A Christmas Betrothal

by Carole Mortimer

  ‘That is all that concerns you?’

  He nodded. ‘If I had chosen to behave properly and stay where I was born I would be on the other side of the gates right now, looking in at the people dancing. Tomorrow I would be standing outside another man’s mill, threatening the master with violence, living in fear that the last crust of bread would be ripped from my hand.’

  ‘You have a very grim view of the world, Mr Stratford.’

  ‘And a very accurate one. I was once poor, Miss Lampett. Now I am rich. But I will never clear the stink of poverty from my skin. I accept that.’ He grinned. ‘But, all the same, I cannot help but revel in the change.’

  The dance ended and he walked her to the edge of the floor. As they approached the people standing there she hesitated, laying a hand on his arm to halt him. ‘If they think so little of you, then what will they say to me, in last season’s gown retrimmed in borrowed lace?’

  ‘They will treat you with the utmost courtesy, I am sure. I will introduce you to Robert Breton, who is a true gentleman with impeccable manners. He will shepherd you about the room to the others. I recommend that once I am gone you comment at my boorish behaviour in forcing you to dance. Your future will be secure.’

  She could not help it, and gave a short laugh. ‘I would never … ‘

  ‘I know you would not.’ He was looking into her eyes again, and she felt the warmth, the pull. ‘Although I am sure you have thought it.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do not lie,’ he said, giving her hand a squeeze. ‘But do not feel that I fault you. You cannot be blamed. My manners are rough. Considering our circumstances, I appreciate that yours are not, and thank you for it.’

  Then he led her across the room to his friend, making another formal bow and as proper a presentation as she could have hoped for. In truth, it was a bit too formal, but that was better than the alternative of being forgotten.

  In turn, Mr Breton made polite and much more polished conversation, then took her around the room to his friends and acquaintances, making sure that she was properly introduced to each of them. Her dance card for the evening was quickly filled with gentlemen of the ton—younger brothers and married men, who had been rousted from the card room to make up for the lack of dancers.

  It was pleasant. She relaxed and remembered what it had been like to attend similar parties, before the house had been shut up in mourning and she’d felt the sting of rejection. But this night was different in that she longed to turn and find the eyes of a particular gentleman following her about the room, even though they had danced only once.

  Joseph had taken a personal interest in her. It was to be expected, she supposed. He wished her to be at ease, just as he did the other guests. That was all it was. If there had been any proprietorial interest it was a fabrication on her part. His effusive compliments were another sign of his lack of social grace, not a partiality unique to her.

  When she looked for him, as she found herself frequently doing, he was giving his attention to Anne, just as he should. The man was engaged to her, or near to it. He wanted nothing more than to see Barbara similarly happy.

  As another dance ended, her partner returned her to Mr Breton, who offered her escort on a trip to the refreshment room. As they passed Joseph Stratford, Breton caught her gaze and looked back at his friend with a mixture of frustration and admiration. ‘If you foster hopes in that direction you must know that there is an understanding with another young lady.’

  ‘I know that,’ she said, trying not to blush at how obvious he must think her. ‘I am merely surprised at how kind he has been to me—though he barely knows me, except through Father. And that is … difficult.’

  ‘So I understand,’ said Breton. ‘You must go home and explain to your father, if you can, that all is not as simple as it seems.’ He looked across the room at his friend. ‘For all his faults, Stratford is a visionary. We must trust him to know what is right.’

  ‘I cannot say that I approve of his vision,’ Barbara said, shaking her head. ‘To the villagers, it seems to be nothing more than wanton destruction and change that benefits one man more than any other.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Breton insisted. ‘I was there when he made the decision to come here. He was poring over a pile of maps, gazettes and indexes. He chose and then rejected several sites. Then he showed me this place. “Here,” he said, “is the land, and here are the workers. Here is the river that will bring the finished goods to London and to the ports. Here are the fields, already full of the sheep to give us supplies, and the roads that will bring the coal.”‘ Breton grinned with pride. ‘He sees it all as though it were a pile of loose links, waiting to become a chain. Some men can come up with an idea for improvement, but he is one of the few that understands enough to put that change to work.’

  ‘You are a gentleman,’ she argued. ‘I would think you knew better than to get so closely involved in trade.’

  He shrugged. ‘At one time, perhaps. I am a second son, and must make the best of my inheritance. I was dubious when he came to me with the idea for an improved loom. But he is very persistent. He would not leave. So I made one quiet investment. He turned my modest income into a fortune. When he suggested an expansion, I decided I would be a fool to refuse him.’

  He glanced around at the largely empty dining hall. ‘He expected there to be more speculators, since the chance to do business far outside the eyes of the ton would be a pleasant one. Joe’s cellar is good, and his table groans. The house is as nice as any one might see in London. The beds are soft enough for a lord, certainly. I have no complaints.’

  Barbara pursed her lips. ‘He spoke to me of this, and he does not seem disappointed. But I wonder what the Clairemonts think of it all.’

