Chapter Four
The advent of snow met with different responses from the adults in the household. Some of the male guests elected to go for a walk but the ladies preferred the fireside. They passed the time agreeably enough in conversation or reading and embroidery while the remaining gentlemen amused themselves with cards and chess. Major Dawlish challenged Max to a game and the two of them settled down to play.
Vivien ensconced herself in an armchair with the book she had borrowed from Charles’s library. He was an avid reader and enjoyed a good novel as much as his wife did, so the selection was excellent. He owned all of Mrs Radcliffe’s works and, much to Vivien’s delight, a copy of The Monk. Matthew Lewis’ novel had caused a sensation when it was published but, though hugely successful, it had not found favour everywhere. Hugh had refused to countenance the presence of such a scandalous book in his collection. It was, in his opinion, a highly dubious publication and quite unsuitable for a female readership. Vivien experienced a pang of guilty pleasure and eagerly opened the front cover.
* * *
She was so engrossed in the story that she lost all track of time. It was only when a discreet cough alerted her to Eleanor’s presence that she looked up. With a sense of surprise she realised that they were alone.
‘I hate to disturb you, dearest, but it is almost time for luncheon.’
‘Good heavens! Is it? I had no idea.’
‘You looked totally absorbed.’
‘I confess I was.’
Eleanor glanced at the title. ‘Ah, The Monk. It’s riveting reading, isn’t it?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘I vow that book gave me nightmares for a month after I read it. However, you may be made of sterner stuff.’
Vivien grinned. ‘I’ll let you know. In the meantime I’d better go and change my gown.’
* * *
She repaired to her room and made a hasty toilette before joining the others in the dining room. There she was disconcerted to find herself seated next to Max. However, she was also aware that other eyes were on them and had no wish to give rise to speculation of any kind.
Possibly the same thought had occurred to him. He turned her way with every indication of social ease. ‘Did you enjoy your book?’
‘The Monk? Very much.’
‘It’s an exciting yarn, isn’t it?’
‘Very much so. The stuff of nightmares too, I suspect.’
‘Undoubtedly. Even so, I wouldn’t have missed it.’ He grinned. ‘I’ve recommended it to several people, albeit those of a strong constitution.’
‘It isn’t for those of a nervous disposition,’ she agreed.
‘Well, you are not amongst them. You have far more spirit than that.’
For a moment she wondered if it was intended as flattery, but nothing in his expression suggested it. Besides, Max wasn’t given to such devices. It was pleasing to think he held her in that much regard, but his comment touched on the personal. It was time for a change of direction.
‘Did you win at chess?’
‘Only just,’ he replied. ‘Major Dawlish is a dangerous opponent. He never takes prisoners.’
She smiled. ‘The two of you have played before then.’
‘Many times; I think the honours are about even.’
‘You met in India, I collect.’
‘Yes. Social circles tend to be smaller there.’
‘What made you decide to leave?’
‘My aim was to go and make my fortune, not to live there for ever. Having achieved what I set out to do, I decided to return.’
‘Do you miss it?’
‘In some ways. It’s a vibrant and colourful land, but it’s also a punishing environment.’
‘The climate is harsh,’ she replied, ‘to say nothing of the poverty and squalor.’
For a moment his soup spoon paused in mid-air as an old conversation returned. Had it been an accidental echo or had she intended it? Her expression gave nothing away.
‘Exactly so, my lady.’
‘There is poverty and squalor in England too.’
‘True. All the same, it is a more congenial place to live to my way of thinking.’
‘I will take your word for that.’
Before he could reply Cynthia chipped in. ‘Men are so fortunate in being able to travel to such exotic places. It must be so stimulating. Did you see tigers and elephants, Mr Calderwood?’
‘Yes, I did.’
Her eyes widened, their gaze fixed on him with rapt attention. ‘How exciting! What is it like to ride on an elephant?’
‘Riding in a howdah is rather like being on a boat in a heavy swell. On the other hand the view is splendid.’
‘Did you ever go on a tiger hunt?’
‘Work took up much of my time, but I did once go on a hunt. The local rajah enlisted the help of all the able-bodied men he could find. We were after a man-eater. It had taken a woman and two children from one of the villages.’
‘Good heavens, how terrifying!’
‘The power of the tiger is terrifying,’ he said. ‘At the same time it is one of the most magnificent creatures on the planet.’
‘Dangerous brutes,’ said Sir Digby. ‘If you ask me they should all be shot.’
Max threw him a swift look but made no reply.
‘Did you succeed in killing it, sir?’ asked Cynthia.
‘Yes, we did.’
‘Excellent. And did you keep the skin for a trophy?’
‘That honour was given to the rajah.’
‘What a shame. A tigerskin rug would be a real talking piece in one’s drawing room. Do you not think so, Lady Hastings?’
‘I imagine it would,’ replied Vivien. ‘All the same, I should prefer the conversation in my drawing room to arise from other topics.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that I am not in favour of killing things to provide trophies, though I concede that in this case the rajah had to protect his people.’
