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Authors: Kay Hooper; Lisa Kleypas

Tags: #Romance, #Anthologies

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BOOK: Gifts of Love
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Antonia eyed her maid severely. “You did, did you? And what made you so certain, pray tell?”

“I knew you loved him.”

That statement deprived Antonia of speech for a second time, but she recovered quickly. “It is highly improper for you to be placing bets on my virtue!”

“So it would—if we were speaking of anyone other than your betrothed, milady.”

Silenced a third time, Antonia decided somewhat wryly that discretion might well prove the better part of valor. In a haughty tone, she said, “I would be obliged if you would hand me my nightgown.”

“Certainly, milady,” Plimpton replied. “And I will fetch your hairbrush as well.”

Antonia had to laugh. She was still a great deal astonished by Plimpton’s approval of her scandalous conduct, but it was certainly a more reassuring reaction than shock and disapproval would have been. And since she had implicit faith in her maid’s discretion and loyalty, she was not worried about offensive tales being spread below stairs. In fact, she knew very well that Plimpton would not claim her winnings until Richard and Antonia announced their intention to wed.

While she drank her coffee and prepared to face the day, Antonia considered her doubts of the night before. In the bright light of day, those doubts were even stronger, but she could still reach no resolution in her own mind.

If indeed Mrs. Dalton had set out to deliberately destroy Richard’s engagement…But it was all so farfetched!
Would
she have gone to such lengths as to hire a thief to break into his house? And how had she known about the fob if he hadn’t told her? As far as Antonia knew, only the two of them had known of its significance; anyone else would scarcely have noticed that the fob had been fashioned out of a button.

And how had the woman known Antonia and Richard had been lovers?

She might have guessed, or merely assumed, perhaps. If Mrs. Dalton had found the same pleasure in Richard’s arms that Antonia had…

Antonia pushed that thought violently aside, feeling a little sick. Just the idea of another woman sharing that with him was almost unbearable.

Antonia’s gaze fell upon the book of family history, and she felt a pang of guilt. She had actually forgotten what was to happen tonight, on Christmas Eve. Remembering now, she brooded about it as Plimpton finished dressing her hair, then rose from the table and went to get the oil lamp that still sat on a table near her bed.

“I have to return this,” she murmured.

“I can do that, milady.”

“No, I will on my way downstairs.” She wanted to take another look at the paintings.

She encountered no one, and despite the fact that her previous viewing of the paintings had taken place in almost total darkness, Antonia was able to find the short hallway. The window at the far end let in enough light to see clearly, so she left the lamp on the table.

The portraits looked different in natural light, even more alive somehow. Parker and his Linette seemed to gaze longingly at each other across the hall, their eyes locked. And Mercy seemed less haunted and sad, more at peace, than she had in the dark watches of the night.

Antonia stood gazing at the paintings. For the first time in her life, she was aware of her own connection to the past. The roots of a family went deep, she realized, bonding each person to those who had come before—and to those who would follow.

Perhaps that was why Mercy had appeared to Antonia, she thought. Family responsibility. Perhaps she had somehow sensed her descendant’s unhappiness, and had sought a means of helping her. She might have believed that the story of her own parents’ tragedy would help Antonia to avert one of her own.

“But it isn’t complete, Mercy,” Antonia murmured as she gazed at that gentle face. “I still don’t know
why
.“

“Toni?”

She half-turned, a bit startled, but smiled as Richard reached her. “Hello.”

His slight tension disappeared, and he drew her into his arms for a long kiss. Antonia responded instantly; she had burned her bridges, and there was no resistance left in her.

“Hello,” he said, smiling down at her. “What are you doing here all alone?”

“Looking at them.”

He kept one arm around Antonia’s waist as he turned to study the representations of the two ghosts he had seen.

“What are they doing in this hall if their rooms were ours?” he murmured.

“I don’t know. I suppose Mercy might have moved them here because her room was in this hall.”

“Mercy?”

Antonia pointed. “There. She was their daughter. The other night, Mercy led me here, and to the book of family history in the library.”

“Why, do you suppose?”

