Miss Featherton's Christmas Prince (The Marriage Game Book 9) (14 page)

He continued down the corridor to the back stairs. He would have his valet relay a message to her lady’s maid to partner him for Charades. A perfectly unexceptional method of solving his first problem of the evening. Even his father couldn’t complain about Damon’s behavior. Although that had never stopped the duke before. When had he ever been pleased with his heir? He probably wished Damon had not returned from the war.

Thinking of his father reminded Damon about the party his step-mother was being made to plan, to introduce him to marriageable young ladies. He did not mind at all embarrassing the old man by failing to appear, but he would not hurt Catherine’s feelings or disappoint her.

His feelings for Meg had grown to the point where he had no doubt he loved her. She, on the other hand, was not only hard to read but still very afraid of being betrayed again. He was certain that, given time, he could earn her trust and her love. The difficulty was in convincing Meg to commit to him in such a short period of time. Yet it had to be done. Otherwise he would quite probably find himself betrothed to another woman, and that would not suit his plans at all.

He could weather the consequences of his outright defiance of his father. The question was, could the rest of his family? For if Damon did not attend the party, and he had no doubt he would be banished if that were the case, the duke would take out his ire on the rest of his children, perhaps even Catherine. Even though Damon was only the heir, he still had a responsibility to his family and future dependents.

There was nothing for it. Miss Margaret Featherton must be conquered rapidly, and held.

M
eg held Hawksworth’s note in her hand, but did not understand why he would want her as a partner for Charades. She was not at all clever with words in that fashion, although he could not know that. Nevertheless, she supposed the other guests had already picked their partners. Even Amanda would have her mother. Meg prayed Hawksworth was not counting on her. On the other hand, he had many talents. Perhaps one of them was riddles.

“Miss, have you decided?” Hendricks stood by the open door.

“I will be happy to partner with his lordship.” Meg fought down the panic as she said the words.

Normally, she would find somewhere else to be, but she could not see her hostess allowing that sort of escape. Directly after luncheon, she would repair to the library in search of a book of riddles. There must be at least one. Perhaps she should forget the meal and search now. Her stomach growled, but fear of embarrassment overcame her hunger, and she strode rapidly down the corridor to the back stairs, and thence to the library.

She opened the door and halted. Meg was used to large homes, castles, abbeys, and all sorts of grand houses, but this took her breath away. Other than the ballroom, it was easily the largest room in the house. The library was paneled with book cases. Three spiral staircases rose three levels up. Each level required ladders to reach the highest shelves. Long, narrow windows broke the line of books, providing light to each floor. The roof appeared to be a glass dome. She had never seen such a wonderful room, but how was she supposed to find one book of riddles amidst such a collection? Yet find it she must.

After a few moments it became clear that the books were in order by type, author, and year of publication. If only she knew which classification a book of riddles would be in. Her stomach complained again as Meg began to search. This could take all day.

“May I help you find something?”

She whipped around, tripping over a stool. Before she hit the floor, a pair of strong arms pulled her up and held her against Hawksworth’s hard chest. Her heart thudded almost painfully. He should not be holding her so closely, or at all. Yet his scent, pure male with a hint of lavender, captured Meg’s senses.

Lavender? She had never liked the fragrance on a man, yet on him it was intriguing. She forced herself to take one step back, then another, until there was a proper distance between them.

“Are you all right?” His voice wove its way around her, while his deep brown eyes reflected concern.

“Yes, thank you. I was simply startled. I did not expect to see anyone else here.” Meg felt like a complete fool. She should have told him that she was not good with Charades. Her stomach made itself known again.

“I brought food.” He waved his arm in the direction of a long wood table. “And I am happy to share.”

Against her will, her lips curved into a smile and she laughed. “Of course you did.”

He took hold of her elbow and led her to the dishes that covered a large silver tray. “You did not answer my question.”

Well, drat. There was no reason to prevaricate, other than her pride. She may as well admit her failing. He would discover it soon enough in any event. “I was looking for help with the riddles for this evening. It is not one of my talents.”

Hawksworth began filling a plate with cheese, boiled eggs, chicken, and ham. “Neither is it one of mine. I had hoped you could save me. Perhaps we shall have to find an excuse not to join the others.”

She harrumphed. “Good luck convincing Lady Bellamny we should be excused.”