Several of the men surveyed her with genuine amusement. Sir Digby laughed.
‘What else is game for but to shoot, pray?’
It drew a general murmur of agreement, although Max remained silent.
‘I think the world would be a poorer place if such creatures disappeared as a consequence of hunting,’ she said.
‘I agree,’ said Eleanor. ‘Surely they were not put on this earth for us to persecute.’
‘Why, there are many thousands of these animals. Bagging the odd tiger isn’t going to make the least difference to their numbers.’
Vivien eyed him coolly. ‘But you just said that they should all be shot, Sir Digby.’ It drew a laugh from the others.
‘Touché!’ said Charles. ‘Heist with your own petard there, Feversham.’
Sir Digby reddened a little, but quickly recovered his composure. ‘First blood to Lady Hastings, what?’
The remark was greeted with more laughter. Max raised his glass to Vivien in quiet salute, although his expression was enigmatic. The gesture didn’t pass unnoticed. Cynthia directed an arch look his way.
‘I am persuaded that you do not hold such sentimental views, Mr Calderwood.’
‘I don’t know about sentimental,’ he replied, ‘but if that tiger hadn’t been a man-eater nothing would have induced me to hunt it.’
Vivien regarded him in surprise. It was mingled with another emotion that eluded identification. Along with that was quiet enjoyment at the look on the other woman’s face.
‘Are you against all hunting then, Mr Calderwood?’ demanded Cynthia.
‘By no means, when the hunter intends to eat his prey and survival depends upon it.’
‘I am relieved to hear it, sir. I thought for a while that you would have us all eat grass.’
Vivien heard another ripple of amusement from their companions but Max appeared unperturbed.
‘I could not recommend it, ma’am. It is quite indigestible.’
‘Do you speak from ex
perience then?’
‘Indeed I do. A boyhood experiment, much regretted afterwards.’
Guffaws of laughter greeted this and then the conversation moved to less contentious ground. Vivien sipped her wine, supremely conscious of the man beside her. Max continued to surprise in all kinds of ways and it only served to whet her curiosity. Not only hers it seemed. Cynthia Vayne had made her interest quite clear. Was she set to become the future Mrs Calderwood? It was an oddly unwelcome thought and Vivien tried to push it aside. After all, she had no claim on Max and he was an attractive single man. He had announced his intention to settle down, which implied that he would eventually marry when he found the right woman. It ought not to matter, but she knew it did.
* * *
After luncheon it began to snow again, thick and fast. Eleanor surveyed it rather anxiously.
‘Oh, dear. I hope we shan’t have to call off the supper dance at New Year.’
‘It’s a week off yet. With any luck things will improve by then,’ replied Charles.
Cynthia beamed. ‘I do love a dance. So does my brother, do you not, Digby?’
‘Oh, rather,’ he replied, ‘especially when there are so many charming partners to choose from. What stronger inducement could there be?’
‘Well said, brother.’ Cynthia looked around the salon. ‘If all the gentlemen are of the same mind we shall have a merry time.’
Charles smiled. ‘I shall engage to do my part, Mrs Vayne. What say the rest of you gentlemen?’
The question elicited the expected affirmatives.
‘Splendid!’ he said. ‘I expected no less.’
Vivien bent over her book and tried not to think about the last time she and Max had attended a dance together. A shadow fell across the page and she looked up quickly. Sir Digby smiled at her.
‘I do hope that I may persuade you to dance, Lady Hastings.’
She assumed an expression of polite acquiescence. ‘Of course.’
‘I shall insist that one of them is a waltz.’
Vivien suppressed annoyance and gave him an enigmatic smile. Then she returned her attention to her book, hoping he’d take the hint. He lingered a few seconds longer but, when she didn’t look up again, he bowed and moved away. She let out a quiet sigh of relief. The man’s attentions were becoming even more marked but he seemed impervious to rebuff. Short of downright rudeness she had no idea how to make him understand that she had no interest there. Since she was looking down at her book she failed to see the knowing smile that passed between him and his sister.
Across the room Max frowned, feigning to study the newspaper in front of him. Feverham’s interest in Vivien was plain. Not that he could blame the man for that. Did Vivien return the sentiments? Her manner had been polite but hardly warm. On the other hand perhaps she felt reticent about too public a display of affection. Perhaps she was waiting for a more private moment to demonstrate her feelings. Max’s frown deepened. She was young, attractive and now free to remarry. Why should she not? The answer was a flood of emotion in a deep shade of green. His jaw tightened. He had no right to think like that and yet he couldn’t help it. The longer he was around Vivien the worse it got. He glanced out of the window at the falling snow and cursed mentally.
‘Anyone for billiards?’ asked Peter.
Jason nodded. ‘Count me in. Mr Calderwood, can we persuade you?’
Max laid down the paper and summoned a smile. ‘Why not?’
Vivien cast a covert glance across the room, her gaze following him to the door. When it closed behind him the sound only reinforced a sensation of finality and loss.
