A Very Matchmaker Christmas

by Christi Caldwell

  “I wasn’t sure you would want to see the man who’d…taken such liberties in the garden,” he said in a voice too low for the others to hear. “I am on unfamiliar ground.”

  “As am I,” Jane sighed. “But you were missed.”

  “By you?”

  She nodded, a shy smile warming him to his toes. “A lady would be wise to deny such a thing. I should have said by Lord Weybourne. I’m sure he was hoping to talk to you about horses.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t join you and the others.”

  “Did you truly think I wouldn’t wish to see you?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No, and now that you’re here in front of me, I don’t think I’ll ever forfeit another chance to see you again or admit that I—”

  A small commotion at the front door cut him off, the bell ringing and the front door opening wide before Mr. Teller had even gotten into position.

  “I am yet in time for a happy Christmas!” A woman’s voice rang out in the hallway and Jane turned, missing the horror on Nick’s face.

  “May I take your wrap, madam? And may I have your name?”

  She laughed and then looked up to see the pair on the stairs above them. “I am Lady Constance Chesterfield and was to join my brother who I see is fortuitously present to greet me! What a happy chance!” She handed Mr. Teller her coat and fur wrap. “Did the Countess not receive my note advising her of my acceptance? It did not seem appropriate to send Nicodemus alone into the fray.”

  Jane smiled and began to head down the stairs. “Lady Constance, what a delight to meet Lord Athmore’s sister! I am Lady Jane Weston and my mother will be most pleased to see an addition to our party.”

  “Aren’t you sweet?”

  Mr. Teller left them to alert Lady Weston of the new guest but didn’t get too far.

  “I am famished,” Constance announced with a sigh. “Am I too late for breakfast?”

  “Oh, not at all,” Jane said. “Here, the dining room is right this way and several of the others are still lingering over their plates so you will already have company.”

  “Fabulous!” She began to remove the pins from her bonnet and passed her hat to a footman without looking away from Nick. “Enjoying your holiday, dear brother?”

  He nodded. It was all he could do.

  “Do lead on, Lady Jane! And give me your arm, Nick. I wish to enter the room with all of your handsome gravitas at my side.” She walked up to seize his elbow, latching onto him with the heartless skill of a lamprey.

  Jane walked ahead of them, unaware of the drama at her back.

  “What are you doing here?” he whispered to Constance as they walked toward the dining room doors. “I thought you were retreating to London—for the duration.”

  “What better entertainment in the world than watching you bumble about at a house party,” she said, matching his quiet tone before she laughed and went on far more loudly for the hearing of the party, “and I found myself so lonely! I knew you wouldn’t blame me for throwing myself on Lady Weston’s mercy this Christmas. I am a lost soul, am I not?”

  In the dining room, introductions were made of Constance to the guests at the table and Nick was a man chained to sinking ship. It was the disaster he dreaded most.

  Just as he’d gotten his feet, found his confidence and finally started to believe that it was Jane’s opinion of him that would hold sway…

  “What a pretty company! Come, brother, you cannot tell me that there is not at least one here who you’ve already seized upon for a romance! Though everyone seems so bright and witty, I wonder…Have you mumbled and glared your way into yet another affirmation of your solitary state? Poor thing!” Constance laughed. “My poor brother! An earl with the social graces of a mute stable boy!”

  His throat closed so tightly he couldn’t even say her name to command her to stop talking. No one else was laughing but the awkward glances and mortified looks were mounting in an avalanche of disapproval—for them both.

  “Dear lady, you are too brutal with him,” Agatha stood, a graceful hand lifted to deflect confrontation from the harmony of her party. “I am glad to meet you and apologize that we were not in a better state of welcome.”

  “Nicodemus! Did you not tell the countess that I might be coming?”

  “I…I…” Nick’s surprise at the question adding to his misery.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, Lady Weston,” Constance turned her attention to her hostess, her charm pervasive and powerful. “I feel terrible now to think that I’ve thrust myself into your midst without warning.”

