Season's Regency Greetings (13 page)

“
I call it amazingly thoughtless of you!”

Mary stared at Thomas and curled her hand into a fist. Surprised at herself, she looked down, then hoped that no one had noticed. She was almost afraid to look at the brothers. The angry words seemed to hang in the air between them. “Thomas, I am certain your brother had no any idea that we were all going to descend on him,” she said.

Thomas turned to glare at her. “
Miss
McIntyre, this is a matter between me and my brother,” he snapped. “I'll thank you to stay out of it.”

Joseph Shepard spoke quickly. “Thomas, have some charity. It's Christmas.” He smiled at Mary. “Lady Mary, if you don't mind what I am certain amounts to delving deeper into low company than you ever intended, you might want to help Joshua belowstairs. I know that you are a game goer, and we need more sausages.” He gestured down the hall. “It's through that door. I'll sort out some sleeping arrangements.”

“
Certainly,” she said, grateful to flee the scene.

The servants' hall was empty, so she followed her nose into the kitchen, where two children stood by a modern Rumford stove. The little boy with the apron about his middle who poked at sausages sizzling in the pan was obviously Joshua. The young girl who cracked eggs into a bowl must be Abby. She felt their scrutiny, but also felt it was unencumbered by the tension that was so heavy upstairs.

“
Hello, my dears,” she said. “My name is Mary McIntyre. I think I'm going to be a Christmas guest. Joshua, your uncle Thomas and his family are upstairs. Your father says there will be a few more people for dinner.”

“
Good,” he replied. “We like company.” He smiled at her. It was Joe Shepard's slow smile, but without any other resemblance to the originator of it. As the boy put more sausages in the pan, she wished his uncle Thomas could have appeared belowstairs to witness real courtesy.

Mary rolled up her sleeves and placed herself at the service of the scullery maid, who shyly asked for more eggs, and showed her how to crack them. When she admired the way Abby whisked the eggs around in the bowl and told her so, the child blushed and ducked her head. “She's a little shy, Miss McIntyre,” Joshua said.

Joe Shepard came downstairs when the next batch of sausages was cooking. He helped Abby pour the eggs into a pan. “You see what good hands I am in, Miss McIntyre,” he said, “even if my own brother thinks I am a barbarian without redemption.” He leaned against the table. “I think I offended Agatha's maid.”

“
Never a difficult task,” Mary murmured. “Did you dare suggest that if she wanted a can of hot water that she come belowstairs to get it?”

“
How did you know?” he asked. “She insists that the 'tween stairs maid bring it up to her.” He looked at his son. “Josh, do we need a 'tween stairs maid?”

“
I could take her a can,” he suggested.

“
No, no. Let's see if she comes for one. Some tea, Miss McIntyre?”

“
Delighted.” She accepted the cup from him. “It appears that your brother has told you of my fall from grace, since you are no longer calling me Lady Mary.” He nodded, and took a sip from his own cup. “I don't understand it, though.” He glanced at the children. “Lord and Lady Davy took you in when you were a baby, and only decided just before Christmas to tell you that it was all a
mistake
? My Lord, that's gruesome.” He took another sip. “I could almost think it cruel.”

He was saying exactly what she felt, and until that moment, had refused to acknowledge. He must have noticed the tears in her eyes, because he gave her his handkerchief. “I didn't mean to make you do that,” he told her. “Just another example of my barbarism, I suppose. Forgive me, Miss McIntyre. You can explain this a little later, if you wish. I don't want to pry, but I'm used to thinking of you as Lady Mary.”

“
I'm used to hearing it,” she said. She had to change the subject. “Is Joshua's mother away?”

“
Farther than any of us like. She died three years ago,” he said. “I don't know if you even knew I had married, but she was a fine woman, a widow with a little boy.”

“
Josh?”

“
Yes.” She could see nothing but pride in his eyes as he regarded the boy at the Rumford. “Isn't he a fine one? I'm a lucky man, despite it all.”

She looked at Joshua, and back at Joe Shepard. I think I have stumbled onto quite a family, she thought. “He's certainly good with sausages.” It wasn't what she wanted to say, but it seemed the right thing, particularly since Agatha's maid was stomping down the stairs now. Joe got up to help her.

