The Cavalier's Christmas Bride

by Lauren Royal

  “Wine, Lord Grosmont? My ladies?” Lord Trentingham motioned to an etched glass decanter. “It’s Tremayne’s own vintage,” he added with a touch of pride.

  “Yes, please,” Matthew answered for all three of them, tearing his gaze from Creath’s to nod to the earl. “And our thanks.”

  Chrystabel watched a footman pour the pale amber liquid. “You make wine here?” she asked, anticipating her first taste. Since the Roundheads had banned liquor, wine had become a luxury.

  “You passed the vines on your way in,” Lady Trentingham said. “Of course, they’re dormant now, but we had a nice harvest this year. Enough for our needs and more.”

  “A vineyard where everyone can see it?” Chrystabel darted Joseph a look of triumph. “How fortunate that you’ve managed to continue the enterprise without incurring the wrath of Cromwell’s spies.”

  Beside her, Joseph couldn’t quite suppress a snort. “Growing grapes is not illegal.”

  It was her turn to raise a brow. “And what you do with the grapes…?”

  “Is well hidden within the castle walls.” Saluting her with his goblet, he drank.

  “Wreaths and garlands would stay hidden within the castle walls as well.” Chrystabel sipped the Tremayne wine. It was light, refreshing, and a little sweet, similar to Rhenish. She liked it. And it seemed to make her bold. “My sisters and I have made Christmas trimmings together every year since I can remember. It was our father’s favorite holiday. During the war, he so loved coming home to see Grosmont Grange all done up in greenery and red ribbon, with all of us dressed to match. He said it reminded him what the Royalists were fighting for.”

  Sometimes Chrystabel was almost glad Father hadn’t lived to see the outcome of the war. He would have chafed at the dull, colorless existence prescribed by the Commonwealth government. Even more than she did, he would have hated seeing beauty and joy constrained.

  “What a lovely tradition,” Lady Trentingham said, sounding genuine.

  Chrystabel nodded. “Arabel and I were on our own with the trimmings this year, but we did our best to keep our tradition alive.”

  Even after Martha and Cecily had married and moved away, they’d always come home for the Yuletide season—until this year. Reluctant to incur the new regime’s displeasure, the two eldest Trevor siblings and their families had kept their distance.

  “I’m sure your decorations were magnificent.” Lady Trentingham’s smile was wistful. “It’s a shame nobody will get to enjoy them.”

  The sisters shared a look. “Actually…” Arabel began, then bit her lip.

  “We brought them with us,” Chrystabel blurted.

  Joseph’s expression turned wary. “Oh?”

  Ignoring him, she carried on addressing the countess, trying not to sound too eager. “This storm doesn’t seem to be letting up,” she began. As if to underscore her point, a mighty gust of wind rattled the leaded windows.

  “We’re in the midst of a dreadful freeze,” Lady Trentingham said. “Even if it clears, you ought to stay a few more days.”

  Matthew nearly spit out a mouthful of wine.

  “Don’t you agree, dear?” the countess asked her husband.

  Lord Trentingham shrugged. “I wouldn’t travel in this weather, but if our guests want—”

  “My thoughts exactly,” his wife interrupted, then looked to the Trevor siblings. “You’ll stay through Christmas Day, at least?”

  “It would be our pleasure,” Chrystabel rushed to say, thinking Matthew wasn’t the only one who could answer for all of three of them. Though he’d doubtless avenge himself later, he was far too polite to contradict her in front of their hosts.

  The countess nodded with satisfaction. “It’s settled, then.”

  “And I know just how to express our gratitude,” Chrystabel said. “With your permission, my lady, Arabel and I would be delighted to make you a gift of our Christmas decorations.”

  “Absolutely not,” Lord Trentingham protested. “Decorating is far too risky.”

  Chrystabel wasn’t giving up. “Surely a few garlands carry no more risk than a winemaking operation—my lord,” she added deferentially.

  “The wine is different.” Chrystabel could see why he’d want to think that: The earl was on his second glass already. “It stays hidden in the cellars. Your garlands would festoon the whole place. Anyone entering the castle could see.”