  “No, not at all,” Agatha countered. “We are not worried for space and I am happy to think that Lord Athmore will have family with him for the holidays. Here, Teller has put out a place setting for you and will see that a room is prepared. Please join us for breakfast.”

  “How kind!” Constance took a seat, essentially dismissing Nick and forcing him to also sit down.

  Jane quietly took a chair next to her mother and Nick risked looking at her for the first time since his sister’s intrusion. Jane had missed none of Constance’s barbs, the confusion in her eyes a testament to her innocence.

  She doesn’t understand. Hell, I can’t say that I ever understood the source of my sister’s venom.

  “Was your journey tolerable, Lady Constance?” Lady Portland asked.

  “It was. And finding myself here in time for the fun—what a reward!” Constance shifted in her chair, her attention clearly landing on Jane. “Do you enjoy London, Lady Jane?”

  In light of what Jane had shared with him in the garden, Constance’s question did not feel kind but it was a common enough inquiry.

  Jane shook her head. “I prefer the quiet of the country but it can be diverting in doses.”

  “The perfect answer,” Constance sighed. “I for one am never content in either. When I am in Town, I long for the peace of our estates and when I am in the country, I am restless and anxious for the entertainments and distractions of good society. It is a sad state, but what can be done?”

  “A house in Town with a good garden?” Lady Portland suggested dryly.

  Oh, how I wish I’d come up with that years ago. Nick cut a dark look at his sister.

  “Nicodemus loathes London and all things that threaten to force him to conversation,” Constance said. “But I am thrilled to see that he was being absolutely loquacious with you on the stairs when I came in. I have never seen my brother so animated.”

  “Was he?” Agatha asked, all astonishment. “Was he really?”

  Jane’s cheeks pinked up. “It was only a polite exchange about the weather.”

  “The weather?” Constance’s brow furrowed. “Oh, well. I am doomed to disappointment it seems.” She brightened and turned back to Jane. “Though a boring discussion of when it will next rain may be his idea of flirting. You see, my dear brother is in search of a bride. Did he tell you?”

  It was an outrageous thing to say and one of the men dropped his silverware with a clatter at the announcement. Constance grinned as if the commotion were an endorsement of her clever speech. She relentlessly went on, her bright demeanor lit with malice. “I have always thought that Nicodemus will make the best of husbands, for he is happy to be tucked away in the country out of sight and away from society, and a clever girl would find her freedom in London without him—or even abroad if she prefers! It is the best of both worlds for a woman in this age.”

  If I run, I look like a dolt. If I sit here and endure her, I look spineless. And if I bite back, I cause a scene and upset my hostess to—

  “It is rude to speak of a gentleman as if he is not present,” Jane spoke out, her back ramrod straight, oblivious to her mother’s shocked gasp. “And it is more unforgivably cruel to think that this sport adds to anyone’s pleasure but your own.”

  “Why, Lady Jane!” Constance fanned her face with her gloved fingertips. “Pardon me, please! A sibling’s rivalry and rough play is easily mistaken at a distance. Ni
codemus knows I meant no harm, don’t you, dear brother?”

  He glared daggers at the tablecloth, partially convinced that if he looked at his sister he could set her on fire.

  “There you are, no harm done. Nick is unbruised.”

  “If I were bruised, I do not think I would admit it,” he said. “Constance, behave.”

  Constance blinked in shock. Never before had he stood up to her in front of others and it was a new experience for them both. An experience that he was enjoying as much as she was clearly disliking it.

  “I am not a poodle!” she said but it came out like a high-pitched bark and evoked more than a few smiles.

  Including one from Nick. “You look tired.”

  “Yes, perhaps I am.” Constance stood, abruptly forcing the footmen to scramble to get her chair. “I’ll go lie down and rest before lunch and the next delightful demonstration of my brother’s newfound social tricks. Should I bring some hoops?”

