Brenda Hiatt (16 page)

Unfortunately, Holly found the sight of poached eggs and toast far from appealing. When the odour of what was probably an excellent breakfast reached her nostrils, her stomach gave an alarming lurch.

“Oh, no! Please, take it away,” she begged. Anne obliged quickly, setting the tray back on the dressing-table. “I’m sorry,” Holly said lamely when she turned back to face her. “I—I seem to have little appetite lately.”

“Lately?” Anne’s bright eyes regarded her searchingly. “Then your appetite has been off since before yesterday’s accident?”

Holly nodded. “For a week or two, actually. I expect it is the result of my worry over Hunt’s arrest and the excitement of his release.”

Anne’s eyes did not leave her face, though she started to smile. “Tell me, is it primarily in the mornings that the idea of eating is repugnant to you?”

“Why…why, yes, I suppose it is. Why?” She could not imagine what Anne found so amusing about her queasiness.

“Pardon me if I am impertinent, Holly. You would probably prefer discussing such matters with your own mother, but as she is not here…”

“What matters?” Holly was genuinely confused now. “What are you talking about?”

Anne pursed her lips for a moment, then appeared to come to some sort of decision. “Pray excuse me for asking, dear, but how long has it been since you had your monthly courses?”

Holly blinked. “I—I’m not sure. Quite some time—before I left London, in fact—oh! You cannot think…?”

Her sister-in-law nodded. “I think it very likely, actually. ’Twould also account for why your experience yesterday still has you feeling so weak. Come now! ’Tis nothing to blush over. I should think you would be delighted—I know Hunt will be!” She was beaming now.

“Oh, no! You must not tell him.” Holly reached out and put a hand on her arm. At the surprised query in Anne’s eyes, she stammered, “I—I wish to tell him myself, please. But…not just yet.”

“Not…? Oh, I see! You wish to surprise him. What a wonderful Christmas present, to be sure!”

“Yes! Yes, that’s it,” Holly agreed in relief. She recalled Hunt’s words on her first night back at Wickburn.
“The sooner we get an heir, the sooner we can part…
” If Hunt knew she was with child, he might never come near her again.

“Still, under the circumstances, I think perhaps we ought to have Dr. Collins out to examine you. A shock such as you had yesterday cannot have been good for the babe.”

“No, really, I do not think that is necessary,” said Holly, forcing a smile. “I feel quite well, only a trifle weak. And if the doctor came, surely he would tell Hunt how matters stand. I do so want it to be a surprise.” She hated to deceive Anne, who had shown herself a true friend and more of a sister than Blanche had ever been, but she could see no other choice.

“Very well then,” said Anne doubtfully. “But if you become feverish, or start to feel really ill, we must send for him at once.”

“Of course,” Holly agreed. But she was determined that would not become necessary. First, she had to tell Hunt the truth about Teasdale, and about her own stupidity. Then, she had to discover whether there was any chance that she could win his affection. And she had to do it by Christmas. She could come up with no plausible excuse to keep her secret longer than that.

“I can scarcely wait to see Hunt’s face when you tell him,” Anne was saying. “What a marvellous Christmas this will be!”

“I hope so,” said Holly, half to herself. “I certainly hope so.”

T
O
H
OLLY’S SURPRISE
, Hunt came to her room twice that day, both times to ask so solicitously after her health that she began to wonder whether Anne had told him of her condition, after all. On both occasions he was accompanied by his grandmother and once by Camilla, as well, so there was no opportunity for private conversation. Still, she found it immeasurably pleasant to hear his voice, almost tender now, instead of angry or cold.

By the following afternoon, she was getting restless. Anne had forbidden her to rise that morning, even though she felt perfectly strong.

“You will indulge me in this, Holly, if you wish me to keep your secret until Saturday. We must subject your precious burden to no further danger.”

With that Holly could scarcely argue, and she had no doubt that Anne would fulfil her threat if she disobeyed. “I believe you quite enjoy playing the tyrant,” she told her sister-in-law accusingly.

“I have had so few chances, you see, except with the children,” Anne laughingly agreed. “If Grandmama knew the truth, she’d be in here with reams of advice, so consider yourself fortunate.”

“I’ll hear it all after Christmas, I imagine.” But Holly was smiling now. Grandmama, at least, would be overjoyed by her news, and it pleased her to know she could thereby repay a measure of the old woman’s invaluable help and friendship.

