Miss Featherton's Christmas Prince (The Marriage Game Book 9) (10 page)

“Indeed.” He used a supercilious tone. “Quite careless of you.”

Her head snapped around to look at him, and he gave her his best boyish grin.

“You, sir, are teasing.”

“Am I not allowed to?”

“Yes, of course—you are doing it again,” she said, frowning sternly.

“My dear Miss Featherton. Naturally I must, if you rise so easily to the bait.”

“Wretch.” Her tone was severe, but her eyes danced.

Damon’s hope rose. He wanted her to laugh and be happy. He wished to be the one to make her happy. “Clearly, I have fallen in your estimation.”

She opened her full red lips, then closed them. Would she admit she thought him as false as her other suitors?

“I had hardly formed an opinion.” Her tone was noncommittal and prim. Worst of all, she stiffened.

“Had you not?” he whispered in her ear.

“No. Now I must select gifts for my brothers and sisters.”

She started in one direction, but he caught a glimpse of Throughgood. “I think I saw a booth down this way.” Damon turned her deftly in another direction. He knew Kit, but did not know how many other brothers and sisters she had. “It is your turn to tell me about your family.”

Damon reveled as she took his arm and her stride relaxed. “I believe you know Kit, my eldest brother. I have two more who are younger. Gideon is at Oxford. I truly have no idea what he would like, so I will buy handkerchiefs for him and Kit. Alan, my youngest brother, is still at Eton, and very bookish. I have already ordered him several volumes in a series he wished to read. I shall see what there is in the way of silk flowers for my sisters, or perhaps some trinkets.”

“A much more easily managed family.”

She looked surprised. “Because of our size? Every family has its problems. My father was ready to order Kit to find a wife when he met Mary. My youngest brother will never follow the family tradition of going into the army. He’ll go to the church. My father has several livings, so that is not a problem. My youngest sister has decided to be an explorer, and my next oldest sister is almost old enough to make her come out, but not nearly mature enough yet.”

“I can see why Featherton wishes his father a long and healthy life.”

“Did he tell you that?” This time she did smile.

“More than once.”

“Not surprising. He did not even remain home for Christmas this year. He and his wife have escaped to their home in Northumberland.”

Damon would like to escape now with Miss Featherton; then she could not be hurt by the news that her good friend was marrying the man she had decided to wed. God only knew how she would take what might very well be another betrayal.

Meg was astonished how much she was enjoying her time with Lord Hawksworth. He appeared much more natural than before. She had trouble believing his father had numbered his sons and was so hardhearted about their welfare. Although many younger sons were required to make their own way. His voice when he had told her was hard, as if he disapproved of his father’s decisions in some way. That, of course, raised a question. “Why was the heir to a dukedom allowed to join the army?”

“I did tell you that my father believed in everyone making their own way? That held for me as well.” They walked a bit farther until she spied a stand with artificial flowers, and turned them toward it. “The only one who has been allowed to remain at home is the second son.” He gave her a travesty of a smile, and his bitterness was clear in his tone. “Are those flowers I see?”

“They are. Let us see what they have. After that, my lord, you may find something to eat.” Had he turned the subject? “What does your brother at home do?”

“I had almost forgot about eating. Strange, I do not normally ignore my stomach. He is learning to manage the estates.”

Meg almost gasped in shock. Her father would never allow one of her other brothers to supplant Kit’s role as his heir. “Nor do my brothers. If one is not quick, they will demolish the tea tray before I have even one biscuit.”

Was it bad that he now seemed so much less harmful than before? She had considered asking Lady Merton about men. She and the lady were not too far apart in age and knew one another. But the Mertons’ little boy was not feeling well, and it was probable that they would have left for their home before the shopping party returned. Before she had discovered that Lady Bellamny was Hawksworth’s godmother, Meg would have asked her ladyship’s advice. Amanda was not a possibility, as she was interested in Lord Hawksworth.

Oh no! What had Meg been thinking? If he was not as dangerous as she had thought, then she had no right to keep him from her friend, and absolutely no right to want to be in his company. What a muddle she had made of things in attempting to help Amanda.

There was only one thing to do. Meg would enjoy his company to-day, and then tell Amanda what she had been up to and leave him to her.

“Miss Featherton?”

His voice brought her out of her musings. “Yes?”

“We are at the flower stand.” His tone gently prodded her to attend to business.

The counter was full of brightly colored silk flowers, as well as some in pastels more suited to young ladies. They were all exceedingly well made, complete with pistils and stamens. “They are lovely.” Thinking of the short time she had left with Hawksworth as an escort, she lost her taste for shopping. “Which ones would you pick?”

