Lady Louisa's Christmas Knight (29 page)

Her Grace's lips twitched. “If there's punch left over from the open house, it should hardly go to waste.”

“My dear, I assure you it does not go to waste. We have a spate of housemaids in an interesting condition every autumn to show for the vigor with which we celebrate the holidays here at Morelands each year.”

A bustling was heard from the main hall below, while the duchess lowered her lashes. “Four of our children were born in the autumn, Moreland. I have many fine memories of the Yule season.”

Oh, it was a delight, a positive delight, to be married to this woman, and each decade—each year—the delight grew more profound. But of course, in the few hours when the house was free of children, grandchildren, nieces, and neighbors, the damned Regent would have to send out some damned holiday greeting.

The footman announced Hamburg, who bowed deeply to the duchess and then to the duke.

“Your Grapes, Your Grazes—Your Graces,” he enunciated. The little fellow blinked owlishly then peered around the main parlor, a lovely room at the front of the house, with enormous windows overlooking the snowy expanse of the Moreland park.

“Mr. Hamburg, felicitations of the season, and of the day.” Her Grace offered Prinny's man the smile that had felled many a lord, and Hamburg did indeed weave a trifle on his feet. “Perhaps we should be seated?”

Her Grace took a seat while Hamburg continued to blink. Then, several moments later, “Yes, Your Grace.”

He marched over to a pretty little gilt chair finished in pink velvet, flipped out the tails of his morning coat, and all but fell into his seat.

“I come in hopes of locating your daughter, the Lady Louisa, and her spoush.” Hamburg's brows drew down amid the pink expanse of his pate. “Her
husband
, that is, because I bear tidings for Sir Joseph from the Regent himself. Tidings”—the man wiggled his eyebrows at the duchess and stabbed a pudgy finger toward the ceiling—“of great joy!”

Porter appeared at the door with a wheeled cart, which was never bad news in His Grace's estimation.

“You haven't far to go, Mr. Hamburg,” Her Grace said gently. “Though surely you can tarry long enough to take some sustenance with us? Your journey from Town in this weather could not have been easy.”

“It was not, my good woman.”

My
good
woman?
His Grace didn't care what committee of which commission the little sot hailed from, nobody addressed the Duchess of Moreland as my good woman… except Esther appeared amused by it.

“The roads,” Hamburg went on, leaning forward to rub his posterior as he spoke, “the roads are deplorable. If it weren't for the good inns and the fine libation provided by them, travel throughout this sceptered isle would not be possible, not even in support of His Royal Highness's most dearly held fancies.”

Her Grace passed their guest a cup of tea. “And is it a fancy that brings you to Kent, Mr. Hamburg?”

“Nothing but. My thanks. I say, did you put at least two sugars in this? Can't abide tea that isn't properly sweetened.”

“Three,” said Her Grace solemnly. “My vow on it.”

The duke began to really, truly enjoy himself, because his duchess was enjoying herself. Tidings of Great Joy was probably enjoying himself too, and wasn't that what Christmas was for?

Hamburg took a sip of his tea. “Well, that's all right, then. A man could use some tucker, though. Haring about in the dead of winter, leaving earldoms in people's stockings where they ought to find baronies is surely famishing work. A barony would not do, you see, nor a viscountcy. I do favor the cakes, missus.”

Missus?
Her Grace's eyes began to sparkle.

His Grace took a seat beside the duchess. “Hamburg, do we understand you to mean Sir Joseph Carrington is going to be created an earl?”

“We this and We that,” Hamburg said, banging his teacup down. “The livelong infernal day, it's We, We, We… Do
We
go to the privy? Do
We
break wind? I lie awake at night in my cold and lonely bed—well, actually, I take a few hot bricks there with me—and I
lose
sleep
wondering if
We
scratch
Our
arse, or have the bloody footmen—”

“Some cakes, Mr. Hamburg?” Her Grace was nigh shaking with suppressed laughter, while Hamburg heaved out a long-suffering sigh.

“If you please, ma'am. Cakes would work a treat. Damned cold in that coach. A man must contrive on the crumbs of consideration
We
throw at him.”

