‘You have honoured me with your proposal. My family stands to gain much by it. It will secure my future. Why would I not be happy?’
That sounded almost as if she asked herself the same question. It gave him reason to hope.
‘Then now you must do something for me,’ he said. ‘Consider it a gift for our first Christmas.’
She looked up, quite terrified. ‘I do not think… After we are married…of course…but now? It is Christmas morning, Mr Stratford. And this is my parents’ parlour.’
He laughed at her total misunderstanding of him, and at her obvious horror at the prospect of the conjugal act, wondering about how much she might have already learned from his friend about inappropriate acts of passion. If this was her view of him it was quite beyond a display of maidenly resistance, and much closer to active distaste. ‘What I am requesting is nothing like what you expect. If we are to marry, we will be together for a long time. The rest of our lives, perhaps.’
He should not have said perhaps. He should have been more definite. That alone should have told him of his own heart. For once they were joined there would be no reprieve.
‘And I should think, if we can give each other nothing else, we deserve mutual honesty—to be given without fear of recrimination. I have reason to suspect that you might be happier if you had been able to accept another. And that the primary goal in taking me is to help your family return to the place of social prominence it once held. If that is the truth, there is no shame in it. But would it not be better to state it outright, so that there can be no confusion?’
She blinked at him, unable to speak. But neither did she offer the quick denial that would have corrected a mistake.
‘Now, tell me the truth. In one word. Do you love me?’
‘It is not really expected, when one is of a certain class, that one will marry for love,’ she said, as though by rote.
‘Nor is it expected that they will give a simple answer to a direct question,’ he countered, but without any real irritation. ‘But am I to assume, from your misdirection, that your answer is no?’
‘I respect you, of course. You have many worthy and admirable qualities that would make a woman proud to be your wife.’
He sighed, for she was not making this easy. ‘Then I am sure, since you have such respect for me, that you will be happy to hear that this morning I have taken the first step towards selling your old house to Mr Robert Breton.’
There was a moment of blankness on her face, a deliciously unattractive drop of her jaw and a sudden and complete lack of composure. It was the first sign of humanity he had seen in her. Then she spoke—not in the decorous half-whisper that he had grown accustomed to, but a full-throated, unladylike shout.
‘Father!’ She stood and shouted again. ‘Father! Come downstairs immediately. I am about to break my engagement with Mr Stratford.’
Next, the carriage stopped at the first door in the village. His groom made to get down and take a package, but Joseph held up a hand. ‘It must be me, I think. At least for the first few houses. Simply hand things to me, and I will be the one to knock.’
The first door was opened by a child. Before she could run for Mama, Joseph thrust the basket into her arms and shouted, ‘Merry Christmas!’ and then turned away to receive the next hamper and walked the few steps to the next door.
There. Not so bad, he told himself. He had half feared that there would be a punch upon the nose and a slammed door before he could get his gift across the threshold. At the next house he saw a wife. After that he found one of the weavers most vocal in opposition to him still in nightshirt and cap.
Joseph pushed the basket into his arms, with a hurried ‘Season’s Greetings!’
‘I suppose this is to make up for the trouble you’ve caused?’ the man said sceptically.
‘It is mince pies,’ Joseph answered, lifting the corner of the cloth. ‘And a ham. While it lacks the supernatural power to mend our differences, it will at least be good with warm bread. I believe there is some wine as well. More concrete and useful than an apology, I should think. But you can have one of those as well. The rest can wait until Twelfth Night.’ He turned away to get another basket.
With the man still standing dumbstruck in the open doorway, Joseph began to walk down the street. From the corner of his eye he saw the man turn as well, shouting back into his house. As Joseph walked he could see the man darting down a side street, and heard a pounding on a back door somewhere ahead of him.
He delivered his next basket, and the good wife who took it accepted it with a hesitant smile and a nod of confirmation—but none of the surprise that he had seen in the first houses. From then on he could almost hear the buzz as the news preceded him down the street with shouts, pounding footsteps and lads panting in kitchens to relay that the old dragon Stratford had gone mad and was giving away his hoard. A crowd was growing behind him as well, for just as the news ran ahead, out through back doors and down alleys, the consequences were trailing him like a parade.
At last he came to the Jordan house, and pushed a particularly large package into the man’s hands as the door opened. ‘Mr Jordan,’ he said happily. ‘A Merry Christmas to you. And—’ he lifted the corner of the napkin that covered the gift ‘—a brace of partridge, cheese, oranges, sweets for the children, mince and a bottle of milk with the cream still floating on the top. Children need milk, Mr Jordan. And yours will not want for it once you have accepted the position of foreman at my mill.’
‘Mr Stratford?’ The man could not manage anything else, not even a thank-you.
‘You needn’t say more right now,’ Joseph assured him. ‘But you might help with the distribution of the rest of the packages in the wagon that is following my carriage. I have another important errand to run that will take me away from it. While you are about it, could you be so kind as to invite your neighbours to the manor this evening? The doors will be open, just as they always used to be.’
Jordan managed a weak nod.
