'Twas the Night After Christmas (22 page)

They drove slowly past the pen, and Camilla noticed something odd. “Why is the pen covered with netting?”

Jasper eyed her askance. “To keep the deer from flying away, Mama,” he said, as if anyone would have known that.

When Pierce shot her a questioning glance, Camilla laughed. “If you had let him keep reciting the poem, you would have discovered that the reindeer in it actually fly. So since my son is a city boy and doesn’t know about such things, he assumes that all deer fly.”

“No kind of deer flies, boy,” Mr. Fowler said firmly.

Jasper glanced darkly at him. “Reindeer do.”

“Only because the poem is about magical deer,” her ladyship put in gently. “They’re distant cousins to regular deer. I’m afraid that regular deer don’t fly.”

“Oh,” Jasper said, nodding at her as if that explained everything. “I have cousins in London. They don’t fly, either.”

They all laughed, which apparently hurt Jasper’s feelings, for he settled into a sulk.

Pierce shifted him on his lap and said kindly, “I have cousins in London, too. Or rather, not far from London. They own a stud farm with lots of horses. I spend every Christmas with them.”

Jasper gazed up into his face. “But not this Christmas. You’re going to spend it here at Montcliff. Right?”

Pierce stiffened, his smile growing forced. “I don’t think so, Jasper,” he said tightly. “My uncle is expecting me.”

Before Camilla could jump in to smooth over the moment, Lady Devonmont surprised her by saying, “His lordship is a very busy man, lad, with a great many duties. He can’t spend all his time in the country with us.”

Pierce’s gaze shot to his mother. “Good of you to understand.”

Despair swept over Camilla. Her ladyship might make excuses for her son, but she very obviously did
not
understand. The countess really thought that Pierce could just leave everything in the past and start anew.

Little did she know her son. Pierce and her ladyship might be able to be civil and even spend time together now without too much strain, but they still had a large past lying between them like some immovable boulder, and it became clearer by the day that no amount of pushing was going to roll it away.

So it was time for Camilla to be sensible. He soon would be leaving for London or Waverly Farm, and when that happened, she would have to go on without him, no matter what she was beginning to feel for him.

Because once he was gone, she doubted he would ever return to the dower house.

M
emories swamped Pierce the minute he disembarked at the fair. Just as it had been twenty-three years ago, the village green was packed with canvas tents and booths, and the snow-crusted ground had already been trampled by man and beast alike. The smell of hot beef pasties mingled with the scent of the festive greens that were twined about a few booths as decoration.

For a moment he stood frozen, lost in his childhood. Then the others swung into action under his mother’s commands, and he forced himself out of his trance and into service carrying items to the church’s booth, alongside Mr. Fowler, Camilla, and the dower house servants.

His mother took charge of little Jasper, holding the lad’s hand as they all swept through the fair toward her booth. When she
pointed out various sights that might interest the boy, Pierce shot right back to the day when she’d done the same with him.

That’s when it finally dawned on him—the reason Camilla championed his mother. It was because of Jasper. Because Mother had brought the boy to live at Montcliff, when apparently none of Camilla’s other employers had cared if the child lived or died. Because Mother treated the lad kindly.

Because Mother treated Jasper like a son.

Pierce choked down the bitterness rising in his throat. It spoke well of Mother that she’d behaved so graciously to Camilla and her child. And Pierce refused to envy a six-year-old boy for his hold on Mother’s affections.

When they arrived at Mother’s booth and were surrounded by the village church’s ladies’ committee, something else dawned on him. Young Jasper was a surprise to more than just him.

He should have expected that, given what Camilla had said last night about the secrecy they’d deemed necessary. But Pierce hadn’t considered the ramifications—that until now no one had known that the child even existed. So there had to be explanations and introductions, not to mention a great deal of fuss from the six women running the booth.

Pierce hung back to watch. He knew better than to launch himself into a gaggle of hens fawning over a little boy.

“He’s your son, Mrs. Stuart?” one lady exclaimed. “How delightful! Isn’t he just adorable?” She ruffled Jasper’s curls, which the boy seemed to take offense at, pulling closer to his mother.

“He looks cold,” another lady said, and promptly wrapped a
scarf tightly about his neck. “He should go stand by the brazier, where it’s warm.”

As Jasper tugged at the scarf, yet a third lady thrust out a plate of what looked from a distance like burned cakes. “Have a treat, my dear. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

“No, thank you,” Jasper mumbled, clearly wary.

At least he was polite. Pierce wasn’t sure
he
would have been at six. And Camilla was doing nothing to stop the ladies, obviously worried about offending them.

“Look at those chapped lips,” said yet another female. “What you need, child, is my balm of juniper oil and honey water.” She removed a vial from her reticule and, after pouring a bit of the contents onto her handkerchief, leaned toward Jasper’s mouth with her hand outstretched. The poor lad started back in alarm.

“Excuse me,” Pierce broke in, stepping up to place his arm about the boy’s shoulders, “but Master Jasper and I were just heading off to take a look at the horses for sale.”

Every female eye turned to him. And that’s when something else dawned on him: None of them knew who he was. It wasn’t surprising, given that he hadn’t attended church in Stocking Pelham since he was eight, but it was unnerving.

“Ladies,” Mother said into the curiosity-laden silence, “you may remember my son, the Earl of Devonmont. Though it’s been some years since he has visited Stocking Pelham, he was kind enough to help us transport items for the booth in his coach-and-four this morning.”

The ladies gaped at him, obviously unsure what to think. They
must have heard he was estranged from his family. But what had his parents said about it, if anything? Generally the heir to a title and a great house was known at least a little in the local village. They must think him quite full of himself, that he hadn’t come to town in twenty-three years.

