Season's Regency Greetings (10 page)

“
I did the same thing in the book room,” Davy said. “Told him I missed Mama, but it was all right. He didn't seem to be paying attention.”

Davy looked at Cecilia, his eyes filled with sudden knowledge. “Miss Ambrose, he was trying to
fix
us, wasn't he? We're fine, so why isn't he happy?”

It was as though his question were a match struck in a dark room. Cecilia sucked in her breath and sat down on the bench, because her legs felt suddenly like pudding. She pulled Davy close to her. “Oh, my dear, I think he is trying to fix himself.”

She knew they would not understand. She also knew she would have to tell them. “Mrs. Grey, would you please leave us and shut the door?”

The housekeeper put her hands on her hips. “I don't take orders from houseguests,” she said.

Janet leaped to her feet. “Then you'll take them from me! Do as Miss Ambrose says, and … and not a word to my uncle!”

Bravo, Janet, Cecilia thought, feeling warmer. When the door closed with a decisive click, she motioned the children closer. “Do you know what your uncle really does? No? I didn't think so.” She touched Davy's face. “You have some idea.”

He shuddered. “Those files ….”

“
Your uncle is an advocate for children facing sentencing, deportation, and death.”

Janet nodded, and pulled Lucinda closer to her. “We do know a little of that, but not much.” She sighed. “I own it has embarrassed me, at times, but I am also proud of him.” She looked at her sister. “I think we all are.”

“
And rightly so, my dear,” Cecilia said. “It is hard, ugly work, among those who have no hope.” She took a deep breath. “Let me tell you about Jimmy Daw.”

She tried to keep the emotion from her voice, but there were tears on her cheeks when she finished. Janet sobbed openly, and Lucinda had turned her face into her sister's sleeve.

Davy spoke first. “Uncle Trevor didn't mean any harm to come to Jimmy Daw.”

“
Oh, no, no,” Cecilia murmured. “He thought he was doing something kind.”

“
Is Jimmy Daw why he works so hard now?” Lucinda asked, her voice muffled in her sister's dress.

“
I am certain of it,” she said, with all the conviction of her heart.

“
Then why isn't he
happy
?” Davy asked, through his tears. “He does so much good!”

Cecilia stood up, because the question demanded action from her. “Davy, I fear he has never been able to forgive himself for Jimmy's death, in spite of the enormous good he has done since.” She perched on the edge of the table and looked at the three upturned faces, each so serious and full of questions. “He probably works hard all year, works constantly, so he can fall asleep and never dream. He probably has no time for anything except his desperate children.”

“
Father does say that when he and Mama go to London, they can never find a minute of time with Uncle Trevor,” Janet said.

“
Does he come here for Christmas?”

“
Hardly ever,” Lucinda replied. She stopped; her eyes grew wider. “He might stay a day or two, but he is always gone well before Christmas Eve. You said Jimmy died on Christmas Eve.”

“
He did.” Cecilia got up again, too restless to sit. “I don't know what your uncle usually does on Christmas Eve, but somehow he must punish himself.” She started to stride about the room again, then stopped. “I doubt he was planning to stay, in spite about what he said of his ‘prosy lecture,' that he could have delivered and left.”

“
He was forced to, wasn't he?” Janet said slowly. “When Mama and Papa went to be with Amelia, he had no choice!”

“
No, he didn't,” Cecilia replied. “I think he used the excuse of the fire to keep everyone close. My dears, I think he
wants
to change now—if not, he would have bolted as soon as I got here—but I think he is afraid to be alone. And that is really why we are crammed so close here.” She sat down again, dumbfounded at the burden that one good man could force upon himself.

They were all silent for a long moment. Janet looked at her finally, and Cecilia saw all the pride in her eyes, as well as the fear. “I love my uncle,” she said, her voice low but intense. “There is not a better man anywhere, even if people of our rank make fun of him.” She smiled, but there was no humor in it. “Even Lysander thinks him a fool for—oh, how did he put it?—‘wallowing in scummy waters with the dregs.' My uncle is no fool.” Her eyes filled with tears again. “Miss Ambrose, how can we help him?”

