Under the Kissing Bough (15 page)

She acted out the parts, frowning and smiling and making outrageous faces that had the children giggling and then going still with suspense, their mouths agape and their eyes huge.

Like a Christmas fool himself, he realized he was still standing on the stairs, an odd ache in his chest. For a moment he could not place the emotion—and then it struck him. He was jealous. But that was utterly absurd. Jealous of some half-dozen farmers' brats, and a few neighbors' children? It was just more nerves about this wedding, that was all.

She is just a girl. A sensible girl who will make a sensible wife, and who does not mind if I cannot love her.

But inside his chest, a burning, twisting ache wrapped around his heart that she would never look at him with such warmth glowing in her eyes.

He stepped down the few remaining stairs and moved at once to greet his guests, looking anywhere but at Eleanor—at the woman who would become his wife on the morrow. The woman who would share his life, and nothing else with him. That was their bargain, after all, was it not? Oh, what the devil had he gotten himself into with all these promises to her and his father and everyone else?

As Geoffrey moved to greet his neighbors, Eleanor stumbled in her tale. The children did not seem to mind. She was telling them a Christmas story, about Mary and Joseph's flight into Egypt to escape King Herod. Now, she looked up at Geoffrey...at Lord Staines—so calm, so distant—and her glance snagged on his and tripped her thought into chaos.

She had known the instant he had appeared. Not from the reaction of those around her, for the children and the guests seemed to pay no heed to his arrival. No, she knew by the fiery awareness that swept over her skin.

How terribly unfair love was that it should leave her so aware of him. So vulnerable. She needed armor, but instead she seemed only to become ever more sensitive to his presence, to his moods, to his very being.

Her story ended and the children crowded her and begged for another, but their elders came to remind them of duties to sing carols for the house. They did so, lining up before the ancient fireplace, with its crackling Yule log. Their voices rambled over the notes rather like wild sheep over an open meadow.

Eleanor listened, entranced and charmed.

"They make up for quality with volume," Lord Staines said, leaning close to whisper in her ear.

She had felt the warmth of him close upon her as he stepped near, so she had not been startled by his words. But a fierce need to defend these innocents against his cynical scorn rose in her.

"Their enthusiasm is treat enough, is it not?" she said.

"Ah, but that never endures. Now does it?"

His curt tone surprised her, and she rounded on him, ready to take him to task for such cynicism and for so rudely pushing away this gift of song from children's voices. But the singing ended and the warm applause that rewarded their efforts left Eleanor with no need to champion their efforts. She stared at Lord Staines instead and found him holding out his hand to her, his gaze stern.

"Come. We must open the dancing. I promise I shall not burden you with more than this one dance. Patrick is by far the light-footed one in the family."

She said nothing in answer, but laid her hand on the back of his and allowed him to lead her to the center of the hall, her fingers chilled and all too aware that everyone watched them. She wet her lips and tried not to be nervous.

The furnishings had been cleared, leaving the hall vast and long. At the far end, near the front door, the farmers with musical inclination had assembled on the entrance steps to make up a small orchestra. She noted two violins, a guitar and a penny whistle player in the group. They struck up a lively jig.

Despite his words, she knew him as a good dancer, and the dance was one that anyone could manage. They danced long-wise in a country set, the tune brisk. Lord Staines led her to the top of the set, then his brother, Andrew, led Elizabeth out, and Patrick took up the dance with Emma, and others joined in.

Arm turns, and then a "hay," with women and men weaving in and out of the pattern like a weaver's shuttle. Bows and curtseys, good natured grins. His hand always seemed to be there for her to grasp, his touch leading her through the movements, his face before her, so devastatingly handsome.

When the music ended, Eleanor could not stop from smiling up at him, for he made it so easy to dance. So wonderful. For a long moment, he looked back down at her, his face relaxed and nearly smiling, and her heart did a small turn.

No, don't do that. He does not want love from you
, she thought, panic wrapping around her chest and squeezing out all the pleasure of a moment ago. She stiffened and his smile faded as he looked away and tugged down on his waistcoat even though it had not a wrinkle in it to smooth.

The musicians struck up another tune, but Lord Staines led her away from the center of the hall. She cast a longing glance back, and then looked down at the bare, stone floor as he led her toward the drawing room's wide, double-doorway.

He paused with her there. "I'm sorry to take you from the festivities, but...well, here. Patrick brought this for you from Guildford." He pulled a small, narrow box from his waistcoat pocket and thrust it into her hands.

She glanced at it, delight catching her by surprise. "For me? What is it?"

"Don't you know? Patrick said you had ordered it from Findlay and Firth."

Her delight collapsed as she realized it was not a gift from him, but the watch chain and the locket she had ordered. She tried to prop her smile back into place. "Oh, yes. Of course. They did promise me a...well, a locket I asked them to make."

The shaft of disappointment startled him. So it was not a Christmas gift for him, nor even a wedding gift. Well, why should she buy anything for him? He had nothing to give her, other than a wedding ring.

Feeling childishly slighted—and hating himself for it—he sought for something pleasant to say to her to make up for how badly he seemed to keep acting with her. Devil take it, but where was his much vaulted charm with women now?