“You are being vastly trusting.” He appeared to study the selection carefully. “I take it their coloring is much like your own?”

“It is.”

He held up a bunch of white flowers to her face, then one by one, several others. “I would pick the white and this purple.”

“They will work well. Thank you.” She pulled her purse out of her reticule. “I appreciate your help.” Taking a deep breath, she smiled. His stomach grumbled, and it struck her as so funny, she lost her ability to pretend she was not having a pleasant time in his company. “Now we must search for food before you expire from hunger.”

He placed the back of his hand against his brow, exclaiming dramatically, “I cannot last much longer.”

“You, sir, are a fake,” she said, but laughed at him because this time it was obvious he was acting.

He raised his brows and captured her gaze. “Am I? How long can a person go without food?”

“I do not know, yet I must assume you ate this morning.”

His shapely lips formed a pout and he glanced down at his body. “But I am a large man. Surely that makes a difference.”

Meg took his arm and headed toward a succulent aroma. “My mistake. You must be truly in need of sustenance.”

In the next row of stalls they found meat pies and cider.

“Here you go, sir, madam. The best pies in all of Nottinghamshire. You’ll not find better.”

Lord Hawksworth licked his lips, and she wondered what they would feel like on hers.

“What have you got?” His stomach rumbled again.

“Pork, steak and kidney, and pheasant.”

He turned to her. “Which do you prefer?”

“I am very partial to pork.” The tempting scent of it curled around her nose, making her mouth water.

“I will take two pork pies, one pheasant, and a steak and kidney.”

M
eg was amazed. Hawksworth surely could not believe that she could eat two of the pies. Granted they were small, just large enough to fill one’s hand, but still, one would suffice.

He handed her one of the pies, and she realized that he must be planning to eat the rest. “Thank you.”

He wolfed down one before she had a chance to take a bite.

“You really were hungry.”

“During the war, I learned to eat my fill at every opportunity, as there may not be another for many days. It is a hard habit to break.”

Meg began to consider what else he had endured during the war. Most of the men she had met, including the grooms her father had hired, did not speak of their time in the army, or at least they did not talk about it to her. If she watched them would she notice the same thing, or would anyone who had been deprived of food act in the same manner?

Lady Bellamny had said that this parish was generous to the poor. Perhaps it was Meg’s duty to spend as much money as possible at the fair, and eating pies was thirsty work. “We would like two ciders as well.”

She watched as Lord Hawksworth demolished the other two pies and asked for a fourth. Once he had consumed that one and two glasses of cider, she linked her arm with his. “Let us find some sweets for dessert.”

“A wonderful idea.” He glanced around, then almost towed her in the opposite direction.

Fortunately, not far along the row, they found sweet buns, treacle pie, and fruitcake. He was so tall, he had probably seen them when she could not.

“Do you have stirring day at your house?” he asked, referring to the day that the Christmas pudding was made and everyone stirred the batter for good luck.

“We do. Even my father stirs.”

“I did not know about it until my step-mother’s first Christmas season. My mother was Greek, you see, and my father, I am quite sure, has never been below-stairs. Catherine, my step-mother, took me down to stir for the first time.”

Meg’s throat closed as tears battled to appear in her eyes. “She must be a very special lady.”

“Yes, she is.” He swallowed, and she wondered if he was close to tears himself.

“The treacle pie is my favorite. Although sweet buns are very nice as well.”

He ordered two of each to be wrapped up. “Perhaps we should save one of each kind and eat them at night.”

Meg found herself laughing again. “Sneaking food as if we were children.”

“Why not? I seem to remember the food we had hidden tasted better than any other.”

She did as well. “But from whom would we be hiding it?”

His dark brows drew together. “At times, being an adult is not a great deal of fun.”

“That is the absolute truth.” And to think she had wished for all the problems and heartache she had now. Well, not that. If she had known, she would have not come out at all.

Lord Hawksworth handed her a piece of treacle pie, while he bit into the bun. “Enjoy it anyway.”

Meg bit into the rich, syrupy pie with a hint of tartness. “Excellent.”

This day was the first in a very long time she had not been reminded of her failures. If only it could have been spent with someone she trusted completely, whom her friend did not wish to marry. She gave herself a shake. No matter how nice he was, she did not need the sort of fiery responses he provoked in her.

 

An ancient and stern-looking butler bowed Amanda and her mother into the massive hall of Grantville Manor. “Mrs. Hiller, Miss Hiller, her ladyship will be with you directly.”

