A Cotillion Country Christmas

by Carolynn Carey

  “Elizabeth,” Caroline said, forcing a gay smile as she brushed past Lord Tarlton. Behind her, she was very aware of the two men watching her from the hallway. She could feel Edward’s gaze burning the back of her neck. “I’m so relieved to see you. How are you feeling?”

  “Caroline!” Elizabeth clutched the side of the bed and struggled to sit up. “What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here—not now!”

  “I beg your pardon?” Caroline tried to catch hold of her sister’s hand but Elizabeth pulled away, her face damp and white with strain.

  Darkness encircled her large, beautiful brown eyes and she looked impossibly frail. Her thin hands pulled on the heavy covers as if seeking their protection. “You shouldn’t be here,” she repeated, her voice taut with panic. She cast a pleading glance at her husband. “Tarlton, please!”

  Before Caroline could protest, Lord Tarlton grabbed her by the wrist and thrust her back through the open door. With hands outstretched, she turned toward her sister. He shut the door in her face. The heavy, brass lock clicked into place with unmistakable warning.

  She stood staring at the heavy oak panel a bare foot away. Her mind tumbled, tipsy and wobbling with confused emotions.

  Did her sister truly hate her so much that she could not bear the mere sight of her? Was that why Caroline had received no word, no letter or note, for over two years? Is that why her parents kept her away and eyed her with such pity? Because they knew her sister detested her?

  “Caroline?” Edward touched her shoulder. “Come away. Your sister is in pain. Near madness, really, if other pregnant women are to be believed. She can’t control her emotions. Don’t place too much weight on anything she says while she’s in this state. Surely, you must know—”

  “I know she hates me,” Caroline replied in a small, miserable voice. She could not forget the flash of anger in Elizabeth’s eyes.

  Everyone was mad at Caroline, it seemed, when all she wanted to do was get past this rough patch and move on. Or perhaps she really should simply move away. Away from anyone and everyone who knew her.

  Except, of course, women of breeding did not run away. They stood around waiting to be bought at London’s seasonal auction like any good, fertile cow. And if the sale failed, they sank into gentile servitude as governesses or companions to those more fortunate.

  “She doesn’t hate you,” Edward said as he dragged her in a firm, yet ruthless grip, toward the stairs. “You surprised her.”

  “I scared her, you mean. She didn’t expect—or want—to see me on Christmas day.”

  “Well, you rather brought that upon yourself by arriving first thing and unannounced. I can’t imagine what you were thinking her reaction would be.”

  “Joy!” Caroline jerked back, her temper flaring at his unjust statement. By sheer force of will, she swallowed a string of hot, angry words, although she couldn’t help a slight, bitter tinge as she said, “I didn’t think she would react by giving birth.”

  “I don’t suppose you did.” He propelled her down a flight of stairs. “And although you persist in seeing me as a toddler stumbling around in leading strings, I’ve discussed the need for a mature lady in the Tarlton household during this festive season with our host. He agreed to send for my aunt to serve as a chaperone, as well as my valet and a few necessities.”

  “Your aunt! As a chaperone?” She flushed and took an uneasy step down the stairway, further away from him, suddenly too aware of him.

  “Lady Tarlton is in no position to ensure the proprieties are met. And frankly, Lord Tarlton is just as useless for that purpose. He’s too distracted by the impending birth of his heir. If you consider it, we all have need of my aunt’s presence.”

  “I suppose so. However, I never expected to need a chaperone in my own sister’s home.”

  “No doubt. But rest assured, you’ll adore Aunt Louise—Mrs. Pembroke. And one of her more endearing habits is a love of good, stiff drink.” With a firm hand on her back, Edward escorted her down the last few steps. He didn’t give her a chance to stop and reply to his outrageous statement. Instead, he hurried her down the hallway.

  “What an appalling thing to say! Why should you imagine anyone would find that habit agreeable?” she asked as she halted just inside the doorway of the drawing room.

  He smiled wolfishly at her. “You’ll see soon enough.”