“I was wondering about that just now. She was…different, Richard. She saw me, and even managed to communicate without saying anything. She was so sad. I think perhaps she knew I was unhappy, and wanted to help me. She…uh…wanted me to go into your room.”

He lifted an eyebrow at her, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “But you, of course, stubbornly refused.”

“Well, yes. So she led me here, and pointed to the paintings. Then she led me downstairs to the library, and showed me the book. After that, she vanished.”

Still holding her close to his side, he studied the painting of Mercy again. “She looks like her father more than her mother,” he remarked. “So they did marry after all.”

Antonia hesitated again. “Actually, they didn’t.”

He looked at her, then back at the portrait. “Mercy Wingate,” he read.

”She married a third cousin who was a Wingate, and who eventually inherited the title. I am a direct descendant.” Antonia sighed. “Her maiden name was officially Wingate; Parker’s father persuaded the local vicar—somehow—to swear there had been a deathbed marriage between Parker and Linette, so it was officially recorded in the parish records. But a ceremony never took place.”

Reaching a logical conclusion, Richard said slowly, “Because Parker died? How?”

Antonia hesitated. “
How
makes no sense, because the
why
is missing. But if they are reenacting what happened then, we may discover the
why
tonight. It happened on Christmas Eve.”

He was silent for a moment. “Then we will wait until tonight. Will we see a mystery solved?”

“The author of the history didn’t know what happened, and I don’t believe the family did either. Linette’s journal had no entry for Christmas Eve—or any date after that. According to other family members, she never spoke of what happened. She died when her daughter was only a few months old.”

“How did she die?”

“The doctor called it a decline.” Antonia kept her voice steady with effort. “Parker’s mother was convinced that Linette survived him only long enough to bear their child—and then just made herself die.”

“What do you think?”

Antonia looked up at him. “I think so too.”

“Love is…a very demanding master,” Richard said softly.

She rested her cheek against his chest. “Yes,” she agreed. “It is.”

Various members of the castle staff may have been bowled over by Richard’s announcement over breakfast of his and Antonia’s forthcoming marriage, and Lady Sophia was certainly so astonished she nearly swooned, but the Countess of Ware merely offered a satisfied smile.

“You planned this to happen,” Antonia accused her.

“Only fate arranges the affairs of mortals,” her grandmother replied. “I merely presented the two of you with an opportunity to reconcile and left the matter up to you. I am, however, pleased that you both had the good sense to mend your differences. You obviously belong together.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Richard said politely, while Antonia could only stare at her grandmother in surprise.

“Oh, dear,” Lady Sophia murmured, her expression still shocked. “I never imagined—that is—Of course, I am delighted for you, darling, if it is truly your wish to marry His Grace.” She gave Richard such a doubtful look that he grinned at her.

“I will send word to the vicar,” Lady Ware announced. “He has expressed himself perfectly willing to perform the ceremony at whatever day I should care to choose.”

Antonia regarded her wryly. “Only fate arranges the affairs of mortals? Am I not to be allowed to set my own wedding day?”

There was a hint of genuine amusement in the countess’s normally frosty eyes. “Certainly, Antonia.”

Antonia and her betrothed had discussed the subject on their way downstairs, but she saw no need to explain that the duke had gotten his own way. He had stated that he would marry her before the new year, and he would settle for nothing else. So she merely said, “December 31st then.”

Lady Sophia was flustered all over again. “Here? Do you mean
this year
? But darling, an announcement! And the banns—”

“I have a special license, ma’am,” Richard told her. “We won’t need to call the banns.”

After an obviously stunned moment, she said sternly, “You were very sure of yourself!”

Richard grinned again. “No, ma’am—merely very hopeful.”

Lady Sophia, much ruffled, turned to her amused daughter. “Still, darling—so quickly!”

Glancing at her betrothed, Antonia said dryly, “Mama, I would really prefer
not
to attempt to word an announcement to the effect that the engagement of Lady Antonia Wingate and the Duke of Lyonshall has been resumed.”