Her Grace did not serve her husband a cup of tea, but she did pass him a plate with two cakes on it. His Grace considered it a measure of Hamburg's riveting performance that he'd rather hear what Prinny's herald had to say next than eat the cakes.

“Are you looking to inform Sir Joseph of his great good fortune?” His Grace asked.

“Well, what else would have me racketing about on Christmas Day, I ask you? Himself wouldn't have it otherwise, and I do live to serve. Good cakes, sir. I commend your wife on her kitchen.”

“My thanks,” Esther murmured, which was all that stopped His Grace from having Porter show Good Tidings out the door and back into the Regent's traveling spirit shop.

“You have only a short way to go to find Sir Joseph's home, Ti—Hamburg,” His Grace said. “And your timing is well chosen, because all of the Windham siblings are gathered there and will make a proper fuss over Louisa and her earl.”

His Grace aimed a look over Hamburg's head at Porter, who stood bloodshot eyes front, shoulders back, and wig slightly askew at the drawing room door. Porter nodded and slipped from the room.

“More tea, Mr. Hamburg?”

Hamburg peered at his empty cup. “
We
prosed on at great length about the punch to be had here. I missed your open house. Apologies for that, but there was a maid at the inn where we—not that
We
, just the coachman, the grooms, postillions, footmen, and myself—stopped to rest the grays…”

Watching a man who was so very bald succumb to embarrassment was an interesting natural phenomenon. The color crept up from neck to cheeks to brow and kept on going, until Hamburg's entire head was a lovely shade of pink His Grace had heard referred to as Maiden's Blush.

“We do have comely tavern maids here in Kent,” His Grace said.

“But terrible roads!” Hamburg expostulated. “
We
ought to do something about it, if you ask me—which he never does. Not unless he wants to know if the puce waistcoat is more flattering than the salmon, for God's sake. The man is fat, I tell you. Fat as a market hog, and his stays creak abominably. One has to pretend one doesn't hear them, and that is trying in the extreme.”

Amid grumbling, grousing, and more contumely flung at the royal person, Hamburg finished his tea and cakes and then stuffed a cake in his pocket while beaming cherubically at his great good friend, missus.

Porter was told to explain to the coachman exactly how to locate Sir Joseph's estate, and then Hamburg was reswaddled in his scarves and poured into the coach.

“Percival,” Her Grace said as they waved a muttering Hamburg on his way, “was it kind to tuck that bottle of punch into his satchel?”

His Grace spied a handy sprig of mistletoe not six feet away and kissed her cheek. “The man is suffering,
missus
, surely you don't begrudge him a medicinal tot?”

“For Christmas, I acquired my first drinking companion. I can begrudge such a rare good friend nothing.” Her Grace was nearly grinning, then her brow knit. “Percival, the children are already over at Louisa and Joseph's, you don't think we'd be intruding…?”

“The sleigh is being hitched as we speak, my dear, and because we know all the lanes and shortcuts, I'm sure we'll beat Hamburg's conveyance handily.”

“That is splendid of you, Percival. Just splendid.”

And then, without even a sprig of mistletoe to provoke her into such a display, the Duchess of Moreland planted a thorough smacker on His Grace's cheek. Five minutes later, they were bundled into the waiting sleigh, hot bricks at their feet, robes over their laps, and a flask or two of punch warming the ducal pockets.

***

“Seems Prinny's coach came through earlier this morning. All the stable boys are too busy gossiping about it to fill a bucket of water. How much farther have we to go?”

St. Just held the bucket for his horse while Westhaven did what Westhaven did best: frowned pensively down his nose.

“Not far. Sir Joseph's holding is only a few miles from my own, as the crow flies. I can water my own horse.”

St. Just moved down the line. “General officers must be free to see to any aspect of the march requiring attention. How are the ladies bearing up?”

“You never heard more giggling coming from one coach. I believe they've broken out their flasks.”

Valentine took the bucket from St. Just, dumped the remaining water into the snow, and dipped fresh from a trough before watering his own mount. “It's cold enough to merit the occasional nip. Has anybody figured out what we're going to say to Louisa and Sir Joseph when this cavalcade shows up on their doorstep?”