As the hours crept by, Holly had an inkling of the frustration Hunt must have felt during his weeks in prison. She could not despair, however—the knowledge that she carried Hunt’s child was too precious, too joyous to allow that. This child, she was determined, would not grow up a stranger to one of its parents. It was absolutely essential now that she mend her fences with her husband, not only for her own sake and his, but in order to provide a loving family for their child.

And Noel—Noel would be an uncle! Her brother, she was certain, would be delighted to hear that. But to hear it, he had to return safely to England. Somehow, she had to convince Hunt that Noel was no traitor. And if she could not…Slowly, painfully, she realized that she would still have to tell Hunt the truth. As deeply as she cared for Noel, Hunt had first claim on her loyalty—and her love. She would keep no further secrets from him.

Hunt needed her, she was now convinced, nearly as much as she needed him. Once she made a full confession, she would do her best to win him over. Then, on Christmas, she would tell him about their child, as she had promised Anne. If he still wished to be rid of her—she swallowed hard at the thought—then she would not oppose him. She loved him too much to make his life miserable by staying.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
Holly was up and half dressed before Mabel made her appearance.

“I am happy to see you are feeling better, my lady,” said her abigail, hurrying forward to do up the buttons at her back.

When a maid brought her breakfast tray, she told her to take it away. “I will breakfast with the family today.”

Lady Anne, coming in at that moment, heard her. “I suppose it would be fruitless to urge you to stay abed one more day?”

“Completely,” Holly assured her. “Yesterday was one day too long, in fact. Another would drive me mad, I’m certain. In any event, is not the Christmas Ball set for tonight? The duchess would not thank me for missing that, I think.”

“You do not intend to dance, surely?” asked Anne worriedly.

But Hunt, just leaving his own chamber, said from behind her, “And why should she not? I should think three days in bed would have her quite recovered by now.”

Anne started, and said rather lamely, “I, ah, simply would not wish her to overdo, and perhaps, ah, precipitate a fever.”

“Nonsense! Holly is not a hothouse flower like Camilla, Annie. Pray do not try to make her into one.” He turned his gaze to his wife, and smiled.

Holly felt her heart leap at his look, but only said, “Thank you, my lord. I am glad you are here to overrule my
jailer. I feel perfectly well, as I told her yesterday.” Too late, she realized that the word “jailer” was ill-chosen, but Hunt did not appear to notice.

“If you are ready then, my dear, may I escort you down to breakfast?” He held out an arm to her, his expression almost as warm as it had been in the days before all the trouble had begun.

“Of course.” Almost afraid to believe she was not dreaming, Holly stood, oblivious to Mabel’s attempts to put one last pin in her hair, and placed her hand on his elbow.

Anne still regarded her disapprovingly, but Holly only smiled brightly at her. Her sister-in-law could not know what a momentous occasion this was. Her heart lighter than it had been in months, Holly accompanied her husband downstairs.

She saw at once that while she had been confined to bed, the rest of the family had outdone themselves with the Christmas decorations. Even more greenery was festooned about the Great Hall than there had been for her wedding day. Mistletoe, in particular, was in astonishing profusion. As she descended the staircase, she counted no fewer than six kissing boughs.

“Was William allowed to go back out to hunt mistletoe?” she asked in surprise.

“Yes, yesterday,” replied Hunt with a chuckle. “He pestered Annie until she gave in, then made up for lost time, as you can see.”

“I should have been more recalcitrant, then. Perhaps she’d have allowed me out of bed, as well.” She could not take offence at Anne’s concern, though, considering the cause.

“Annie has grown quite fond of you,” said Hunt with an enigmatic smile. “I can’t fault her for taking a bit of extra care. Can you?”

Holly shook her head. “I’ve never been one to hold a grudge, at any rate.” She tried to infuse her words with extra
meaning, and for a moment imagined she saw a flicker of comprehension in Hunt’s eyes.

He looked away and cleared his throat. “Do you really feel up to attending the ball tonight? Don’t hesitate to tell me, or Annie, if you become fatigued. We care about your health, you know.”

Hunt knew it was cowardly to couple his sentiments with Anne’s, to hide behind her, as it were, but he was not yet ready to voice his feelings plainly. First he must gauge his wife’s.

Had she been accusing him of holding a grudge just now, or was she subtly telling him that she was willing to forgive his accusations and foul temper, his jealousy—even his arrogant management of her life? The first was certainly true, and not entirely without cause, but he took hope from the second possibility.