“Oh, dear! No, I suppose people would think that very odd, indeed. But a spring wedding, darling—”

This time, Antonia very carefully avoided looking at her intended. Considering that they were lovers, a delay even of weeks could prove to be unwise. “We would prefer not to wait so long, Mama. Recall, if you please, that we actually became engaged more than two years ago. Even the most censorious of our acquaintance must surely forgive our impatience now.”

“But you haven’t even a gown!” Lady Sophia wailed.

“Yes, she has.” The countess looked steadily across the table at her granddaughter. “My wedding gown has been perfectly preserved, Antonia, and would fit you quite well, I believe. If you wish…”

Antonia smiled. “I do wish, Grandmother. Thank you.”

From that point on, Antonia found the day to be a full one. With the wedding set for just days away there were arrangements to be made which required lengthy discussions. Lady Sophia had to be gently soothed by Antonia and charmed by the duke into accepting the hasty wedding. Antonia’s efforts met with little success, but when Richard stated that he firmly intended Antonia’s mother to live with them at Lyonshall, she was so pleased and moved by his obviously sincere desire that much of her awe of him deserted her.

Since he had found a moment alone with Antonia to make the suggestion to her earlier, she was in perfect accord with this scheme. She and her mother had always gotten along well, and Antonia had no fears about the arrangement.

With the wedding details more or less agreed upon, attention turned to the last remaining preparations for Christmas day. The castle tradition was to celebrate the holiday with a large midday meal and the exchange of gifts—the latter being something of a problem for Antonia. She had gifts for her grandmother and mother, naturally, but she had not expected Richard to be here.

So, while the remaining decorations were put into place and the appetizing scents from the kitchen reminded everyone of the meal to come on the following day, Antonia grappled with her problem. She found it unusually difficult to concentrate, partly because Richard had developed the knack of catching her in doorways underneath the mistletoe, where he took shameless advantage of that particular Christmas tradition.

She discovered early on that his composure was unshakable no matter who happened to observe a kiss or embrace, and that he apparently didn’t mind that he so clearly wore his heart on his sleeve. She also discovered that her certainty of Richard’s earlier betrayal was growing less and less sure. He was the man she had fallen in love with in the beginning, and she could not reconcile this man with the one who had hurt her so deeply. They might have been two entirely different men—or one man wrongly accused.

She continued to worry over the matter at odd moments, but had reached no certain conclusions by the time they retired to their rooms that night. Obviously mindful of Plimpton’s presence in the room, Richard left her at her door with a brief kiss. Antonia nearly told him he needn’t have bothered to be so circumspect, but in the end kept her maid’s knowledge of their night spent together to herself.

“Did you collect your five pounds?” she asked dryly.

“Yes, milady.”

Smiling, Antonia sat at her dressing table while Plimpton brushed her long hair and braided it for the night as usual. Almost idly, she opened her jewelry case and looked over the contents. She had been unable to think of a gift for Richard. He would, no doubt, say that her agreement to marry him was all the gift he wanted—but she knew very well he had a gift for her, because she had seen it under the tree, beautifully wrapped.

Snowbound in a castle in Wales, she could hardly drive to the nearest shop to find something appropriate. Therefore, she had to make do with what was available.

She thought of Linette’s locket, a gift from the heart. Antonia had no locket she could give to Richard, but she did have a lovely old ruby stickpin that had belonged to her maternal grandfather, who had worn it in his cravat. Richard often wore a jewel in the same manner when in evening dress, and she knew he favored rubies.

Antonia used a small, carved wooden box in which she usually stored her earrings apart from the rest of her jewelry to hold the stickpin, and a colorful silk scarf with which to wrap the box.

By eleven, Antonia was alone in her room and dressed for bed as usual. Her gift for Richard lay on her dressing table, to be taken downstairs in the morning and placed under the tree. With that problem solved, she found her thoughts wholly occupied with what would happen to the lovers tonight.

It had been in the back of her mind all day, producing a small, cold anxiety. There was nothing she could do, her rational mind insisted. Whatever would happen—already had. Still, she could not help worrying about it.

BOOK: Gifts of Love
12.31Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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