Following another sound to the library, Violet stood in the doorway to find a man rocking Jane in front of the fire, her head, resting on his shoulder. Small sleepy grey eyes found hers across the room.
“Imma, come see Papa,” the little girl said.
Haverlane turned and met her stunned expression with one of his own. Violet almost dropped the candle. He was here!
“My lord, I… we… what an unexpected surprise,” Violet stuttered. She managed a short curtsy on wobbly legs. Could he hear her hammering heart?
“Forgive me for disturbing you,” Haverlane said quietly. “When the snow stopped in Town, I felt I could not disappoint my Jane. It is Christmas, after all.”
“Yes, of course, my lord, Christmas,” Violet said absently. She wished the wild horses running through her veins would steady. Disappointed for Jane’s sake when the light snow that fell in the morning had turned into a raging storm, now, seeing him standing in the library, Violet realized the discontent was all her own.
“Have you eaten, my lord? Shall I away to the kitchen?” Violet asked. Digging her toes into the plush carpet, she stood completely still, afraid to move, thinking this all might be a dream, a lovely, beautiful Christmas dream.
“No. Thank you.” Haverlane looked at the now sleeping child in his arms. “Perhaps I should take her back to bed,” he said.
Violet proceeded to the hallway with her candle, while Haverlane carried Jane. On the stairs to the nursery, she stumbled, unsure of the steps she had climbed every day, at least twice a day, for the last five months.
Haverlane placed his daughter gently in her bed, gave a small kiss to her brow, and pulled the covers to her neck. He stoked the fire, added another log, then straightened, and faced Violet.
“Pray, forgive me for frightening you. I did not mean to disturb your slumber. That was not my intention. I only wanted to see Jane. She woke when I kissed her, and followed me down.” Haverlane’s voice was deep, gravelly, filled with an emotion Violet was sure she had never heard.
“I had not thought to be frightened, my lord, only concerned. Jane does sleep well.” Violet paused. “However, I am glad you are come.” She backed unsteadily into the hall and stood in front of her bedchamber door. The candle she lit earlier on the table burned low behind its glass case, casting murky shadows in the hall.
Closing Jane’s door behind him, Haverlane stood and stared at her as if making a great decision. Slowly, he reached out his hand.
Violet, captured under his arresting gaze, clasped his fingers. “My lord,” she whispered. All feeling left her. She held her breath.
Haverlane took her candle and placed it on the table. Taking a step forward, he pulled her closer to him. His eyes held hers in the dimness of the hall. She could not discern their expression. Violet stood trembling, their bodies mere inches from each other. Haverlane reached his hand to her neck, and his thumb brushed her cheek with a slight caress. What kind of spell had he cast over her?
Violet closed her eyes.
Haverlane brushed his lips over hers. “Happy Christmas, Violet,” he whispered in her ear.
She opened her eyes. Haverlane looked down at her, bewilderment written on his handsome face.
“Happy Christmas, my lord,” she whispered.
The clock in the front hall began to chime. The spell broken, Haverlane stepped back.
“I shall leave you now.” He nodded, took the candle off the table, and strode down the hall.
Violet doused the remaining candle, and then stepped into her room. She closed her door, leaned against the inside. Her mother would be horrified to know this had been the third time Haverlane had kissed her, in a hallway, in her sleeping attire, in the middle of the night, no less. Violet felt sure if it were discovered, that banishment would be her punishment. Even Her Majesty would be most terribly displeased.
She crawled back under the covers and bundled into the softness of her bed, guilt gnawing at her for behaving so foolishly. She must not bring scandal to her mother’s house. However, and more to the point, Haverlane had kissed her. Violet trembled at the memory and thought Haverlane’s return the best Christmas gift ever.
*****
Reaching the safety of his bedchamber, Ellis set the candle on the highboy, and bent to light the fire. It crackled and sprang to life, and he stood from the task.
What had he been thinking, kissing Violet in the hall? Had he lost all his senses, or was this a product of the bone chilling cold starting to thaw from his limbs?
