At the Christmas Wedding

by Caroline Linden

  With the assistance of the duchess’s secretary, Mrs. Viola Cavendish, she saw that trays of tea were provided and that esteemed guests were shown to the appropriate chambers.

  She oversaw the hanging of mistletoe in doorways, draping of evergreen garlands along the banister, and the lighting of beeswax candles for decoration.

  While the purpose of this house party was purportedly to cheer her up, she knew her mother really meant for her to find a suitable husband. Yet how could she when her every waking moment was spent seeing to everyone else’s comfort? At least it kept her occupied and out of the way of Greyson Jones, with his penetrating gaze that managed to find her in crowded rooms. She pretended to ignore him.

  But then Lord Gosling arrived. A stroke of guest list genius on the part of her lamentably ill mother. All and any thoughts of Greyson Jones left her head.

  Lucian, Lord Gosling, was, in a word, perfect.

  He was so handsome with his golden hair and his sun-kissed skin (even in winter!) and his perfectly molded features that spoke of generations of noble breeding. He was tall, but not too tall. His frame was lean, but also strong. His manners were exquisite. His conversation was engaging. He really looked a woman in the eye when he spoke to her too.

  “And so that is why I insisted that my sisters have the best possible tutors,” Lord Gosling told Serena over glasses of champagne in the drawing room prior to supper. “Why should a woman have a lesser education than a man?”

  Be still her beating heart! A forward-thinking man!

  “I quite admire your forward thinking, Lord Gosling. What subjects did they study?”

  “Greek, Latin, mathematics, of course. We also study botany, discuss history, and, as a family, we gather to read poetry aloud after supper.”

  “That sounds lovely. Perhaps we might do the same here. I daresay you must breathe life into verse when you recite it.”

  “I would happily share some of my favorite poems if it would please you.” His eyes were very blue, and gazing into hers in a way that made her heart pitter-patter. “There is a fellow whose work I am fond of. Wordsworth is not well known now, but I venture that he’ll be renowned and taught in all the schools in a hundred years.”

  “Oh yes,” she cooed. Cooed! Had such a warm, breathy, flighty sound actually come from her person?

  Serena was slightly embarrassed by such a display of interest in a man; women were to hold themselves above demonstrations of great emotion, lest they appear too forward or terrifying. But Gosling didn’t seem to mind. Given the way he smiled at her, blue eyes sparkling, he didn’t mind at all.

  She smiled back at him, at a loss for words—other than words like perfect or I love you let’s get married even though we only just met.

  And then they were interrupted.

  By none other than Mr. Greyson Jones. Her smile tightened.

  “Good evening, Lady Serena. Lord Gosling, Lady Jane Rutledge was just expressing a keen interest in your charitable endeavors. I think you might be able to persuade her to donate to your fund for war widows and orphans.”

  Serena gritted her teeth. But still, she smiled.

  “Oh, you must go speak to her, Lord Gosling,” Serena said. “For the sake of war widows and orphans.”

  Even though she would much rather stay in conversation with Lord Gosling and not Mr. Greyson Jones, who was clearly up to something nefarious. The man had a knack for ruining everything for her.

  Having dispensed with Lord Gosling, Grey now had Serena all to himself. It was an easy trick to unite Lady Jane with Lord Gosling (and his funds), thus benefitting war widows, orphans, and himself in one fell swoop.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve received word from Frye,” she said straightaway. She cast an anxious glance at the window—the snow was falling heavily, had been for hours, and drifts were piling up. “I daresay he ought to have arrived by now.”

  “I haven’t heard from him and for that, and his tardiness, I blame the weather. But fear not, Lady Serena, I’m certain that his arrival is imminent.”

  Actually, Grey wasn’t sure of this at all. But he wasn’t too distraught about it either. Frye was a supremely competent and hearty fellow; one generally needn’t fear for his safety. It was clear to him that he would be competing with Lord Gosling for Serena’s attentions. He didn’t need the duke in the mix too.

