Adam caught her elbow. “I have too many duties to attend to so you’ll have to do it. Take Hector and go to the market. You won’t have much time. We’ll need—”
“Do what?” Her heart sank. More work? She was hoping her lady would retire soon, so she could cower in her bed the rest of the night, trying to forget every memory of Adrian, every glance, every touch, the desire to kiss his sensual lips …
“You have not heard? Lord Haywood has decided against having a fox hunt on Boxing Day. Instead, he’s going to invite everyone here, to celebrate the engagement.”
“Oh.” Isabelle tightened her jaw.
“Apparently it was Lord Wingrave’s idea, or so I’m told.” He rattled off a list of ingredients they would need for the party for more food would be required than they had anticipated for the hunt.
Ten minutes later, Isabelle was sitting in the carriage with the servant Hector driving. She had never been inside one prior to yesterday, and today already was her second ride. They would never reach the market before it closed without it.
Her hair blew in the breeze from the open window, and she readjusted her white bonnet. She never cared for her appearance before, but today especially, her plain gray dress had never looked drearier compared to the soft tones of even the simplest of Lady Theodosia’s dresses.
Adrian—she really must stop thinking of him like that—Lord Adrian’s decision to have a celebration instead of fox hunting was most curious. Was he doing so in an act of solidarity since he knew his future wife’s opinion on the sport? Or, as her heart longed to believe, was he hoping a certain brown-eyed man would make his appearance sans his mask?
All but one shop had closed for the upcoming holiday, and even they were in the act of taking down their wares as Isabelle and Hector approached. They weren’t able to purchase every item on Adam’s list, but they got what they could and returned to the Haywood Manor.
At one time, Isabelle had loved the white house. Now the sight growing closer every passing second brought her nothing but misery. She had a feeling Lady Theodosia would rescind her offer and certainly would not be offering a recommendation. But if, for some reason, Lady Theodosia still wanted Isabelle to come with her, she would decline. The cheese tray had clearly demonstrated she could not be in the same room as Lord Adrian and Lady Theodosia. As much as she wanted them to be happy, their happiness meant a lifetime of misery for her.
The temperature was colder than normal. Were her eyes playing tricks or was that a speck of snow? She captured the flake in her palm. Her mother had once told her no two flakes looked exactly alike, but the snowflake melted before she could see its design.
Hector carried in most of their packages; she brought in only two. As she placed them on the kitchen counter, Olga informed her that another handmaid had helped Lady Theodosia into bed, so Isabelle retired for the night. She climbed into bed and expected tears to come. Instead, a song stirred within her heart, and she sang so softly her voice was hardly audible. She sang of love and hope and life. Tomorrow was Christmas and no matter the circumstances, she would not allow herself to become a shell of her former self. She was proud of her position. She was grateful to have a job. She might not have riches or gowns or a carriage, or a lord, but she had air to breathe and food to eat and hope that tomorrow would be a better day.
Christmas service had come and gone, and still Adrian had not seen Isabelle. His heart ached. As much as he tried not to think of her, his thoughts were drawn to her all the more.
Lady Theodosia seemed to be in slightly improved spirits this day, more likely as a result of the day rather than his company. Still, he enjoyed her much more when she was smiling and talking instead of pouting and refusing to answer his coded questions. An unspoken truce had been made.
His betrothed’s hair was styled in a different arrangement. Perhaps because a maid other than Isabelle had styled it? If Isabelle and Lady Theodosia had indeed crossed paths, he was not sure it would have been a pleasant meeting.
As they walked side-by-side to the carriage, her parents behind them, one thought troubled him the most. Isabelle had been so certain of Lady Theodosia’s affections for the man, but now, the lady appeared to no longer want him. What could have changed her opinion?
He had spotted Lady Pamela lurking outside after he had thought she and the other lady had left. Could she have told Theodosia something that made her reconsider her allegiance?