He could barely stop himself as his hand reached for her. Roused from sleep, her newfound beauty had him undone. Russet waves hung down her back like a waterfall of autumn leaves. The flannel of her gown, soft and downy, beckoned him. He knew what hid underneath its folds.
Breathtaking in the low candlelight, Ellis wanted her as he hadn’t wanted a woman in a long time. Not since before Anne.
Standing in the doorway to the library, her bare feet sticking out from under her voluminous night rail, had him undone. The memories of his last visit in September slammed into his brain, the wet cotton day-dress clinging to her newly toned body. Ellis fought hard to keep himself in check that day, but tonight, he wanted to find sweet succor in her arms.
Ellis sank down in the chair by the bed and stared at the fire. He had to keep reminding himself she was barely out of the schoolroom. Only just ten-and-seven and brought up in the Majesty’s household as well. What would people think? He could scarcely credit it himself.
Ellis removed his boots. If it were not for Violet’s letters, he could easily be persuaded to marry Georgiana Baxter. She would certainly do him no disservice to the marital state. It would be more seemly to marry her, both in their widowed condition. However, there was artifice within Georgiana, and he did not care for the fawning she had such proclivity upon bestowing. Violet held no such artifice.
The fire blazed and Ellis stretched out his hands and feet to the warmth. It had been a long, hard ride in the bone chilling cold. He hoped he hadn’t done Draco in, the old horse a willing comrade in lonely hours. The snow lay crystal clean on the roads. A fast mover, the storm spent itself and whirled away leaving the moon clear and full in its wake. Now he understood why his cousin Robert liked to ride in the pre-dawn hours. Were it not for the cold, Ellis would have enjoyed it. His only comfort this night – whom he would meet at the end of the journey.
Ellis stripped and crawled into bed. Violet’s face crossed his mind once more and he thought about her last letter, filled with Jane and her antics, the simplicity of taking tea with the neighbors, quiet days in a country life. Sincere, yet elegant, her letters made his heart ache with unbearable loneliness for a life he could not live.
He did not know if he missed his daughter, or her nanny more.
After arriving in the middle of the night, Ellis slept in the next morning. His dreams were fitful, about death, Prinny’s ranting, and galloping through snow that did not seem to dissipate. He lay awake in his bed, eyes open, staring at the canopy. The kiss he had shared with Violet came hurtling at him.
What had he done? Taking liberties with an innocent, in the dead of night in the hallway, with nothing but a whisper of homespun cotton separating them, made his head throb. Good Lord, he had been sitting with Prinny for far too long and now it was starting to rub off! He would not be surprised if Violet left, thinking him the veriest of libertines.
He flung the bedclothes aside and sat up. Not having a valet, he dressed and made his way downstairs.
He heard giggling from the morning room and found Jane, Violet, and her sister, Camelia having their breakfast. Violet spied him first.
“My lord, forgive us. Pray, we did not wake you,” she said as she stood.
“No. Not at all.” He walked to the end of the table and kissed the top of his daughter’s head. “Good morning, Jane.”
“Papa morning. Sit with Jane and brek fist,” the little girl said.
“Thank you, Jane. I believe I will.�
� Haverlane walked to the sideboard and made himself a plate. Taking his chair, he noticed Violet had already poured him a cup of tea.
“Thank you, Violet,” he said. He glanced at her face, but she would not look at him. He didn’t blame her.
“Not at all, my lord,” she said.
Dawning on him it was Christmas Day, he raised his teacup. “Happy Christmas everyone.”
Violet gave her sister a pointed look and stood. Both girls wished him Happy Christmas. Jane laughed, then said, “Happy Kismes.”
Ellis half rose and waited for the sisters to sit again. “Forgive me, ladies. I’m afraid I bring no presents.” He touched his daughter’s cheek.
“Your presence is gift enough, my lord,” Violet said. “I have never seen Jane happier.”
She looked directly into his eyes and he found in them a glow of contentment. Was she happy he was here, or was she merely pleased for Jane’s sake?
