A Regency Christmas Carol

by Christine Merrill

  To save herself the embarrassment of another cut, Barbara withdrew, pretending to admire the hangings in the ballroom nearest the door and then easing through it to stroll towards the portrait gallery, as though engrossed in the quality of the art. She considered herself fortunate that the manor was so large, and she so familiar with it. She would steal her share of the refreshments and then wander away by herself to relive happier times in her mind.

  When she went home she would concoct a story for her mother about the fine food and the dancing, and the courtly gentlemen who had paid her attention. None so specific as to make her expect a call, but she would claim that it had been a delightful night, and that she had enjoyed herself most thoroughly.

  A group of gentlemen passed her in the hall, carrying heaped plates of cakes and sandwiches, clearly on the lookout for a quiet place to sit. Lord Clairemont was amongst them. To avoid further awkwardness she withdrew to one of the many hiding places she’d known as a girl—a chair behind a statue of Mars, which had been decorated in a most undignified manner with garlands of holly.

  ‘Has anyone seen our esteemed host this evening?’ asked the first, a rather large man with a lurid pink waistcoat.

  ‘Still trying to do business,’ the next remarked. ‘He would not let me alone before. Stratford is a most persistent fellow.’

  ‘Little else can be expected of his sort,’ the other responded pityingly. ‘In trade, you know. It seems they can think of nothing else.’

  Unlike some, who thought of nothing but filling their bellies. Barbara looked hurriedly down at her empty glass and the plate of crumbs beside it. Of all the sins of which Joseph was guilty, she could not fault his hospitality to his guests. The portions were generous, and any whim would be indulged for one so fortunate to have been invited into his home.

  It made the absence of the villagers more keenly felt. She was sure, had he bothered to include them, that he would have rewarded any stranger from the village with the same casual generosity.

  It seemed Lord Clairemont viewed the abundance with less charity. ‘There is too much of everything here.’ He picked a leaf from Mars and flicked it to the floor. ‘When Anne is mistress, I trust she will teach him manners. He is rich, of course, but quite common. Did you see what he has done to the ivy on the south side of the house? He has stripped away great patches of it and brought it here.’

  ‘Decorations, man!’ Pink Waistcoat laughed. ‘It is hardly Christmas without the stuff.’

  ‘But there is a time and a place,’ Lord Clairemont said primly. ‘One does not go about denuding houses.’

  Barbara was in two minds about that. The rooms looked very nice with the fresh greens. And now that some of the troublesome vines had been removed from around the windows she suspected there would be daylight in the library and the ballroom. Both had been gloomy places even by day, and she recalled being quite frightened of them.

  ‘Stratford and your daughter do make a lovely couple,’ one of the men remarked grudgingly. ‘It seems that birth does not show on one’s face.’

  ‘But it is plain enough in his conversation,’ Lord Clairemont remarked. ‘He goes to the best tailor in London, but he tells people that the fabric for his coat was woven by himself—on his own modern loom.’

  ‘Perhaps we will find him in the parlour, knitting a muffler?’ said Pink Waistcoat. The men around him laughed, moving on.

  Barbara leaned back against the wall, eyes closed, wishing she had stopped her ears, before hearing a word of that conversation. She was ashamed of herself for eavesdropping, and embarrassed for Joseph as well. How awful must it be for him to be an object of ridicule amongst his guests and a source of amusement in his own home. She felt a rush of kinship with him. Of all the people in the manor tonight, maybe neither of them belonged.

  ‘Playing at hide-and-seek, Miss Lampett? I understand it is a common game here at Christmas.’

  Her eyes flew open to find her host, leaning against the wall at her side, scant inches away, smiling down at her.

  ‘I was doing nothing of the kind. I was simply—’ she searched for a plausible explanation ‘—resting for a moment. The dancing is most strenuous.’

  ‘It must be, for you to grow tired just by watching it. But you have not even done that, have you? I have been in and out of the ballroom all evening, and have not seen you there at all. Explain yourself.’