“Thank you,” Holly said. “But I feel perfectly fine, as I told you. I am quite looking forward to the ball, in fact, after three days of idleness.”

Her shy smile went right to his heart. In that instant, he forgave her everything, whatever she had done. If she was willing to start anew, then so was he.

“Might I claim the honour of the first dance, then?” he asked with mock formality to conceal the emotion that welled up within him—an emotion he had spent months denying, and which now nearly drowned him in its intensity.

“Of course, my lord,” replied Holly with a charming dimple, dropping him a half curtsy. “I shall look forward to it.”

H
OLLY DRESSED
with painstaking care for the Christmas Ball, telling herself that this could well be the most important night of her life. Deliberately, she chose a gown similar to the one she had worn the night she and Hunt first met. He probably wouldn’t remember, but it would be a reminder to her of what she hoped to accomplish.

“No, Mabel, not the ribbon. Use these flowers in my hair instead.”

“But my lady, the ribbon was meant to go with the dress. See, it is precisely the same shade of crimson—” Her abigail held it against the ribbons threaded through the bodice of the white gauze-over-satin gown.

“Never mind that. I prefer flowers in my hair tonight.” She had worn this same spray of artificial white flowers the night she and Hunt met, and had kept them ever since, safe in her ribbon box. They still looked almost new.

Mabel blinked at her mistress’s firm tone and silently replaced the crimson ribbon in the box.

A few minutes later, a tap came at her door. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Holly motioned Mabel to open it.

Hunt almost looked his old self, she thought, except for a depth, an awareness, in his eyes that she did not remember from before their marriage. But then she suspected that the past year had wrought its changes on her, as well.

A sapphire embedded in his snowy cravat reflected the deep blue of his coat, and for a moment Holly wondered if he, too, had deliberately dressed similarly to the night they had met. Then, smiling at herself, she dismissed the fancy. Blue had always been Hunt’s preferred colour, and she had seen him dressed in it time without number. There was nothing remarkable in it, surely.

“The rest of the family is already below, I believe,” he said, a faint glimmer of a twinkle in his eyes echoing her welcoming smile. “Shall we join them?”

The first guests were just arriving as Hunt and Holly reached the foot of the grand staircase. An orchestra had been installed on the dais at the far end of the Great Hall and all the furniture had either been removed or lined against the walls and in alcoves. The chandeliers and sconces blazed with candlelight, making the enormous room nearly as bright as day.

“Holly,
darling,
” gushed the duchess, taking her arm to guide her to her place near the entrance. “I told Wickburn
there was no need to fear you would be unequal to my ball. You have always been so excessively strong.”

Recalling Lady Anne’s mimicry two days before, Holly was hard pressed to keep her lips from twitching, especially when she caught her sister-in-law’s eye from the other side of the doorway. “Why thank you, your grace,” she said evenly, and had the satisfaction of seeing Anne engage in a fit of coughing.

Further conversation was thankfully impossible for the next half-hour or so, as people arrived in a steady stream, and Holly and Anne both had a chance to regain their equilibrium. Then, the orchestra struck up the first dance.

“I must deprive you of one of your greeters, ma’am,” said Hunt to his stepmother. “My wife and I are engaged for this set.”

The duchess pouted slightly. “I had rather hoped you might dance the first with me. After all, I arranged this ball to recognize your return to us, Hunt.”

“Not officially, I hope, as Father did such a superb job of keeping everything quiet in London. At any rate, Holly deserves equal recognition, for her heroics on Monday.” He slanted a smile down at Holly that made her heart race.

The duke stepped forward at once. “Allow me, then, my dear,” he said with a bow.

“You may claim your dance later, Father. My wife is promised to me for this dance. You and Camilla must join us to open the ball.” He did not wait for further argument, but took Holly by the hand to lead her out onto the floor. The other guests took their cue from him, and in a moment the hall was alive with bright, swirling couples.

At the end of the set, they found themselves near the archway leading into the supper-room. Hunt gazed down at her. “Shall we escape the crush for a moment? You mustn’t overexert yourself all at once, after all.”

Holly smiled her agreement, though she felt as healthy as she had ever been. Taking her husband’s arm, she accompanied him through the partially curtained arch.

“My enterprising nephew did not limit his decorations to the Hall, I see,” Hunt commented, glancing upwards. Holly followed his gaze to see the enormous kissing bough suspended directly above them. “Never let it be said that I am one to flout time-honoured traditions,” he said, lowering his lips to hers.

