His Mistress By Christmas (25 page)

“There is nothing I like better than a good farce.” Sinclair grinned. “And, as I have no particular plans for Christmas, I shall stay and see how it ends. Indeed, I wouldn’t miss this for all the adventure in the world.”

“You aren’t invited,” Sebastian said sharply, then rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “Yes, of course, you’re more than welcome to stay.” He paused. “Warn me about what?”

“Your brothers and sisters are the least of your problems.” The American chuckled.

“Warn me about what?”

The door to the library flew open.

“I’m not sure if I should be furious with you or quite, quite delighted.”

Sebastian smiled weakly and got to his feet. “Good day, Mother.”

“I have decided to be pleased.” Helena Hadley-Attwater, the dowager Countess of Waterston, swept across the room and presented her cheek for her son to kiss. “You are a fortunate man.”

Sebastian dutifully kissed her. “Am I, Mother? For what?”

“Why, that I have decided to forgive you for marrying without so much as a word to me. And marrying a woman I have yet to meet, although from everything I know, she is more than appropriate for you. Indeed, she is an excellent match.”

Behind her, Sinclair was on his feet. He choked back a laugh.

“Ah, Mr. Sinclair.” She turned toward the American.

“Lady Waterston,” Sinclair said with a knowing grin. “How delightful to see you again.”

“Did you think you would beat me here, young man?”

“I don’t wish to sound impertinent, Lady Waterston, but I believe I did.” Laughter lurked in his eyes.

“Only by a few minutes or so.” She waved off his comment. “And, as we did have a stop or two to make, why, I would say we arrived at very nearly the same time.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Don’t you agree?”

“Absolutely.” Sinclair nodded. “Indeed, if one subtracts the time your stops took—”

“As I would consider most fair.” She nodded.

“—then one could say that you arrived before I did.”

“You are a clever sort.” She beamed. “You’re not married, are you, Mr. Sinclair?”

Sinclair cast a startled look at his friend. Sebastian shrugged. “No.”

“Betrothed?”

“No,” Sinclair said slowly. Sebastian wondered if he still wished to stay for Christmas.

“How sad for you.” She hooked her arm through Sinclair’s and escorted him to the door. “I do hope you’re joining us for Christmas.”

“Us?” Sebastian said cautiously.

“Of course, dear.” She pinned her son with a firm look. “You didn’t think I would go to Italy and miss my youngest son’s first Christmas with his new wife in his new house?”

“I hadn’t thought—”

“I daresay there’s a great deal you hadn’t thought about.” She turned her gaze toward his friend. “Mr. Sinclair, you will stay, won’t you?”

Sinclair had the distinct look of a man caught in a trap of his own making. Good. “Well, I haven’t really—”

“Of course he will, Mother,” Sebastian said smoothly and with far more satisfaction than one friend should have for another’s plight. “He was just saying how pleased he is to be here.”

“Excellent.” She favored Sinclair with a satisfied smile. “Then we shall have time to have a nice, long talk.” She opened the door. “I should like to know all about your family. You’re American, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“How lovely.” She nudged him out the door. “I look forward to our chat.” She shut the door behind him.

“And who do you have in mind for my poor, unsuspecting friend?”

“No one, as of yet.”

“I thought Portia was at the top of your list?”

She raised a brow. “You know about my list?”

“Everyone knows about your list.”

“It’s an excellent list and serves a most beneficial purpose.”

“No doubt.”

“However, Mr. Sinclair would never do for Portia.” Mother crossed the room and settled into the chair Sinclair had vacated. “He is American, and Portia would never allow herself to become involved with anyone who did not conform to her ideas of a perfect match.” She shook her head. “No, Portia is not the right woman for him. And Miranda has only been a widow for less than two years. She is not at all ready for a new husband, although at some point, an adventurous type might suit her nicely. It’s almost a pity Bianca is not a widow, although I would not wish that annoying husband of hers ill.”

“No?”

“No, dear.” She sniffed. “That would be wrong.”

“Aside from that tiny detail,” Sebastian said, “Mr. Sinclair is not overly fond of Bianca. He thinks she’s frightening.”

