A Christmas Kiss (3 page)

“Well, you're not likely to do it this season,” Alvina said, leaning back. “I overheard Lady Steele inviting Martha Covington to Gyllford Manor for the Christmas holidays. That probably means they are planning to return to the country next week. You've missed your chance this year.”

Sally turned her cat-like eyes on her friend speculatively. “Returning to the country, are they? Well, well, how delightful.”

Alvina looked at her friend suspiciously. “What schemes are you concocting now, my dear?” she asked.

“Nothing so very shocking,” Sally answered with a mysterious smile. “I was just thinking that a couple of weeks in the country might be the very thing I need. The very thing.”

Lord Gyllford's London establishment, Gyllford House, was always quiet on the day following a large ball, for callers were turned aside to permit Lady Steele to remain in bed until well into the afternoon. Lord Gyllford invariably took advantage of the opportunity that the unwonted peacefulness permitted him to closet himself in his study and work at his writing. The day following the Rutherford ball was just such a day. Not until the rays of the December sun became too feeble to light his page did Philip realize that it was time to put his writing aside and join his sister for tea. With a sigh, he thrust the papers into a drawer and leaned back in his chair, stretching and yawning. At that moment, the door opened and Clarissa bustled in, arresting Philip's stretch in mid-air.

“Aha!” she said accusingly, “I've caught you at last.”

“Caught me?” her brother asked innocently.

“Yes, my dear, you are caught in the act.”

“In what act?”

“In the act of doing nothing. Yawning over an empty desk! It's just as I suspected. You don't do any work in here at all. It's your cowardly plot to hide away from human companionship before tea time.”

Philip unfolded his tall frame from his chair and strode over to his sister. Putting his arm affectionately about her shoulders, he smiled down at her. “And why would I want to avoid the company of a woman of your great charm and wit?” he asked lightly.

“And beauty, too, my dear, don't forget that!” declared Clarissa, slipping her arm about his waist as they strolled across the hall toward the sitting room, where a well-laden tea table awaited them.

“How could I forget your beauty when your face is smiling up at me so prettily?” Philip rejoined, looking down at his sister's plump and pleasant countenance. “Of course,” he added, “that ridiculous widow's cap which you insist on wearing hides too much of your greatest asset.”

“Never you mind about my assets. It's only proper that a widow look like one.” Clarissa patted the offending cap lightly and settled herself behind the teapot.

“In that case, I shall find myself obliged to do something to change your widowed state. The world should certainly be permitted to see more of your lovely hair.”

“If that's a new way you've found of hinting that I should accept Gervaise, I don't mind telling you that I shall be much obliged if you'd refrain from embarking on an old and long settled subject of dispute.”

“What? Give up fighting Gervaise's battle? The poor man would never forgive me. You're a heartless, wanton female to allow Gervaise to waste away in loveless, lonely melancholy.”

Clarissa laughed. “Waste away! He can afford to waste away—three stone at least! And as for lonely melancholy, he spends more time at Gyllford than he does at home.”

“Exactly so. Perhaps if you'd marry him, I would see a bit less of him.”

“I've never been given a better reason for getting married,” retorted Clarissa. “It seems you are determined to get rid of me, either by hiding from me in your horrid study or packing me off to marry Gervaise.”

“I may be guilty of the second, but acquit me, please, of the first offense. I've really been working all afternoon. I had just finished when you came bursting in. By the way, shall Gervaise be with us at Gyllford for the holidays?”

“Yes, indeed. There's no putting him off, you know. And last evening I invited the Covingtons to come with their entire brood. And …” she paused guiltily.

Philip cocked a quizzical eyebrow at her. “And …?”

“And … I've asked Sally Trevelyan, too.”

“Sally Trevelyan?” asked Philip in surprise. “Why on earth—?”

“I don't know, Philip. She went out of her way to be pleasant to me last evening—you know, she can be quite delightful when she tries—and when she mentioned that she would be quite alone for the holidays, my heart went out to her.”

