With This Christmas Ring

by Manda Collins

  Before Findlay would protest the assessment of the cat’s unwillingness to climb, Pilcher, who was currently serving as both butler and valet since the bulk of the townhouse servants were at the Keep for the holidays, appeared in the doorway.

  “My lord,” the rail-thin man said in a put-upon voice. “There is a person here to see you.”

  Pilcher wasn’t given to airs, which was one of the reasons Wrotham had been pleased to hire him. He’d had enough of toplofty servants in his father’s house to last a lifetime. So the fact that the man was now standing stiffly at the door looking like he’d smelled something bad told him a great deal about the visitor.

  “And does this person have a name or shall I live in suspense?” he prodded when the servant failed to elaborate. “Come now, it cannot be that bad.”

  Not waiting for the valet to respond, he excused himself to his friends and stepped out into the corridor with Pilcher. “Who is it?” he asked without preamble.

  But before the man could reply, the sound of a baby crying wafted up to the second floor.

  What the devil?

  He began to descend the stairs.

  “She says that she has come to see Mr. William Ponsonby, my lord.”

  At the butler’s words, Alex stopped with a hand on the rail and huffed out a sigh.

  What had Will got himself into this time?

  “I would have sent her packing if not for the babe, my lord,” said Pilcher stiffly. “For all that she seems quality, ladies do not call upon gentlemen in the middle of the day. But it’s Christmastime, and there is that story about the inn and such.”

  Pilcher’s upbringing as a Methodist minister’s son reared its head at the most inconvenient times.

  Still, the man had a point.

  “Quite so.” He continued down to the front entry hall, where he could see a lady, whose bonnet was far too large to reveal much of her face, cradling a crying infant in her arms.

  As he reached the black-and-white marble floor, she looked up, and the impact of recognition hit him in the chest like a wayward cricket ball.

  “Merry?” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded raspy, as if it were the first word he’d said in five years.

  With her sapphire blue eyes intent upon him as she cradled the child against her chest, she looked at him with a degree of calm he wished he felt.

  “Good morning, Alexander.”

  * * *

  Merry hadn’t intended to call him by his given name. She’d decided on the way to Berkeley Square to maintain a proper distance between them, if she did indeed see Alex at all. It would not have surprised her to be directed to his private secretary. But, no, here he was standing before her, looking like a slightly older version of the man she’d loved all those years ago.

  It was impossible not to catalogue the differences in those first few moments. To note how his shoulders seemed wider, and how the casual ease of the younger man had been replaced with the self-assurance of a man who knew his own worth. But his green eyes were the same, if bracketed with a few more lines. And his light brown curls, always prone to disarray, were still a bit rumpled, though there was a hint of gray at the temples now.

  If she’d been quizzed on what to expect in the event that she ever saw Alexander Ponsonby again, Merry would have been hard pressed to guess. But seeing him now, she was assailed by an aching familiarity as well as the equally painful sense that the man before her was a stranger.

  And for all that he echoed his former self, he was a stranger. It had been five years since they’d seen one another. Since she’d slipped out of his family estate in the wee hours of the morning and departed for London in the carriage his grandmother had ordered for her. She’d long ago stopped playing and replaying what she imagined his reaction had been. It had been too painful and—since it changed nothing, she thought—unproductive.

  But seeing him now, with a flash of pain mixed with that old familiar joy he’d always shown on laying eyes on her, Merry was rocked by a loss so profound it almost took her breath. Five years without something as simple as that look of joy when she walked into a room. It was such a little thing. But she had missed it profoundly, she realized.

  Almost as soon as it appeared, however, that joy was replaced with one of coldness. And the change reminded Merry that she wasn’t here to enact a reunion. Or even on her own behalf. As if to reinforce the notion, Lottie gave a sharp cry of frustration, and Merry jostled her a little against her chest.