While he was still wondering about that, Mother said, “Pierce, I’m sure you remember . . . ” and rattled off a list of names.

To his shock, he recognized a few. “Mrs. Townsend,” he said, bowing to the chubby-cheeked lady with the balm. “I do hope your husband is feeling better.” Townsend was one of Montcliff’s most successful tenants. Pierce had spoken to the farmer several times, though he’d never met the wife.

Mrs. Townsend brightened. “Indeed, he is, my lord, thank you for asking. He was laid low for nearly a week, but yesterday he began to feel better and managed to get out of bed to come today. My son is helping him oversee the sale of our two sows.”

“With any luck, they’ll fetch a good price.” Pierce turned to the gray-haired woman with the plate of treats. “Mrs. Wallace, please tell me those are your famous gingerbread nuts. Mr. Fowler brought me some once, and I’ve been craving another taste ever since.”

Beaming at him, she held out the same plate she’d offered to Jasper. “That’s exactly what they are, sir, and you’re quite welcome to have some.”

He took one of the round, dark brown treats for himself, then handed one to Jasper. “Here you go, lad. I promise you’ll find them delicious.”

Jasper skeptically took a bite, then his face lit up. “They’re as good as sugarplums!” he announced.

As Jasper accepted another gingerbread nut from the plate, Pierce fielded a flurry of questions about the estate that soon turned to queries about how long he meant to stay in Hertfordshire and what the news was from London. He answered as best he could, reminded of what village life was like and how much of it centered around news, gossip, and the local landowners’ lives.

Then, of course, he had to endure a tour of the booth. At every table, the ladies had placed a handwritten copy of the poem that Jasper was so enamored of, so that potential buyers understood the purpose of what the women were selling. Next to it was a pretty display of ornamental stockings. Apparently the ladies had each made several, which were flounced and furbelowed to excess.

Great God, how many would he be expected to buy? And how could he purchase only a few without insulting those ladies whose stockings didn’t meet with his favor?

He knew how this worked. Whatever choice he made, they would talk for weeks about whose stockings his lordship had bought and whose he had ignored. There was only one safe avenue—to buy a stocking from each of the ladies. Perhaps he could use them as gifts, though even he didn’t have that many female friends. Not respectable ones, anyway.

Still, it was for a good cause, he supposed.

By the time he’d made his purchases, he was ready to escape the cacophony of chatter. Since Jasper had been following him about the whole time, Pierce used the lad as his excuse.

“Forgive me, ladies, I hate to abandon you, but Jasper and I
must get a look at the horses before the good ones all sell. I’m sure you understand.”

The ladies were quite effusive about how well they understood, but not so much that he didn’t notice Camilla in conversation with a sly-faced young buck who’d just entered and was examining the stockings at her table.

Pierce’s eyes narrowed. Judging from the fellow’s smiles and smooth compliments, he was shopping for something other than Christmas stockings.

“Mrs. Stuart!” Pierce called above the din. “I was hoping you would join me and young Jasper on our tour of the fair.”

The booth went completely quiet. Camilla colored and darted a glance at his mother from beneath her bonnet. “I promised I would work here, my lord. But if you need someone to help you with Jasper, I’m sure Maisie will go.”

He didn’t need anyone to help him with Jasper, and he sure as hell didn’t want Maisie to come. He wanted Camilla. Or rather, he wanted to save Camilla from being bothered by every country bumpkin who fancied a taste of the pretty London widow.

He thought it rather admirable of him, to be so concerned, too. It wasn’t a mark of jealousy at all. Merely consideration of her position as a member of his staff.

“Let Maisie help here, and you can come with us,” he said, unable to keep a peremptory note from his voice.

“You don’t need Camilla
or
Maisie,” his mother broke in, her voice oddly steely. “Jasper is a good boy. He won’t give you
any trouble. And if you don’t think you can manage him, leave him here.”

Pierce was already bristling at his mother’s interference when Jasper chimed in. “I want to go with his lordship! And I want Mama to go, too!”

That seemed to startle Mother, then worry her. “Well, then, I suppose . . . ”

“I’ll go,” Camilla said tightly, setting down the stocking she’d been showing to the bumpkin. She glanced at his mother. “That is, if you’re sure you’ll be all right without me.”

“We’ll be fine for an hour or two. We have plenty of ladies to help.”

“And I’m happy to be of service where I can, too,” Fowler put in. He shot Mother a soft glance that reminded Pierce of Camilla’s suspicions about the man.

Poor arse. Mother had married an earl for money; she wasn’t likely to marry an estate manager without it.

Then with a jolt Pierce remembered what he’d learned about the circumstances of his parents’ marriage. He would have to start thinking of Mother in different terms. Unfortunately, he still wasn’t sure what those terms were.

“Go on, enjoy the fair with your son,” Mother told Camilla.

With a nod, Camilla came toward him, but she wasn’t smiling, which put him on his guard.

As soon as they had left the booth, he offered her his arm, and she laid her gloved hand on it so lightly that he could tell at once she was angry. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, my lord.”

The “my lord” made him bristle. “For God’s sake, I thought you’d be happy to get away from the old ladies for a while and enjoy yourself.”

“You do realize what those ‘old ladies’ are thinking now, don’t you?” She stared straight out to where Jasper was skipping along ahead of them.

“I don’t give a damn what they’re thinking,” he snapped, irritated by her reproving tone.

Her gaze shot to his. “Exactly. Because you spend one day out of twenty at Montcliff and don’t venture into the town even then. You don’t buy ribbon at the shop on the green, or attend the church, or stroll past the farmers in the fields.
I
do.”

Two spots of color appeared on her cheeks as she shifted her eyes forward. “And given the difference in our stations, not to mention your well-known reputation and the fact that I’m a widow with a child, everyone will assume the worst about your intentions toward me.”