  Jane’s expression was pained, and revealing. “Lady Constance, since you aren’t a poodle, I’m sure your brother isn’t one either.”

  “What a kind and dear thing you are! So protective,” Constance sighed, stepping back with a sweep of her skirts. “I beg your forgiveness. We must be friends and allies, you and I. For I think we both want nothing more than Nick’s happiness. No. Don’t deny it! I can see it in your eyes. Did he already win your heart?”

  Jane’s blush was so beautiful it took Nick’s breath away, the unspoken declaration of her feelings too eloquent to hide.

  Constance’s fingertips flew to her lips. “Oh, pardon me! I am infamous for speaking my mind too quickly and did not mean to embarrass you. Yes. A nap for this troublesome bird should put all to rights.” She smiled and waved to the table as if it were perfectly normal to trail devastation in the course of a morning.

  She left the room with poor Mr. Teller rushing after her to see that she made it to the correct bedroom without destroying any more of his employer’s holiday mood.

  “Jane?” Lady Weston looked at her daughter archly. “Would you speak with Mrs. Grant about the menus for tomorrow night for me?”

  Jane dutifully nodded and gracefully retreated, but not before she and Nick locked eyes. Theirs was a unique courtship so far and he only prayed that his sister’s arrival wasn’t more of a challenge than they could manage.

  Chapter Seven

  What next?

  Nick pulled on his winter coat and headed outside to look for Jane. After breakfast ended, he’d been unable to find her in the house and now hoped that she might have returned to their oak—perhaps to escape the same nightmare he was fighting.

  He was a man on a mission.

  As dark as the day had turned, Nick marveled that the path ahead of him was so clear. He would declare himself to Jane and ascertain his chances of winning her. His sister’s arrival had galvanized him. Nick was not going to retreat.

  Never again.

  And with Jane at my side, who knows what is possible for me?

  Some distance away, he spotted a woman out on a wooded path near the pond and sprinted toward her but his luck was not improving.

  “Jane, wait!”

  Constance turned and didn’t bother pretending to be happy to see him. “Is your sight failing along with the rest of your mental faculties?”

  “I am so tired of your insults, Constance. But let’s have it.”

  “I don’t think Jane is for you.”

  Nick’s hands clenched in frustration, but he held his own. “Really? I don’t think it is for you to decide who is for me. You’ve pushed for years, so I’m struggling to understand why you’ve come here to interfere now.”

  “I know it is a bit contrary of me but I think I like Jane too well and even more striking is how much I loathe seeing the way you like her. I’ve caught a glimpse of your happiness—and I…think I preferred you miserable.”

  “Well, then thank God you have nothing to say in this matter.”

  She smiled. “My brother is a man and thinks he can dismiss me with a word.”

  “I didn’t dismiss you with a word. I did ask you to leave and go to London. I asked you to live your own life and to stop trying to steer mine. But why are you here? Why must you harp on my every weakness and exploit my every fear?”

  “You infuriate me! What do you know of fear? I look out and see the crumbling edges of my future. I’m a spinster of some connection now but soon I’m just some old woman whose every story has a morbid edge as each recollection contains at least one dead soul and her circles narrow with every relentless turn of the wheel. There’s terror enough!”

  “My demons are my own to battle. You are free to fight yours. But why must you sabotage my happiness to—”

  “Why?” Constance’s voice was a screech that tore through the air between them. “Dare you ask why?”

  Nick held his ground, unblinking. At last, after years of animosity, he would hear her out. “I dare.”

  “Men are so blind to anyone’s suffering but their own. Have you never imagined my life before you entered the world? I was an heiress and only child, beloved of our parents and yes, spoiled! Rightly, so! I was accomplished and pretty enough—a passable beauty! I was a girl with happiness and bright promises so abundant my arms couldn’t encompass them all. I was set for my debut, dear brother.” The fiery light in her eyes blazed with the dark fuel of bitter hatred. “And then the miracle of a male heir after so many years, long after father had given up on the notion—and my status was irrevocably changed. A hard shift, Nick, but harder still when your birth murdered our mother!”