Philip shook his head. “You're much too tenderhearted, my dear. But, Clarissa, I must warn you—if you have any ideas in that direction—that matchmaking is a dangerous business, especially involving me. After all these years, I hope you know that I'm not hanging out for a wife.”

Clarissa threw up her hands. “Heavens, Philip, don't eat me. Weren't you doing the same to me not a moment ago? Besides, Sally knows by now that you're a hardened case. She won't be so foolish as to set her cap at you again.”

“Well, then, her holiday will be a sad bore, with no one to flirt with. Let's hope Jamie brings home a few friends, so that Sally and the Covingtons' girl may have some game to snare.”

“Good heavens!” Clarissa gasped. “I forgot to tell you about Jamie! That's why I burst in on you in the study. We've had a note from him.”

“Good. What has that scapegrace son of mine to say?”

“You'll never believe it! He wants you to invite a friend of his for the holidays. A young lady!”

“A young lady? You don't mean it!
Jamie?”

“That's what he writes.” Clarissa pulled a letter from her pocket and handed it to her brother. Philip scanned it quickly.

“It sounds quite mysterious. ‘A young lady of my acquaintance.' What are we to make of that?”

“I've no idea, I'm sure. And what sort of young lady would ask to be invited?” Clarissa mused, a bit troubled.

“Do you mean you think she's not quite proper? I hardly think—” Philip read the letter again. “No, I'm quite sure you've misinterpreted.
He
is doing the asking, not she. This Miss Pennington knows nothing about it as yet, I'll wager.”

Clarissa took the letter and read it once more. “You may be right. Well, then, shall we invite her?”

“Certainly. I can't wait to see what manner of female has attracted my scamp of a son. I can't believe that Jamie is taken with a girl.”

“Why not, Philip? He's twenty-two. He's certain to get, as he calls it, leg-shackled sooner or later.”

Philip frowned. “Leg-shackled? There's no question of
that
, surely?”

“No?” teased Clarissa. “Why not? You'd been married for two years by the time you were his age.”

“That's true enough. Jamie was born when I was twenty-two. But times were different then. We were more serious at that age. More responsible.”

“Perhaps,” said Clarissa with a knowing smile, “but boys do grow up, even now. Oh, dear … Philip! You may be a grandfather before long.”

“A grandfather?” Philip looked at his sister in dismay. “A
grandfather!
Good God!”

Three

Evalyn Pennington folded her last garment into a well-worn portmanteau, put the two halves together, and cinched the straps. The work was not laborious; her possessions were meagre, making the traveling bag quite easy to lift and carry. She placed the bag near the door and took a last look at the small, neat room which had been her home for two years. She felt no twinge of sentimentality on leaving it, for it had not been a happy home. Although comfortable and warm (for Lady Carbery had never begrudged her a fire or clean linens), she had never been made to feel part of the family. Lady Carbery had an unyielding and unaffectionate nature, and she made sure that everyone understood that Evalyn was nothing more than a servant at Carbery Hall. Even the children were imbued with that awareness, thus making her position as their mentor and guide all the more difficult.

Among the servants, too, she was a person apart. Her gentle voice and serene disposition endeared her to all of them, but, aware of her superior birth and education, they could not help but treat her with diffidence and constraint. She was a lady, no matter how Lady Carbery tried to demean her, and the servants instinctively knew better than to make her one of their own.

In the five years since she had entered service, Evalyn had never given any outward indication of her loneliness. She had been reared by her father, Captain Pennington of the—th Foot. Back in '77, at the age of twenty-five, he'd been wounded at Saratoga, had returned to England, retired on a modest pension, married, and set up his small establishment in the quiet of the Devon countryside. For many years, Captain and Mrs. Pennington had yearned to have a child, but by the time one was conceived, they had quite given up hope. Evalyn's mother was past thirty at the time of her birth, and she died shortly after the new-born Evalyn was placed in her arms. Captain Pennington was then forty years old, and although he loved his daughter dearly and gave her the best care and education that his means could provide, he could not change the reserve which his military life had imposed upon his disposition. His wound had left him partially crippled and often in pain, but he had never complained nor asked for sympathy. In fact, any sign of pity from his loved ones or the servants would make him irritable in the extreme. Thus Evalyn grew to maturity without the nourishment of female tenderness, and without acquaintance with feminine tears and vapors. With the spartan behavior of her father as her only model, Evalyn learned to control her emotions, to eschew tears, and to disdain self-pity.