She mulled over the question, and then spoke carefully. “I think first that he would be furious if he knew I had told you all this.”

“
Why did he tell you?” Davy asked.

It was a question she had been asking herself for several days now. She shook her head, and started to say something, when Janet interrupted.

“
Because he is in love with Miss Ambrose, you silly nod,” she told her brother, her voice as matter-of-fact as though she asked the time of day.

Cecilia stared at her in amazement. “How on earth ….” Janet shrugged, and then looked at Lucinda, as if seeking confirmation. “We both notice how his eyes follow you around the room, and the way he smiles when he looks at you.” She grew serious, but there was still that lurking smile that made her so attractive. “Trust me, Miss Ambrose, I am an expert on these matters.”

Cecilia laughed, in spite of herself. “My goodness.”

“
Do you mind the idea?” Lucinda asked, doubt perfectly visible in her eyes.

Did she mind? Cecilia sat down again and considered the matter, putting it to that scrutiny she usually reserved for scholarship. Did she mind being thought well of by a man whose exploits had been known to her for some time, and whom she had admired for several years, without even knowing him? Her face grew warm as she thought of his grip on her waist as they left the smoky manor in the middle of the night. “He doesn't even know me,” she protested weakly.

“
As to that, Miss Ambrose, I have been writing him about you,” Lucinda said.

“
You have
what
?” she asked in amazement.

Her pupil shrugged. “He wanted to know if there was anyone interesting in my school, and I told him about you.” She hesitated. “I even painted him a little picture.”

“
Of me?” she asked quietly. Me with my olive skin and slanted eyes, she thought.

“
Of you, my most interesting teacher ever,” was Lucinda's equally dignified reply. “He's no ordinary man.”

And I am certainly no ordinary English woman, she thought. She reached across the table, took Lucinda's hand, and squeezed it briefly. “You are the most wonderful children.”

Janet laughed. “No, we're not! We probably are as selfish and ungrateful as Uncle Trevor imagines. But do you know, we aim to be better.” She grew serious and asked again, “How can we help our uncle?”

“
Leave him to me,” Cecilia said. “I know he does not want you to know about Jimmy Daw, or he would have told you long before now, Janet. How can I get time alone with him?”

Davy was on his feet then. “Lucinda, do you remember how fun it was last Christmas to spend it in the stable?”

“
What?” Cecilia asked. “You probably needn't be
that
drastic!”

“
You know, Miss Ambrose,” Janet said. “There is that legend that on the night of Christ's birth, the animals start to speak.” She nudged her brother. “What did Davy do last year but insist that he be allowed to spend the night in the stable! Mama was shocked, but Papa enjoyed the whole thing.” She looked at her younger brother and sister. “We will be in the stable. The footman can light a good fire, and we have plenty of blankets.”

The other children nodded, and Cecilia could almost touch the relief in the room. Precious ones, she thought, you will do anything to help your uncle, won't you? No, you most certainly do not require fixing. “Very well,” she said. “Janet ….” She stopped. “Oh, I should be calling you Lady Janet.”

“
I don't think that matters … Cecilia,” the young woman replied. “I will make arrangements with Mrs. Grey, and we will go to the stables after dinner.” She looked at her siblings. “Cecilia, we love him. We hope you can help him because I do believe you love him, too.”