  “Murder?” His whisper was a ragged echo of his own pain. “There’s a sentence of guilt I’ve unjustly lived with all my life.”

  “No! You don’t get to pout and wail, stupid boy! You were the next Earl of Athmore and what does it matter if you were despised by your own flesh and blood, if father couldn’t bear the sight of you or if I spent weeks on my knees praying you’d die in your crib?” Constance’s hands clenched into fists at her side as she went on, “And what was I then? A girl with a good allowance and some fortune who was robbed of her first Season because the family was plunged into mourning? And by the time father could finally be convinced that a return to London was long overdue and you’d survived the perils of infancy, it was too late.”

  “Too late? How is that remotely possible? You would have been twenty or twenty-one, not sixty-one, Constance! Why didn’t you grace London with your accomplishments, and as you said yourself, with your passable beauty? Why not take revenge and marry above us all to keep your claws sharp on someone else’s hide?”

  “Because by the time father agreed to it—” Her breath caught in her throat. “The man I had set my cap for, the one I had lost my heart to, was already married! I was betrayed! My…hopes were dashed and I…” Constance’s focus shifted to scenes he couldn’t see as memory overtook her. “I took it so hard. It broke my spirit. I became ill and when the fog shaded slightly, I was a brittle shell of the girl I’d once been. I lost my beauty and I didn’t have the temperament for company. I forgot how to smile, Nick.”

  And tried to ensure that I never learned the trick.

  “I’m sorry, Constance.”

  She shook herself, sharply returning to the present battle. “It’s nothing. But since we’re on the subject of fate, I advise you to be patient and resolve to meet yours. I can’t stop you from marrying and one day, you’ll land a good, breeding cow but it won’t be Lady Jane Weston! She is too young and lively and I saw the way she was looking at you. You don’t get to have the love of your life, dear brother. I’ll see the scales balanced in this one thing if no other, so help me God.”

  Nick had heard enough. He shifted his weight to ready himself to hurl her physically into the icy pond if he had to. “I will marry where I wish and you can stew and choke on the bitter vile of these recriminations and your regrets. You have my sympathies but I’m not going to let you undercut my chances.
I ordered you to London, now I expect you to go, once and for all to—”

  “No.” Constance stood, smoothing her skirts. “You see, I made a point of seeking out your rooms before I came back downstairs after changing from my journey. My intention was naturally to reassure myself that I wasn’t overlooking a chance to do some mischief. It’s been my habit for years, though until now it’s afforded me little more than a glimpse of your dry correspondence with grain dealers and lawyers.”

  “You need other hobbies, sister.”

  “Not at all! For I think you’ll find that a certain item is missing from your writing desk, dear brother. It was such an odd thing to find a woman’s dainty comb in your things and so I took it, of course. And how glad I am that I did! It took only a few minutes in the presence of the party and it was clear whose ornament it must be. Either you stole it from her like a lovesick thief or the slut gifted you with it perhaps?”

  “Damn you! It was innocently dropped!”

  “But not so innocently returned?” Constance’s eyelashes fluttered in a mocking caricature of a coquette. “Why tuck it away? Unless it was dropped in your bedroom after she’d hurled herself upon you…”

  Nick took a slow, deep breath to try to regain control over the rage that threatened murder. I should have kept it with me! If I’d kept it when I found it and moved more quickly to return it… “Jane is blameless and you—will stop this. Give me back the comb, Constance.”

  She tipped her head to one side as if contemplating his request. “No, and if you threaten me, I will take even more pleasure in brandishing it about when I return it to her mother, decrying its meaning and making every effort I can make to paint you as a villain who has probably deflowered her child under her roof and practically under her nose!”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  “My God, the scandal! Can you imagine it? You may not care if society’s doors are shut to you, but I suspect that the bright little nightingale downstairs appears to be far more attuned to the bruising agonies of the cut direct and less able to survive them.”