He took their cloaks and gloves before handing the clothing to a man with skin the color of highly polished mahogany, who was also dressed as a butler, with the addition of a black turban adorning his head. The old butler arranged the items so that he did not touch the other man’s fingers at all. What a strange thing to do. They were both wearing gloves. The foreign butler rolled his eyes, making Amanda want to giggle.

When she glanced around the hall, which was shaped like a horseshoe, her mouth almost dropped open. Unlike the chilly but elegant marble and white halls of many homes, colorful artifacts the likes of which she had never seen adorned the walls and stood in niches. They must be from all the countries the family had visited. They certainly were not English, but one of the statues might be Roman.

Lady Grantville, a tallish woman with a stout build, much like her son, came forward. “I am so glad you could join us. I wished to come to know you better.” She had addressed Amanda and her mother equally; now her ladyship smiled and held Amanda’s hand. “Chuffy will escort you to the fair later this afternoon. I am told it is not to be missed.”

Amanda curtseyed. “Thank you, my lady.”

“Allow me to introduce you to the house.” She waved her arm around. “These, as you might suspect, are items we have picked up along the way.” A loud crash sounded from somewhere below and muffled bellowing followed. She paused for a moment, then continued on. “Nothing major. Our staff have not quite sorted themselves out.”

Not understanding precisely what her ladyship meant, Amanda glanced at her mother, who lightly shrugged one shoulder.

The sound of booted feet on the stairs further halted their progress out of the hall.

“Mother, I am going to—Amanda—I mean Miss Hiller . . . Mother, is there a reason you did not inform me we were to have guests?” Chuffy’s normally jovial countenance wore a frown. Oh dear. He must not have wanted her here.

Another crash from downstairs, this one louder than before, broke the awkward silence. Suddenly the green baize door flew open, and a rotund woman with silver hair escaping from her mobcap appeared, wielding a wooden spoon as if it was a weapon.

Chuffy winced and a flush infused his face.

Amanda decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and she hated seeing him so embarrassed. “Perhaps it is better if Mama and I return later.”

He finished his descent and came to Amanda. “I’m sorry. I meant to have warned you.”

“Do not be ridiculous, Chuffy.” His mother turned to the servant. “Mrs. Maynard, what is the meaning of this intrusion?”

“I’ll not work with that heathen any longer.” Mrs. Maynard put her fists on her hips. “I’ve been running the Grantville kitchen for over thirty years and never had a complaint.”

“Only because my uncle and cousin were terrified of her,” Chuffy said in an under-tone.

The cook gave him a sharp look, but he had quickly assumed an innocent mien. “I don’t see any reason to have foreigners in my kitchen trying to change the way we do things here.”

Lady Grantville’s bosom rose and fell slowly as if she was having difficulty maintaining her temper. “Mrs. Maynard, as his lordship and I explained to you when we arrived, although we know you have served this house and family with honor for many years, we also have servants who have served us for a very long time . . .”

Chuffy took Amanda’s arm and led her and her mother to a cozy, sunny room in the back of the house. “Forgive me for not telling you of our domestic problems. It cannot have been comfortable for you.”

It was certainly odd to have a servant confront the mistress of the house in that manner. “I take it that the older servants do not appreciate the ones your parents brought with them.”

“There is a great deal of bitterness among the senior staff that was in place when we arrived. However, to my parents’ credit, they offered a generous retirement to anyone who wished to leave. After all, some of our family’s servants have been with us longer than my uncle’s servants were with him.” He held his arms out then dropped them. “Despite the obvious antagonism from the Grantville servants, our servants are doing their best to fit in. Except for Gerard. He is our French chef, and will not put up with Mrs. Maynard’s cutting remarks. She lost two sons in the war, but he lost most of his family to the guillotine, and has no love for Napoleon. She cannot see past his accent, and he refuses to be cast in with the enemy, or referred to as a heathen.”

“I admire your parents for attempting to meld the two sets of servants. Even had they all been English there would have been difficulties. I suppose that the butler in the turban came with you?”

Chuffy nodded.

“Do we have to live here?”

“No.” He grinned. “My father has several other estates, and there is the house in London.”

“Then I foresee no difficulty.” Amanda was determined to help her beloved escape what was clearly a difficult situation for him. “Your parents appear healthy, and I have every expectation that the problem will resolve itself before we are required to take up residence.”

“Thank God. I was sure you would turn and run.”