  “I was told you’re looking for my cousin William,” Alexander said, crossing his arms over his chest, looking every bit the impatient aristocrat. “I’m afraid I can’t help you. I’ve only just returned to London myself and was told he’s taken rooms at the Albany. Perhaps you should try him there. Though I doubt your reception will be very warm.”

  She was still taking in the disappointing news that William wasn’t at Wrotham House when Alex continued in the same cold tone, “I wasn’t aware you were so . . . well acquainted with my cousin.”

  Something about the way he said the words made Merry frown. Was he implying that she . . . ?

  Thinking of what she must look like, arriving unannounced, an infant in her arms, asking for his absent cousin, Merry almost laughed at the absurdity of it.

  “No, you misunderstand!” she said with a shake of her head. “I’ve never met William. This is my friend Charlotte’s child.”

  Rather than laughing with her at the mistake, however, Alex frowned. Then, as if realizing his rudeness, he said, “I think you’d better come into my study.”

  Gesturing for her to precede him, he followed her up the stairs, opened the door of the second room off the hallway, and ushered her inside.

  Merry had been in the Wrotham townhouse several times during their brief engagement, but she’d never had occasion to come into his study. It was just as she’d have imagined a gentleman’s inner sanctum to be. The walls were lined with books. Some she could even see were three-and four-volume sets, very likely novels, which surprised her because she’d not thought of him reading popular fiction. The joke between them five years ago had been that, while she was fluent in Greek and Latin, he was well versed in farming periodicals, since he’d been spending as much time as he could with the land agent at the Keep.

  Clearly unaware of her reminiscence, he waited until she was seated, then moving to sit behind the large desk, he said briskly, “You’d best tell me the whole story, Miss Parks.”

  Blinking at his shift to formality, she told him what she knew of Charlotte’s elopement with William Ponsonby, and how he’d left her with the instructions that if he went missing she was to look for him at Wrotham House in Berkeley Square.

  If anything, Alex’s demeanor became more stern. “Why did she agree to return home without him?” he asked. “What newlywed wife allows her husband to send her home without a word of where he’s gone? And without her marriage lines with which to prove the marriage?”

  His skepticism of Charlotte’s motives set Merry’s back up. “I suppose because he’d given her reason to trust him. And she didn’t realize she didn’t have the marriage lines until after she returned home. By then, of course, she was already with child, and when her parents learned of what had happened, they turned her out. If Mr. Ponsonby hadn’t given her more money than necessary to pay for her passage back to London, she’d have been penniless and without a roof over her head.”

  “No one told me about anyone coming in search of him while I was away,” he persisted. “How do I know she tried to find him at all? For all I know, she’s created this fantasy in order to extort money from my family for a child fathered by some other man. And sent you as her emissary because of our former connection.”

  Baby Lottie was growing restless, and so was Merry, for that matter. “I should hardly think sending the woman who jilted you,” she said in a curt tone, as she lifted the child to her shoulder and patted her on the back, “would be a scheme anyone would think had a chance of succes
s. And to be frank, it was my idea to come to you. Not Charlotte’s.”

  A slight nod indicated she’d made her point, and Alex relaxed a little. “So you offered to plead your friend’s case on her behalf? Why, because she is too timid to do it herself? I always knew you to be a loyal friend at least, Miss Parks, but even you cannot be that selfless.”

  She didn’t miss the “at least” in his statement. After she’d reminded him she was a jilt, however, she supposed it was only fair. Still, he needed the truth. About Charlotte at least. “Mrs. Ponsonby died not long after giving birth to little Lottie. I came here in hopes of finding your cousin and pressing upon him the necessity of taking responsibility for his daughter.”

  At her words, Alex had the good grace to look abashed. “Oh. I misunderstood. Clearly.” He thrust a well-manicured hand through his curls. Further disarranging them. “Of course, I will do what I can to find Will for you. And impress upon him the importance of doing right by the child. But I must warn you, I’ve been in France for the past year and aside from being told he’d moved to the Albany, I’ve not heard anything about his comings and goings.”