  “But surely no one can really threaten your family.” Chrystabel watched Lord Trentingham exchange a look with his wife. “Only the House of Lords can convict a peer, and the House of Lords has been abolished.”

  The man shook his head. “Everything’s changed. The old king is dead, and the new king is exiled. The war is over. We Royalists lost. We don’t have the power we once did.”

  “But you’re an earl.”

  “I’m an earl, too,” Matthew unhelpfully pointed out, “and Cromwell just confiscated my home. There’s no telling what will happen going forward. It would behoove us all to be careful.”

  Chrystabel scowled at her brother. He’d never raised these concerns before, not even when they’d been roaming the countryside with their Yuletide greenery peeking out from beneath their baggage wagon’s tarpaulins. It seemed Matthew had chosen the manner of his retribution.

  “There will be no Christmas celebration,” Lord Trentingham declared. “Not in this house.”

  And that was that, Chrystabel supposed. For now. And at least they’d secured an invitation to stay a few more days.

  Which should give her plenty of time to make Joseph fall in love with her.

  As the next course was served, scents of roasted chicken made Chrystabel’s mouth water. Having dined at inns for the length of their journey, she was grateful for the fine meal. But when a footman offered her a dish of creamed spinach, she took just a dollop, wanting to look dainty and feminine in front of the viscount.

  How could she get him to touch her?

  Lady Trentingham served herself a far more generous helping of creamed spinach. “Do you enjoy any pastimes, Lady Arabel?”

  “I like to read. To study, really.” Arabel waved the footman on; she’d never cared for spinach. “I enjoy learning new things.”

  Creath likewise refused the spinach. “I enjoy reading, too.” She would make a nice friend for Arabel, Chrystabel thought. The two girls appeared close in age.

  “Enjoy reading strikes me as rather an understatement,” Joseph said, bestowing a wry smile on Creath. “If I leave you alone for two minutes, I always come back to find you with your nose buried in a book.”

  Chrystabel wanted him to smile at her, not Creath. “Perfuming is my pastime,” she volunteered. “Making and mixing scents, mostly from flowers and other plants. I noticed you have a wonderful Tudor garden here at Tremayne.”

  “That’s my son’s garden,” Lord Trentingham told her proudly.

  She’d known that, of course, but she turned to his son with feigned surprise. “How extraordinary! I’ve never met a viscount who gardens.”

  Joseph shrugged. “It’s something I’ve always enjoyed.”

  “You’ve a true talent,” she told him sincerely. “Even with the snow cover, I could tell your garden is exquisite.”

  He blushed faintly. “You’re far too kind. It’s not much to look at, really, this time of year.”

  “You must long for the summertime,” she said, thinking of her dream.

  “I prefer summer,” he allowed, “but I garden in the winter, too. Indoors, in an unfinished wing of the castle. I call it my conservatory.”

  “An indoor garden? That’s fascinating.” She saw an opportunity to get him alone. “Will you show me?”

  “Perhaps tomorrow, when it will be light,” Lady Trentingham suggested. “He can give you and your sister a tour.”

  Oh, bother. Now Chrystabel would have to find an excuse to leave Arabel behind. And she’d have to wait until tomorrow.

  She didn’t want to wait that long for Joseph to touc
h her. She wanted it to happen tonight. It seemed very important—altogether necessary—that he touch her tonight.

  She pondered that through the third course, while conversation rattled around her. Meaningless conversation. Conversation that had nothing to do with getting Joseph to touch her or fall in love with her, which meant she wasn’t interested.

  The fourth course was sweets. When a footman set a dish of trifle in front of her, she took a recess from pondering to savor the sugar and cream dancing on her tongue. And that gave her an idea. “Do you like to dance, Lady Trentingham?”

  “I adore dancing.” Joseph’s mother dipped her spoon into her own trifle and sighed. “It’s been ages since I danced.”

  Chrystabel smiled. “Should you like to dance tonight?”