Chapter Five
She turned back to The Monk and read for another hour. Outside it was still snowing, though less heavily now, and the light was starting to fade. Putting the marker in the page she closed the book. Aunt Winifred looked up from her embroidery.
‘Had enough reading for a while, my dear?’
‘Yes. If you will excuse me I’ll go and see if the children are behaving themselves.’
Cynthia regarded her in surprise. ‘Surely their governess is with them. In fact, several governesses now.’
‘I believe there are three in the house at present.’
‘Three! In that case, Lady Hastings, I am sure you need not trouble yourself. They ought to be more than equal to the task.’
‘I have no doubts about their competence, Mrs Vayne.’
‘Well then, stay here and forget about them. After all, there is no point in keeping a dog and barking oneself.’
Vivien held on to her temper. ‘All shepherds must check on the flock from time to time. Excuse me.’
With that she walked away, leaving Cynthia staring after her in open-mouthed astonishment.
* * *
The children were playing a game of skittles in the portrait gallery while their respective governesses watched from the sidelines and chatted amongst themselves. Vivien surveyed the scene from the doorway. It was evident from the laughter and occasional cheers that the participants were fully engaged with their task, and she had no desire to interrupt. Retreating quietly she left them to it.
At present she had no wish to return to the salon but the library offered a quiet alternative. It was a comfortable room with big armchairs and a large arched window at one end, which overlooked the gardens. She had been there many times, since Eleanor was generous about lending books. However, it wasn’t reading that drew Vivien now. In any case, the fading light would have made it impractical. A swift glance around revealed that the room was empty so she slipped inside and shut the door behind her.
The remains of a fire burned in the hearth, giving off cheerful warmth. She added another log from the basket and watched it catch. Then she crossed to the window, looking out on the snow-covered garden and the park beyond. Light flakes were still falling, enveloping the earth in a great white silence. In the grey-blue twilight it had an unearthly beauty.
‘Pretty, isn’t it?’ said a quiet voice behind her.
Vivien drew a sharp breath and spun round, heart pounding. Then she noticed the figure in the wing chair just feet away. As the chair was facing the window she had entirely failed to spot its occupant as she came in. Max got to his feet.
‘Forgive me. I didn’t mean to startle you.’
With an effort she found her voice. ‘I thought you were playing billiards.’
‘I was, but after the second game I opted for some peace and quiet instead.’
‘Which I have now disturbed. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be.’
‘I didn’t know there was anyone here. The chair...I didn’t notice...’ She broke off in confusion. ‘Please excuse me.’
She turned away but his hand stayed her. The touch was light, almost tentative, but its effect was like a charge along her arm. He surveyed her steadily.
‘Don’t make yourself uneasy, Vivien.’
The familiar use of her name sounded easy and natural on his lips. It also stirred old memories and, with them, painful longing.
He let his hand fall from her arm and glanced towards the window. ‘This is a restful place, isn’t it?’
Restful wasn’t the word she would have chosen just then when every nerve was resonating to his nearness. Striving for calm she followed the direction of his gaze. ‘I’ve always thought so, although I haven’t seen it in the snow like this.’ She paused. ‘But you’re right: it is a pretty scene.’
‘Better for having someone to share it with, I think.’
‘Yes.’
‘I had forgotten how compelling this season can be.’
She heard the ambiguity in that statement and kept her eyes resolutely on the window.
‘Did you not miss it when you were abroad?’
‘I missed a lot of things,’ he replied.
‘Did you?’
‘So many things I took for granted before. I did not know their value until they were gone.’
Her throat tightened. ‘But you had
your work.’
‘Yes, I had that.’
They lapsed into silence. She ought not to be here alone with him and yet she didn’t want to leave either because being here made her feel more alive than at any time in the last ten years. And so she did nothing, content just to rest in the moment and watch the snow falling on the silent land.
Max watched too, aware of conflicting emotions. He should not have detained her but he couldn’t have borne it if she had gone. When he’d heard the door open and the faint swish of a skirt across the floor he found himself fearing and hoping at the same time. Then he caught a faint elusive trace of her perfume and his heart leapt as the subject of his thought became reality. Her uneasiness was apparent and he spoke to quiet it but, after that first spontaneous gesture, he made no move to touch her again. Such a moment of privacy might never come again and he didn’t want to do anything to jeopardise it.
‘Did you tire of the company?’ he asked.
‘By no means. I went to look in on the children.’ She threw him a sidelong glance. ‘Does that make me seem like a fussy mother?’
‘No, a concerned one.’
‘I need not have been,’ she admitted. ‘They’re having the time of their lives. It is so good for them to be with others of their own age.’
‘They certainly seemed to be enjoying themselves when I saw them.’
‘I’m glad of it. They’ve had little enough enjoyment since their father died.’
‘It is hard to lose a father at any time,’ he said, ‘never mind at so tender an age.’
‘They have coped remarkably well, although I worry that they may conceal their deepest feelings.’
Snowbound Wedding Wishes: An Earl Beneath the MistletoeTwelfth Night ProposalChristmas at Oakhurst Manor (Harlequin Historical) Page 21