“You may have a point. Here.” He placed the plate in front of a chair, and began loading another one. “If you don’t eat, your stomach will not allow us any peace.”

She wanted to make a clever retort, but was too hungry to think of one. After gobbling down a piece of cheese, she asked, “Where would a book of riddles be?”

“Under games, or maybe comedy.” He ate quickly and efficiently, but gave every impression of enjoyment. As if he was determined to savor the meal. “Now that both of us are searching, we should find something.”

As she glanced around the massive room, the enormity of the task finally sank in. It could take days. “What if it eludes us?”

“In that eventuality”—he wiped his lips and fingers on a large white serviette—“we call for reinforcements. I’m not one for a Forlorn Hope.”

Meg set her plate on the tray. “What does that mean?”

He leaned back in his chair with his hands crossed over his stomach. “During a siege there comes a time when a group of soldiers, enlisted men and officers, volunteer to lead the attack to breach the city walls. The casualty rate is exceedingly high, and the chances of success can be low. They are the Forlorn Hope.”

That made no sense at all. She frowned, trying to comprehend the impossible. “Why would anyone volunteer to be killed?”

Damon gave a short, derisive chuckle. Some would say that by simply entering the military, one was volunteering to die. Still, it was important to him that she understand. “Because if they do succeed, the rewards are promotions. Not every officer has the funds or family willing to buy a promotion. In the enlisted ranks, it is hard to move up.”

Her brow cleared a bit. “An act of desperation?”

“For some. For others it is a way to achieve recognition.”

She shook her head slowly. “I cannot even think of a situation in regular life that would compare.”

“Can you not?”

She had ambled back toward the first of the rows of bookcases taking up the center of the room.

“What of women and men who marry for status, or money, or both?”
Or one beautiful, passionate lady who is too afraid to love.
“They are, in their ways, acts of desperation.”

“I suppose you are correct. Many people, particularly women, do things that could cause them harm.”

“Then there are the merely foolhardy. Young men who take risks because they cannot foresee the possible consequences.”

“Such as when a couple elopes.”

“Or believes they know the other person, but has been fooled by the face he or she shows the world.” Damon prayed she would finally understand that she was meant to have been a dupe.

“We should search for the riddles.”

He wondered if the conversation had pricked at her enough that she wished to end it. They still had hours until it was time to dress for dinner. “Indeed. Our time is running short.”

He and Meg took separate sections, looking for classifications that might include riddles. After about an hour her shout echoed from above. “I found them.”

Thank fate for favors
. “I’ll be right there.” Taking the steps by twos, he was quickly beside her. “That’s it?”

“Just the two books, but surely that will be enough. We don’t need many.”

He began to flip through one of the books. “Here is one from David Garrick. I had no idea he was such a wit.

She screwed her face up. “I have no idea.”

“Chimney sweep.”

“Good God.” She sank gracefully onto the floor. “I am never going to guess any of them.”

He felt the exact same way. “There might be enough time to have someone search the rooms for the other guests’ riddles.”

“It will not help.” She held up a letter. “This was stuck in the book. A Mrs. Littleton sent it to Lady Bellamny. She had it from another friend.

“The answer is hem-lock
.
”

“I’ll be dam—a dunderhead.”

“Precisely.” Her fallen face reminded him of someone who had lost her dearest friend.

Every sinew and nerve in his body needed him to come to her rescue. “We will find the ones we wish to use, and trust I shall find a way out of the game.”

“If only you could.” Clearly she had a low opinion of his abilities. “I do not know why they call it a game when it is pure torture.”

“Here is our last one.

“The answer is a sea-man.” He rose and held out his hand. “You should have more trust in me.”

She placed her hand in his. “Why?”

Damon pulled her up so that there were only inches between them. “Because I never promise what I cannot make happen.”

Her ocean-deep-blue eyes searched his. “We shall see.”

Meg’s skepticism pricked his pride. Only one other person doubted him, and that was his father. By the end of this evening, Damon would make bloody sure she would have no reason to distrust his word.

 

Austin Smithson gazed at his wife before pulling out a piece of pressed paper from the desk drawer. “Why so glum, my pet? I thought at least one of us would be having some fun.”

“There is no one here,” she uttered in tragic tones as she flopped on the bed.

“Hawksworth is unattached.” He dipped the pen in the standish twice, composing the letter in his head.