  ‘It hardly matters,’ Breton supplied with finality. ‘It has been demonstrated to me on several occasions that the God-given right to property does not automatically assume the wisdom or skill to keep it. While your friends the Clairemonts could not maintain their position, I am sure you will find Mr Stratford to be more than able. This is the first such fortune he will make in his lifetime, and the first house he shall purchase. While he continues to advance, the Clairemonts of the world shall be left with nothing more than the honour of their names. Genteel poverty is poverty nonetheless, Miss Lampett. Surely you must know that by now?’

  The man they had been discussing rounded the corner, coming upon them without warning. He stopped suddenly and stared at the two of them in surprise, and then offered a hurried apology before turning back the way he had come.

  ‘Whatever does he mean by that?’ Barbara said in confusion.

  Breton glanced up. ‘He thinks he has caught us under a kissing bough. Although how we could manage to avoid them I am not sure. Stratford has them hung in nearly every room and doorway, despite the decidedly unromantic nature of this gathering.’

  ‘Surely if there is an engagement to be announced, there must be a trace of romance in the air.’ The thought did nothing to lift her spirits, and Mr Breton seemed equally pensive. He was looking up at the garland of mistletoe and ribbons and around at the empty room. ‘I suppose we had best make use of it while we are here.’ He hardly sounded enthused about the prospect.

  Barbara did not wish to show her own lack of desire. ‘If you wish, sir. It is Christmas, after all.’ She closed her eyes and raised her face to his.

  She had hoped it would be the briefest buss—over quickly and forgotten. But it appeared that he wished for something more memorable, and did not immediately withdraw. Neither did he advance, or show any real enthusiasm for it. It was not exactly unpleasant, but it was most definitely awkward.

  There was a gasp of surprise from the doorway, a stifled sob and then the pattering of lady’s slippers down the hall. Breton jerked away from her and muttered a curse. ‘If you will excuse me, Miss Lampett?’ He gave a hurried bow and raced from the room, leaving her alone again.

  Chapter Ten

  Joseph Stratford
practised the words of his proposal quietly to himself in the silence of the library. If he meant to do the deed he had best do it tonight, while there were guests to celebrate it. It was a culmination of sorts—a final proof to his investors of the confidence that the Clairemonts placed in him. It was another step in his entry into society.

  In all ways it was an excellent choice. He had selected Anne with clinical precision, just as he had the household decorations. There was no question that she was a beauty, and her manners and breeding were impeccable. Though her father might be cold and abrupt to him, Anne paid just the correct amount of interest, making it clear without seeming inappropriately eager that when he chose to offer the answer would be yes.

  His heart was not engaged, of course. Neither was hers. That was for the best. If he sought affection elsewhere she would likely be more relieved than upset. Though he would make every effort to see her happy, as he had promised Bob, he would expend nothing more to try to win a love that was not likely to appear. And if she sought comfort with another? As long as the first son looked like him, what right did he have to care?

  He thought of the brief and unpleasant scene he had witnessed a few moments ago: Breton and Barbara standing awkwardly under the kissing bough. That had been his plan when he’d invited her. She should find someone who valued her, and he could think of no better choice than Bob.

  But Joseph did not find his success nearly as enjoyable as the one dance he’d shared with her, or the heroic feeling of rescuing her from her hiding place in the portrait gallery. If he was not careful he’d destroy plans that had been months in the making in trying to interpret a few mysterious dreams and appease spirits that were entirely the makings of his own overtired brain. If he was lucky, the girl was even now getting on well with Breton, and he would never have to think of her again.

  Anne was her superior in every way, he reminded himself firmly. Barbara’s face was as far from patrician as one could imagine. To call her complexion ruddy was unfair, but it had a healthy glow about it—as though she partook freely of the northern air. She was not short, nor stout, though she appeared stunted next to the tall and slender Anne. In all ways she seemed less refined, less delicate, less of a lady.

  And his body did not seem to mind that a bit. While Anne might be as lovely as a china doll, china dolls were made to be admired more than touched. They were expensive things, to be cherished, set upon a shelf and forgotten.

  Other toys were meant to be played with. When he looked at Barbara Lampett, oh, how he wished for playtime. She made him think of Christmas morning, with gifts waiting to be unwrapped, games to be won, and nights full of pleasant surprises. The likelihood that she would spend her adult life as a spinster caring for her mad father seemed vastly unfair. He wondered yet again what the truth was in her disgrace and banishment from local society. If there was a stain already on her character, perhaps in time …

  The door opened suddenly, and he was face to face with his intended. ‘Anne,’ he said dumbly, taking a moment to wipe his mind clear of its recent speculation.

  ‘Joseph.’ She seemed to need a moment’s composure as well. He pretended not to notice the deep breath she took, and the fading flush on her cheeks. ‘I am sorry. I did not mean to disturb you.’

