Martha Schroeder (27 page)

He smiled again and knew that his newfound happiness and satisfaction shined from him. His uncle raised his eyebrows. “Methinks you were doing more than discussing wedding plans, nevvy.”

Gideon laughed. “You cannot expect a gentleman to comment on that statement, Sir— Uncle--Richard.” He shrugged. “I don’t know what to call you.”

“Richard will do. Let’s see what Cook has ready for the staff’s breakfast.”

Without thinking about it, Gideon swung open the door into the service area of the castle. “Richard it is. And I can be Gideon or Drake—but not Francis if you please. I find I have a rooted dislike for the name.”

He stopped short at the doorway to the kitchen when he heard a gasp and the crash of falling crockery.

“Col. Richard, is this the young man—” a woman’s voice broke off, and Gideon looked down to see a small, white-haired, pink-cheeked whirlwind as it raced to embrace him. “Master Drake, it is you. I would know you anywhere. Do you remember me? I was only the undercook when you left, but many’s a tart you finagled out of me. I am—I am--”

“You are Dulcey.” Gideon’s voice was thick. “I remember you. You made the most delicious apple tarts.”

“Lord bless the boy!” She reached up and pulled Gideon’s head down and gave him a kiss. “He does remember me! I said he would! I told them so last night. He might forget others in all the years, but he won’t forget Dulcey!”

“And he didn’t.” Sir Richard cleared his throat. “Do you suppose we could get a bit of breakfast, Dulcey? Once you finish drowning the lad, that is. And choking him.”

Dulcey laughed and wiped her eyes on her apron. “I’ll just get right to my pans, then, Colonel,” she said, and did so.

Gideon and Sir Richard sat at the scrubbed pine table in the kitchen while Dulcey ordered the other servants about and insisted on cooking their breakfast herself.

“It is coming back to you now that you are here, isn’t it?” Sir Richard asked in a low voice.

“Yes. I had made myself forget, but now it is coming back in bits and pieces.” Gideon looked around him at the large kitchen, now the scene of more and more activity.

“But you do know that you are Fran—sorry, Drake.” There was a note of anxiety in Sir Richard’s voice.

“Yes, you and Lady Mountjoy—my mother—were right. I am Drake. I can remember her very clearly now.”

Platters of eggs and bacon and fried bread were placed on the table, and large mugs of sweetened tea followed. Gideon found that he was ravenous and had no trouble helping his uncle clean every dish.

Once they had finished and been thoroughly greeted and made much of by those of the staff who were around, they went back to the breakfast room to see if anyone else had arisen. There they found Lady Mountjoy and Jane making a spartan meal of toast and tea. While Serena and Gideon found that they felt quite comfortable in each other’s presence, Jane and Sir Richard seemed unaccountably ill at ease. In a remarkably short time, Jane made her excuses and left the room in what seemed to Gideon to be a tearing hurry. To his surprise, Sir Richard followed her almost immediately.

“What in the world is the matter with them?” he asked his mother, as casually as if they had been breakfasting together for years.

“Well,” Serena answered, unable to stop smiling at her son, “I believe that Richard is in love.”

“With Jane?” The idea had never occurred to him, but Gideon found that it seemed quite logical. “Yes, that could be. How can you tell?”

“I have known him for years. And she does not seem indifferent (o him, but something seems to be holding her back. She is avoiding him.” Serena .sat back and sipped her tea for a few moments. “You should ask Lady Amelia.”

“About Jane?”

“That and also to marry you. You are in love with her, aren’t you?”

Gideon stared at his mother. “How did you know? You haven’t known Amy for years. And truth to tell you haven’t known me as an adult.”

“A mother’s instinct. And does she love you, Gideon?”

He smiled at her. “You called me Gideon.”

“It is your name. I am not sure that we can legally change Francis to Gideon, but you must certainly be called what you wish to be called.” She laid a soft hand on his. “Just as you were as a child.”

So it was going to be that easy, Gideon thought. His mother was ready to accept him—whatever he chose to call himself— and his chosen bride. Like Dulcey, she welcomed him and asked no questions.

“I have asked Amy to marry me, and she has accepted. Mama.”

