Miss Featherton's Christmas Prince (The Marriage Game Book 9) (13 page)

“On the contrary, her house parties are extremely select, and no one would dare refuse an invitation.”

Hawksworth grunted. “I shall see you in the hall.”

“I must hurry if I am to be on time.”

Once in her room, she donned her fur-lined gloves as Hendricks placed Meg’s bonnet on her head. Next came the mantle and a warm wool cloak, also lined with fur.

A knock sounded on the door. A few moments later, Hendricks handed Meg a small paper folded over and sealed.

She quickly opened it and scanned the lines.

How very strange. What on earth could be going on? They had never before kept secrets from each other. Well, almost never. Meg could not tell her friend that she was attempting to save her from Hawksworth. Although that had turned into a fool’s mission.

She’d had a wonderful time in his company yesterday at the fair. But when she thought back, there were times when he had suddenly redirected them down a different row of stands from where they were headed.

Perhaps it was a good thing Amanda was not here. He was definitely hiding something, and Meg had no use for secrecy.

E
arly on Christmas Eve morning, Amanda walked softly on tiptoes down the corridor to the main staircase. When she reached the bottom, she let out the breath she had been holding. One more day and she and Chuffy would announce their betrothal. She did not know how much longer she could avoid Meg, and desperately wished she knew how Lord Hawksworth was coming along with her friend.

From the brief glimpses of them Amanda had seen yesterday, the couple appeared to be enjoying themselves. She hoped Meg had not noticed the sudden turns his lordship had made at times when they were at the fair. Otherwise, she would be suspicious.

Amanda glanced at the clock just before it chimed the hour, and began to panic. Her parents must not be late. All would be ruined if Meg arrived to break her fast before they left. Mama would tell her everything.

The door opened, letting in a rush of cold air. “Amanda,” her father said, “if we do not depart, we shall be late.”

A footman came running in. “Sorry, miss. I was to have told you your parents were outside.”

Papa took her arm. “Come along.”

A short time later, they arrived at Grantville. Yesterday it had been decided that they would help decorate Chuffy’s home. None of the Throughgoods had participated in a purely English celebration in many years and had wanted the Hillers to remind them how to do it.

Chuffy assisted her down from the coach. “Happy Christmas, my love.”

“Happy Christmas to you.” She reached up, cupping his cheek. Enjoying how good it felt to belong to him and know he was hers as well. “How did all this come about?”

When she and her parents had left Grantville last evening, nothing had been said about returning in the morning.

He twined her arm with his. “My mother was not pleased that she had failed to invite you and your parents to Grantville for Christmas. While she will not completely poach Lady Bellamny’s guests, she will borrow you as much as she is able. Do you mind?”

Amanda knew that if she were any happier, she would expire on the spot. “Not at all. I suppose we will spend many Christmases here.”

“Only if you wish.” He let go of her arm and slid his around her waist. “You might enjoy Vienna or Florence at Christmas.”

She tilted her head so that it touched his arm. “Are they superior to England?”

Chuffy gazed down at her and grinned. “Anywhere you are is superior to anywhere you are not. They are to be experienced and appreciated.”

“Do you think me provincial for having traveled less than you have?” Amanda said, voicing the only concern she had about marrying him.

“Of course not.” The surprise in his voice was genuine. “Most people have not, particularly with the long war.” They entered the hall, where a servant took her cloak, hat, and gloves; then they continued down the corridor to the breakfast room. Chuffy took her in his arms. “I merely wish to show you the places I like the best. However, if you would rather not—”

She placed her fingers over his mouth. “I would like nothing better than to travel with you.”

Chuffy maneuvered Amanda under a kissing ball. His mother had made them, complete with mistletoe. Fortunately, the plant grew in vast amounts here.

He touched his lips to hers, and she sighed. Reaching behind his back, he opened the door and coaxed her inside one of the parlors. “Amanda, my dearest love.”

Her small white teeth nibbled his lower lip. “Yes, my only love.”

“May I propose?”

She broke off, startled. “Now I remember what was missing.”

Touching his forehead to hers, he chuckled. “I must confess to feeling very strange about making wedding plans when I had not actually been allowed to ask for your hand.”

She wrinkled her adorable nose. “I should have let you continue before.”