“Nonsense.” Mother scoffed. “I daresay Mr. Sinclair isn’t afraid of anything. Regardless, Bianca doesn’t like him, either. Precisely what would make it so much fun for the rest of us, and her as well, although she would deny it. It scarcely matters, anyway, as she is not currently free to be on my list. And Bianca is not why I am here.” Her eyes narrowed. “I should tell you I do not appreciate finding out that my youngest son has wed through a chance encounter in Paris with an acquaintance of my daughter’s mother-in-law.”

He stared. “A what?”

She sighed. “Portia and I were on our way to Italy, and we had planned on spending a few days in Paris. I have always liked Paris, and it does seem the sort of city one doesn’t simply go through but should stop and enjoy.”

“And?”

“And.” Her brows drew together. “And as I am telling this story, I shall tell it in my own time. Impatience, Sebastian, is not a virtue.”

“Very well, Mother.” He crossed his arms over his chest, propped a hip on his desk, and studied her. “Go on.”

“It scarcely matters now. Suffice it to say, I heard of your marriage . . . Oh, what would it be?” She thought for a moment. “At least fourth hand. Why, I have had more direct knowledge of political scandals than I had of my own son’s marriage.”

“I am sorry,” he said with genuine remorse. He was indeed sorry. And the list of precisely what he was sorry for grew with every passing day. “I fully intended to tell you, but, well, it was all quite unexpected.” Which was very nearly the truth. His spirits brightened. Indeed, he did intend to tell his mother when he married, and almost everything that had happened from the moment he’d met Veronica was unexpected.

“Well, what’s done is done, I suppose.” Mother studied him. “I cannot tell you how pleased I am. Indeed, we are all pleased. While I have never met Lady Smithson, I do know of her. And of course, I am acquainted with her family.”

“You are?”

“Oh my, yes. I have known Charlotte Bramhall and her brother, Viscount Bramhall, for years, although I was better acquainted with his wife, Lady Smithson’s—”

“Veronica.”

“Yes, of course, Veronica. I knew her mother. Lovely woman. As was Miss Bramhall. But, of course, we all were then. Now, if we’re lucky, we’re considered to have held up well. Or worse, we are described as handsome women, which seems to mean while we were considered beautiful once, now we simply have character. And if we have had the fortitude to have survived our husbands, our titles are coupled with the word
dowager,
which is a dreadful, dreadful word and, to me, has always conjured up images of farm animals that have outlived their usefulness. Growing older is not at all pleasant for a woman, although it is somewhat better than moldering in a grave, I suppose.” She shuddered. “Now, what was I saying?”

He bit back a smile. “You were talking about—”

“Ah yes,” she continued. “Why, I recall being present at her engagement ball.”

He drew his brows together. “Veronica’s mother’s?”

“Oh no, I’m speaking of Miss Bramhall’s engagement ball. To . . . Oh, what was his name? Ah yes, it was Tolliver.”

Sebastian stared. “Hugo Tolliver?”

“
Sir
Hugo Tolliver now, if I’m not mistaken. They were the perfect couple, or so people said at the time.” His mother smiled at the memory. “She was lovely and spirited. He was a dashing explorer, always off wandering the world.” She cast her son a pointed look. “Very much like you.”

“How interesting.” There was nothing his mother liked more than gossip, even long-ago gossip, although she would adamantly deny it. Still, as long as she was talking about the past, the present might be avoided. “Please, go on.”

“There’s nothing more to say.” She shrugged. “One minute they were planning to marry, and the next they weren’t. There was some gossip, of course, as to what passed between them, but I did not know either of them well enough to know the truth of it. Veronica would know, I suspect. Or you could ask Miss Bramhall herself, although that might be somewhat presumptuous of you. It was a very long time ago.”

“The shrew and the old fool,” he said under his breath. “Who would have imagined?”

“As I said, it was considered a perfect match. Do let me know if you find out the truth of it. I have always been curious as to what happened. In the meantime, I am quite looking forward to meeting your wife.” She nodded. “And of course, her family is interested in meeting you.”

“I have met Miss Bramhall,” he said uneasily. “As for the rest of her family, I’m sure that time will come.”

“I do believe family should be together at Christmas, you know. And apparently, the fates have conspired to ensure that we will be. Most of us, anyway,” she added. “I was only going to Italy with Portia in the first place because Diana and her family had other plans. Adrian and Evelyn have always been a world unto themselves but would include Hugh and Bianca and Miranda for Christmas. In spite of what you have said, you could not be counted on to even stay in the country, let alone join us for Christmas, and Portia could not be dissuaded. Of all of you, it seemed she needed me, even if she would not admit it. Besides, I thought it might be time for something different.” She met his gaze firmly. “Even those of us past the first blush of youth, we who are
handsome,
are not immune to the occasional desire for adventure, albeit as minimal as changing location for Christmas.