  “For pity’s sake,” Joseph burst out on a laugh, “are you a secret Roundhead attempting to entrap us?” Though she could tell he accused her in jest, the charge still stung a bit—her father had died fighting the Roundheads, after all. “Perhaps it would help if we list every way in which we should not like to break the law. No, we don’t wish to attend the theater. No, we don’t wish to play dice. No, we don’t wish to take up highway robbery—”

  “Joseph, dear, I think you’ve made your point,” Lady Trentingham said dryly.

  Falling silent, the viscount discovered a renewed interest in his trifle. He frowned in what looked like consternation, as if unsure what had come over him.

  Chrystabel rather suspected it was herself.

  “As it happens,” the countess said conversationally,” I rather should like to dance tonight. And before you argue, dear,” she added to her husband, “this isn’t like the Christmas trimmings. If a stranger knocks on the door, we can simply stop dancing, and no one will be the wiser.”

  Lord Trentingham grunted.

  “It doesn’t signify,” Joseph said, “since we have no musical instruments in the house.”

  Chrystabel smiled sweetly. “Because music is against the law?”

  He looked like he wanted to laugh. “Yes, because music is against the law. We cannot make music, hence we cannot dance.” He shrugged.

  “Oh, yes, we can.” Chrystabel’s smile stretched wider. “We’ve a viol and a recorder in our wagon, and willing musicians among our servants.”

  “Wonderful!” When Lady Trentingham’s face lit up, Chrystabel realized she was very pretty for a woman her age. “It’s settled, then.”

  The countess seemed to employ that phrase often—and to great effect. Both her husband and son adopted expressions of resignation.

  I could learn much from her, Chrystabel thought.

  “It’s too risky,” Lord Trentingham protested again, but not as though he expected anyone to listen.

  “Oh, Henry,” his wife admonished him, “don’t be such an old fust-cudgel.”

  FIVE

  WHEN THEY’D scraped up every morsel of the excellent trifle and emptied the last decanter of wine, Joseph’s mother announced it was time to dance. Father offered another feeble protest, but all Mother had to do was place a hand on his arm and say, “Please, dear,” very winsomely while batting her eyelashes. And he gave in.

  Watching the exchange, Joseph promised himself he’d never let Creath manipulate him so easily.

  Not that he’d have to worry about that. His intended was the most agreeable, sweet-tempered creature on earth. She’d never employ feminine wiles to get her own way; it wouldn’t even occur to her. Nor would it enter her head to make a fuss over such a frivolous matter as dancing.

  Why Joseph’s mother had been suddenly gripped by the need to dance was a mystery to him. Normally, Mother was a perfectly sensible woman. He couldn’t imagine what had got into her.

  Well, actually, he did have one idea of what—or rather, who—might be the cause. One who seemed rather prone to impulsive and irresponsible whims. One who exhibited little regard for propriety, and even less for the rule of law. One who, by all appearances, was here for the express purpose of getting on his nerves.

  One Lady Chrystabel Trevor.

  When supper first began, he’d watched her and he’d wondered. What was it about this girl that he found so bothersome? She was a girl, after all—even hidden inside that dowdy nun’s habit of a gown, she was quite unmistakably a girl. And Joseph liked girls. He’d never met a beautiful girl he didn’t like. So why couldn’t he get along with this one? It seemed every word she’d uttered was calculated to raise his hackles.

  That had been irritating enough. But then she’d gone into raptures over his gardens, permanently endearing herself to him. He’d been touched—and baffled—by Chrystabel’s enthusiasm. Even Creath, his oldest and dearest friend, could muster only polite praise on the subject of his gardens. Affectionate admiration, perhaps, if she were feeling generous. Gardening was the sort of pastime that elicited genuine enthusiasm only from one’s parents.

  And now Chrystabel.

  So here he was, paradoxically endeared to someone he couldn’t stand. She was the most puzzling girl he’d ever met.

  “Oh, my heavens,” the puzzle breathed as they stepped into the great room, “this chamber is massive.”

  “I believe it was used for large banquets in the last century,” Mother told her.

  “I’ve never seen such an enormous fireplace in my life. My whole family could sit inside and play Pope July!”