They were all quiet that afternoon, soberly putting Christmas treats and cakes into boxes for delivery to other great houses in the neighborhood on Boxing Day, arranging holly on mantelpieces, and getting ready for their parents' return on Christmas. After an hour's fruitless attempt to read in the sitting room, Cecilia went for a walk instead. How sterile the landscape was, with everything shut tight for a long winter. Little snow had fallen yet, but as she started back toward the dower house, it began, small flakes at first and then larger ones. Soon the late afternoon sky was filled with miniature jewels, set to transform the land and send it to sleep under a blanket of white. She stood in the modest driveway of the dower house and watched the workers leave the manor for the final time. Some of them called happy Christmas to her. She looked at the house again, wondering why it was that the most joyous season of the year should cause such pain in some. With a start, she realized that her preoccupation with Lord Trevor and his personal nightmare had quite driven out her own longing for her family in far-off India. “Tonight, I hope I remember all the wonderful things you taught me,” she said out loud. “Especially that God is good and Christmas is more than sweets and gifts.”

Before dinner, she went to the book room, squared her shoulders, and knocked on the door. When Lord Trevor did not answer, she opened the door.

He sat probably as he had sat all day, staring at his case files, which Davy had alphabetized and chronologized. Everything was tidy, except for his disordered mind. When she had been standing in the doorway for some time, he looked at her as though for one brief moment he did not recognize her. She thought she saw relief in his eyes, or maybe she only hoped she did.

“
Dinner is ready, Lord Trevor,” she said quietly. “We hope you will join us.”

He shook his head, then deliberately turned around in his chair to face the window. She closed the door, chilled right down to the marrow in her bones.

Dinner was quiet, eaten quickly with small talk that trailed off into long pauses. A letter had come that afternoon from York with the good news that the marquis and marchioness would arrive at Chase Hall in time for dinner tomorrow. “I wish they were here right now,” Davy said finally, making no attempt to disguise his fear.

“
They'll be here tomorrow,” she soothed. “Davy, I promise to take very good care of your uncle.”

Her words seemed to reassure them all, and she could only applaud her acting ability, a talent she had not been aware of before this night. After a sweet course that no one ate, Janet rose from the table and calmly invited her younger brother and sister to follow her. Cecilia followed them into the hall, and waited there until they returned from their rooms bundled against the cold.

Janet looked almost cheerful. She tucked her arm through Lucinda's and reached for Davy. “Do you know, this is my last Christmas to be a child,” she said to Cecilia. “I will be married in February, and this part of my life will be over.” She looked at her siblings. “Lucinda, you will marry someday, and even you, Davy!” He made a face at her, and she laughed softly. “I am lucky, Miss Ambrose, and I
did
need reminding.”

“
We all do, now and then,” Cecilia replied. She opened the door, and kissed each of them as they passed through. “If you get cold, come back inside, of course, but do leave me alone in the book room with your uncle.”

‘
Take good care of him,” Lucinda begged.

“
I will,” she said. “I promise you.”

Easier said than done. When the house was quiet, she found a shawl, wrapped it tight around her for courage, and went to the book room. She knocked. When he did not answer, she let herself into the room.

He sat at the desk still. This time there was only one file in front of him. He looked at her and his eyes were dark and troubled. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice harsh.

“
The children wanted to spend Christmas in the stable,” she said. “It's a silly thing.”

“
I remember when they did that, years ago,” he said. “I remember ….” Then he looked at the file before him, and he was silent.

Her heart in her throat, she came into the room and around the desk to stand beside him. “Is that Jimmy Daw's file?” she asked.

He put his hand over the name, as though to protect it. She wanted to touch him, to put her arms around his shoulders and press her cheek against his, all the while murmuring something in his ear that he might interpret as comfort. Instead, she moved to the front of the desk again and pulled up a chair.

“
He died eleven years ago this night, didn't he?” She kept her voice normal, conversational.

Lord Trevor narrowed his eyes and glared at her. “You know he did. I told you.”

“
What is it you do on Christmas Eve to remember him?” There.

Silence. “Shouldn't you be in bed, Miss Ambrose?” he asked finally, in a most dismissive tone.

She smiled and leaned forward. “No. It's Christmas Eve, and the children are busy. I think I will just stay here with you, and see what you do to remember Jimmy Daw, because that's what you do, isn't it? You probably plan this all year.”