  Then, with a firm hand on her back, he persuaded her to move forward.

  The heavy, gold damask drapes were drawn shut against the gray day but a cheerful fire burned in the hearth. Huge garlands of intertwined fir, holly and red ribbons adorned the marble mantle. The holly berries nestled among the leaves echoed the deep, rich red wallpaper stretching upward from the oak wainscoting, making the room feel cozy and welcoming.

  Caroline gazed at the large portraits in gold frames, wreathed in more garlands and despite the sumptuous, elegant decorations, she felt even more at odds with the world and her family in particular. She felt devoid of family connections and adrift in a hostile, winter storm. Even the spicy scent of bayberry from the candles set upon the mantle could not completely ease her mind.

  With a sigh, Caroline moved over to one of the green-and-gold-striped chairs near the fire. She stretched out her cold hands toward the flames for a moment, trying to warm herself and regain her determination to make amends. She tried to remember happier times when she and her sister laughed and sang to entertain their parents after Christmas supper.

  One of the maids soon joined them and stood hesitantly near the door. She glanced at Edward, blushed, dropped her gaze to the floor and then repeated the pattern until even Edward noticed her.

  “Has Mrs. Pembroke arrived?” he asked the maid.

  Her eyes focused on him and widened before she replied in a breathless voice, “No, sir. That is, I’m sure I don’t know, sir.”

  “Please sit there and…” He glanced around, clearly searching for something to occupy her so she would stop gaping at him like a surprised trout. “Tend to the fire. In fact, Lord Tarlton wishes you to remain here and watch the fire until he returns.”

  “But, I—” After a quick peek at Edward’s firm expression, she stammered, “Yes, sir. And I’m Violet, sir, if you need anything.” She crouched near the marble apron in front of the fireplace and let out a long sigh, obviously resigned to the unnecessary task. Her hand fumbled through the neat pile of wood stacked near the hearth and she picked up a faggot of wood. Then, as if to present an appearance of diligence, she held it out toward the flames, ready to lay it on the roaring flames the minute their energy even slightly diminished.

  “Why don’t you sit?” Edward asked as he turned toward Caroline. He settled into a heavy chair covered with deep green velvet. “It’s likely to be a long time since this is your sister’s first.”

  “You know quite a bit for a bachelor,” Caroline commented before she did as he suggested.

  “Women talk.” He waved an unconcerned hand through the air as he stared at the shower of sparks sent up the chimney when the maid suddenly tossed her log on the fire.

  Caroline eyed him, trying to guess his thoughts. He seemed utterly at ease and far more mature than she expected, or wanted. Something twisted inside her, a feeling that made her want him look at her again with that strange glow in his gray eyes.

  Which was sheer idiocy.

  He was younger than her by four years. He was barely out of university, and still just the young man she had nursemaided nearly ten years ago.

  “I’m surprised you listened to such female nonsense,” she said, forcing herself to stare past the maid’s shoulder into the fire.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him glance her way. Her imagination supplied the details of his face, complete with gleaming eyes and a cocky smile. However, he did not answer. When she cast a quick look at his profile, she noted a barely perceptible frown cross his handsome face and she regretted her words.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, breaking the silen
ce. One of the smaller branches in the fire broke, sending another shower of glowing sparks swirling through the smoke. The maid, Violet, leaned back, her face reddened from the fire’s heat.

  When Edward merely lifted one hand as if brushing away Caroline’s apology, she changed the subject to the first topic that rose to mind.

  “How did you happen to be hereon Christmas? Surely your family will miss you?”

  This earned a low chuckle that made her feel strangely nervous.

  She grew far too aware of him in the warm silence. Violet’s presence did nothing to reduce Caroline’s tension. She studied the woman’s broad back and hair tightly braided under a plain white cap and felt a leaden sadness weigh down her limbs. She had done nothing but disrupt her sister’s entire household. Even the maid was forced to interrupt her duties to play nursemaid since Caroline had lacked the forethought to bring her own maid as chaperone.

  A small voice inside her writhed in protest. She never expected to need a chaperone because she never expected to be left alone in Edward Master’s disturbing company.

