A Christmas Bride / A Christmas Beau (15 page)

He felt rather as if he had been tossed into the air by that ox she had spoken of and then trodden into the ground by it after landing. It was true, then. He could no longer lull himself with the conviction that his suspicions were absurd. She had not admitted the truth, but the very absence of such an admission was confirmation enough.

She was with child. By him. He felt as dizzy, as disoriented, as if the idea had only now been planted in his brain.

What the devil were they going to do?

And why the devil did he need to pose that question to himself?

S
HE DAMNED HIM
to hell and back throughout a sleepless night. She broke a favorite trinket dish when she picked it up from her dressing table and hurled it against the door. She considered calling his bluff and telling her aunt the truth, though she had hoped to go away somewhere alone so that no one need know, and then instructing Hobbes to deny him entry.

But he would come tomorrow morning even if she told her aunt and even if Hobbes tried to prevent him. She had great faith in Hobbes’s strength and determination, but she had a nasty feeling that neither would prevail against Edgar Downes. He would come and drag the truth from her and proceed to take charge of the situation no matter what she did.

She would not dance to his tune. Oh, she would not. She did not doubt that he would plan everything down to the smallest detail. She did not doubt that he would find her a safe and comfortable nest in which to hide during the remainder of her confinement and that he would find the child a respectable home afterward. He would do it all with professional efficiency and confidentiality. No one would ever suspect the truth. No one would ever know that the two of them had been more to each other than casual social acquaintances. And he would pay for everything. She did not doubt that either. Every bill would be sent to him.

She would not allow it to happen. She would shout the truth from the rooftops before she would allow him to protect her reputation and her safety. She would keep her child and take it with her wherever she went rather than allow him neatly to hide its very existence.

And yet, she thought, mocking herself, she did not even have the courage to tell her aunt. She would go out with him tomorrow morning, two acquaintances visiting a gallery together, a perfectly respectable thing to do, and she would allow herself to be browbeaten.

Never!

She would fight Edgar Downes to the death if necessary. The melodramatic thought had her lip curling in scorn again.

She mentioned to her aunt at the breakfast table that Mr. Downes would be calling later to escort her to the Royal Academy. He had mentioned wanting to go there while they had danced the evening before and she had commented that it was one of her favorite places. And so he had asked to escort her there this morning.

“I have promised to show him all the best paintings,” she said.

Mrs. Cross looked closely at her. “Are you feeling well enough, Helena?” she asked. “I have become so accustomed to your staying at home in the mornings that I have arranged to go out myself.”

“Splendid,” Helena said. “You are going shopping?”

“With a few other ladies,” Mrs. Cross said. “Will you mind?”

“I hardly need a chaperone at my age, Letty,” Helena said. “I believe Mr. Downes is a trustworthy escort.”

“Absolutely,” her aunt agreed. “He is an exceedingly pleasant man. I was quite sharp with Mrs. Parmeter last evening when she remarked on his background as if she expected all of us to begin to tear him apart. Mr. Downes is more the gentleman than many born to the rank, I told her. I believe he has a soft spot for you, Helena. It is a shame that as his father’s only son he feels duty bound to marry a young lady so that he may set up his nursery and get an heir for that estate near Bristol. The Grainger girl will not suit him, though she is pretty and has a
sweet enough nature. She has not had the time or opportunity to develop enough character.”

“And I have?” Helena smiled. “You think he would be better off with me, Letty? Poor Mr. Downes.”

“You would lead him a merry dance, I daresay,” Mrs. Cross said. “But I believe he would be equal to the task. However, he must choose a young lady.”

“How lowering,” Helena said with a laugh. “But I would not be young again for a million pounds, Letty. I shudder to remember the girl I was.”

She would gain one advantage over Mr. Edgar Downes this morning at least, she thought while she began to talk about other things with her aunt. She would confront him on home ground. Her aunt was going out for the morning. That would mean that she and Mr. Downes need not leave the house. She would not have to be smilingly polite lest other people in the streets or at the gallery take note. She could shout and scream and throw things to her heart’s content. She could use whatever language suited her mood.