As the maid, her back rigid, snatched the can from Joe and started for the door, he called after her, “Miss, could you tell the others that dinner will be ready soon?”

She turned around, her expression awful. “I do not announce meals!”

“
Good Lord, what was I thinking?” Joe said.

“
Papa, why is she so unpleasant?” Joshua asked when the maid slammed the door.

“
Happen someone forgot to tell her it was Christmas,” he replied. He bowed elaborately to Abby. “My dear Miss Abigail, if you and Miss McIntyre will go upstairs and lay the table, we will bring up dinner. Do I ask too much?”

Abby laughed out loud. As Mary got up to follow her, she noticed the look that Joe and Joshua exchanged.

“
She came to us from a workhouse in September,” Joe explained. “I do believe this is the first time she has laughed, isn't it, Josh?”

The boy nodded. “Maybe she finds the maid amusing.”

“
I know I do,” Joe said.

“
Come, miss,” Abby called from the top of the stairs.

“
Right away, my dear!” She turned to Joe. “Did she stay here with you this Christmas because she has nowhere else to go?”

“
Precisely.”

I have nowhere to go, either, Mary thought as she went upstairs. And then surprisingly, may I stay here, too?

The thought persisted through dinner, even as she carried on a perfectly amiable conversation with Agatha, and everyone tried to ignore Thomas's elaborate, rude silence. His eye on his father, Tommy began a cautious conversation with Joshua, which quickly flourished into a real discussion about the merits of good English marbles over the multicolored ones from Poland.

Joe had placed Abby next to him. He kept his arm along the back of her chair in a protective gesture that Mary found gratifying. Joe carried on a light conversation about the changes underway in his house, but offered no apologies for the inconvenience.

“
Did you construct that beautiful cornice over the front door?” Mary asked.

“
I designed it, but I hired a stonemason for the work.” He beamed at her in the way that she remembered. “Familiar to you, Miss McIntyre?”

“
Indeed, yes,” she replied. “I seem to recall a similar cornice over the door that leads onto the terrace at Denton.”

“
I always liked it,” he said. He looked at his brother. “Tom, d'ye remember when we weeded the flower beds below the terrace?”

Thomas turned red in the face. “I see no point in remembering those days.”

“
Pity, considering what an enjoyable childhood we had,” Joseph said. He turned his attention to Mary. “I remember a time you and Lady Sara got in trouble for coming to help us weed. How is she, by the way? And Lord Milthorpe?”

“
Really, Joseph,” Thomas said in a low voice. “I already told you that Miss McIntyre has had a change in her circumstances.”

“
True, brother. What I know of Miss McIntyre, unless she has changed drastically, is that she couldn't possibly forget the people she was raised with, unlike some,” Joseph replied, his voice calm, but full of steel. “I trust they are well?”

Oh, bravo, Mary thought. “Lady Sara has got herself engaged to a marquess from Kent. Our … her parents have gone there this Christmas to renew their acquaintance with the family. Edgar—Lord Milthorpe—is desperately disappointed that the wars are over and he cannot pester Papa … Lord Davy … to purchase a commission.”

“
Do give Lady Sara my congratulations when next you see her,” Joseph said as his brother rose. “Thomas, I have no brandy, so I can offer you no inducement to stay at table. Agatha, I do not even have a whist table.”

“
That's all right,” she replied. “I believe I will see the children to bed now.”

“
Oh, Mama!” Tommy protested. “I would very much like to see Joshua's marbles. Oh, please, Papa. It is nearly Christmas!”

Thomas opened his mouth and closed it again. He sighed and went to the door of the breakfast room.

Joseph looked at his brother. “Is that someone at the door? Could it be Father Christmas, or is someone else lost? Tom, could you answer the door?”

“
I do not answer doors in strange establishments,” Tom snapped. In another moment they heard him on the stairs.

“
I doubt he would carry hot water, either,” Abby said. She gasped, and stared at Agatha Shepard. “Begging your pardon, ma'am.”

Agatha rose to the occasion, to Mary's relief. “I believe you are right, child.”