  Before Caroline could compose a sensible topic for conversation, he smiled at her. “I had to come. If I wanted a holiday, I certainly couldn’t spend it at Rolling Hills. Despite your inability to recognize I’m no longer a lad of fourteen, my father is quite happy to recognize me as an adult capable of managing our estates and most of his business. And I had no desire to celebrate Christmas by supervising the arrangements for their revelry.”

  Caroline bit off a pointed remark about his laziness after she examined his face. He did appear a little careworn. Perhaps it wasn’t selfishness but exhaustion which tempted him to spend the holiday in London.

  “I see,” she said. “I never realized you were such good friends with Lord Tarlton.”

  His lips twisted. “We are members of the same club.” As if that explained it all. After another beat of silence, he fastened his eyes on her with such intensity that her breath caught in her throat. “And I suspected you’d come here.”

  Hastily glancing away, Caroline couldn’t stop placing one icy hand over her fluttering heart in surprise. “I can’t imagine why you would think that. Papa made plans for us. I should have been gone by now.”

  He nodded. “I don’t know how you’ve withstood it for two years.”

  “Withstood it?” She tensed, afraid she already knew what he meant. She hated herself for wanting his sympathy and understanding so desperately.

  “All that endless pity. It can’t have been easy. Not on top of losing Tarlton.”

  “Then you must realize I certainly don’t want your pity.”

  “Trust me, that’s the last emotion I feel toward you.”

  “And I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that,” she said, softening her voice to avoid sounding too sarcastic. Her gaze briefly flickered over Violet’s stiff back and still hands. The maid was obviously listening. “However, no matter what you may believe, I don’t regret Lord Tarlton’s marriage to my sister.”

  “Only the aftermath…” His observation cut too close to the heart for Caroline’s comfort.

  She wished she could shift her chair away, or pick up a book, or do anything else but have this dreadfully revealing conversation. Her fingers nervously picked at a few bits of fluff caught in the folds of her deep blue velvet dress.

  How could he know so well what she felt? Was she so transparent that her emotions were clearly drawn on her face?

  “We would never have suited one another,” Caroline said, despite her desire to talk about such inane subjects as the chill in the air and likelihood of snow later this evening. Again, she glanced uncomfortably at the maid.

  “I couldn’t agree more—as long as we’re talking about Tarlton and you,” Edward said.

  “Who else would we be talking about?”

  He grinned at her until she flushed and glanced away. “You wanted to know why I was here.”

  “Not really. I was simply making conversation.”

  “It wasn’t a coincidence.”

  “I’m sure you had planned it—” Caroline’s chilled hands twisted together in her lap.

  “I had planned on visiting your household until your father inexplicably decided he had to spend two weeks at Adair’s warren.”

  “Airdthorpe is not a warren.”

  “Haven’t you heard the rats behind the wainscoting?” he asked, studying her curiously. She caught his glance. His teasing eyes glowed with a fire that burned her breath away.

  “Never,” she replied firmly.

  “Then you are deaf. In any event, I guessed you might be here. And it might interest you to know I spoke to your father a few weeks ago in passing. He commented on your repeated demands to visit your sister. I take it he didn’t approve.”

  “No.” She sighed and stared down at her restless hands. With all the strength at her command, she forced herself to take a steadying breath and keep her fingers still. “He thought it might cause…difficulties.” She paused before continuing in a rush of words, “But I simply wanted to see her again and make everything the way it used to be.”

  “Unfortunately, there is no way to catch that horse and lead it back to the stables.”

  “I know that,” she replied, exasperated. “I’m not such a ninnyhammer as to think such a thing. I merely meant I wished for us to be friends again. I have no need of pity.”

  “But treating you so kindly makes your parents believe they are helping you after your humiliating ordeal.”

  She stared at him, appalled at his acute observation. “It would be vastly more helpful if they’d simply forget it.”

  “They might if you married.”