  ‘It is quite all right. I meant to seek you out just now. If you have a moment … ?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Now that the time was upon him, he was unsure what the correct emotion was to suit it. Whatever was expected, he was sure that he was not feeling it. There was no tingle of nerves, no pleasant sense of anticipation, no triumph and no relief. He was certainly not feeling the desire he might wish for as she stepped into the room, closing the door behind her and leaving them alone together for the first time in their acquaintance.

  She was totally composed again, staring at him with a pleasant, neutral smile, waiting for him to speak. He wondered if he should begin with some inane comment like, I suppose you wonder why I’ve asked you here.

  But they both knew damn well the reason. To pretend there was doubt as to the question and its inevitable answer was an annoying ceremony that he could not quite manage.

  So he waited until the click of the door latch no longer echoed in the still air of the room, took the few steps to her side, went down on one knee and said, ‘Miss Anne Clairemont, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’

  The words, though they were only a formality, were surprisingly hard to say.

  ‘Thank you. I would be honoured in return.’ It was good that he had not expected her to go into raptures. Her expression had not changed one iota from the one she had worn in the ballroom.

  He rose. ‘I have no ring to offer at this time. After Christmas I will take you to London, where you may choose something suitable that is to your taste.’ It would save her being embarrassed at his lack of style, should he choose incorrectly.

  ‘That will not be necessary,’ she said, with the same unfailing smile. ‘I am sure Mother will have something appropriate in her jewel case.’

  Apparently when he had purchased the house and its contents he had purchased the bride and her ring as well. He stifled a sudden and totally inappropriate desire to laugh.

  ‘Very well, then. Let us meet in the ballroom at—’ he checked his watch ‘—midnight exactly, to make the announcement. Until then … ‘ They had almost three quarters of an hour. If he was wise, he would use the time to get to know his bride in a way that was more physical than social.

  He leaned forwards and she closed her eyes, preparing herself to be kissed. He reminded himself to be gentle, though there was hardly a need. She did not seem frightened of him. Their lips met.

  She was warm and pliable, and with a small amount of pressure her lips opened and she responded. It was clear that she knew what was expected of her, but she did not behave like a strumpet so much as a woman reconciled to the prospect of intimacy with a stranger. He had the sudden horrible feeling that now the words had been spoken she would permit whatever he might dare, greeting it with the same polite and placid smile.

  To say that it was like kissing a statue was unfair. It was more like being a statue. Though he could feel the pressure and taste her tongue against his, it was little different from the walks with his ghosts had been, when he had been near the action but not really a part of it.

  He broke the kiss. ‘Until then I will allow you to refresh yourself. Now, if you will excuse me … ?’ He gave a brief bow and left her.

  He was not fleeing the room, he told himself firmly. Merely returning with alacrity to the ballroom—to see to his other guests, prepare the musicians for the announcement and await his fiancée so that he could take her hand and make the biggest mistake of his life.

  She would smile demurely, like the wooden poppet she was. She would colour with the faint blush of excitement that he assumed she was even now painting on her face in the ladies’ retiring room. And he would smile, to prove himself aware of his good fortune, and accept the hearty congratulations that he would receive and the endless toasts drunk in their honour.

  The very idea made him want to choke.

  From the moment that he had kissed her—really kissed her, hoping to feel something of their impending life together—he had known it was a mistake. But by then the words were already spoken and it was too late to call them back.

  In an act of supreme cowardice he swerved as he passed the little alcove in the hall, and ducked behind the curtain. He could not hide for ever. But even five minutes of privacy would be a welcome thing.

  ‘Joseph!’ Her voice was a hissing whisper that stirred his blood.

  He turned in the tight, confining space and found Barbara Lampett hiding there as well. He put his hands to her waist, drawing her close, and though his mind roiled his body forgot that there was anything or anyone outside of this small niche and responded.

  ‘Miss Barbara Lampett. Hiding again? And now, I assume, we are playing sardines?’


  ‘Nothing of the sort,’ she snapped.

  ‘Then apparently you do not know what you are playing at,’ he said suddenly, jerking her body until it rested against his, and relishing the feeling of being once again in control. Then he took her mouth, because he could not stand to be without her for another moment. She responded as he’d known she would, massaging his tongue with her own, urging him on. The taste of her sent the life rushing back into his body, and a joy so reckless that he knew it must be dangerous. He pulled away.

  ‘Release me and exit from here immediately, or I swear I shall scream.’

  Her words were the correct ones for any offended maiden. They had to be said, if only to be ignored. But as she spoke she made no struggle to escape him. Nor was there any fear in her voice. Instead she gripped his arms and leaned into him.

  ‘Scream, then,’ he said, half wishing she would. It would solve many of his problems. Anne would surely hear of it, and his engagement would be over before it had begun. But it seemed whatever indiscretion she had taken part in six years ago had left her devoid of outrage, and he was damned glad of the fact.

  She took a deep breath, and for a moment he almost thought she might make good on her threat. Then she sighed, as though defeated. ‘Just once, will you not do the proper thing? Why must you make this so difficult?’