  ‘Before I stand up to dance I must be asked,’ she said. ‘And before that there must be introductions.’ She smiled politely. ‘But I am having a lovely time, reacquainting myself with the house. It is beautiful—especially done up for Christmas. I thank you for your invitation.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ he said sharply. ‘You came with the Clairemonts, did you not?’

  ‘They were kind enough to give me a ride in their carriage.’

  ‘But they did not make you known to the other guests?’

  She could think of no proper answer for this, so she remained silent.

  ‘And I was negligent in my duties as host and let you wander, alone and abandoned.’ He swore then, a short colourful vulgarity that she had never heard before. She supposed she should be shocked by it, make some comment about his low birth and stalk off. But he had had enough of that reaction, she was sure, and she did not have the heart to add her censure to the rest.

  He collected himself quickly, and gave a curt bow of apology. ‘Come, Miss Lampett. We are going back to the ballroom so that you might dance with me.’

  ‘Really, that is not necessary,’ she whispered.

  ‘There you are again, trying to tell me what is needed and what is not.’ He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her out from behind the statue. ‘You must know by now that it is quite hopeless to stop me once I have an idea in my head.’

  ‘But I must try,’ she said, pulling her arm from his grasp, and permitting him to escort her properly. ‘I know that your invitation here was little more than a sop to gain my father’s silence. But if we dance the Clairemonts are likely to think it was something more.’

  ‘Do not ascribe such dark motives to me,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I merely thought that you would enjoy the opportunity of socialising and devised an excuse so that you would not refuse my invitation. Instead I see you are wedded to the wall because my future in-laws are unable to behave like the lady and gentleman they purport to be. I do not know what the gripe is between you. But it ends now.’

  ‘This is a waltz,’ she said, tripping along at his side as he stalked into the ballroom. ‘And I do not know how. Perhaps if we waited…’ But it was hopeless. He was tugging her very gently towards the dance floor.

  ‘It is the simplest of all dances, and you will learn it as we go,’ he said, swinging her about to face him. ‘People will call me rude and brash and inappropriate. But I am quite used to that already and will not be bothered.’

  ‘And if people think ill of me because of it? Dancing so intimately with a man I barely know?’ Although she quite liked the sound of the music and the feel of his hand on her waist. She liked even better the look of shock she saw on Lady Clairemont’s face as she spun past her.

  ‘I am your host,’ he said, giving a gentle push on her hand to guide her. ‘You can hardly refuse me. It is Christmas, which is traditionally a time for small latitudes. No one will say a word.’

  ‘Even if they do, they are all from London and I will never see them again.’ She sighed in satisfaction.

  With his hand upon her ribs, he noticed. ‘That was a happy sigh, I trust?’

  She gave a hesitant nod. ‘I have not had many opportunities to dance. Sometimes it seems as though I went directly from the schoolroom to the shelf, with no stopping between.’

  He snorted. ‘You? On the shelf? I should say not.’

  ‘I am twenty-four years old,’ she said, with a purse of the lips. ‘There are few gentlemen in the area. And girls who are younger, prettier, more biddable…’

  He laughed again. ‘You make those sound like virtues.
’

  ‘Are they not?’

  ‘Young and biddable is often synonymous with naive and without a fully moulded character. Easier at first, perhaps. But it would make for a most dull union to marry such a girl.’

  Which was strange. Because it was exactly how she would have described the object of his own matrimonial plans, had she been called to compare with her. ‘And beauty?’ she asked. ‘Surely you have no problems with that?’

  ‘At your worst, you are quite pretty enough to suit even the most discriminating men,’ he said, looking down at her with an appraising eye. ‘Tonight you are looking most charming indeed. If you hear any complaints on the subject you must send the offenders to me.’ His fingers flexed on her waist and his hand squeezed hers. Just for a moment his face dipped closer to hers, sharing a conspiratorial smile.