  “Married?” She laughed, angry with herself for the choking note of anguish in that simple word. “And be left yet again at the altar? I think not. And to face another Season in London…” She shivered and rubbed her arms.

  “You are in London and have been for several months.”

  “Yes,” she replied hastily. “But not on display—” She covered her mouth with her hand to hold back the flow of words. “That is—”

  Edward chuckled, allowing her to recover in the warmth of his easy laughter. When she finally relaxed and sat back in her chair, she offered him a shy smile before quickly glancing away. She felt confused and nervous and yet exhilarated.

  The golden flames of the fire danced among the logs and pine cones the maid thoughtfully added to enhance the smoky scent. They crackled and flared within their glowing cradle of incandescent wood. The room felt blissfully comfortable with the winter storm swirling outside.

  Despite a little warning voice in the back of her mind, she glanced again at Edward. A tiny, comforting remnant of their childhood camaraderie slipped past her defenses.

  “That is, you’ve ceased to show any interest in anyone who could possibly betray you again,” he said in a soft, slow voice, as if contemplating some strange notion that only just occurred to him.

  “Are you trying to start an argument?” she asked. “I can’t imagine any other reason for you to dwell on these ill-advised—and quite personal—topics.”

  “I—”

  “It’s a boy!” Lord Tarlton said from the doorway. He clutched the doorknob with a white-knuckled hand as if afraid he would fall if he let go. “The maid said I have a son!”

  Caroline and Edward rose swiftly. Caroline, seeing the pallor and strain on her brother-in-law’s thin face, swept forward and took his arm, guiding him to her chair near the fire.

  “Here, Lord Tarlton, please sit. Edward, ring for some wine—or send Violet.”

  The maid glanced at her employer and dashed out of the room, clearly alarmed at his condition.

  “Brandy—” Lord Tarlton interrupted, although he hardly seemed aware of her. He stared at the fire and rubbed his hands on his thighs. “The damn maid wouldn’t let me in to see Elizabeth. But I heard him cry.” He fastened his eyes on Caroline’s face, seeking reassurance. “That means he’s aliv
e and well, doesn’t it? Despite his early birth?”

  Caroline knelt before him. She clasped one of his cold hands between her own, chafing warmth into them. “Yes, yes, I’m sure they are both well. It was so quick— I’m sure they’re both doing well.”

  He pulled his hands out of her grasp to run them through the fine strands of his pale brown hair, raising wispy tufts around his ears. “There was so much blood,” he whispered. “I saw— The maid had linens drenched with blood.”

  “It’s normal, I’m sure it is,” Caroline said, turning cold with misgivings. Her eyes sought Edward’s reassuring gaze.

  He glanced at her, his own eyes dark with concern. She could see the uncertainty in his face. He knew no more than she if the heavily soiled rags that worried Lord Tarlton were a dire sign or merely the result of an ordinary birth.

  “Surely, the doctor—” Edward said before Lord Tarlton glanced at him.

  “The doctor only arrived toward the end. And he’s kept the door shut. He allows no one to enter except the maid. I haven’t seen my son or poor Elizabeth.” He raked a shaking hand through his hair again.

  Watching him, Caroline had the near-hysterical, inconsequential thought that if he kept pulling his hair, he would be as bald as his newborn babe by nightfall. He was nearly so, now.

  “I should go up. Perhaps the doctor…” she said uncertainly.

  “Elizabeth did not want to see you,” Lord Tarlton reminded her, his voice cracking. “Even I cannot enter her room.”

  “Your wife is exhausted. If there was anything to worry about, I’m sure the doctor would have called for us,” Edward said, gripping his friend’s shoulder. He caught Caroline’s eyes and shook his head.

  Clearly, he thought Caroline should behave like a docile old spinster and fade into the background.

  Sick at heart, she realized could offer no assistance that either Elizabeth or Lord Tarlton would be willing to accept. The realization that her visit was likely to be for naught and might, perhaps, make matters worse, lowered her spirits further.

  Her stomach roiled, clenching with emptiness. She had left the house without eating, sure that once she made amends with her sister, they would share a happy Christmas dinner.