“My lord,” she said quickly, “since we did not know if you would arrive, I have taken it upon myself to fill a Wassail bowl for our neighbors. I invited the families from the village and your tenants, of course. Jane and I have made several friends since our arrival, and as she is your daughter, I thought this would be the appropriate action. I hope this is agreeable to you.”
He contemplated all that would entail. “When are the festivities to begin?”
“Today. Three o’clock. Depending upon the state of the roads, I’m sure. I thought my mother and sisters would have arrived as well. However, I know the Queen is not well. My mother told me her Ladies are beside her round the clock.” She looked at Jane. “I cannot imagine what it must be like to lose one’s child.”
“Queen Charlotte is well cared for,” he assured her. “The Prince and I have frequently attended Her Majesty in her private chambers and I have spoken with your mother on several occasions. The last I saw her, two days ago, she said she will try and arrive here before Twelfth Night.”
“Then it is as it shall be.” Violet smiled brightly. “Camelia, dearest, I believe it is time for lessons.” She looked at Jane. “You too, Poppet.” She rose from the table.
Ellis stood. “Surely, you do not mean to have lessons on Christmas Day, Violet.”
She flashed him a wide smile. “The children are performing at the party today. It is time for one last rehearsal.” She bent down and undid the straps from Jane’s dining chair. “Come along, Jane. Give Papa a kiss. We shall see him later.”
Jane kissed his cheek and left jam in her wake. As Ellis watched his daughter toddle off behind Violet and her sister, he imagined other children following them. Violet as a mother to Jane? Preposterous. The fantasy of wanting her as a sailor with a siren was pleasant, but she was far too young to be his wife, or was she? Marriage minded mamas had been thrusting their daughters on the market for years. Age was not necessarily a requirement. However, he could not see himself with a woman who had not reached majority yet. It was licentious.
He heard the tinkle of piano keys coming from the far corner of the house. He hurriedly finished his plate, then rose from the table and followed the sound.
Camelia sat at the piano, Jane beside her in the middle, Violet on the other side.
Ellis leaned in the doorway. A dozen tiny pine trees all dressed with ribbon, feathers, or sugared fruit decorated the front parlour. A garland of pine boughs lined the mantle. Several candelabras filled with unlit candles were interspersed with bowls of red apples along the shelf. Wide gold ribbon hung down from the top of the velvet curtains. It was a lovely sight. The children began singing and Violet guided her hand over the words for Jane. Ellis couldn’t think when he’d last been so utterly contented.
The knocker on the door had not stopped banging since three o’clock. Ellis stood with Jane, Violet, and Camelia in the front hall greeting their guests. Everyone remarked on his sudden appearance at the Hall and nodded at the very good fortune Lady Violet’s sister had already arrived from London.
As more people began to fill the parlour, Ellis left the entryway and began circulating among the crowd. The Rev. Perry, Mr. Kendrick the blacksmith, and Viscount Harpingford managed to get him in the corner at one point, and would not let him go before relating the news from London. They were worried about the state of the country now that King George had gone mad again. Rumors were flying Parliament would not create the Regency for the Prince.
“No, it is well in hand gentlemen,” Ellis reassured them. “We are but waiting for the documents to be written.” Ellis spied Violet moving toward him. “Excuse me,” he said to the trio and gave a short bow. He met Violet in the middle of the crowd.
“Do you require me?”
“Yes, my lord, forgive me, but I hoped you would greet your other guests first, before huddling in the corner discussing Parliament. It is Christmas Day after all,” she said with a smile. “The Misses Brayton have been waiting to speak with you, and Lord and Lady Batton have just arrived.” She glanced over her shoulder where the old Earl stood with his wife.
Without thinking, he touched her elbow, his fingers trailing the underside of her forearm, and then raised her hand and kissed it. “Yes, of course, thank you.” He strode from her and greeted Batton warmly. While Lady Batton went on about the treacherous state of the roads, Ellis’ thoughts returned to the strange familiarity he had come to feel with Violet. Kissing her hand was something he had only done with Anne, particularly when she had done him a kindness.
He needed a drink.
*****
Haverlane moved throughout the room, greeting his guests, welcoming them into his home. Lady Batton confided in Violet she had never seen Haverlane looking so relaxed.