  And she thought, with a sudden flash of insight, If I allow it, he is likely to kiss me again. Right here on the dance floor. Or in a dark corner, when we can be alone.

  She knew, if the opportunity presented itself, that she would let him. She stumbled and broke the moment of intimacy.

  He concentrated on the steps, easing her gently back onto the beat until they were steady again, pretending that the mistake was his to put her at her ease.

  It made her feel quite awful. She had accused him of all manner of horrible things, directly to his face. She had thought even worse about him. But it was becoming plain that, though his nature seemed brusque, he was quite capable of behaving like a gentleman when he wished to. It was a shame that he was not being treated as such.

  Though it was the height of bad manners to repeat what she had heard, neither did she feel right about keeping the truth from him. ‘They are all laughing at you, you know. The other guests. Even Anne’s family.’ Then she realised that it might sound as if she was sabotaging a rival. ‘Not Anne, of course. She is much too good for that.’

  ‘Oh, of course not,’ he answered back with sarcasm. ‘But she and the rest are not too good to accept bread and board from likes of Mr Joseph Stratford. They lack the strength of their convictions. Some of the people I’d hoped to see tonight refused me outright. I have more respect for them. They are incapable of pretence.’ There was no tension as he said the words, sweeping her further out on the dance floor, twirling her effortlessly with the other dancers.

  ‘You realise what they are saying about you?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, with a wry smile. ‘You did not honestly worry I’d be hurt, did you? What a sensitive creature you must think me, Miss Lampett. I do not shrink from their displeasure, nor do I acknowledge their gossiping. I am willing to stand against your father and his armed mob, my dear. But to my knowledge no one has ever bled to death from the cut direct.’

  ‘Maybe people would not act that way to you if only you were not so…’ She could not seem to find a word to describe it.

  He sighed and smiled at her. ‘I am too much of everything, I fear. But it is hard to explain the novelty of a full larder to one that has always had their fill.’ He looked out of the window at the snow falling in the gardens, as though he could see past it into his own future. ‘This is nothing compared to what it will some day be. Two years ago it was a few machines. Now it will be a factory. And before I am through? An empire.’ He waved a hand towards the hall they had left. ‘They may laugh behind their hands, if they like. But the gentleman in the horrid pink waistcoat has promised me ten thousand pounds. And the gentleman beside him another five. Both will see a good rate of return on their investments. Neither of them need fear that I will reveal our association or bother them with my presence in London. It will work well for all of us.’

  ‘That is all that concerns you?’

  He nodded. ‘If I had chosen to behave properly and stay where I was born I would be on the other side of the gates right now, looking in at the people dancing. Tomorrow I would be standing outside another man’s mill, threatening the master with violence, living in fear that the last crust of bread would be ripped from my hand.’

  ‘You have a very grim view of the world, Mr Stratford.’

  ‘And a very accurate one. I was once poor, Miss Lampett. Now I am rich. But I will never clear the stink of poverty from my skin. I accept that.’ He grinned. ‘But, all the same, I cannot help but revel in the change.’

  The dance ended and he walked her to the edge of the floor. As they approached the people standing there she hesitated, laying a hand on his arm to halt him. ‘If they think so little of you, then what will they say to me, in last season’s gown retrimmed in borrowed lace?’

  ‘They will treat you with the utmost courtesy, I am sure. I will introduce you to Robert Breton, who is a true gentleman with impeccable manners. He will shepherd you about the room to the others. I recommend that once I am gone you comment at my boorish behaviour in forcing you to dance. Your future will be secure.’

  She could not help it, and gave a short laugh. ‘I would never…’

  ‘I know you would not.’ He was looking into her eyes again, and she felt the warmth, the pull. ‘Although I am sure you have thought it.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do not lie,’ he said, giving her hand a squeeze. ‘But do not feel that I fault you. You cannot be blamed. My manners are rough. Considering our circumstances, I appreciate that yours are not, and thank you for it.’