‘There’s a good man. I will see you this evening, shall I?’ Joseph looked at his watch.
Then he turned and ran.
The Lampett cottage was on the edge of the village, almost into the country, and set back at the end of a short drive. Joseph could feel the collective eyes of the people on him as he went. It was very near the same crowd as he had seen rioting at the mill. But where he had felt rage and distrust on that occasion he now felt a kind of wary encouragement pressing him forwards. The gifts he had offered had done much to disperse their ill will. But how they felt about him in the future would depend on his reception at this last and most vital of houses.
And none of it mattered, really. Not for the reasons they thought. While he might argue trade and tariffs until the last trump, he would have to agree to disagree with her father, and manage his troubled mind as well. But as long as they could be in agreement on one thing none of it would matter to him.
The winter air was sharp, and he ran until he could feel the pain of it in his lungs, in his side. Then he ran further, as he had when he was a boy and had no money for horses and no use for them either. It was good to be alive—to see the robins flitting in the bare branches of the few small trees in the garden, to kick the hoarfrost from the twigs and see it shower to the ground in a sparkle, and to hear the sound of the Christmas church bells growing louder as he neared the front gate and ran through it and up the drive towards the house. He did not stop even as he reached the door, but banged his body against it, striking knees and palms flat against the wood as he might have when playing tag as a child.
He peeled himself away to knock properly. Then he laughed and hammered on the door with his fists, heedless of the way it must look.
And then the door opened.
Chapter Eighteen
From her bedroom, Barbara could hear the pounding on the door, and then her father arguing with someone in the parlour.
Why must he act up on Christmas morning? It did not help tha
t she was already feeling quite fragile, nerving herself for the curious glances she was likely to receive in church today. She did not think she could stand a scene from him as well. Mixed in with his rising voice she could hear the chill tones of her mother, who was never able to soothe him.
She looked in the mirror, straightening her brown merino church dress with trembling hands. She could think of only one thing that would cause such strife and anger to both of her parents. But would anyone be cruel enough to tell tales about her on this of all days? If that was the problem, she had best go and face it herself, for neither parent was likely to be up to the task.
When she went into the parlour she saw her father standing in the doorway, his shirt collar open, neckcloth in hand. Mr Joseph Stratford was crumpling the linen of Father’s cravat with a vigorous handshake. Her mother stood to the side, looking like nothing so much as an outraged hen when a cat was stalking in the chicken house.
Joseph glanced past her father to her, smiling as though he had not a care in the world. ‘Good morning to you, Miss Lampett. And a Merry Christmas.’
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, rooted to her spot in the doorway to the hall. Why could she not stop looking at him, cross the room, push him out of the house and shut the door? Why did he have to look so well, so handsome and so much more vital and alive than he had after their night together? Did he mean to show her how well he did without her? Surely he must know that she drank in every detail whenever she looked at him.
Joseph realised that he had not released her father, and let the hand drop suddenly, turning to her mother with a deep bow. ‘And to you, Mrs Lampett. A Merry Christmas. I do not think we have been formally introduced.’
‘I know just who you are.’ Her mother said it in a way that would tell him where he stood with the whole of the family.
He grinned in her direction, as though to say, Just you wait. Things are about to get interesting.
Remembering how purposely obtuse he could be when he had a goal in sight, how utterly heedless of others, she gave a warning shake of her head.
‘I suppose you are wondering why I have come here in this way, at this hour, on this day.’
‘I am wondering if I shall have to put you out,’ said her father. ‘I assure you that I am quite capable of it, should you make any more trouble.’
Father was no more capable of success in that than in flying to the moon. But this was hardly the time to call attention to it, so Barbara put in, as meekly as possible, ‘I certainly hope that will not be necessary.’ She shot Joseph an evil glare. ‘If I could just talk to you outside for a moment, Mr Stratford? We might settle whatever it is that brings you here, and continue our preparations for church.’
‘But I did not come to speak to you, Miss Lampett. At least not just yet. I promise I will be brief.’ He gave her the quickest of apologetic smiles, and then returned to her father. And, if she was not mistaken, she saw a twinkle in his eye.
He was making fun of her. After all that had happened he was amusing himself at her expense. She would be sure he was brief, indeed. The first time he stopped speaking to take a breath, she would haul him by the neck from the room.
‘Then proceed, sir. Have you have come to threaten me with arrest again?’
Oh, dear. This would be one of the days when Father was clear of memory and in a foul temper. Barbara’s mind worked furiously to come up with a distraction that would separate the pair of them.
‘On the contrary, Mr Lampett. I have come to ask for your help.’
This was so shocking a request that it reduced the whole Lampett family to silence.
Mr Stratford used the pause to his advantage. ‘You know that I mean to reopen the mill in a few weeks, and that there are likely to be more workers than positions available? This concerns me greatly.’
‘It does?’ her father said, stupefied at this reversal of positions.