  “I do hope so,” she said softly, revealing that she might indeed have been fantasizing about a reconciliation. This was intriguing. It meant that perhaps she’d held a tendre for the duke after all, when Grey had just assumed that theirs was a match made only on paper by their fathers, years and years ago, and with little consideration for the hearts involved.

  “Although it seems he is already too late. It is only the second day of this house party and already you are enamored.”

  I see that I am already too late.

  “If you can see that, then why did you interrupt?” Serena asked. Her eyes flashed.

  Because I want you for myself.

  “That is the question, isn’t it? Perhaps I think you can do better.”

  At this, Serena sputtered with rage.

  “How is this any of your concern whatsoever?”

  Because I have always wanted you for myself.

  For as long as he had known her, Grey been infatuated with Lady Serena Cavendish, the Perfect English Lady. She was too perfect and elegant for the likes of him—a mere mister who had hustled his way into society by exploiting every opportunity and connection that came his way. A longtime friendship with the Duke of Frye being most helpful. Betraying his friend by secretly lusting and longing for the man’s fiancé was beyond the pale, so his feelings for her were kept tightly under wraps.

  And now...the timing was still rubbish.

  “I suppose it isn’t my concern,” he said, because what else could he say. But his heart was howling. “But I still wonder if perhaps you might do better.”

  “Better than Lord Gosling? Who could be better than he? He is amiable, handsome, in possession of a modest fortune. He is kind to the servants and believes in women’s rights. This afternoon, he ventured out to feed the birds and squirrels because he didn’t want them to go hungry in the storm.”

  Hang the birds and the squirrels. They had survived worse without the likes of Lord Gosling flinging bits of seed and grain at them on a blustery afternoon.

  Grey wanted to ask her how Gosling made her feel. Did he make her heart ache as if it might burst from so much wanting? Did the man command her attention like a magnet that she was helpless to resist? Did her every other thought stray to fantasies of kissing him? Not a nice kiss, either, but the sort that left a person dazed and drunk and unsure of the hour or day.

  “I shall confirm that it is not in any way at all your concern. And I’ll thank you not to scare off another suitor or wreck another betrothal.”

  Serena’s eyes flashed. She was quite fetching when she was angry. She was finally alive when he had provoked her into a state of vexation. None of those placid smiles and polite conversations; in their place were flushed cheeks and the slight flare of her nostrils as she breathed heavily, angrily.

  There was more to her, she just didn’t know it. Grey very badly wanted to be the one to unlock that side of her, and show it to the world. Show it to her.

  Then again, perhaps Lady Serena Cavendish was just the woman she appeared to be. One who aspired to nothing more than a titled husband with a prosperous estate, with whom she could beget an heir and a spare and hold house parties.

  If there was more to her—and a chance for them—time was running out for him to discover it.

  Chapter 4: In which Bridget and Sophronia. That is all.

  The following day

  A note arrived in Grey’s room informing him in no uncertain terms that play rehearsal was to take place immediately after breakfast. There was no requesting his attendance; it was merely understood that he would be present. While the rest of the house party would be enjoying s
leigh rides in the fresh fallen snow, he would be assuming the role of Lord Pirate Captain.

  Someone really ought to recruit Lady Bridget as a general. The enemy would probably surrender to her before the war could even be fought.

  Upon arriving at the appointed time and place, Grey discovered an unfolding disaster. The set was still only half built. There was an explosion of props and costumes. A few actors—presumably they were actors—milled about, looking nervous. Grey recognized a few faces from supper the night before. As for the rest, he had no idea who they were or how they came to be participating in this...this.

  Whatever it was. This.

  Grey was leaning against a pillar reading a copy of the script and attempting to learn his lines—and oh, what lines they were—when Serena entered. He was shaking with laughter and she was all business.

  “Ah, there you are, Bridget. Sophronia. The guests who have not embarked on the sleigh ride are about to play some parlor games and we are in need of extra players. Do come join us.”

  “My dear, parlor games are all well and good, but we’re in the middle of something grand,” Sophronia said. “We are making art.”