“We'll start with Bloodshed Solves Nothing,” Westhaven informed him, “and go on to Not In Front of the Children, and finish with an observation that A Cup of Tea Wouldn't Go Amiss.”

St. Just exchanged a look with Valentine. The horses remained wisely silent.

“Westhaven,” St. Just began, “Sir Joseph dueled for Louisa's honor, which often results in bloodshed. If what you say is true, there will be at least a dozen children on hand, and the little dears are expert at hearing and seeing what they ought not to hear or see. The tea tray is a stretch—this is Louisa whose hospitality we're imposing on.”

“But she's going to be upset when she finds out her husband has a collection of bastards,” Westhaven said, reaching out to brush a hand down his horse's shoulder. “Carrington will be upset because Louisa's upset. We're their family. We can't
not
try to help.”

Valentine set the bucket aside. “We feel guilty because of that business Sir Joseph raised when he whisked Louisa off to Kent, about not appreciating her.”

Westhaven rubbed a hand across his chin. “The man had a point.”

Before anybody could elaborate on that thoughtful observation, St. Just swung up into the saddle.

“The man has a wife, and she's our sister—a sister who might be about to get her heart broken for Christmas, so let's ride.”

***

Of all the counties, Surrey was the most congenial to forestation. Fields, manors, and pastures were represented in abundance, but whereas other parts of the realm might revert to moor or fen if uncultivated, Louisa's sense of Surrey suggested the trees would cheerfully take over and turn the place back into the England of the forest primeval.

“Had I known we were going halfway to London—” Sir Joseph broke off as Louisa trailed a hand up his thigh.

“Husband? You were saying?”

“Had I known we were traveling halfway to London, I would not have let you button me up quite as quickly.”

“Were we not almost at our destination, I would at this moment be unbuttoning you again.” She meant it too, yet another revelation courtesy of the married state. “I wonder how my siblings stand to behave themselves in public.”

“They very often don't.” Sir Joseph spoke with his lips against Louisa's temple, lazy affection suffusing his voice. “Westhaven is the master of the subtle buss, St. Just's hands are seldom off his countess's person, and Lord Valentine excels at the visual caress. Your sisters are more discreet but no less affectionate with their spouses.”

The coach was rocking along, and Louisa knew she and her husband would soon be having a difficult discussion. It would go well. She was determined on that and optimistic enough to pose her next question.

“Joseph, would you be averse to having a large family?”

In some subtle way, he drew her closer. “Childbirth is not without risks, Louisa.”

“I'm built for it, though, and my mother never had difficulties, and neither did Sophie. I want children, Joseph. We have a great deal of material security, and we can afford to give our children every advantage. That thinking is what guided me in the selection of the charity I'd like to endow.”

He straightened. He didn't exactly set Louisa on the opposite bench, but just as he'd gathered her close at the mention of having babies, he withdrew into himself now.

“Is that what we're about today? Inspecting the charity of your choice?” He did not sound pleased.

“It is, and then there are matters upon which I would like you to give me a fair hearing.”

He took to studying her bonnet, which reposed on the opposite bench like a figurative lady's maid. “You would like a large family, Louisa? You want lots of babies of me? They'll grow up, you know, and turn into shrieking, banister-sliding, pony-grubbing little people, all of whom must have shoes and books and puppies. They'll eat like a regiment and have no thought for their clothes—which they'll grow out of before the maids can turn the first hem. They'll skin their knees, break their collarbones, and lose their dolls. Do you know what a trauma ensues when a six-year-old female loses her doll? I have a spare version of Missus Whatever-Hampton Her Damned Name Is, but Amanda found her and said a spare would never do, because the perishing thing didn't
smell
right—you find this amusing?”

“I find you endearing.”

His brows came down. “I will never understand the female mind.”

“I am coming to understand something about you, though.” She cradled his jaw in one hand, wishing they indeed had time to get unbuttoned. This was an unbuttoned sort of topic, one of many. “You were raised by your widowed mother, and then by maiden aunts. You have little familiarity with a normal family life—siblings, cousins, uncles, grandparents, you never had them.”