Miss Featherton's Christmas Prince (The Marriage Game Book 9) (17 page)

By the time she and Damon returned to the parlor door, she felt as if she could enter the house and no one would know what had gone on between them. Normally, she loved the Christmas revels, but to-night she wished Damon and she could have remained on the terrace, where the music and laughter were not so loud. More than anything, she wanted time to know him better. Learn what his views were, and if she could trust him enough to allow herself to fall in love again. That, she was sure, could only come by spending time alone with him.

She had met and been courted by her other two suitors during the Season. Spent time with them only during social events and walks or rides in the Park. Perhaps that was the reason she had not seen how false they were. She would not make the same mistake again. Yet how to find the time? Even at one and twenty, she was closely chaperoned. Sneaking out for kisses was one thing, but she would require much more time with Damon than that. Somehow she would find away.

As they entered the house, he twined his arm with hers. A clock chimed one, and they slipped into the music room, joining in the last two verses of “Good King Wenceslas” before making their way into the hall.

“Are you hungry?” Damon asked as they passed one of the younger maids trying to catch an apple stem between her teeth.

“Famished. Dinner seems so long ago.” Even with the crowd, there was still a great amount of food still on the tables. “Look, there is plum pudding with sauce. Now I know why it was not served at dinner.”

He picked up two plates. He filled one with mince pie, plum pudding, and candied fruits. The other he used for the savory dishes. Meg hailed a footman, who found them a place to sit and gave them a bottle of wine and glasses.

She took a bite of the pudding, savoring the combination of fruit, wine, and spices. “How does your family celebrate Christmas?”

“With great pomp and very little frivolity.” Damon’s tone was dry as tinder. “My father believes that it is a holy day and not to be sullied.”

“Oh dear.” That sounded horrible. Fortunately, he did not seem to agree with his father. “How do you like to spend it?”

His crooked grin gave him such a boyish look, Meg wanted to kiss him again. “As far away from my father as possible.”

She cast her gaze to the ceiling. “I should have asked, how
would
you like to spend the holiday?”

“This”—he waved his hand—“has a great deal to recommend it.”

“My family does something in the same vein, but not nearly as lavishly. I think our vicar would faint in horror if he saw the church service. This time of year he is very fond of reminding the congregation of their Christian duty.”

“My father would have apoplexy if anyone suggested servants partake in a fest.”

Sir Randolph and Lady Culpepper strolled by, arm in arm, stopping under a nearby kissing ball to share an embrace. Meg thought back to the day at the inn when she had rejected the idea of love and passion in a marriage.

“I think the Culpeppers are collecting berries,” Damon said. “This is the second one I’ve seen them under. It’s a lucky thing we have our own.”

She could feel the heat in her cheeks and ate a piece of mince pie rather than answer. Yet the fact that he had saved one out warmed her in a way she would not have thought possible only a few hours ago.

Just as they had finished eating, Lord Bellamny came over to them. “Hawksworth, I am claiming a host’s right to kiss this lovely lady under the mistletoe.”

Damon held her chair. “I suppose I cannot object?”

“Not at all.” The older man grinned.

He pecked her lightly on the cheek, then Sir Randolph wanted a kiss as well, and Lady Culpepper coaxed Damon under the kissing ball.

The next thing Meg knew, Damon twirled Lady Bellamny under the kissing ball and gave her a loud smack on the lips. “Thank you.”

Tears filled the lady’s eyes as she patted him on the cheek. “You were always a good boy. It is a sin that stubborn old goat cannot see it.”

He hugged her briefly but said nothing.

There was definitely a great deal Meg must discover about Lord Hawksworth, yet his godmother’s real affection for him made her breathe a little easier.

An hour later, Damon escorted Meg to her chamber. “Will you meet me for breakfast before anyone else comes down?”

“Gladly, but will there be any food?”

He glanced around as if he did not want anyone to hear him, then bent his head. “I’ll have you know, I am held to be an extremely charming gentleman.”

“And how is that going to get us fed before everyone else?”

“Meet me and you’ll see.”

“Very well. I shall see you at nine o’clock.” She waited, wanting him to kiss her once more. Even if it was in an ill-advised place.

He stepped back. “Pleasant dreams.”

Apparently he was more circumspect than she had thought. If only she knew how she felt about that. “Good night, Damon.”

C
hristmas Day dawned clear and cold. Damon stood at the window, breathing in the crisp air. The sun was just coming up, promising another lovely day. Yet a ridge of clouds appeared to be gathering in the west, which would need watching. He hoped snow would not delay to-morrow’s journey to Meg’s home.

At eight thirty, Damon went down the servants’ stairs to the kitchen. An older woman wearing an apron stood in front of the closed stove, issuing orders like a sergeant as she stirred a pot.

Two maids ran around setting bowls and plates on the massive, thick wooden table set in the middle of the room. He had almost reached the cook when one of them looked up. Shaking his head, he placed one finger on his lips.

A second later, he slid his arms around the woman who had befriended an angry and confused boy. “Happy Christmas, Millie.”

A spoon wacked his fingers and he jumped back. “That hurt!”