Only one thing she seemed incapable of doing—at least she had been last night. She could not seem to lie to Edgar Downes. She could get rid of him in a moment if only she could do that. But she scorned to lie. She would withhold the truth if she could, but she would not lie.

She went upstairs after breakfast to change her dress and have her hair restyled. She wanted to look and feel her very best before it came time to cope with her visitor.

She waited for an hour in the drawing room before he came. She had instructed Hobbes to show him up when he arrived.

E
DGAR WAS RATHER SURPRISED TO BE ADMITTED TO
her house without question. The manservant, his face quite impassive, led the way upstairs, knocked on the drawing room door, opened it, and announced him.

She was there alone, standing by the fireplace, looking remarkably handsome in a dark green morning gown of simple, classic design. Her chin was lifted proudly. She was unsmiling, the customary mocking expression absent from her face. She was not ready for the outdoors.

“Thank you, Hobbes,” she said. “Good morning, Mr. Downes.”

Her face was pale. There were shadows beneath her eyes. Perhaps, he thought, she had slept as little as he. The thought that this proud, elegant woman was pregnant with his child was still dizzying. It still threatened to rob him of breath.

“I suppose it was too much to expect,” he said, “that you would not somehow twist the situation to impose some sort of command over it. We are not to view portraits and landscapes?”

“Not today or any other day, Mr. Downes,” she said. “Not together at least. My aunt is from home. I would have had Hobbes deny you admittance but you would have made a scene. You are so ungenteel. If you have something to say that is more sensible than what you
were saying last evening, please say it and then leave. I have other plans.”

He could not help but admire her coolness even while he was irritated by it. Most women in her situation would be distraught and clinging and demanding to know his intentions.

“Thank you for offering,” he said, walking farther into the room after removing his greatcoat—the servant had not offered to take it downstairs—and tossing it onto a chair. “I believe I will sit down. But do have a seat yourself, ma’am. I am gentleman enough to know that I may not sit until you do.”

“You are impertinent, Mr. Downes,” she said.

“But then I am also, of course,” he said, gesturing toward the chair closest to her, “quite bourgeois, ma’am.”

She sat and so did he. She was furious, he saw, though she would, of course, scorn to glare. She sat with her back ramrod straight and her jaw set in a hard line.

“You are with child,” he said.

She said nothing.

“It is a reality that will not go away,” he said. It had taken the whole of a sleepless night finally to admit that to himself. “It must be dealt with.”

“Nothing in my life will be dealt with by you, Mr. Downes,” she said. “I deal with my own problems, thank you very much. I believe this visit is at an end.”

“I believe, ma’am,” he said, “it is
our
problem.”

“No!” Her nostrils flared and both her hands curled into fists in her lap. “You will not treat this as a piece of business, Mr. Downes, to be dealt with coldly and efficiently and then forgotten about. I will not have a quiet hideaway found for me or a discreet midwife. I will not have a decent, respectable home found for the child so that I may return to my usual life with no one the wiser. You may be expert at dominating your subordinates
with that confident, commanding air of yours. You will not dominate me.”

Good Lord!

He leaned back in his chair, set his elbows on the arms, and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. He stared at her for a long time before speaking.

“You realize, I suppose,” he said at last, “what you have admitted to me.” If there had been one thread of hope left in him, it was gone. On the whole, he was glad of it. He liked to have issues crystal clear in his mind.

There was a flush of color to her cheeks. But her expression did not change. She did not speak.

“You have misunderstood my character,” he said. “There will be no hideaway, no decent home for the child away from his mother, no resumption of your old way of life, no sweeping of anything under the carpet. We will marry, of course.”

Her head snapped back rather as if he had punched her on the chin. Her eyes widened and her eyebrows shot up. And then she laughed.

“Marry!” she said. “We will marry? You jest, sir, of course.”