Serena’s eyes filled when she heard that name from Gideon’s lips. He smiled at her. “I know who you are. I think I knew from the moment I saw you. You are Mama, and I love you very much.”

The tears spilled over then, healing and soothing. Gideon rose and went to put his arms around his mother and hold her near. The bitterness of the lost child seemed to fade, and the tight, old scars around his heart softened and eased as he held her.

“Mama,” he said at last, as her tears subsided. “I think that we don’t need to cry anymore. I think we can let the laughter start now, don’t you?”

Serena nodded and smiled through her tears as she groped for a handkerchief. “Yes, darling, of course you are right. And the very first thing we’re going to do is celebrate Christmas. Really celebrate it, the way it hasn’t been done here since— since you went away.”

“A splendid idea!” said a voice from the doorway as Amelia, looking radiant despite her lack of sleep, entered the room.

Congratulations and hugs, tea and a few random tears of joy all mingled for the next few minutes, Then Amelia said, “What has happened to Jane and Sir Richard? I looked out my window and saw Jane headed for the woods and Sir Richard following her as if he were about to arrest her.” She looked even more puzzled when both Gideon and Serena began to laugh.

* * * *

“Jane,” he called out. “Wait for me!”

She must not have heard him, he decided, for instead of turning around and greeting him, she increased her pace and made a sharp turn toward the woods. She might be tall for a woman, but she was no match for his long strides, and it took him less than half a minute to overtake her.

“Jane, did you not hear me?” She turned to face him, and he was dismayed by her look of stark misery. “What has happened to upset you?”

“Nothing,” she muttered, and turned away, pulling the hood of her cloak up around her face, hiding it from his view. “I came outside for a walk. A solitary walk,” she added.

Sir Richard only smiled and walked in front of her so he could see her face. “And I am spoiling your solitude, am I not?” He could not be sorry; he was so glad to be with her. “But I have some very welcome news for you.”

She smiled with a visible effort. “And I for you. I believe Lady Mountjoy will be none the worse for the excitement of last evening.”

“Yes, she looked well at breakfast.” Serena was not the topic he wanted to discuss. “I am not surprised. Happiness is seldom the cause of lasting illness, I find. And my news is even more welcome. Gideon has told me that he and Lady Amelia are to wed.”

Jane’s smile seemed more genuine this time, though he was still concerned by the tired, almost hopeless look in her eyes. Jane was never hopeless. The very idea was contrary to her nature.

“I am very happy for them,” she said. “Although if he overcame his scruples only because he is now the heir to a marquessate, I will be very disappointed in him.”

“No, from what he said to me, I believe that he and the lady have agreed that no matter what his name or station in life, they are made for each other.”

Jane seemed relieved. “Then, I am glad. Amelia deserves every happiness, and she has always found that in Gideon.”

Sir Richard took her arm as they entered the woods. He wished he had thought to take her inside to the conservatory. There roses bloomed and there were wrought iron settees, where they might be both comfortable and private. Fleetingly he thought of taking her there now, but he could not wait another minute to put his fate to the touch.

“Jane,” he said, and then stopped, unsure of quite how to proceed.

“Yes?” She walked beside him but still did not look directly at him.

“I want to ask you something.” He stopped beside a holly tree whose glossy leaves and red berries shone brightly against the bare ground of December.

“Yes?” she said again, still walking on. There was mistletoe, he noted, in the tree above her head.

“I do not know quite how to begin.” He caught up with her and took her elbow.

“What is it?” she snapped. “What is so important that you must accost me when I have purposely gone out by myself? Well?” she demanded when he stood silent, stunned at her angry outburst.

“I’ve never done this before,” he said. “So you must pardon me if I am graceless. But Jane, you must know how I feel about you. I know you are self-sufficient and busy and happy as you are but—do you think that you might possibly—could you consider—perhaps—” He broke off as he saw the look of bafflement on her face. He was making a mull of it, as he had feared he would.

“Not right away, of course,” he babbled on haplessly. “I know you will have to grow used to the idea, but after a while, do you think you might?”

“Might what? What idea?” She stared up at him, still confused but somehow less sad than before. His heart lightened just a bit.

“Marry me,” he said simply. “Do you think you might grow to care for me enough to marry me?”