“So it should have, my lord. How many times do I have to tell you that gentlemen don’t come down to the kitchen?” She turned and a broad smile shone on her cheery, round face. “But since you’re here, Merry Christmas to you. I heard you were, and made your favorite apple bread.”

He handed her a bag of candied almonds. The first time he’d given them to her, he had been on leave from Spain. “I brought these just for you.”

She took the package, placing them in a capacious pocket in her apron. “I haven’t had these since the last time you were here, and much too long it’s been.” She raised her spoon as if to hit him again. “Now what are you doing down here in my kitchen?”

“Aside from seeing one of my favorite people?” He grinned, remaining out of spoon’s reach. “I have a favor to ask. There is a lady whom I have invited to join me for breakfast at nine. Would you mind finding us something to eat?”

“Suky,” she called to the girl cutting bread, “let one of the footmen know he’ll be needed early.” Once the girl had gone off, Millie turned to him. “I’ll send up your apple bread, toast, baked eggs won’t take long, and ham, unless you prefer beef.”

“Ham is wonderful. Thank you.”

“Be off with you now, or I’ll smack the other hand.”

Damon bowed, retraced the steps to his chamber, then to the main staircase, and lounged against the wall, waiting for Meg. After what seemed like a lifetime, she emerged from the corridor. “Merry Christmas.” Not daring to kiss her in such a public setting, he settled for caressing her with his gaze. “You look beautiful. Green becomes you.”

She blushed, making her appear as if she had just come in from outside. “Happy Christmas to you, sir. Thank you. Your red waistcoat is very festive.”

He escorted her to the breakfast room. “I fully intend to celebrate all twelve days of Christmas. Alas, I failed to bring gifts for each day.”

She paused and frowned for a moment, then smiled. “Just as well. I did not come prepared.”

They entered the breakfast room to find the dishes Millie had promised already on the sideboard.

A footman stood from where he was tending the fire. “Happy Christmas, miss, my lord. May I get you coffee, tea, or hot chocolate?”

“Tea,” Meg said at the same time Damon replied, “Coffee.”

She laughed. “It seems a pot of each is in order.” Moving to the sideboard, she surveyed the offerings. “Very impressive, my lord. How did you manage this?”

“I bribed the cook with candied almonds.”

“She must like them a great deal.”

“Try some of this. It is apple bread.” He leaned over and whispered, “She makes it just for me.”

“I did not know you had spent so much time here.”

“Not as much as I wanted to. My father decided Lady Bellamny was a bad influence and curtailed my visits . . . when he could. There was more than one school holiday when I told him I was off on a trip and came here instead.”

“Is your father so very bad?”

Absently, he filled their plates, setting them on the table. “I told you he doesn’t like me. For a long time I tried to find a way to make him love me, but it was useless. He lavished all his attention on my half-brothers and -sisters. Lord Bellamny became the father to me my own was not.”

“I’m glad to see you did not take your disappointment out on the other children.”

The coffee had come, and he stopped in the middle of pouring a cup. “How did you know?”

She grinned. “You bought Christmas presents for them. You also seem fond of your step-mother.”

He watched as Meg put two lumps of sugar and milk in her tea. “Catherine. As I said, she has always treated me as one of her own.”

“Could she not have spoken to your father about his treatment of you?”

“Catherine is a warm, kind, gentle lady, not a tigress. She was there to dry my tears, but she would never gainsay my father.”

Meg had never heard Damon speak in such a forlorn tone. And how horrible for a boy to have been rejected by his father. She could not imagine for an instant her father treating any of her brothers and sisters badly. If he had, Mama would have had a great deal to say about it. That must be the reason Damon was so intent on a love match. “What was your mother like?”

“I was only seven years old when she died. Other than that she had dark hair and eyes and was beautiful, I don’t remember much about her. Mostly an impression of laughter and movement. With me she was always happy and laughing, but she was never still. I don’t think my parents got along well. I remember her arguing with my father a great deal.” He gave a slight grin. “She was a tigress. She was also a Greek princess.”

“A princess? How fantastical.” Meg had thought that it was due to being a duke’s heir that he carried himself with a haughtiness that had been bred into him. Yet he had not been treated like any duke’s firstborn she had ever known. Having royal blood was most likely the reason he had such an air of command.

His eyes twinkled with mirth. “I even have a title through her. Unfortunately, a vast number of my perfectly amiable cousins would have to die before I would be eligible to become the king.”

She was glad to see him happy again, and decided this was a better subject for the present than his father. She was about to ask another question when two fashionably dressed elderly ladies swept into the breakfast room, bringing the scent of winter air with them.

“Grandmamma! I did not expect you until later.” Meg jumped up from her chair and rushed to hug both ladies. “Your Grace. I’m so glad to see you. I must introduce you to Lord Hawksworth. Damon, my grandmother, the Dowager Viscountess Featherton, and Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Bridgewater. We are . . .” She glanced back at him.

He had already risen and was bowing. “Unoff icially betrothed. We agreed I should speak to Meg’s father first. A pleasure to meet you.”