The man—he must be the source of a scandal then. Adrian wracked his brain and nearly forgot to help Theodosia into the carriage. Once he was settled across from her and next to her father, he realized who the man had to be. None other than Baron Malcolm Thrush. Thrush’d had an affair with a servant girl two or three years prior and threw her out onto the streets. And rumor had it he had squandered most of his family’s properties to gambling debts. No wonder Theodosia wanted nothing to do with her masked man.
For Adrian could not cast her aside nor could he hand her over to her love, not when her love was a man who used women and money as if they were meaningless objects. Adrian was honor bound to his future wife.
Honor came above love.
“You seem to be deep in thought,” Lady Theodosia said.
He could hardly share his mind’s churnings with her. Instead he asked, “Are you pleased with my suggestion? For the party?”
“Of course. I’m so glad you proposed it.”
Adrian gave her a tiny smile. This year would be the first time in a decade in which he did not hunt fox on Boxing Day.
“I hope we have a good turnout,” he said.
“Oh, I’m sure we shall. All those who were planning on coming for the hunt will already be coming. Lady Pamela has ways to spread news faster than anyone. She knows so the entire country probably does by now.” She laughed and glanced out the window.
“Good. The more, the livelier it will be. But for right now, I can’t wait until the feast.”
***
Christmas dinner was most exquisite. The pig’s head, the gingerbread, and his personal favorite march pane, all melted in his mouth. The roast beef was tender; the Brussels sprouts cooked to perfection. Their Christmas pudding was rather different than what he was used to. Heavy on the currants and citron, not enough brown sugar, but all in all, the pudding was still pleasant.
He ate and ate and ate. Lady Theodosia sat across from him. Three or four of her small mouthfuls were equal to his one.
She patted a napkin to her mouth and stood. “Please excuse me.”
Adrian stood, as did her father. “Happy Christmas,” he called to her.
The lady held up her hand to acknowledge him but did not turn around.
“Nerves,” her mother said. “I had originally promised to take her out shopping for the wedding tomorrow since I thought you would be out fox hunting, but we’ll go the day after. I must say I am very excited about us hosting a party to celebrate your engagement. What a wonderful idea.”
“Any chance your parents will be able to attend?” Lord Haywood asked before reaching for more gingerbread.
“I’m afraid I don’t think so.” Adrian swallowed hard. Some march pane was stuck in his throat, and he drank the rest of his wine. He missed the wassail bowl, a tradition in the Wingrave Manor. A mixture of beer, sherry, sugar, and various spices had a lot more kick to it than wine.
“Where exactly are they? I don’t believe you said.” Lord Haywood gestured to Adrian’s empty glass, and a maid stepped forward to refill it.
He winced at his disappointment that the girl was not Isabelle. She still had not made an appearance, and the fear that she had been kicked out of the house seized him so suddenly he wanted to jump to his feet and search every centimeter until he found her. But a scene he would not make, and he downed half the glass in two gulps.
Keeping his parents’ secret no longer felt necessary. “My mother was feeling too ill to travel.”
“Will she be all right?” Lady Haywood inquired.
“T
he physician believes so.”
“Then that is a Christmas miracle.” She smiled and raised her glass.
He did the same and drank the rest. The wine filled his stomach with an agreeable warmth, although it was too filled with food for him to take another bite or sip. It was going to take a Christmas miracle for him to survive until the wedding.
Light shining on her face woke Isabelle early on Christmas morning. She stretched her arms above her head and sat up. Her stomach rumbled. She had too many chores to do before she could think about eating.
Isabelle made her way to her lady’s room and saw another maid duck inside. Her appetite fled. There were plenty of other activities and preparations she could take care of, but she lingered there, amazed at how solidly her position had been lowered. Within the hierarchy of servants, she had most obviously been demoted.
She had no one to blame but herself, and her own foolishness.
Do not dwell on it.