  He looked up then, and for a moment he looked like the old Alex. “I’m sorry about your friend, Miss . . . Merry. It’s good of you to take care of her child.”

  She swallowed. Her eyes filled and she had to bite her lip to stop the tears from spilling over. She took a moment, rhythmically patting the baby’s back in an effort to calm herself. Finally, she said, “Charlotte was a good friend to me when I needed her. I made a promise to her. And though I don’t keep all my promises, this one I had to keep.”

  He winced at the reference to promises, but quickly hid it. Then he nodded. “It may take me a few days to—”

  “Wroth, it’s been ages since your visitor arrived,” a man’s voice said as he made himself free to open the closed door of the study and wander in. “Surely you’ve sent them on their way by now.”

  Chapter Two

  Merry heard a surprised curse from the dark-haired, somewhat rumpled-looking man as he stepped fully into the room and saw who was seated across the desk from his friend.

  “Dashed sorry,” the man said with a wince. “I’ll just take myself off, my apologies, madam.”

  But the viscount stayed him. “Wait, Vessey,” he said to the intruder. “Come in. You might be able to help me with something.”

  As if he suspected his friend of attempting to foist the now sleeping infant off on him, Vessey gingerly entered the room and went to stand beside the desk, like a footman awaiting instructions.

  “Mr. Adam Vessey,” said Alex with a gesture to the other man, “this is Miss Merry Parks.”

  Vessey gave a slight bow. “Miss Parks, my pleasure.” He was a handsome enough man, though he looked puzzled at the moment.

  Turning to Alex, he said in a low voice, “Weren’t you betrothed to a . . . ?” He didn’t finish the question, as if saying her name aloud would suddenly alert her to the fact that he was talking about her. Merry wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Then when he suddenly seemed to add two and two and get seven, his eyes widened and he whipped his head back to stare at the viscount. “Surely this isn’t your . . .” Again, he didn’t complete the thought.

  “Yes, Vessey. This is my former betrothed,” Alex said tightly. “And no, this is not my child.”

  Vessey’s relief was rather outsized given that the situation had nothing to do with him, but something about his antics set Merry at ease a little. If nothing else, his foolishness took some of Alex’s attention off her for a moment.

  “When was the last time you saw my cousin Will?” the viscount asked, getting to the heart of the matter. “I’ve not seen him since I returned from France, and I thought perhaps since you’ve been in town these past months you might have a better notion of where to find him than I would.”

  At the mention of Ponsonby, Vessey looked troubled and, after a glance in Merry’s direction, said, “I saw him last week, but I don’t think . . . that is to say, it’s not quite . . . I mean, in front of the lady . . .” He ran a finger between his cravat and neck.

  “My dear Mr. Vessey,” Merry said before Alex could intervene. “I am a lady, but I’m hardly unaware of the things gentlemen get up to. And as you can see, Mr. Ponsonby has been quite busy, so I need to find him at once. No matter how scandalous the locale.”

  Vessey’s eyes widened more. He opened his mouth, making himself look a bit like a fish.

  “Oh, heavens,” Merry hissed in a low voice so as not to wake Lottie. “This is not my child. But it is Mr. Ponsonby’s, so please tell us whatever you know forthwith. I for one should like to see her settled before the New Year.”

  Even with Merry’s assurance, Vessey looked to Alex. After his friend nodded as if to give him permission to speak, he said, “When I saw him last week at Brooks’s, Will said he’d been, ah, visiting Mrs. Templeton for a bit. Didn’t say anything about his rooms at the Albany, but I should think he’s kept them. A man needs a break from time to time, you know.”

  Merry did not know, but she also did not comment on what Vessey had revealed. “Is this Mrs. Templeton your cousin’s mistress?” she asked Alex, suddenly exhausted by the complexity of what had seemed like a fairly straightforward task when she set out that morning.