  Mother laughed. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

  Having lived here for nearly ten years, Joseph never paid much notice to the great room himself. But he could see why an outsider might find this chamber particularly awe-inspiring. It had dark Tudor paneling, gilded family crests, two intimate oriel window niche seating areas, and an abundance of plush, richly upholstered furnishings—but not so much that it filled the whole space, for that would be well-nigh impossible.

  “Let’s push all the furniture out of the way,” Chrystabel suggested.

  The gentlemen jumped to do her bidding, creating a large open expanse in the center that was perfect for dancing. Chrystabel certainly knew how to command a room. Joseph wasn’t sure whether he found that impressive or frightening.

  Meanwhile, a footman had returned with the instruments and musicians, two spirited youths who looked so alike, they had to be brothers. “What dance shall we perform?” Mother asked while the boys readied themselves.

  “We’re an uneven number,” Chrystabel pointed out, “one more lady than we have gentlemen.”

  Lady Arabel bounced on her toes. “But all the country dances are done in pairs.”

  “Oh, yes, that’s a shame,” Chrystabel said cheerfully, as though it weren’t a shame at all. “And the pavane is for pairs, too. It seems the volta is our only choice.”

  Father gasped, then coughed. “The volta?” he choked out.

  “It will suit our situation perfectly.” Her honeyed smile struck Joseph as a bit too innocent. “For the galliard portion, it shan’t matter if there’s a spare. For the measures done with a partner, the ladies can take turns pairing with the gentlemen, and the extra lady can just twirl in place.”

  “But the volta is scandalous.” His coughing fit under control, Father braced his hands on his hips. “It’s much too intimate for a family party.”

  Mother made an impatient noise. “Queen Elizabeth and Queen Henrietta Maria both enjoyed the volta. It’s a good Royalist dance.”

  “It’s settled, then.” Chrystabel clapped her hands. “Music, please!”

  Joseph couldn’t believe his ears. It was settled? Just because Chrystabel had said so? Not even here a full day, the interfering chit apparently thought herself lord of the manor—and no one was objecting. When the musicians raised their instruments, even Joseph moved toward the center of the room. And before he knew what was happening, he found himself beginning the galliard, a series of small leaps, jumps, and hops that could be performed without a partner.

  When the beat changed to signal the partner portion of the dance, he made sure to pair up
with Creath first, as was only proper. Right palm to right palm, they circled each other.

  “Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked.

  “As much as possible, I suppose.” They switched to go the other direction, touching left palms this time. “Under the circumstances.”

  They didn’t discuss the circumstances—not there in that room. He, Creath, and his parents had all agreed the betrothal should be kept secret from their guests, as they didn’t want to risk word reaching Sir Leonard. What the Trevors didn’t know, they couldn’t spread to others after leaving Tremayne.

  As the dance dictated, Joseph pulled Creath close, lifted her, and twirled her around. This was the part of the volta that his father found scandalous. Each of the three times he lifted her, Creath’s exhilarated giggles escalated, making him smile. He was growing accustomed to the idea of marrying her.

  Sort of.

  They parted ways for another set of the energetic galliard steps. When the music changed again, he found himself paired with Chrystabel.

  “Your father is very conservative,” she said without preamble, raising her arm. Their hands came together palm-to-palm.

  Touching Chrystabel felt so different from touching Creath that he was momentarily struck dumb. But he recovered his composure quickly as they began circling each other. “My father is indeed conservative. In fact, that’s why we live so far out here in the wilderness. Father and Grandfather thought it safest to avoid Cromwell’s notice during the war, thus they took us as far from the fighting as possible.”

  Her eyes flickered. “He didn’t fight? My brother and father both fought in the war. Father died defending the king.”

  Joseph’s memory flashed to when he’d accused her of being a secret Roundhead at supper. He felt immediately awful for teasing her. But he refused to feel ashamed for the difficult choices his family had made.

  “My grandfather wasn’t willing to risk his heir—or his grandchildren, for that matter. And after he passed, the earldom’s well-being rested on my father remaining alive, at least until I was grown enough to take over if the need arose.”