'Twas the Night After Christmas (8 page)

“Ah, but would you put a moon on a Christmas tree?” he asked. “The three wise men following the moon doesn’t have quite the same effect.”

“And it’s not in the Bible besides,” she said, clearly struggling not to smile.

“I wouldn’t know,” he drawled. “That’s not a book I’m terribly familiar with.”

“A fact that you regularly demonstrate to the world,” his mother said archly.

He stiffened. He’d almost managed to forget she was there. “Yes. I do.” He stared her down. “Every chance I get.”

He was on the verge of pointing out that if she’d wanted some say in his behavior, she should have stayed to see him grow up, when Mrs. Stuart broke in. “In any case, since his lordship won’t be here to join us in decorating the tree, I will be eager to assist you, my lady.”

“That would be lovely,” Mother said.

“And then perhaps his lordship could come back for a day or two to see it when it’s all done,” Mrs. Stuart said in that managing voice females sometimes used. The one that didn’t work on him.

“As I said before, that’s impossible.”

His mother looked crestfallen. “You used to enjoy the season.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to point out that she’d put an end to all that by making holidays synonymous with being unwanted. But he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

“Do whatever you wish with your tree,” he muttered, now thoroughly annoyed again. He drenched a chunk of beef in gravy and devoured it. “Just leave me out of it. My days of relishing such mundane pleasures are long past.”

“That’s a pity,” Mother said. “Mundane pleasures are about the only kind we have here in the country.”

With a meaningful glance at Mrs. Stuart, he waited for his mother to ask for some new toy to keep them amused, or perhaps a costly trip to Italy, where she could indulge her love of expensive things to her heart’s content.

Then she went on, “But we do enjoy them.” She smiled at Mrs. Stuart. “We sing and play and act charades and have our own sort of fun. Camilla is very good at reading aloud—very dramatic.”

He was still stunned by his mother’s prosaic idea of “fun” when the door opened and a footman came in bearing some confection.

“And we have an excellent cook,” Mrs. Stuart said cheerily as her portion was placed before her. “There’s nothing mundane about
that
pleasure.” She took a bite and her face lit up. “Her almond blancmange is sheer heaven.”

He arched one eyebrow. “I take it that you share Mother’s love of sweets.”

“I do, indeed,” Mrs. Stuart said, dabbing a bit of custard from the corner of her mouth. “Dessert was rare at the orphanage, I’m afraid, and now that I can have it whenever I please, I never seem to tire of it.”

He’d forgotten that she was raised an orphan. For a moment, he flashed on a little girl coveting every pastry she saw in the London bakeries, and his chest tightened inexplicably at the thought of her having something so simple routinely denied to her.

“Don’t you like sweets yourself, my lord?” she asked, jerking him from his dark thoughts.

“He never did,” Mother answered. “Pierce was a most unusual child—he would rather have fruit and cheese for dessert.” She cast Pierce a tentative smile. “That’s why I had Cook prepare some of that, too.”

And with a little flourish, the footman placed a plate of apple slices and a selection of cheeses before him.

Mrs. Stuart’s earlier words clamored in his brain:
If her feelings are as false as you think, why does she have a chest full of your school drawings and papers? Why does she read to me your childhood letters, pointing out your witty turns of phrase and clever observations? Why does she keep a miniature of you by her bed?

He could feel himself weakening, feel the barricades crumbling a little, and it sparked his temper. Damn it, she could not just whisk away years of neglect with a plate of fruit and cheese and a few remarks about his childhood! He’d had as much of this as he could stand.

He forced a nonchalant smile to his lips. “I’ve grown up now, Mother. What I like best for dessert these days is a good cigar.”
He rose. “And since that’s the case, I’ll step outside to indulge in one now that the meal is done.” He bowed stiffly in her direction. “Good night.”

Then he leveled a hard gaze on Mrs. Stuart. “Au revoir, madam.”

She blushed at his oblique reminder that her evening with him wasn’t yet at an end, but she managed a smile. “Au revoir, my lord.”

He strode out of the dining room, relieved that he was done. Mrs. Stuart had made better use of his bargain with her than he’d expected. She and his mother had obviously decided to plague him at dinner with talk of Christmas trees and prettied-up tales of his childhood until he turned to putty in their hands.

Well, he wasn’t without defenses of his own. If Mrs. Stuart insisted on making him uncomfortable at dinner, then he would damned well return the favor. Since he couldn’t seduce her, he’d have to consider other possibilities. Cards wouldn’t serve his purpose, and so far she’d proved herself adept at parrying his barbs in conversation. As for reading to him . . .

His eyes narrowed. She had a penchant for reading aloud dramatically, didn’t she? Good. Then he would give her something damned interesting to read.

T
hough his lordship had used a flimsy excuse to absent himself from the meal, Camilla couldn’t fault him for it. Dinner had been far tenser than she’d expected, and not just on his side, either. Lady Devonmont had seemed determined to provoke him. Perhaps this hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

But as the dessert plates were carried away, Lady Devonmont smiled broadly at her. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For making him join us for dinner.”

“You don’t know your son very well if you think anyone could
make
him do anything he doesn’t want to,” Camilla said dryly.

“I know him better than you think,” the countess said enigmatically. “You must have said
something
to convince him to
dine with us. He would never have done so just to please me.”

“You’re wrong,” she lied. “He may be gruff, but I’m sure he loves you in his own way.”

What else could she tell the woman without breaking her heart? She would walk through fire before she would see her ladyship hurt.

The countess sighed. “Perhaps.” She seemed to brood a moment, then shook it off and rose from the table. “Shall we go say good night to our boy?”

“Certainly.” It had become a nightly ritual for them to tuck Jasper in before they settled down with needlework or books or whatever their choice of amusement was for the evening.