“He has made it quite clear that he is not interested. Apparently, Lady Bellamny is his godmother.”

“Ah, expectations. Mustn’t ruin them.”

“I suppose that is it,” Carola said, interrupting Austin. “She is such a rigid old lady.” Her normally melodic tone had become whiny.

“We will not be here too much longer.” He smiled at her. “I give you my word.”

She pouted. “You gave me your word that we would have an enjoyable visit.”

“Darling, is it my fault that I mistook the situation?” If he didn’t get her out of here soon, she’d be throwing tantrums. “Allow me to finish this letter, and I will see what I can do to make you feel better. Perhaps Paris. I understand the men there are quite ardent.”

“You could come here now.” Her voice had suddenly become sultry, and he turned. The front buttons of her gown were undone, and she was pulling it off.

His cock jumped, even though her blatant sensuality had long ago ceased to excite him. By the time she had given birth to two sons, one after the other, Carola had worn him out with her incessant demands to be swived, and he set her free. However, it had been too long for him as well. “I need to finish this missive.”

“Who is that important?”

“Tarlington. Apparently he couldn’t bring his American heiress up to scratch.”

“He and his mistress are bores.”

As was anyone who would not bed her. “He is a friend, and I will do what I can to assist him.” Austin glanced over his shoulder. Carola was naked and touching herself.
Hell!
His hand trembled as he dipped it in the inkwell again. “This won’t take long.”

M
eg wanted to bite her tongue. She had meant her words to be teasing, yet she knew her tone had not lightened as it should have done. She had never seen Hawksworth’s countenance as hard and determined as it was now. She should apologize. It was the only polite course to take. But she was tired of men making promises and not living up to them.

And once again, they were far too close to each other, and her breathing was shallow. His fine lips were pressed tightly together, but she saw hurt lurking deep in his eyes. Surely she was being fanciful. Nothing she said could injure him. In any event, it was time to dress for dinner.

She dipped a shallow curtsey. “I shall see you this evening, my lord.”

“Indeed you shall, Miss Featherton,” he said in a voice as hard as his face.

Keeping her spine straight and her chin held high, Meg made her way as quickly as possible down the stairs and out of the room. She did not stop until she reached her bedchamber.

Once in her room, she held on to the bedpost, trying to breathe deeply, but her heart was pounding as if she had been running. That man should not affect her the way he did. She was not going to lose her heart again, and if she did, it could not be to
him
.

God, she was a goose! He had not even given her a reason to think he was interested. Hawksworth was simply being friendly. After all, they were the only single people here, other than Amanda.

If not for the fact that Amanda’s parents were with her, Meg would have been worried that she had not seen her friend in so long, and that didn’t make any more sense than thinking Hawksworth was interested in her. Most likely the Hillers had gone to visit relatives or friends in the area or perhaps Mrs. Hiller was keeping her daughter away from Hawksworth . . . but why had no one said anything? The only thing to do was to speak with Amanda. There would be a simple explanation for her absence.

Meg removed her boots. She was probably tired. Otherwise she would not be overreacting as she was. She climbed into the bed, sinking into the soft mattress.

“Miss, wake up. It’s time to dress.”

His kiss had seemed so real, she touched her lips. But there was nothing unusual about them at all. She could not fall in love with him. Even if her heart wished it. She would not betray Amanda.

She rose from the bed, and allowed Hendricks to unlace her gown. “I don’t know how I’ll get all these wrinkles out. You should have called for me.”

“I didn’t intend to fall asleep.”

Hendricks snorted. “Fagged to death, that’s what you are.”

Meg could not disagree. She rarely slept during the day.

After she washed and donned an evening gown, she sat at the dressing table.

A few minutes later, her maid was pinning her hair up into a knot. “Miss, you’re fidgeting.”

“I never fidget.”

“Well, you are now,” Hendricks said in a tone that finished their short exchange.

Meg took a breath and attempted to calm her disordered self. Maybe her maid was right. She had not been herself lately. Hawksworth was not helping. That dream had not helped.

She smiled to herself. Lavender. She did not know another man who could carry it off. She hoped Amanda liked it.

“There you are.” Hendricks placed a ruby-trimmed comb in Meg’s hair.

Meg put on a ruby and diamond necklace that her parents had given her for her twenty-first birthday and fastened the matching earrings.