“No, you were right. Your mother would have told the entire house. However, once my mother was certain of our affections, she was like a runaway horse.”

Amanda nodded. “Very true. It is no wonder that our mothers have become close so quickly.”

“As well as our fathers. They worked out the settlement agreements in short order.”

“Hmm, all of them seem to be ahead of us.” She straightened her shoulders. “How would you like to do this?”

“If you do not mind, I shall take you in my arms like this.” Chuffy circled her waist with his arms, drawing her up against him. “Kiss you.” Leaning down, he pressed his lips to hers. “And say, my beloved Miss Hiller, will you do me the immense honor of being my wife?”

Her creamy complexion turned pink, and all of her exuded a joy he hoped she would retain their whole lives. “My adored Lord Throughgood, it would be my pleasure to have you as my husband.”

Chuffy kissed her again. “Minx.”

“Am I truly?” Her eyes twinkled with delight. “Now, that makes me even happier.”

Not able to resist her another moment, he claimed her mouth. There was time enough to join their parents.

He also had to find time to send a message to Hawksworth, as the Throughgoods and the Hillers would attend Lady Bellamny’s Christmas drum this evening. But that could wait as well. His immediate need to kiss his betrothed took priority over everything and everyone else.

 

The weather was just cold enough to be pleasant. A light dusting of snow softened the crunch of the frost on the ground. After Lady Smithson had murmured a proposition for him to meet her later, Damon made sure to keep Meg by his side.

The thought that Smithson might attempt to do the same to Meg started Damon’s temper rising. He shook it off. Surely the man was not stupid enough to ignore his warning, and she was an innocent from a powerful family. If he didn’t destroy Smithson, Lord Featherton would.

After finally realizing that breakfast would not be forthcoming, Lady Darby had joined the group as well, declaring that fresh air might be what she required.

“Not too cold?” Damon asked Meg as they strolled down the trail that the groom with a cart, who had been sent with him, pointed out.

“Not at all. I find the temperature pleasant. When do you wish to stop so that we can get to work?”

He signaled the groom. “Will here do?”

“If you go just a little bit along, you’ll find a better spot.”

Someone gave a frustrated sigh, which Damon chose to ignore. “Thank you. We’ll take your advice.”

A few minutes later, Meg exclaimed, “Oh look, hellebores! And here is some holly. I am sure this must be the best place.”

He glanced back at the groom, who winked. “Then this is where we shall gather the greenery.”

Much to Damon’s surprise, the ladies all gravitated to different plants.

After about half an hour, Meg returned to his side. “We must also cut some pine and fir.”

He raised a brow, more for effect than anything else. He was surprised that she had asked for his help. Yet he was beginning to think he might interest her more if he was a little less accommodating. “And I suppose you expect me to tell them.”

Her gaze was drawn to a clump of hellebores, which was being rapidly denuded. “I think they will take the suggestion better from you. After all, you are a gentleman.” The inflection in her voice had risen, making the statement seem almost like a question.

“Miss Featherton, I pray that you are not doubting my status.”

Her pale cheeks flushed. “I certainly am not! I merely think it will appear as a suggestion coming from you. Whereas coming from me, it might be seen as an order.”

She was clearly uncomfortable. Drat all this bloody game playing. It was getting him nowhere. He bowed as if they were at a ball and not in the middle of the woods. “I would be delighted to be of assistance.”

“Thank you, my lord.” She turned, marched to the nearest fir, and began attacking it with a pair of garden shears not nearly sufficient to cut the branch.

He walked to the cart, grabbed a short saw, and strode back to her. “May I help you?”

“I am perfectly capable of . . .” She looked at the branch and shook her head. “Thank you for the offer.”

“Don’t mention it.” Within a few minutes, they had several small branches of fir. “Ladies, if you can help gather some of the pine and fir, we will be done here.”

That, apparently, did the trick. The groom was enlisted to help cut, and in less than an hour they were well on their way back to the house.

Meg strode alongside Hawksworth. Even though she was sure he was trying to hold back for the ladies, she was having trouble keeping up with his long legs.

Finally she tugged his jacket sleeve, and he stopped. “Yes?”

“Could you please slow down?”

“Sorry.” He gave a contrite grimace. “I must have forgot where I was.”