She pressed the palm of his hand against her cheek. “I love you too much to abandon you.”

“You are truly a treasure among women.” He bent to kiss her and her mother cleared her throat.

A moment later the door opened, and Lady Grantville entered as if nothing had occurred to upset her day. The turbaned butler followed carrying a tray with an array of china cups, some that reminded Amanda of a doll’s set she used to have. Except that these had the deep color of gemstones and were gilded.

Lady Grantville waved her hand toward the sofas. “Please have a seat. Chuffy, dear, you may join us.”

“Mother, what did you do with Mrs. Maynard?”

Amanda was glad he had asked. She would not have dared to, and she was curious.

Lady Grantville arranged the tray that had been placed on a low table inlaid with a carving and covered with glass. “She has decided to take a holiday and visit her daughter for several weeks. The poor woman was overtired. She also seemed not to have understood how generous the bequest was that your uncle left her.”

Mama nodded with approval. “I hope she will enjoy an extended holiday.”

“I trust she shall. Now, I have English and Moroccan teas, as well as Turkish coffee.”

“Miss Hiller,” Chuffy said, “I believe you would enjoy the Moroccan tea.”

She nodded her assent. Her mother chose the coffee, as did Lady Grantville.

Amanda had just taken a sip when her ladyship said, “We really must discuss the settlements and where the two of you will live.”

Covering her mouth, she swallowed quickly.

“Mother”—Chuffy looked to be at the end of his patience—“Amanda has not given me permission to ask for her hand as yet.”

Her ladyship’s eyes widened. “What on earth are you waiting for?”

“I would like to know the same thing,” Mama added.

They were both staring at Amanda as if she had grown horns. She could not tell them about Meg. “I wanted to wait until Christmas Day.”

“Oh.” Lady Grantville smiled softly. “Vastly romantic. Very well. Make your announcement when you wish. In the meantime, his lordship has informed me that your father will arrive later today to discuss the settlements.”

Less than an hour later, Amanda and Chuffy escaped to the fair, leaving their mothers in the throes of planning their wedding.

“Are you sure that was wise?” Chuffy helped her down from the coach.

“I sincerely do not think they would have listened to any of our opinions or objections.”

“True enough. At least they have allowed us to determine how to make our announcement.”

“That is something to be thankful for.” Somehow she had to find a way to tell her friend that she was marrying Chuffy, and prayed that Meg would understand. The situation however, was proving more difficult than Amanda had thought. Try as she might, she could not bring herself to add to Meg’s troubles.

 

Damon was sure he had made progress with Miss Featherton. She had not shut him out as she had before, and she had laughed several times at his comments. Still, there was an underlying melancholy. He tried to put himself in her place and understand what she must be feeling. Unfortunately, he was not a tenderhearted young woman. He would have run the curs through. Now that he thought of it, she might have felt much better if she had maimed the villains. If the subject arose, he would suggest it.

He and Miss Featherton had reached the inn where they were to meet the rest of their party. Surprised to see only one coach was left, he glanced around the yard before steering her back around to the front and in the door.

He addressed a young man carrying a tray. “I am looking for Lady Bellamny.”

“She went back to her house. There’s a Sir Randolph and his lady in the parlor.”

Naturally, they would be left with chaperones. “Thank you. Please have the coach readied. We’ll only be a few moments.”

The lad pulled a face. “Doubt that, sir. The gentleman just ordered dinner.”

“Dinner?” Miss Featherton’s tone expressed all the astonishment that Damon felt.

“Yes, miss.” The servant tugged his forelock before running down the corridor, clearly not willing to stay and debate the matter.

“I do not believe it. Surely they must know Lady Bellamny has put back dinner.” She glanced at a partially open door.

Damon hadn’t decided if dinner at the tavern was helpful to him or not. Nevertheless, he followed Miss Featherton as she opened the door to the parlor. “Sir Randolph, Miss Featherton and I were just informed that you have ordered dinner.”

“Yes, yes, please join us.” He smiled, bidding them to enter. “I have had the best bottle of claret I ever drank, and Lady Bellamny has assured us that the food is even better.”

“Lady Bellamny?” Meg said faintly, as if the impossible had occurred.

Damon could scarcely believe it himself. Before she could recover herself or come up with a plan to thwart whatever scheme his godmother had in mind, he propelled her forward toward the table. After he removed her cloak and his, she was sufficiently recovered to take off her bonnet and gloves. Eventually, they were ensconced at the table with the Culpeppers, partaking of the claret. Or Damon was. Miss Featherton sipped slowly.