  Serena glanced warily around the room. “Dare I ask?”

  “Play rehearsal,” Grey said, stepping into the conversation.

  Serena looked at him and blinked. Repeatedly. She pursed her lips. Just when he thought she had reached peak disapproval, a giggle escaped her sweet little mouth. Then she laughed. That dulcet laugh.

  Shit. His costume. Sophronia had insisted on a white shirt with an excess of white lace ruffles, a cape, a tricorn hat. And the eye patch. One could not forget the eye patch.

  “And you are...?”

  He bowed extravagantly.

  “I am Lord Captain, a pirate from Shropshire.”

  “But Shropshire is inland,” she pointed out.

  His gaze locked with Serena’s. And he could tell she sized up the situation in an instant—Bridget had a ridiculous notion, and he was going along with it, and something in her heart was pointing out that this was a sweet thing for him to do even though she did not wish to recognize it. He knew, because he saw the line of her mouth soften, and he saw the laughter in her eyes, even if she wasn’t laughing out loud.

  “How astute of you,” he murmured.

  “It’s not astute. It’s basic geography.” She turned to her sister. “Which someone who had excellent tutors should know.” She turned to Sophronia. “Or someone who has spent over eighty years in England should know.”

  “I’m not a day over forty-five,” Sophronia replied.

  “Be that as it may,” Bridget began. “We need someone to read lines with the Lord Captain, inland pirate of Shropshire.”

  “Don’t look at me. I have a parlor full of guests ready to play games, and a luncheon to oversee. To say nothing of approving tonight’s menu and finding music to play after supper. I must also check on Mother, who is still quite ill.”

  “Never mind all that boring nonsense,” Sophronia said bluntly. “Your mother will be fine. Leave the tedious house party business to Viola. The duchess asked her to help manage it all, so you have some free time to...you know...” Serena’s cheeks reddened. “Enjoy the company of eligible gentlemen.”

  “Which I would like to do. In the parlor. With the other guests.” Serena tried to control her impatience. “What about the two of you? Why can’t either of you read lines with him?”

  “I am directing,” Bridget said haughtily.

  “And I am stage managing,” Sophronia added.

  And I am eternally grateful for this excuse to be with Serena. Not that Grey would say that. Instead, he handed her the script.

  Their fingers brushed.

  He felt it everywhere. Shocks and sparks. Wanting.

  She seemed oblivious.

  “What is my role?”

  “Lonely Spinster.”

  “Bridget!”

  And with Bridget’s impish, unapologetic grin, play rehearsal began. They were ushered to the makeshift stage, Serena grumbling all the way.

  Grey felt ridiculous, but also...happy.

  He suspected the duchess had invited him out of pity—he was Frye’s friend, the one with no family with whom to spend the holidays. He was probably just there to even out the numbers. He was the last person Serena would have invited.

  But now he was about to see what it was like when Serena Cavendish liked him. Granted it would be in their roles as Lonely Spinster and Lord Pirate Captain, but he would take it.

  At Bridget’s direction, he began halfway through the scene. No, he did not know why they didn’t start at the top.

  “Arrgh, my lady.”

  “This just says that I faint,” Serena said, annoyed. “I don’t even have a line.”

  “So faint,” Bridget said.

  “But I shall fall.”

  Grey pointed to a line three-quarters of the way down the page. “No, it says I am to catch you in my strong, muscular arms.”

  “It does not say that.”

  “It does. See.”

  She leaned in so she might get a closer look. He ought to have been looking at the words too, but instead he was breathing her in, a lovely scent of lavender and woman.

  “It does not,” she murmured. And she was right. It only said, Lord Pirate Captain catches her.

  “Try again!” Bridget declared.

  “Argh, my lady!”

  Serena pretended to swoon. Greyson caught her easily. Again and again they practiced swooning and catching. Each time he might have held her for a second longer than necessary because this was probably the only chance he would ever have to hold her thusly. She didn’t seem to notice that extra second, precisely as long as one extra excited heartbeat, that she was in his arms.