A sudden longing for home struck her. Her family would just now be finishing the Christmas decorating. Dinner would have been served early, and a choral group from the church would come and sing carols. All their neighbors would join them for games, and she would be allowed to make herself scarce while Charades was being played. At midnight they would attend church services, and afterward open presents.

Willing away her tears, she gave herself a shake. She was only making herself miserable by thinking of dear and familiar customs. Attending the house party had been a mistake. After this year, she would never leave home at Christmas again.

 

Almeria opened the door to the terrace of her private morning room. “Come in and warm yourselves.”

Lucinda Featherton paused to kiss Almeria’s cheek. “It is chilly.”

Constance Bridgewater entered on Lucinda’s heels. “Lovely decorations in the front of the house. I had not thought of putting up a fir wreath with fruit and ribbons.”

“I am pleased you like it. Are you sure you would not rather stay here?”

“Naturally,” Lucinda smiled, “we would love to visit with you, but we do not want Meg to know we are in the area unless it is necessary.”

“Your daughter-in-law?” Almeria asked.

“Indeed. After her reaction to our matching Kit and Mary, it is better that she not think I am involved.”

“Very well.” Almeria tugged the bell-pull, and not long after her butler arrived with a tray. “I did not know what you would be in the mood for, so there is tea and spiced wine.” Lucinda’s nose wrinkled. “Not English mulled wine, but in the French style.”

“Wonderful! I remember now that you prefer the
vin brulé
. Do you recall when we were young ladies and traveled to France with our parents for Christmas?”

“How could I forget? We had to sneak out to the
marché de Noël
in Strasbourg,” Almeria said.

“All because our parents had gone elsewhere, and we could not convince our governesses it was safe.”

Constance frowned. “I have no memory of anything such as that. The only one I visited was in Paris.”

“That was because you were busy bringing Bridgewater to heel in Paris,” Lucinda said.

“Did he not almost betroth himself to some Austrian duke’s daughter?” Almeria queried.

“Not after he got fleas from her wig,” Constance retorted as she picked up a cup of hot wine.

“Fleas.” Lucinda’s shoulders shook with amusement. “However did you manage that?”

“Her maid was not well paid, and my groom was.” Constance grinned. “I must say, Bridgewater was worth it. Now, how are Hawksworth and Meg getting on?”

Almeria wished she had better news for her friends. “I must confess, I do not think it is going well. Meg is still extremely wary. I have hopes that Damon will get her alone this evening. We are playing Christmas games and will begin with Snap Dragon. After which we’ll play Charades, a game he hates.” She looked at Lucinda. “You told me that Meg does not like to play it either.”

“Very true. She will absent herself if possible,” her friend replied.

“I will ensure they have the opportunity.” Almeria selected a biscuit, with dried fruit and wine. “Also, the new Lady Grantville has offered to bring over kissing balls with mistletoe. Perhaps that will assist our efforts as well.”

Almeria had hoped that the two would fall in love during the holiday. “The only problem is that I have heard from Catherine Somerset. Damon’s father is planning a house party for him to meet eligible ladies. He is not pleased that the boy decided to come here. I have a feeling it may upset our timing.”

“The old fool.” Constance twisted her lips. “There must be something we can do to give them more time together. Whenever I have seen Meg and Hawksworth together, the air practically snaps with the attraction between them.”

“I do not think she trusts herself,” Lucinda said thoughtfully. “Would you if you had made two such terrible choices in a matter of months?”

“
And
fancied yourself in love.” Almeria nodded. “I am open to any suggestions.”

“Let us see how it goes this evening.” Lucinda held her cup out for more of the wine. “We have always been able to come up with the answer.”

 

Damon sucked in a breath as Meg emerged from the corridor wearing a deep-red velvet gown that accentuated her curves as she glided toward the stairs. Her dark curls picked up the candlelight and danced around her face. Sweet Jesus, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and she would be his.

Pretending that she was walking to him, he held out his hand. “Good evening.”

She lifted her eyes to his, but they were shuttered, as if she was attempting to deny even the friendship that was growing between them. “Are you always before times, my lord?”

“I like to scout out the area before others arrive.” He waited until she placed her hand on his arm before asking, “What is your reason?”

“I merely enjoy being timely.”

“A virtue, to be sure. After you left, I found another riddle.”