‘You know the people better than I, for I am near to a stranger. I can think of no one better qualified to help me find other employment for them. I would compensate you, of course, for it would take a fair amount of your time. Then, if I can persuade Robert Breton to be its patron, we will likely be reopening the school. You would be needed there as well—either as a teacher, or in an advisory capacity.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’ And clearly her father did not. The onslaught of new ideas had stopped his anger in its tracks.
‘You need not make a decision now. Think on it for a time. I am opening Clairemont Manor this evening for the annual Tenants’ Ball. Perhaps there will be time for us to discuss it then. But feel free to share my ideas with any in the village you might meet. They are in no way secret. I mean to find employment of some kind for all those who are willing to work.’
‘I will. I will at that. Margaret!’ He gestured to his wife. ‘We must go to church immediately. We will see many of the men affected. I will broach the subject to the vicar as well.’
‘You will broach it after the last hymn,’ her mother said severely.
‘Of course.’
But Barbara could see by the look in her father’s eye that he was unlikely to hear much of what was preached, and would spend the next hour scribbling pencil notes in the back of his prayer book that would become a stirring and inspiring speech on the subject.
Father grabbed for his hat and opened the door, as though he’d quite forgotten that there was a guest present.
‘One more thing before you go, sir.’ Stratford touched his arm. ‘Might I request your daughter’s hand in marriage?’
‘Certainly,’ her father muttered. ‘Margaret, what have I done with my muffler?’
But her mother could manage nothing more than a squeak of surprise.
‘It is on your neck, Father,’ Barbara said weakly.
‘Very good, then. Let us go to church.’
Her mother recovered her composure and shot an exasperated look around the room. ‘After we have tied your neckcloth, Bernard.’ She struggled with his collar button and the rumpled linen. ‘We shall go on ahead—and you, Barbara, shall meet us there. Mr Stratford, if we do not see the pair of you in the family pew before the end of the first hymn… Well, I do not know what we shall do. But I trust you to behave as a gentleman.’
‘I do not know why you would, ma’am,’ Joseph said with a smile. ‘Perhaps you do not know me as well as the rest of your family does. But you can trust me in this, at least. I will take good care of your daughter.’ He gave another respectful bow as Barbara’s parents withdrew, leaving them alone.
Barbara shot a helpless look after them as the door shut. Then she turned to face Joseph. ‘And just what is the meaning of this, Mr Stratford?’
‘I should think that would be obvious,’ he said, with another smile. But there was no mischief in it. He was looking at her as if he had never seen anything so wonderful.
‘There is nothing obvious about it. Was it not just two days ago that you made public your betrothal to Anne Clairemont?’
‘And this morning I broke it.’ He reached out to take her hand, running a weather-roughened finger across the back of her knuckles.
‘You did not,’ she said, pulling her hand away from him. ‘Anne will be heartbroken.’
‘She most certainly will not,’ he answered back. ‘She is utterly besotted with my friend Robert, and thoroughly glad to be rid of me.’
‘You knew?’ She breathed a little deeper knowing that the dark secret she had uncovered was no secret at all.
‘I concur with her. They are very well suited. But to make sure that there is no trouble with her father I am selling Bob the house. Lord Clairemont will have what he wants, and Anne will marry the son of an earl and the man she loves. And no one will be forced to marry into trade.’ Then he looked at her more seriously. ‘Not even you, if you do not wish to. Marry me, that is.’
‘It might be the wisest thing,’ she admitted quietly. ‘After what happened the other night.’
�
��You could marry me because it is the wisest thing to do,’ he agreed. ‘But I would rather you didn’t. If it is only out of concern for your reputation I would understand. But I was rather under the impression that you had strong feelings for me.’
Must I confess everything again? Though it is true that I love you, I am tired of being your plaything. She bit back the foolish words that she wanted to say, and fought the desire to throw herself into his arms quickly, before he found a way to ruin it all again. ‘I would much rather hear your reason for wanting to marry me. What could I possibly have that you need, Mr Stratford?’
‘My heart,’ he said simply. ‘I think you must have taken it with you when you left yesterday. It is not clockwork, as you said. If it was, I should be able to replace it.’
‘You are clever with machines,’ she admitted, doing her best to still the fluttering in her own breast.
‘It turns out I am flesh and blood, after all. And likely to make quite a mess of things if I am allowed to go on like this. I have given up my fiancée and my manor. I have walked through the village handing over so much food that I am not sure there will be anything left for supper—nor money to buy more, now that I have promised to employ the whole village. And to top it off I will likely frighten my London investors by letting the rabble into the house this evening.’ He held out his open arms. ‘I am a disaster in the making, Miss Lampett. Someone should take me in hand while I still have a penny left in my pocket.’
‘Not me, surely,’ she said with a little smile. ‘For I would not change a bit of you. It was a wonderful thing you just did for Father.’
‘I doubt it will solve all his problems,’ Joseph said, taking her hand again. ‘But perhaps, if he has a purpose and a different direction for his energies, we might harness a portion of his madness and do some good with it.’
‘That is a far cry from threatening him with a one-way trip to Australia,’ Barbara noted. ‘That was the tune you were singing to me just a few days ago.’
A Regency Christmas Carol Page 20
