if I borrow you for a few moments?’

  He was working very hard to appear neutral, but she could see the challenge in his eyes.

  So she answered it. ‘It does not matter to me what Nicholas thinks.’ And she took his hand and let him lead her onto the floor.

  It felt so good to be back in his arms again that she had to struggle for a moment to keep herself from saying it aloud. Would it be too much, too soon, to admit tonight that she wished to come home? Though a truce had been declared for Christmas Day, she was not sure it would last. And it would serve her right if he wished to toy with her a bit, as punishment for leaving, before accepting her apology.

  Her hopes rose when he said, in a carefully polite tone, ‘It is good to dance with you again. Yet another of the many things I’ve missed since you have gone.’

  He was willing to make the first move, to make things easier for her. She leaned back to get a better look into his face, surprised at his choice of words. ‘Oh, Harry. You loathed dancing.’

  He laughed and shook his head. ‘Not true. I made a great show of loathing it. Because I so liked the things you were willing to do to coax me into it.’

  She blushed at the memory of long nights spent in his arms after various balls, and he laughed again.

  ‘But now I must take what pleasures you will allow, with no more foolish dissembling to gain ground.’ He squeezed her hand, and tightened his fingers on her waist as he spun her around the floor.

  She relaxed and let him lead her, enjoying the feel of his strength. Tonight she would do as Nicholas had suggested and open the connecting door between their rooms. And everything would return to the way it was.

  ‘I shall know better,’ he said, ‘when next I seek a wife.’

  She stumbled against him. He was teasing her again. Or did he mean it? She tried to match his tone as she responded, ‘Do you have plans of that nature?’

  ‘It all depends on what the future holds for us. I shall know if Tremaine is serious about keeping you by his actions this holiday. If he is true to his word, then we shall see about the divorce.’ He paused for a moment. ‘If you still wish for it, that is.’

  Here was her chance to admit that her feelings on the subject
had changed. She approached the subject elliptically, as he had. ‘I understand,’ she said, ‘that the courts of England are not likely to be co-operative in the matter of a divorce. Once the bonds between two people are set they are not to be easily broken.’

  ‘That is probably for the best,’ he answered. ‘But there should be some regard to the happiness of the individuals involved. It would not be good to force someone to remain if they were truly unhappy.’

  And she had been miserable.

  That was why she had left. She had loved him dearly, and still did, but it had not been enough to make a happy marriage. If she came back to him, perhaps for a while she could pretend that his silence didn’t matter to her. She would forgo the companionship of other men so as not to arouse his jealousy, and she would learn to speak around the things that were most important to her, so as not to upset the delicate balance between them. But if it was to be just the two of them, alone until death?

  ‘We are not likely to have any children,’ she blurted, unable to avoid the truth a moment longer.

  He tensed. ‘Are they necessary for a happy union?’

  ‘I assumed, when you offered for me, that they must be a primary concern to you. There is the title to consider, after all.’

  ‘Well, yes, of course.’ He glanced around them. ‘I just choose not to discuss it in the middle of a crowded ballroom.’

  She all but forgot the promise she had made to herself to be patient with his reticence. Once she came home she might never get a second chance to say what she needed to. ‘No, Harry. You choose not to speak of it at all. You have left me to guess your opinions on the matter.’

  ‘We are speaking of it now, aren’t we?’ He lowered his voice, hoping that she would follow suit.