“Were you able to figure out the answer?”

“This one was not difficult. Shall I recite it to you?” Without waiting for her to answer, he began. “ ‘My first doth affliction denote, which my second is destined to feel; and my whole is the best antidote that affliction to soften and heal.’ ”

She wrinkled her brow, then after a moment shook her head. “No. You will have to tell me.”

“The answer is a woman.” Meg opened her lips, but he continued before she could speak. “It appears that many men think of women as the remedy to any affliction.”

“I am positive I do not wish to be anyone’s cure.”

“Perhaps it is better that one has experienced love, even if one then loses that love.”

“Why would you think that?” Meg made a derogatory snort. “I am quite sure that is only true in your imagination. Normal people are perfectly capable of living their lives in calm contentment. Mad love is not necessary to happiness and can be detrimental to it.”

Perhaps now he would have the conversation he had wanted to have with her. “Marriage without passion seems to be a rather boring proposition.”

“Not at all. It is perfectly reasonable. Neither party need be injured by the other’s actions.”

“No need to be upset if the husband looks too long at another lady. No need to—”

“I did not say that.” Her chin firmed as if she was ready to do verbal battle. “After all, it would be a matter of respect for the husband not to leer at other women in his wife’s presence.”

He fought to keep his lips from quivering with a smile. “I understand you. He may act as he pleases as long as his wife is not around.”

“You are being unreasonable.”

“Not at all. I am merely trying to understand your point. You do not wish for passion in marriage, yet you would forbid passion altogether.”

“One may have passion for one’s family and children.”

“Do you plan to—”

“Hawksworth.” Lady Bellamny led a footman carrying a box of greenery. “I have received these from Lady Grantville. Since you and Miss Featherton are early, you may direct their hanging.”

He carefully picked up one of the red ribbons and grinned. Hanging from it was a kissing ball, complete with mistletoe. “It would be our pleasure. Although, I must confess, I know little about hanging kissing balls, but I am certain Miss Featherton will know.”

She turned bright red then gasped. After a few moments’ struggle, she retorted, “I can only tell you where my mother hangs them, my lord. She must know best, as they are denuded of berries before Twelfth Night.”

“Get to it then.” Lady Bellamny waved her hand. “I want them up before the other guests come down.”

“That should teach us. While we are here we are better served being late,” Meg grumbled as she scanned the room. “Let us begin here. My lord, you must help as you are taller.”

“I have a ladder,” the footman offered.

Damon took the box. “I’m tall enough to reach most of the doorways, but bring it along. We may need it.”

He and the servant followed her around the main parts of the house, placing the kissing balls where she directed. After about a half hour, there were only two left. “Where do you want these to go?”

“One in the servants’ hall, but I cannot think of anywhere for the last one.”

He gave one of the decorations to the footman. “Hang this where you think it will do the most good.” After the young man left, he took the last one. “I shall be in charge of this one.” Voices filtered down from above. “You should go into the drawing room.”

She glanced at him as if she wished to say something, but instead she turned into the drawing room, where they all met before dinner.

Now to decide where to hang the kissing ball.
Another way to ask the question was where would he take Meg to avoid Charades. It would be cold outside. He smiled to himself, but not for long.

Striding through the music room, he opened the doors to the terrace. To the right was an old torch holder. He quickly affixed the decoration to the holder and went back into the house the same way he went out, almost colliding with Lord Bellamny in the process.

“Sorry, sir.”

“There was no harm done. I take it you were hanging the last kissing ball.”

Damon felt his jaw drop and snapped it shut. “Was that a lucky supposition, or do you know something I don’t?”

“Oh, I imagine I know a great deal you do not.” Lord Bellamny chuckled. “I haven’t lived all these years for nothing. Lady Bellamny does it every year to the only uncommitted couple present. Most young men have the sense to grab a kissing ball for their own use. The old sconce on the terrace is perfect.”

And here Damon had thought he was the first, or at least one of the few, and clever at that. “Any advice on spiriting the lady outside?”

“During the last part of Snap Dragon. No one wants to miss it, but then the game becomes too competitive for most, and they will drift away.”

He turned to stroll down the corridor with the older gentleman. “Thank you.”

“Happy to help, my boy,” Lord Bellamny replied warmly. “We have missed having you visit. Please come anytime you wish.”