Her grandmother curtseyed, beaming at Meg and Damon. “What an excellent Christmas present.”

Now she was going to have to spoil the announcement. “It is a bit more complicated than that.”

The duchess grunted. “You love him, he loves you. You are both eligible
partis
. What can be the matter?”

“Well . . .” Feeling like a little girl attempting to explain something she had done wrong, Meg rubbed a damp hand down her skirts. What she had agreed to was unusual, but not wrong. After all, she did like him, and she truly adored his kisses. “I’m not sure if I can fall in love again, so Lord Hawksworth is giving me time to find out.”

“Oh.” Her grandmother’s lips formed a perfect O. “In that case, you should spend more time together.”

Meg wanted to roll her eyes and tell Grandmamma that was what they had been trying to do when she arrived. “Our thoughts exactly.”

“We shall depart after dinner,” the duchess announced, thumping her silver-headed malacca cane. “Hawksworth, you will leave a few minutes before and meet us at the end of the drive. For the present, we shall break our fast.”

She turned to the footman. “More tea and fresh toast, please.”

So much for having time alone with Damon.

He held her chair for her as she resumed her seat, and whispered, “Do you have any idea what they are up to?”

She wished she knew which direction his thoughts were going. The older ladies, who had taken places at the opposite end of the long table were in close conversation and unlikely to hear her hushed discussion with Damon. “Joining us for breakfast?”

“But is that all?”

“What else could they be about?” She was astonished at the thought that her grandmother could have any scheming purpose in mind. “Grandmamma is the sweetest person I know. Everyone loves her. Mama is the only one who sometimes is out of patience with her, but that is because she thinks Grandmamma should do more charity work.” Which Meg did not quite understand, but she had heard her mother tell Grandmamma that, last spring around the time they discovered Kit had wed Mary. “The duchess may give the impression of being gruff, but she is really very nice. My grandmother and the duchesss have been dearest friends since they were girls.” Damon still looked unconvinced, so she continued. “They are two elderly ladies. What could they possibly have to scheme about?”

He grunted, but did not otherwise respond.

 

During the meal, Lucinda, with Constance’s occasional assistance, ferreted as much information as she could from Meg and Hawksworth. They appeared to be extremely comfortable in one another’s company. He hovered over her, looking completely besotted. For Meg’s part, she appeared to be learning as much about him as she could. A friendship had definitely formed, and with just a little help, Lucinda was certain that her granddaughter could fall in love with him.

Less than an hour later, Lucinda and Constance were ensconced in a cozy parlor situated between their bedchambers, listening to Almeria tell them what had been occurring.

“. . . And I am quite sure they were taking advantage of a kissing ball I found hanging from one of the torch sconces on the terrace.” She gave them a knowing look. “Very few of the berries were left.”

“Passion and friendship,” Lucinda remarked. “How much time have they spent together?”

“Hawksworth has made a point of always being where she is. At times he reminds me of a large, dangerous beast, ready to strike out at anyone who would offend her. According to my cook, he planned a breakfast for two this morning.”

“And we interrupted.” Constance’s lips formed a
moue
. “I thought that might be the case. I have a plan that will allow them to spend a great deal more time together.”

Constance and Lucinda had been her friends for so long, Almeria knew what her friend was thinking. “Broken traces near the Cross and Shield Inn. Perfect.”

“Did you find the handkerchiefs?” Meg tied the bow of her bonnet beneath her ear.

Hendricks handed Meg her gloves. “I tied them up with a bit of red ribbon and put them in your reticule.”

She had bought them as a present for Kit, but could always buy more. She would not have liked for Damon to give her a Christmas gift, as he had hinted earlier, and not have one for him. She only wished she’d had time to embroider something on them. A little frisson of excitement passed through her as she wondered what his present to her would be and when he would choose to give it to her.

“Better hurry or you’ll be late.”

Once again, Lady Bellamny had decided they would all walk to church. Yet even if she was tardy, she knew Damon would be waiting for her. Come to think of it, he had been, ever since he had arrived. He’d even protected her from Smithson—not a difficult task, but proof that Damon would not allow anyone to harm her. She was beginning to get the feeling that he was more warrior than sophisticated gentleman of the
ton
.

Fortunately, she was not quite the last guest to arrive in the hall. Neither of the Smithsons were present yet.

Lord Bellamny held his arm out to his lady. “We may depart now.”

Damon had already tucked Meg’s hand in the crook of his arm. “To keep it warm.”

“Naturally.” She smiled to herself, clutching the inside of her large muff with her other hand. “Where are Lord and Lady Smithson?”

“Confined to their quarters until the gentleman, a term one must apply loosely to him, is well enough to travel.”

“Surely, you did not tell Lady Bellamny what happened last night?”

“I?” He raised one black brow in surprise. “Let me assure you, I do not need to seek my godmother’s protection.”

Chastened, Meg replied, “Of course not. If not that, what did occur?”

“I really don’t know. However, I do not think they will be missed.”

She still did not understand why the Smithsons had been invited. “I am excited about the service. I wonder what he will do to-day.”

“I appear to be bereft of information this morning. I can only say that I was warned to bring coins.”