A faux cheery hum flittered through her pursed lips, and she set about her tasks with unabashed determination. Soon enough, she felt somewhat better as the Christmas spirit filled her, and she concentrated on things much bigger than employment and happiness and instead, the true reason for the season.
She, along with the other servants, walked to the church service. The priest gave a wonderful homily that concentrated on family and togetherness. And although she was alone in the world, she felt as if her mother stood beside her, holding onto her shoulder as she often had when they went to religious services.
Would Mother be proud of me? Or scold me for my actions?
Isabelle wasn’t certain. Her mother had luckily fallen for another servant, and they had married a week after they first met. Her father had died shortly after Isabelle was born, and she and her mother had been closer than jam and rolls. From an early age, Isabelle had done all she could to help her mother, and the household they served. A few years later, they had new masters, and the lord of the house had an eye for her mother. Her mother had refused him, and she had been beaten, and the two tossed out.
Finding new employers took some time. Unfortunately, the nights had been bitterly cold, and her mother got sick. Isabelle, by then, had been old enough to find employment as a maid and used all of her earnings to pay for a physician, but her mother had been too sick and before spring warmed the earth, she had been buried within it.
Remembering her mother’s death brought tears to her eyes, and she wiped them away. One thing she did know was that her mother would not want her to be sad. Not today. Christmas had been her mother’s favorite holiday. Isabelle’s too.
Her mother, despite her position, had been rather educated and had instilled her love of learning in Isabelle. Perhaps she should learn from her mother’s happiness with her father, and choose another man to love, one she could possibly marry.
But in her heart, she knew she could love no one other than Adrian.
Just then, from a pew near the front, Lady Theodosia glanced behind her. Dressed in clothes fit for a princess, she had to attract the attention of everyone crowded in the church. Their gazes locked, and Isabelle lowered her head. Out of all the ladies she had tended to, Lady Theodosia had been the only one she had truly cared for. Lady Theodosia had evidently felt the same; otherwise she never would have invited her to the masquerade. And how had Isabelle repaid her? By loving her betrothed.
The service ended, and the people ushered out of the church slowly, without pushing or shoving. With ivy and other greenery, holly, lit candles, and bows, the church was beautifully decorated. She paused beside a wreath and admired its intricacies, how the various evergreens wrapped upon each other to form a perfect circle.
Olga nudged her shoulder once they walked outside. “Now do you care to tell me what’s going on?”
Isabelle glanced at the plump cook. “I would rather not say.”
“You’ll force me to listen to gossip then.”
“And just what is being said?” Isabelle was straining her neck, forcing herself not to turn around and watch Lord Adrian help his beautiful future wife into the carriage.
“That you and the lady had a falling out. But no one can figure out why.”
Her breathing came easier. Her secret was safe. If tongues stopped wagging or told so little, she might not be long unemployed. She desired greatly to never return to the streets.
The sight of a tall red-haired man standing with his back to her made excitement well deep within her. She glanced at the Haywood carriage, but the horses were already clop, clop, clopping along their merry way, too far for him to be visible.
Isabelle stood still as people crowded around her. The man turned slightly, and she glimpsed at his eyes. Brown.
Olga followed her gaze. “He is a fine-looking specimen, isn’t he? That’s why he’s trouble.”
“Scandal?” Isabelle’s hopes dashed as quickly as they had started to bubble up again.
Olga gripped her arm and forced her to walk along. Once they were a good deal separated from the crowd, the cook whispered, “Baron Malcolm Thrush. Surely you’ve heard of him.”
Isabelle waited with little patience. She never bothered to listen to stories, but Olga knew everything about everyone, sometimes even before they did, or so it seemed.
“Gambler, womanizer. Supposedly he got a girl pregnant. And a few years back, he cut off an engagement. He claimed they never had an agreement, but the lady was devastated. Caught a lucky break there, she did.” Olga nodded solemnly. “If you are eyeing him, I suggest you look at someone else.”
“I’m not interested, don’t worry.”