  But she did notice when Lord Gosling arrived.

  “What is this?”

  “Oh, it’s just play rehearsal,” Serena said, hastily returning to her feet and smoothing out her hair and skirts. “A silly performance... my younger sister...keep her busy....out of trouble...”

  She was so anxious to please him that she couldn’t complete a sentence.

  “I have been known to enjoy a bit of playacting,” Gosling said, being perfect. “Is there a role for me?”

  Grey did a quick scan of the page. No, he did not see a part for romantic interloper. If said role did exist, his inland pirate would probably murder him by the end of the first act.

  “My stage manager and I shall have to confer,” Bridget informed him. After a moment of a heated, whispered conversation in which Grey overheard his name, Serena’s name and the words suitor, elephant, and homicide, Bridget was ready to make her pronouncement.

  “You may play the role of the lovesick swan.”

  “You mean swain,” Lord Gosling said.

  “No. I mean swan.”

  The group took a moment to process this. What the devil was a lovesick swan doing in a play about an inland pirate from Shropshire and a lonely spinster?

  Then again, why wouldn’t such a play include exactly that cast of characters?

  But Gosling, being perfect, took it all in stride. “Very well, I shall be the most gallant, lovesick swan ever to grace the stage. With whom am I in love?”

  Grey cursed the man’s agreeableness.

  “Serena, of course,” Sophronia barked.

  Serena beamed. She had no idea what that smile did to him. What all her smiles for other men had done to him. Once, just once, he’d get her to smile like that at him.

  He had a week left at the house party to accomplish this. Just seven days before he forever lost his chance. As long as she didn’t fall too hard for Gosling in that time, or pin all her hopes and dreams on Frye arriving, it could happen.

  Maybe. A man could dream.

  “She’s playing the role of Lonely Spinster,” Bridget added. Serena scowled.

  “It might be funnier if the Lovesick Swan were in love with Lord Pirate Captain,” Sophronia mused.r />
  “It would,” Grey agreed, seizing an opportunity to thwart their budding romance between the lonely spinster and lovesick swan.

  “Oh, now you’re being ridiculous,” Serena replied.

  “I think that ship sailed some time ago,” Grey said. No one disagreed.

  “It doesn’t matter anyway, because Serena will fall in love with the pirate,” Bridget said.

  Serena gazed at him warily. “Is that so?”

  He and Sophronia said, “Yes.”

  “Well, you can’t fall in love with a swan now, can you?” Sophronia replied. “Now that would be ridiculous.”

  “I’m sure I could,” Serena said, now holding Gosling’s gaze. Bridget made a gagging sound. Privately, Grey concurred.

  “Love isn’t something you could do,” he said. “It’s something that happens to you. It is something that you are helpless to stop. Something you don’t even want to end. If you’re lucky it happens to you and you hold on to it for as long as you possibly can.”

  Serena looked at him and blinked. “I wouldn’t have thought that you know so much about love, Grey.”

  He held her gaze. “More than you know, Serena. More than you know.”

  Chapter 5: In which our heroine’s curiosity is piqued.

  The next afternoon

  Serena kept busy from morning until night with the house party. While she did have the assistance of Viola, the maddeningly essential task of keeping an eye on Great-Aunt Sophronia and Bridget had fallen to Serena. As an actor in their play, it made sense that she should keep an eye on them. This was a demanding endeavor.

  Especially when one was also endeavoring to snare Lord Gosling as a husband and to stop thinking about what Greyson Jones had said about love.

  Who knew he would speak so authoritatively on love?

  But she did not have time to consider matters of love.

  There were seating arrangements and menus that needed her immediate attention. The snowstorm necessitated concocting indoor entertainments to keep the guests happy and occupied—at this point, everyone had had enough of sleigh rides. The sheet music for all the carols had gone missing—Serena suspected they had been appropriated as props for Bridget’s play. The household staff was kept busy keeping the guests comfortable and Serena was busy managing the household.