“You were rather marching along.” He had mentioned his war memories once before, and she wondered if that might have something to do with his pace.

“Old habits die hard.” He smiled and his face changed, so that she could see the boy he once had been. “However, you should know the Rifles do not march in the regular fashion. We have two speeds: dawdle and quick march.”

“Rifles? I would have thought you in the House Guard.”

His devilish grin made her catch her breath. “I was for a short time. Then I was given an opportunity to join the Rifles.”

“Was it more exciting?” She seemed on the cusp of understanding this man and had to know more.

“For me it was. The relations between officers and the enlisted men were different, as were our duties. Someday, if we have a chance, I’ll tell you about it.”

Gentlemen so rarely spoke about military matters around ladies. Meg had gleaned as much as she could by reading the newspapers, but still felt woefully ignorant. “I would enjoy that.”

“I’m going with the groom to help unload the greens. Save me a cup of cider, will you?”

Meg nodded and watched as he did a sort of run. She would have to ask him if that was a quick march. Goodness knows, she had never seen him dawdle.

She and the other ladies entered through the main door.

Lady Culpepper came up beside Meg as they were taking off their outer garments. “I hope you and Lord Hawksworth will be happy.”

Meg sucked in a sharp breath. “I do not understand you.”

“Oh dear. I suppose I should mind my words. It is just that the two of you seem so pleased in one another’s company.” The lady removed her gloves and bonnet as if she had not said anything unusual. “I thought you had an understanding.”

“Not at all.” She groped for something else to say. “We barely know each other.” And he was not the type of gentleman she wished to marry.

Lady Culpepper gave Meg a sharp, searching look. “Perhaps you should learn to know him better.”

Fortunately, before Meg had to find a response, Lady Bellamny bid them warm themselves with hot chocolate and mulled cider.

Hawksworth appeared a few moments later, and she handed him a cup of cider. After finishing it, he said, “I shall see you at luncheon.”

For reasons she did not understand, Meg was reluctant to let him go. “Naturally, unless you plan to miss a meal.”

“Me?” He placed his hand over his heart. “Never. Always eat when you have a chance.” He strode away, then stopped and turned. “Save me a place, will you?”

“I will.” Meg could not, would not, allow herself to feel anything but friendship for Hawksworth. He was too handsome, too—too everything, and he had secrets.

 

Damon entered his chambers in a more buoyant mood than he had left them. Meg had been intrigued by his military time. And although he did not usually discuss it with anyone but former soldiers, or others who had played a role, he would talk to her about it. After all, if she was to be his wife, there should be no secrets between them, and she would have to know about his bad dreams as well.

“My lord.” Hartwell handed him a letter. “This came from Lord Throughgood.”

“Thank you.” Damon opened the missive.

Not at dinner, which was a blessing. If he knew his godmother, she would have the evening filled with games. All he had to do was keep Meg away from Throughgood and pray she did not hear about the betrothal from anyone else. Quite frankly, he’d rather be back in Spain fighting the French than see her disappointed.

As soon as he had washed the morning’s dirt off, he went in search of Lady Bellamny, and found her in the hall directing the decorations. Fir garlands studded with flowers and red bows already adorned the pillars and staircase. Swags were being mounted above the doors, each with a gold angel in the center.

He sidled up to her. “I thought you were going to make the guests do that.”

“Are you offering?” She tilted her head and gazed at him. “We can always make use of tall men.”

As he was expected to, he inclined his head. “I am yours to command. I did have a question, though.”

“And what might that be?”

“In what order are this evening’s games to be played?” If the fates were with him, he might be able to get Meg away from the others.

“Snap Dragon will come first. After which we will play Charades. You should find someone to make up the riddles with.” She raised one brow. “Before luncheon.”

Before someone else partnered with Meg was what his godmother meant. “I shall take your advice.” Yet not quite in the way Lady Bellamny meant. He detested word games and would do his best to avoid them.

He strode out of the hall, down the corridor toward the breakfast room, then stopped. If Meg came down to the meal early, as she had this morning, he might have an opportunity to speak with her before anyone else arrived. But he did not like those odds. A better idea would be to send her a note. Yet, would she even accept it? At times she seemed happy to be in his company, then she would hide behind her mask. It was hard to know what mood she would be in when his missive reached her.