Mary followed Joseph into the main hall and stood watching as he opened the door on a couple considerably shorter than he was, and older by several decades. “Frank! We are saved!” cried the woman.

Mary turned away so no one would hear her laugh.

They were Frank and Myrtle King of Sheffield, and the driver of their hired post chaise, with a tale to tell of crowded inns, surly keeps, full houses along the route, and snow with no end in sight. “I can pay you for yer hospitality, sir,” Mr. King declared as Joe tried to help him with his overcoat. “Nothing cheap about me! I'm assistant manager at the Butler Ironworks in Sheffield.”

His eyes bright, Joseph turned to Mary. “Miss McIntyre, meet the Kings. I do believe we are all going to spend Christmas together.”

The Kings had no objections to going belowstairs; Mary could see how uncomfortable they seemed, just standing in the hallway of Joe's magnificent bargain house. Frank repeated his earnest desire to pay for their accommodations, and Myrtle just looked worried and chewed on her lip.

While Mary stirred the eggs this time, and Joseph cooked more sausage, the coachman led his team around behind the house to unhitch them, and came inside again to report that he was going to be fine in the stables with the Shepards' coachman. He tucked away the first order of sausage and eggs, and assured them that they would both come inside for breakfast, come morning.

Provided there is anything left to eat, Mary thought as she poured more eggs into the pan on the Rumford. To her amusement, Joe nudged her shoulder. “We have a full pantry, Miss McIntyre,” he told her. “Too bad there is not a cook among us.”

“
There is, sir,” Myrtle declared. “There's nothing I can't cook.”

“
Then you are an angel sent from heaven, Mrs. King,” Joseph declared.

She giggled. “It appears to me that you and your missus shouldn't have dismissed your entire staff for the holiday. Were you planning to go away, too, but for the snow?”

“
I did dismiss my staff, Mrs. King,” Joseph said. “As for going away, no. Miss McIntyre is an old acquaintance, and she and my brother and his family were stranded by the weather, too.” He turned back to the stove long enough to fork the sausages around and allow his own high color to diminish, to Mary's glee.

“
Orphans in the storm, eh?” Mrs. King said.

“
Precisely. We will be in your debt, madam, if you would cook for the duration of this unpleasant weather. I have a scullery maid, and Mary here is a willing accomplice.” He laughed. “Did I say accomplice? Did I mean apprentice?”

“
I think you meant accomplice, Joe,” Mary said, without a qualm that their relationship seemed to have changed with the use of her first name. “Mrs. King, I do hope you like your eggs scrambled. It is my sole accomplishment. Mr. King?”

She made no objection to Joe's suggestion, an hour later, that they adjourn to the bookroom upstairs with a bottle between them. The Kings were safely tucked in belowstairs in the housekeeper's room. Abby had retired to the room that she shared belowstairs with the absent maids, and Mary promised to join her there later.

“
Of course, more properly you should be upstairs, but the only room left unoccupied has two sawhorses and everything else draped in Holland covers. Joshua thinks it is spooky, and so do I.”

“
I am certain I will be quite comfortable in the maids' room. Is that brandy? Didn't you tell your brother you had none?”

“
Hold your glass steady, Mary,” he said as he tipped in a generous amount. “It is smuggler's brandy and my last remaining bottle. I doubt that I will drink it anymore now that the sea lanes are open and the challenge is gone.” He took an appreciative swallow of his own glass. “Chateau du Monde, 1790. Would
you
waste that year on a prig?”

She propped her feet up on the hassock between the chairs. “Never!”

Joe took another sip, and leaned back. “I'll tell you my troubles, but you first, Mary, unless it makes you desperately unhappy. I want to know what happened to you. It's not every day that an earl's daughter turns into plain Mary McIntyre.”

She settled herself comfortably into the chair, wondering if the late Mrs. Shepard had used the chair before her. If that was the case, Joe's wife must have been about her size, because it suited her own frame. “I don't suppose it is, Joe,” she agreed. “My mother—oh, I know she is Lady Davy, but please, you won't mind if I call her my mother, will you? She still feels amazingly like my mother.”