  “Sometimes,” Alex said, looking a bit sheepish, though whether on his own behalf or that of his entire sex she could not say. “Perhaps it’s best if you take the child back home, and I will find my cousin for you.”

  Suddenly, it seemed to occur to him that it might not be so simple. “That is, if you are able to keep her at your home? I cannot imagine your father is sanguine about your being the guardian—even temporarily—of a possibly illegitimate . . .”

  “Do not refer to her by that word,” Merry said sharply, and to her distress, Lottie was startled awake and began crying.

  She was trying to soothe her when Mr. Vessey appeared at her side and said, “May I?”

  Merry frowned, and when she looked to Alex for guidance, he shrugged.

  Since the baby was crying even more loudly now, she handed her to Vessey, who settled her into the crook of his arm and began rocking her and crooning nonsense words at her. To Merry’s amazement, Lottie stopped crying at once and blinked up at the man holding her.

  “How did you do that?” Merry said. She was no expert on infant care, she knew, but she considered herself competent. Mr. Vessey, however, had some sort of gift.

  “Four nieces,” the dark-haired man said with a crooked grin. “And I’m the only boy in a family with five sisters. If I didn’t learn early on how to charm the ladies, I’d have starved to death.”

  He turned his gaze back to the baby in his arms and continued murmuring to her in a singsong voice.

  “Spoiled rotten is how I’d characterize it.” Alex watched his friend, his eyes narrow with suspicion. “We grew up on neighboring estates,” he said to Merry. “And I can vouch for the truth of his passel of nieces and nephews. Though I was unaware of this particular gift of infant soothing.”

  “Oh, I was quite spoiled,” Vessey assured them in his normal voice. “But that’s because I learned to charm them. Only, m’father saw through me. Though we were the only chaps, so there was solidarity there.”

  Taking the opportunity to speak to Alex while Lottie was being charmed, Merry said to him, “You were asking about my father’s attitude toward me keeping Lottie in Parks House. I admit I didn’t tell him last night. But I am hardly a green debutante with a reputation to lose. At my age, and with how little I mix with high sticklers, I should think a few more days will not be a problem. And it appears that you are not set up to care for an infant.”

  “There is a full nursery here,” he said, not meeting her gaze, and she suddenly remembered the day they’d spent touring those rooms together. They’d talked about their own childhoods and, shyly at first, the future. Most vivid in her mind, however, was how he’d kissed her, with her back pre
ssed against the door, murmuring against her mouth just how much he wanted her.

  Her cheeks heated at the memory, and she looked at her hands, unable to risk a glance at his face to see if he, too, remembered that day, or if he’d simply forgotten it all. “Of course. Perhaps in a few days when we know more, then. I have asked my maid to hire a wet nurse. And if my father objects, I will reevaluate the situation at Parks House. In the meantime, I thank you for your assistance.”

  Suddenly needing to get out of his home so that she could breathe again, Merry stood.

  Alex, perhaps feeling some nerves as well, shot to his feet, and Mr. Vessey, as if sensing the undercurrent between them, carefully handed the baby back to Merry. Lottie fussed a little, but when Merry held her against her shoulder and soothed her with a hand on her back, she calmed.

  Wordlessly, she retraced her steps down the stairs and soon found herself back at the front entrance to the townhouse.

  “I’ll send word as soon as I know anything,” Alex said as his butler helped her into her cloak. His earlier assured pose had been replaced by a restless energy that had him clasping and unclasping his hands at his sides. “I’ll settle something for her either way. I give you my word.”

  She locked eyes with him at that, unable to forget how she’d broken her word to him. At the time, under the persuasive gaze of his grandmother, she’d thought it was the right thing. Now, however, it was impossible not to wonder if she’d made the wrong decision.

  Still, there were more grave things to consider at the moment.

  “Thank you, my lord.” She offered him her hand and to her relief, he took it. He didn’t bow over it or kiss it as he once would have done, but he did envelop it in his. And that warmth gave her comfort.

  “It’s my pleasure,” he said simply.