Her mind wandered as they headed up the stairs. What had his lordship meant, he’d be spending his Christmas at the Waverlys’ “as usual”? Camilla knew he had cousins near London, but why would he prefer to spend Christmas with them over his mother? She was tempted to ask the countess, but she hated to spoil her ladyship’s happiness at having him here, however briefly.

Camilla and Jasper’s room was on the third floor, next to what used to be the nursery. The earl’s tutor had originally occupied their room, but it had been years since anyone had lived in it, so her ladyship had suggested it would be perfect for Camilla. Once Jasper had come to live here, too, the countess had ordered the tutor’s bed changed out for a trundle bed so mother and son could be together.

It was the perfect arrangement to keep Jasper safe from discovery. Mr. Fowler was often in the servants’ quarters, but he
would find it highly inappropriate to invade the floor where supposedly only Camilla lived. And the room was still close enough to her ladyship’s for Camilla’s purposes.

As they entered, Maisie was trying futilely to get Jasper to settle down. He practically bounced in his trundle bed. “Mrs. Beasley said his lordship is very big and scary,” he pronounced. “Is that true?”

“Only with young boys who don’t do what they’re told,” Camilla said. It was a bit of a falsehood, but she couldn’t take any chance that the earl would see Jasper and banish him from Montcliff. It would break her heart. “So behave yourself.”

Her ladyship sat down on the bed and chucked Jasper under the chin. “But he’ll be gone tomorrow. Just stay with Maisie, all right? And if the earl should happen to see you and ask who you are, tell him your mother is a servant. Don’t say her name.”

“But Mama
isn’t
a servant,” he protested.

“Actually—” Camilla began.

“Your mother is a special kind of servant very important to me,” Lady Devonmont said. “And you’re important to me, too. So if you’ll be a good boy and stay out of his lordship’s sight until he leaves tomorrow, I’ll let you keep one of those tin soldiers that you like to play with so much.”

As Jasper’s face lit up, Camilla’s heart caught in her throat. The countess was always doing such lovely things for Jasper. Her ladyship had rapidly become the closest thing to a grandmother that he would ever have.

But her ladyship didn’t have to buy Jasper’s love—she had it already, whether or not she realized it. “You needn’t give him
anything,” Camilla murmured. “I know he’ll be good just for your sake.”

“Even so, he deserves a prize for it. And there are a hundred in the set—one won’t be missed. Let me spoil the lad a bit.” Her tone grew wistful. “I didn’t get to spoil my own boy near enough.”

Camilla burned with curiosity to ask why not, but now wasn’t the time.

Lady Devonmont kissed Jasper on the forehead, then headed for the door. “I believe I shall retire early this evening. This has been a very long day.”

“Would you like me to read to you?”

She shook her head. “I suspect I’ll fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow. In any case, you deserve an evening to yourself once in a while.”

“Thank you.” That would certainly make it easier for her to see his lordship alone later.

How Camilla wished she could ask her ladyship more about the stormy relationship with her son. But her ladyship had refused time and again to speak about her son’s neglect. That wasn’t liable to change just because he’d had dinner with her. Besides, it might be easier to startle the truth out of
him,
given how readily he got provoked when the subject involved his mother.

Camilla crooned Jasper’s favorite lullaby until he fell asleep, then motioned to Maisie to join her outside the door. She considered lying to the girl, but she needed one person to know the true situation. And she trusted Maisie, who adored Jasper as if he were her own.

Quickly she explained the bargain made between her and his
lordship, making it very clear that their assignation was
not
of the intimate kind. “I would prefer, however, that you not mention this to
anyone,
even the other servants, and especially not to her ladyship. Her feelings would be hurt if she learned of it.”

“I’ll be silent as the grave, I swear,” Maisie murmured.

The girl probably would, too. She had immediately taken to Camilla because of Camilla’s Scottish surname, even knowing that it only came from her late husband. No, she would never reveal Camilla’s secrets, at least not to all the English running about the estate.

“I won’t be in his chambers too late, I promise,” Camilla said, “but with the way her ladyship has been pining for him, I just couldn’t refuse to meet his terms.”

“I understand, truly I do. I know you wouldn’t do anything unseemly.”

“If Jasper should happen to wake and need me . . . ”

“I’ll take care of it. We don’t want his lordship guessing that he’s here, and we don’t want those gossips in the kitchen thinking the wrong thing, either, do we?”

Camilla beamed at the girl. “Exactly.” She glanced at the case clock in the hall. It was already later than she’d have liked. “I have to go.”

Maisie caught her arm. “Be careful. With a man like that—”

“I’ll be on my guard, don’t you worry.” Then she hurried down to the second floor, where the family rooms were.

As she approached his bedchamber, her hands grew clammy. She honestly didn’t know what to make of him.

After their earlier encounter, when he’d railed at her and tried
to cow her, she’d expected him to be officious and cold to her at dinner. He was an earl, for pity’s sake. Her previous two employers, of far lower rank, had never treated her with anything but condescension. But although he’d been stiff with his mother, there’d been that moment when he’d joked with Camilla about the angel cutouts. . . .

She shook her head at her softening toward him. It hardly made up for the fact that he was denying his mother his presence for the Christmas season. No matter how attractive he was, with his London sophistication and his dry wit, he was still behaving quite heartlessly to the countess.

And her ladyship deserved better. That was one thing Camilla meant to do this evening—make sure that he knew it.

She reached his bedchamber and tapped on the door, and when he swung it open, her heart practically failed her. Despite the chill in the room, he was dressed only in shirtsleeves and trousers, with nary a waistcoat, coat, or cravat to be seen. The sight of him so casually attired threw her off balance and stirred feelings she’d thought long dead.