“Why, he is a different man entirely,” she exclaimed.
Violet watched Haverlane now, at ease with his people and his peers, a soft smile at the edges of his mouth. His eyes found hers, as they had repeatedly throughout the afternoon. She smiled, and counted herself the luckiest of women on this very happy Christmas Day.
Violet hoped she had done the right thing having the party, the reasons purely selfish on her part. She missed her home and the bustle of activity that preceded the holidays. She had also wanted to do something for the Marquisate, as Jane was Haverlane’s daughter, and this seemed the easiest solution. Haverlane did not appear disappointed, nor had he grumbled or complained about the expense.
She glanced at the clock and she and Mrs. Perry, the curate’s wife, began rounding up the children for their turn at the pianoforte.
“Attention ladies and gentleman,” Mrs. Perry spoke over the din. “The children have a Christmas performance they would like to present.”
All eyes turned toward the front of the room.
Violet finished placing the children in a straight row, littlest to biggest, then sat down at the pianoforte. Voices of angels rose in song, and Violet saw more than one woman move a handkerchief to her eye.
The children performed three more songs and then it was Jane’s turn. Violet had been practicing with the child since before Guy Fawke’s day and she hoped Jane would not be nervous in front of so many people. Camelia, at the piano, hit the opening notes and a baby nightingale opened her mouth to sing. Violet looked around the room to find Haverlane to the left of the mantle, his eyes on Jane, smiling widely.
Violet had never seen Haverlane, dare she say it, happy. And she was glad. The sadness that perpetually surrounded him had finally disappeared.
The song ended and the crowd erupted into thunderous applause. Haverlane stepped toward Violet, his hand outstretched. She clasped it with trembling fingers. He brought her hand to his lips once again.
“Outstanding, Lady Violet, simply outstanding. I cannot tell you how proud I am of your efforts on this day.”
Haverlane gathered Jane in his arms and was immediately beset by admirers. Violet stepped away to speak with the Misses Brayton.
As the party wound down, guests departed, and Violet said her good-byes alongside Haverlane. After the
last family left, Haverlane closed and latched the heavy front door and returned to the parlour. Violet and Mrs. Jeffers were straightening the room, picking up the empty glasses and dishes.
“Why not you leave that until tomorrow?” he asked.
“’Tis no bother,” Violet said. “Mrs. Jeffers and I will have it cleaned up in a trice.” Why was he scowling again? The day had been glorious.
Haverlane watched as the two women bustled about.
“Where is Jane?”
“In the nursery with Camelia,” Violet said. “They are having a Christmas picnic on the floor. I thought it best after all the excitement of the day.”
“Of course, you are right. Mayhap I shall go up and see how they fare, unless of course you wish me to help you.”
“No my lord, please, go to Jane. She will love it above all things.” Violet glanced at Mrs. Jeffers who didn’t seem to notice the air crackling as she spoke with Haverlane.
“As you wish,” he said and turned to go, then turned back. “Would you care to meet me in the library when you are finished here, Lady Violet?”
“Of course, my lord.” She hoped he would not berate her for having the party.
Violet went to the nursery to check on Jane and her sister who were both sound asleep in Jane’s bed. As she descended the stairs, Violet felt a rush of feeling flow through her. Haverlane’s kiss last night in the hall, and then at the party, his hand reaching for hers, oh, it was just too much excitement. Violet managed to get her fluttering under control as she entered the library. Lit candles and a cheery fire blazing in the hearth welcomed her. Haverlane stood by the fireplace holding a brandy.
“Lady Violet,” Haverlane said.
“My lord,” she whispered. What was she to do? Mrs. Jeffers was undoubtedly sent to bed leaving Violet without a chaperone. However, she did not think the Marquess of Haverlane was the sort of man to ravage an innocent on Christmas Day.
“Would you care for a small glass of libation? Wine perhaps? Sherry? I think you deserve one.” He moved toward the tantalus.
The Lady's Fate (The Reluctant Grooms Volume II) Page 6