Jane looked around as if surprised to find herself in a wintry woods with a madman. “You want to—”

“Marry you. Yes, Jane, I do.” For some reason he was encouraged by the fact that she seemed to have lost her bearings. That did not happen to the supremely competent Miss Forrester very often, he was sure.

He smiled down at her a little tentatively and took her hands. “Surely you knew how I felt. I thought it was painfully obvious. The doubt is all as to whether you are willing to make space in your busy and useful life for me.”

She stared blankly at him for another heartbeat and then said, “Why in the world would you want to marry me?”

“Because I love you, of course. Why else?” Really, for an intelligent woman she was being painfully obtuse.

“You love me?”

“Yes, Jane, I love you and want to marry you. Now we can talk about the difficulties of combining the cavalry with your school and other work. Or you can simply tell me you do not love me and do not think you ever can. I need to know. Do you love me?”

“Yes.” That was all, but it was enough. He swept her into his arms with an exultant laugh. “Then, kiss me, for everything else will take care of itself!”

When Jane and Richard returned a full half hour later, their arms were laden with holly and mistletoe, and they announced that they had found the perfect yule log. Something in their faces, a secret sparkle that she recognized, led Amelia to tug on Gideon’s arm.

“Come with me,” she murmured. In the small conservatory that Serena had told her of, she turned to face him, her smile an invitation to share a secret.

“What is it?” he asked, after he had kissed her. “I am always happy to have an excuse to kiss you, angel, but what is the occasion?”

“I want to get some white roses. Your mama told me there were some.” Amelia looked around. “Ah, over mere. Now, if I can just find some secateurs...”

“Here they are, madam.” A small, gnome-like man wearing a dirt-stained coverall seemed to appear from nowhere. “How many would you like, Master Drake?”

Gideon smiled. “McGregor, isn’t it?”

“Aye. Fancy your remembering me. White roses, is it?”

“Yes.
As many as you can spare,” Amelia said, smiling as one more piece of Gideon’s past fell into place.

“Are you ever going to tell me why?” her betrothed complained.

“It is to celebrate Jane’s engagement. I thought it would be a lovely, romantic gesture. I don’t think Jane has had many of those in her life.”

Gideon stared at her. “I am not going to ask how you know they are engaged.”

“Because, my love, I can see in their faces what I see in yours—and in mine when I look in the mirror and think of you!” She pulled his head down for a kiss as McGregor went to cut the roses for them.

The roses and the announcements they heralded marked the start of a concerted effort on the part of everyone to produce a Christmas the likes of which Southbridge had not seen in years. Dulcey and the kitchen staff managed to create plum puddings and mince pies, chess tarts and other treats Gideon thought he could remember from long ago.

Lady Mountjoy, Jane, and Amelia decorated the mantels and tables with holly and red bows. Sir Richard unearthed a kissing bough from the attics, and he and Gideon brought mistletoe to put in it and hung it carefully in the drawing room doorway. The marquess looked on all of the festivity with a serene smile, the look of baffled hurt banished from his eyes by the happiness of his son and grandson, and by the joys of the season.

The only note of harsh reality came with a letter from Amelia’s solicitor, who had been briefed to see to Eustace and Blakeley. Eustace and his mother had left for Belgium, and Blakeley had sold his shop and decamped for Canada, where, Gideon said when he read the letter, they could only hope he would freeze to death.

Jane and Sir Richard returned to London before the new year. Jane had her work at the school to take up, and Sir Richard’s hurriedly arranged leave from Horse Guards had expired. They planned to return to Southbridge in
three weeks’ time, to take part in the wedding of Francis Drake Sinclair, Earl of Mountjoy, to Lady Amelia Bradshaw, only daughter of the late Aubrey, Duke
of Doncaster.

Gideon
had been right. The announcement in the
Gazette
caused quite a stir in the drawing rooms and ballrooms of the ton, but the happy couple stayed far away from London until spring, when Sir Richard Sinclair wed Miss Jane Forrester in another wedding that set the ton a-buzz.

But by the time the next Christmas rolled around and the earl and countess’s son, Lionel, had been christened, several new scandals had made the ton forget the one about the gypsy earl and the duke’s daughter.