The gray-eyed woman old enough to be her mother shook her head. “Not interested in him you mean. I can see right through you. As long as he’s in your class, there’s nothing wrong with it. But that’s not the case, is it.”
Isabelle kept silent the rest of the long walk to the Haywood Manor. Olga was smart; she probably pieced everything together already. Isabelle had to prepare and hope that, tomorrow during the party, she could find another lady in need of a maid. Haywood Manor had become a sinking ship for her, and if she wasn’t careful, she’d drown.
Once the lords and ladies were done eating, the servants were finally able to enjoy a simpler Christmas meal on the leftovers. At first, Isabelle had no desire to eat, but one taste of the roast beef changed her mind. The march pane was especially delicious this year.
Olga eyed her the entire time but thankfully said nothing. When she finally lowered her fork and opened her mouth, Isabelle jumped up. “I’ll return presently.”
She dashed from the room, not planning on coming back until she needed to help clean up. After creeping up the stairs to the servant’s quarters, she jumped back when she saw Lady Theodosia sitting on her bed.
“Is there something you need?” she asked once she overcame her shock.
Lady Theodosia handed her a rolled-up letter, sealed with her family’s crest of a small dove perched on top of a full tree. “I’ve written you a letter of recommendation.”
Her mouth grew dry, as if the moisture in her body had fled to her eyes. “My lady … ”
“Lord Adrian is a wonderful man. I can understand why you fell for him. But he is to be my husband.”
“O-of course.” She hung her head, unable to lift her arm to accept the letter from her former lady’s outstretched hand.
“Do not feel badly. Everything that has transpired has been my fault and no one else’s.” Lady Theodosia’s sigh echoed throughout the crammed chambers. Her high-waisted green muslin gown looked positively festive, the opposite of her face.
Isabelle had hung a tiny wreath above her bed. She walked over to it and plucked a piece of holly from it. With a careful hand, she pinned it to Lady Theodosia’s gown where it would direct attention to her bosom.
Lady Theodosia clasped her hand for a moment, then placed the letter on Isabelle’s bed, and walked out.
Finding a new employer would be far easier in some wa
ys, but the single hardest reason remained, and would forever.
***
The part of the day Adrian dreaded the most had come: the Christmas toast.
“Adrian, would you like the honors?” Lord Haywood asked.
How could he graciously refuse without sounding like an aloof fool? Nothing came to mind, so he stepped forward. Everyone in the entire manor was in the dining hall, including the servants. Including Isabelle. She looked smaller today, more drawn in, and her plain gray dress appeared too big for her petite frame. He wanted to clothe her in silks and rich colors, gemstone hues to bring out the darkness of her hair and eyes. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and never let her leave his side. He wanted to give her the world.
But he couldn’t.
A gulf larger than the ocean spread between them. No ship could traverse the wicked waves. They were at an impasse that could never be conquered. Not if it meant leaving Lady Theodosia to be ravaged by a man who cared so little for ladies and their worth. Thankfully Lady Theodosia had her head about her and hadn’t run off to be married to the baron. Some ladies did that, married against their families’ wishes, and the results were unanimously disastrous.
Most everyone was staring at him, but he waited until she finally lifted her head and he melted a little at the hopeless resignation he saw in her russet eyes.
Adrian had no idea what to say but once he got started, the words tumbled out of him like a rushing waterfall gushes to the pond it fills. “Christmas is a time for new beginnings. A time for laughter. A time for joy. A time for setting aside differences and making amends. Christmas is about something so much more than the here and now. It’s a time to remember what is truly important.” He raised his glass. “To Christmas.”
“To Christmas!” Everyone raised their glasses before drinking. The sherry in his glass was much darker than in Isabelle’s, he noted.
Lord Haywood’s voice rose above all others. “You forgot one, my boy. Christmas is a time for love.” He nodded above Adrian’s head.
Masked Love (A Christmas Regency Novella) Page 5