“However, when I heard Diana’s plans had changed because you had at last married, well, I had to turn around and come back to England.” She shook her head. “It was fate telling me I was shirking my motherly responsibilities by abandoning my family at Christmas.”

“I imagine Portia wasn’t especially pleased.”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into her.” She heaved a long-suffering sigh. “She refused to come with me. She said she had planned to spend Christmas in Italy and Italy was where she intended to be. Besides that . . .” She narrowed her eyes. “Portia refused to believe you were married. She said there must be some mistake and she was not going to change her plans because of an obvious misunderstanding. Why on earth would she think such a thing?”

“I have no idea.” He shook his head in as innocent a manner as he could muster. No doubt Portia knew of Veronica’s desire to be a mistress rather than a wife. “Portia is a good friend of Veronica’s. Perhaps, as it has all happened so quickly . . .”

“Perhaps.” She considered him thoughtfully, and he resisted the urge to squirm.

Blast it all, he wasn’t a child caught doing something he shouldn’t. He ignored the thought that he was involved in a deception that had taken on a life of its own. Still, he was a grown man, a man who had made a mark in the world, with his own house and an estate manager. “Well, we shall miss her, as I intend for this to be a splendid Christmas for all of us.”

After Christmas was another matter, but it did no good to dwell on it now. Best to take this one day at a time, or rather, one unexpected guest at a time.

A thought struck him, and he drew his brows together. “If Portia isn’t with you, then who—”

A knock sounded at the library door.

“You told Sinclair. ‘
We
had a stop or two—’ ”

The door opened. Stokes’s protest could be heard over a vaguely familiar female voice.

He stared at his mother in horror.

“You should send for your wife, dear. I can’t wait to meet her.” His mother leaned toward him in a confidential manner. “I have a lovely surprise for her. I do so love surprises at Christmas.” She cast him a satisfied smile. “And you are absolutely right. It’s going to be a splendid Christmas.”

He’d sent for her? Sebastian had
sent
for her? Like a . . . a
wife?
It was all Veronica could do to keep from hurrying toward the library, but she would not give him the satisfaction of thinking, for so much as a single second, that she was at his beck and call. Ha! It was difficult to keep a sedate pace as the sooner she saw him, the sooner she could tell him in no uncertain terms that she would not be fetched! Besides, she couldn’t help being curious. The footman who had been told by Stokes, who had been told by Sebastian, to
fetch her
was most confused as to why she was being summoned. Admittedly, confusion was to be expected. None of the servants here were used to having as many unexpected guests, or any, as had arrived thus far.

Her step slowed. Admittedly, Sebastian was not the type of man who sent for his wife like Petruchio in
The Taming of the Shrew
. Sebastian was the type of man willing to accept a woman’s advice and accept as well that she might be better versed on some matters than he. Still, marriage changed a man. Good Lord, what was she thinking? Sebastian wasn’t married. Nor was she.

Stokes stood outside the closed library doors, as if guarding the entry. Even as well trained as he was, he couldn’t hide the relief that showed on his face at her approach. The moment she saw the servant’s face, she realized she had jumped to irrational conclusions. Perhaps Sebastian had sent for her because he needed her. She couldn’t recall ever having been needed before. Charles had loved her, but he hadn’t needed her. The oddest warmth spread through her at the thought.

“The plot thickens, my lady,” Stokes said under his breath, then opened the doors. What on earth did the butler mean by that? She stepped into the library and froze.

In a distant part of her mind that could still appreciate the inherent humor in the farce that held her captive, she noted the tableau looked as if it had indeed been staged for maximum effect. Her grandmother and a lady of about Aunt Lotte’s age were seated in the chairs near the desk. Lotte stood nearby. Her father perused the bookshelves, as, of course, he would. Sebastian stood as well, a stunned look in his eyes, as if he couldn’t quite believe the trap he found himself caught in. If she had been sitting in a theater, the scene onstage would have been most amusing and she would have wondered what in the world could possibly happen next. As it was, for perhaps the first time in her life, words failed her.