  Then he led her across the room to his friend, making another formal bow and as proper a presentation as she could have hoped for. In truth, it was a bit too formal, but that was better than the alternative of being forgotten.

  In turn, Mr Breton made polite and much more polished conversation, then took her around the room to his friends and acquaintances, making sure that she was properly introduced to each of them. Her dance card for the evening was quickly filled with gentlemen of the ton—younger brothers and married men, who had been rousted from the card room to make up for the lack of dancers.

  It was pleasant. She relaxed and remembered what it had been like to attend similar parties, before the house had been shut up in mourning and she’d felt the sting of rejection. But this night was different in that she longed to turn and find the eyes of a particular gentleman following her about the room, even though they had danced only once.

  Joseph had taken a personal interest in her. It was to be expected, she supposed. He wished her to be at ease, just as he did the other guests. That was all it was. If there had been any proprietorial interest it was a fabrication on her part. His effusive compliments were another sign of his lack of social grace, not a partiality unique to her.

  When she looked for him, as she found herself frequently doing, he was giving his attention to Anne, just as he should. The man was engaged to her, or near to it. He wanted nothing more than to see Barbara similarly happy.

  As another dance ended, her partner returned her to Mr Breton, who offered her escort on a trip to the refreshment room. As they passed Joseph Stratford, Breton caught her gaze and looked back at his friend with a mixture of frustration and admiration. ‘If you foster hopes in that direction you must know that there is an understanding with another young lady.’

  ‘I know that,’ she said, trying not to blush at how obvious he must think her. ‘I am merely surprised at how kind he has been to me—though he barely knows me, except through Father. And that is…difficult.’

  ‘So I understand,’ said Breton. ‘You must go home and explain to your father, if you can, that all is not as simple as it seems.’ He looked across the room at his friend. ‘For all his faults, Stratford is a visionary. We must trust him to know what is right.’

  ‘I cannot say that I approve of his vision,’ Barbara said, shaking her head. ‘To the villagers, it seems to be nothing more than wanton destruction and change that benefits one man more than any other.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Breton insisted. ‘I was there when he made the decision to come here. He was poring over a pile of maps, gazettes and indexes. He chose and then rejected severa
l sites. Then he showed me this place. “Here,” he said, “is the land, and here are the workers. Here is the river that will bring the finished goods to London and to the ports. Here are the fields, already full of the sheep to give us supplies, and the roads that will bring the coal.”’ Breton grinned with pride. ‘He sees it all as though it were a pile of loose links, waiting to become a chain. Some men can come up with an idea for improvement, but he is one of the few that understands enough to put that change to work.’

  ‘You are a gentleman,’ she argued. ‘I would think you knew better than to get so closely involved in trade.’

  He shrugged. ‘At one time, perhaps. I am a second son, and must make the best of my inheritance. I was dubious when he came to me with the idea for an improved loom. But he is very persistent. He would not leave. So I made one quiet investment. He turned my modest income into a fortune. When he suggested an expansion, I decided I would be a fool to refuse him.’

  He glanced around at the largely empty dining hall. ‘He expected there to be more speculators, since the chance to do business far outside the eyes of the ton would be a pleasant one. Joe’s cellar is good, and his table groans. The house is as nice as any one might see in London. The beds are soft enough for a lord, certainly. I have no complaints.’

  Barbara pursed her lips. ‘He spoke to me of this, and he does not seem disappointed. But I wonder what the Clairemonts think of it all.’

  ‘It hardly matters,’ Breton supplied with finality. ‘It has been demonstrated to me on several occasions that the God-given right to property does not automatically assume the wisdom or skill to keep it. While your friends the Clairemonts could not maintain their position, I am sure you will find Mr Stratford to be more than able. This is the first such fortune he will make in his lifetime, and the first house he shall purchase. While he continues to advance, the Clairemonts of the world shall be left with nothing more than the honour of their names. Genteel poverty is poverty nonetheless, Miss Lampett. Surely you must know that by now?’