Had she not been her father's daughter, Evalyn might well have given way to self-pity now. Her interview with Lady Carbery had been insulting and humiliating. Lady Carbery's hints that Evalyn had set her cap at the scrawny and unprepossessing Geoffrey would have been laughable if the remarks were not followed by a prompt dismissal from her post, without so much as a character to recommend her to another employer. The only things which stood between her and destitution were the meagre savings in her reticule and the address of a distant cousin whom she had never met. Her plan, conceived in desperation, was to use her savings to buy passage to London, there to find her cousin and beg for bed and board until she could find a new position. With one last glance round the unloved room, she tied her cloak at the neck, raised her hood, picked up the portmanteau and departed.

Her goodbyes to the household staff having already been said, she was glad the stairs and hallway were deserted. She quietly let herself out the front door and closed it behind her. To her surprise, she found Lord Reginald and James Everard standing on the stone steps leading down to the avenue, almost as if they had been lying in wait for her.

“Good morning, Miss Pennington,” said Jamie with a slight bow.

Evalyn answered with a hurried curtsey. “Excuse me, sirs, but I must ask you to let me by. The London stage leaves from the inn in less than an hour, and it is almost a mile's walk from here.”

“You're not planning to go to London?” asked Reggie in chagrin.

“Why, yes, sir.”

“Did you find a position already, Miss Pennington?” Jamie asked. “Please excuse me for appearing to pry into your affairs, but I have been … that is, we both have been concerned about you.”

“That is most kind in you, but there's no need for concern. I'm going to visit a cousin for a time, until I can find a new position.”

“But, Mith Pennington, will you be able to? I mean, with no letter of commendation …?” Reggie asked worriedly.

Evalyn smiled as bravely as she could. “I'm sure something will turn up. Perhaps my cousin has some connections.”

“
Perhaps?
Don't you know?” Jamie asked, puzzled.

“Well, I'm not yet acquainted with her. But please, sirs, I must hurry along. Do excuse me, and thank you for your concern.”

Jamie and Reggie stared nonplussed as Miss Pennington started off down the avenue. Then Jamie ran after her and took the portmanteau from her hand. “May we not escort you to the inn? Reggie and I have a matter which we'd like to discuss with you.”

Evalyn hesitated. If Lady Carbery were observing her departure from an upstairs window, Evalyn's acceptance of the escort of two young gentlemen would certainly add fuel to the fire of her ladyship's suspicions.
Well
, thought Evalyn,
let her think the worst!
Lady Carbery had done her all the harm she could. Evalyn put her chin up defiantly, nodded her acquiescence to Jamie, and walked off down the avenue with an escort at each side.

It was Reggie who launched into an explanation. “We jutht wanted to apologize for the dithguthting conduct of our friend,” he said, “and … and …” Here his courage faltered.

“It was the most shocking bad taste,” Jamie went on, “to say nothing of the disastrous results it has had—making you lose your post through no fault of your own.”

“Yes,” agreed Miss Pennington, “but since you both have expressed your sympathy several times already, I don't see—?”

Before she could finish, Jamie held out to her a sealed missive which Evalyn saw with surprise was addressed to her. She opened it, and her eyes flew over the words. Lord Gyllford and his sister sent their warmest regards and cordially invited her to spend the Christmas holidays at Gyllford Manor. What did it mean? “I don't understand,” she said, looking from Jamie to Reggie questioningly. “I've never had the pleasure of meeting your father and his sister.”

“I asked them to invite you,” Jamie explained. “You see, it seemed to us that you would find it difficult to acquire a new post without a character.”