“I do not jest,” he said. “Of course.”

“Mr. Downes.” All the old mockery was back in her face. No, it was more than mockery—it was open contempt. “Do you seriously imagine that
I
would marry you? You are presumptuous, sir. I bid you a good morning.” She was on her feet.

“Sit down,” he told her quietly and sat where he was, engaging in a silent battle of wills with her. He never lost such battles. This time, after a full minute of tension, he tacitly agreed to accept a compromise when she turned and crossed the room to the window. She stood with her back to him, looking out. He remained seated.

“I thank you for your gracious offer, Mr. Downes,” she said, “but my answer is no. There. You have done
the decent thing and I have been civil. We are even. Please leave now.”

“We will marry by special license before going down to Mobley Abbey for Christmas,” he said.

She laughed again. “Your Christmas bride,” she said. “You are determined to have her one way or another, then? But have you not already invited Miss Grainger in that capacity? Do you have ambitions to set up a harem, Mr. Downes?”

He dared not think of that invitation to the Graingers. Not yet. Experience had taught him that only one sticky problem could be dealt with at a time. He was dealing with this one now.

“Better still,” he said, “we could take the license with us and marry there. It would please my father.”

“Your father would be quite ecstatic,” she said, “to find that you had brought home a bride as old as yourself. He wants grandchildren, I do not doubt.”

“And that is exactly what he will have, ma’am,” he said.

He could see from the hunching of her shoulders that she had only just realized her mistake. Although she must have known for a lot longer than he, although she was carrying the child in her own womb, he supposed that the truth must seem as unreal to her as it did to him.

“It will be easier if you accept reality,” he said. “If we both do. We had our pleasure of each other two months ago without a thought to the possible consequences. But there have been consequences. They are in the form of an innocent child who does not deserve the stigma of bastardy. We have created him or her. It is our duty to give him parents who are married to each other and to nurture him to the best of our ability. We have become rather unimportant as individuals, Lady Stapleton. There is someone else to whose whole life this issue is
quite central—and yet that person is at the mercy of what is happening in this room this morning.”

“Damn you,” she said.

“Which would you prefer?” he asked her briskly. “To marry here or at Mobley? The choice is yours.”

“How clever you are, Mr. Downes.” She turned to look at him. “Giving the illusion of freedom of choice when you have me tied hand and foot and gagged, too. I will make no choice. I have not even said I will marry you. In my world, you know—it may be different with people of your class—a woman has to say that she does or that she will before her marriage can be declared valid. So I do still have some freedom, you see.”

He got to his feet and walked toward her. But she held up both hands as he drew close.

“No,” she said. “That is far enough. You are too tall and too large, Mr. Downes. I hate large men.”

“Because you are afraid you will not have total mastery over them?” he said.

“For exactly that reason.” Her voice was sharp. “I made a mistake two months ago. I rarely make mistakes. I chose the wrong man. You are too—too
big
. You suffocate me. Go away. I have been remarkably civil to you this morning. I can become ferociously uncivil when aroused. Go away.” Her breathing was ragged. She was agitated.

“I am not going to hurt you,” he told her. “I am not going to touch you against your will.” He clasped his hands behind his back.

She laughed. “Are those the sentiments of an ardent bridegroom, Mr. Downes?” she said. “Do you speak only in the present tense or do your words have a more universal meaning? You would never touch me against my will? You would be facing an arid, celibate life, sir, unless you would take your ease with mistresses.”

“I have a strong belief in marital fidelity,” he said.

“How bourgeois!” She laughed again.

“Yes.”

“Mr. Downes.” Her arms dropped to her sides. Both the agitation and the contempt were gone from her face and she looked at him more earnestly than she had ever done before. Her face was pale again. “I cannot marry you. I cannot be a wife. I cannot be a mother.”

He searched her eyes but they gave nothing away. They never did. This woman hid very effectively behind her many masks, he realized suddenly. He did not know her at all, even though he had had thorough sexual knowledge of her body.