Holly had been longing for his kiss for so long that the first touch came almost as a shock. Pleasure far beyond anything she had anticipated flowed through her. What had begun as a quick, teasing kiss rapidly developed into something far wilder and more significant. He pulled her closer, exploring her mouth with his tongue.

She responded eagerly, hungrily, but after a moment he drew back, putting her gently away. Belatedly mindful that someone might come through the arch at any moment, she dropped her hands from where they had strayed about his neck and nervously smoothed her skirts. She did not quite dare to meet his eyes.

Hunt cleared his throat. “I, ah, suppose we should return to the Hall. Are you not engaged to my father for the next set?” He sounded as embarrassed as she suddenly felt.

She nodded, torn between happiness and uncertainty. Plainly he still desired her. But was desire alone enough to make him overlook what she had done? She would find out soon. Before she slept this night she would tell him the truth—all of it.

D
ESPITE HER NERVOUSNESS
over the upcoming confession, Holly enjoyed the next few hours. Unlike the ball where she and Hunt had met, they were not restricted to two dances together and he claimed her for nearly all of them. Even when she left his side to dance with others, her euphoria held, making her laugh at her father-in-law’s sallies as she had not done since the days immediately following her wedding.

“Heroics seem to have done you good, my dear,” commented Wickburn as their second dance drew to a close.
“Or perhaps it was the dousing in ice water. If other ladies knew what a sparkle it puts in one’s eyes, we’d have them dunking themselves in droves.”

Holly laughed merrily at his silliness as she twirled into the final turn of the dance. But then her eye was caught by a young man hovering near the curtain separating the Great Hall from the supper-room.

“Noel?”
she gasped.

“What was that?” asked the duke as she turned back to face him for the bows.

“Oh, nothing,” replied Holly shakily. “If…if you will excuse me, your grace—” Scarcely waiting for his response, she made her way through the crowd towards the spot where she had seen the man who looked so much like her brother.

When she reached the curtain no one was there, and as she peered frantically around, her mind finally began to function again.

Of course it could not have been Noel. Now that she thought on it, the man had been dressed as a servant—most likely one of the villagers that Grandmama had specially hired for the occasion.

Surely, though, she would remember any man who so resembled Noel, even if she had only met him once. And she had met most of the villagers several times.

There was only one door leading out of the supper-room. Without pausing to consider the possible consequences, Holly went through it. A narrow stairway led down to the kitchens below, where a bustle of preparation for the midnight supper was under way. The aroma of roasting meats and baking bread drifted up to her, along with the clatter of pots and pans.

Cautiously, Holly descended the staircase and peeped into the huge kitchen. None of the busy servants bore any resemblance to Noel. Beside her, though, was the door leading out into the kitchen gardens—perhaps he had gone that
way. Silently, she turned the handle and let herself out into the wintry night.

H
UNT WAS FINDING
the evening a sweet torment. Desires he had worked ruthlessly to subdue in recent days were alive and raging within him, resurrected in an instant by that kiss. And she had responded to him. Awareness of that, and of her, burned more fiercely with each touch, even each glimpse of his wife. His wife. The very phrase seemed imbued with a lush sensuality he had never attributed to it before.

Before the start of the ball, he had noticed how very much she looked as she had the night they first met. Her dress could not be the same one, of course, but it was hauntingly similar, even down to the spray of flowers in her hair. His feelings for her now were far stronger, however, than they had been that first night. Now he was truly in love, rather than merely infatuated, as he had been then.

The dance ended. Hunt made his bows to his partner, whose name he could not even recall, and turned eagerly to locate Holly for the next one. Ah! There she was, by the supper-room. Perhaps he could catch her under the mistletoe again before their set began.

As he hurried forward, she disappeared behind the curtain. Did she have the same thought in mind? His heart raced as he smiled to himself. The little minx!

But when he entered the supper-room, Holly was not standing beneath the kissing bough as he had expected. Looking around the room in confusion, he saw the door leading down to the kitchens just closing. Had Camilla or Grandmama sent her on some errand?

Hunt nearly turned back to the ballroom to await her return, but then, on impulse, decided to follow her. She might need help up the stairs, he reasoned to himself, what with this being her first day up after her accident.

The cooks and maids looked up curiously from their work when he strode into the kitchen and he paused. Holly was
not there. Had it not been she who had gone through the door, after all? But then, where the devil had she got to? Nodding curtly, he turned back to the stairs, only then noticing the door at their foot.