"Thank you," she said, looking up at him, her skin still rosy from the dance. Candlelight drew warm lights from her soft brown hair.

For a moment, temptation rose in him to lean down and brush his lips across hers. Such a simple gesture. But would she take it, meant as it was, as a gesture of friendship and naught else?

He frowned at her. "You ought to thank Patrick. I have done nothing—not one thing—for you, other than to be a perfect oaf."

"That's not true. You...you gave me what I asked for."

His mouth twisted. "A steeplechase. A fine thing for a gentleman to give his bride."

Cheeks burning, she stared down at the box in her hands. "I thought...well, it was what I asked for."

He put a finger under her chin and lifted her face. "Yes. What you asked for. But I wonder at times, Eleanor, what you first wrote on that card that you then crossed out? What else do you want from life, Eleanor?"

Entranced by his gaze, by the velvet in his voice, by the touch of his hand on her chin, she could not move. Heart pounding, she parted her lips, the truth trembling inside her.

"I…I want…"

She hesitated as the music dropped away, and then a voice raise up over hers and the others around them, "Look, my Lord Staines has caught his bride under the mistletoe."

Eleanor glanced up, her head suddenly light. There, over the doorway, dangled the pale, round green leaves with the waxy white berries. They indeed stood under the kissing bough.

Someone whistled. Someone else called for Lord Staines to kiss his bride proper. Eleanor could only stand there, frozen, her heart pounding and her breath quickening and wishing that she could melt into nothing.

Please, no
, she thought with desperation.

Staines kept her chin caught between his thumb and forefinger so that her face remained turned up to his. Trembling now, she stared up at him, silently pleading for him to let her go. She still could walk slowly away, but if she had to stand there much longer with everyone looking at her, she would bolt and run and disgrace herself, him and her family by acting like a frightened child.

His eyes clouded, and then his thumb caressed her chin. She shuddered and closed her eyes.

He only said her name. Once. Soft as the memory of a breeze. "Eleanor."

She let out a sigh at the sound of her name on his lips. I will pretend he loves me. That he cares. For it is the only way I can get through this.

And then his breath warmed her cheek. His lips touched hers. A light whisper. She wanted to cling to that warmth, that promise, that hint of something more. She still trembled, but no longer from fear. Her own breath came out in a soft sigh, and her eyes fluttered open.

For an instant, she thought she saw a softening in his eyes. A momentary flicker of some feeling. His pupils widened, darkening his eyes into endless depths. But that cold reserve slipped back, and she became aware of the clapping hands, the smiles, the crowd thickening around them.

"Excuse me," she muttered, unable to control herself an instant longer. She turned away and pushed through the crowd towards the stairs. Elizabeth called after her, but she could not stop. Running now, she fled up the stairs and into her own room where she could shut the door on the people and the stares and the panic.

A moment later, when her heart had almost slowed to a normal pace, someone rapped on the door. "Ellie? It's me, Elizabeth."

Eleanor turned and leaned her cheek on the cool, hard wood. She forced a bright tone. "I'm fine. Really. It was just...you know how I am with crowds. Will you make my regrets? Tell them...tell them I have the migraine."

"Do you want me to sit with you for a bit?"

"No," Eleanor said, too quickly. "No, please. I just wish to be alone for awhile. I shall be fine."

"Very well. But Emma and I shall come see you in the morning to help you dress. Sleep well, Ellie."

Eleanor waited until she had heard Elizabeth's light steps fade. Then she went to her bed and sank onto it. Dear Lord, could this evening get any worse? She glanced down at the box in her hands, only now remembering it, and then she dragged the ribbon off it and opened it.

She almost laughed. Of course. That had to go wrong as well.

Instead of making a watch chain and a glass locket with her mistletoe, the jeweler had made the two items into one. Eleanor stared in dismay at the watch chain with the sphere on the end that forever trapped the mistletoe berry in glass. Almost, she wanted to throw it against the marble fireplace and see it shatter.

And when the berry is gone, there should be no more kissing.

The superstition Geoffrey had told her echoed in her mind. Lifting the box, she clutched it tight to her chest. If she had any sense, she would not believe such nonsense. But love, it seemed, had little to do with sense. And so she tucked the box under her pillow to keep it safe, knowing full well that it was a gift she could never give for it would reveal too much of her hope...and her love for him.

* * *

Eleanor dreamed of kisses under the mistletoe. Soft, sighing, kisses. Deeper kisses that set her pulse fluttering. Teasing kisses that had her body aching with nameless longing.

Half-waking, a smile curved her lips and she stretched. Her feather bed wove a cocoon of warmth that made her want to stay there, drifting in dreams. Church bells tumbled a distant, echoing ringing.
It's Sunday, and Christmas Eve
, she thought, her mind still half-drifting in sleep.

Then she sat bolt upright.

It was her wedding day and those bells rang for her and Lord Staines.

Her stomach knotted even though she had nothing to worry over. If everything went wrong, she would not marry and perhaps that might be the wisest thing to happen. So it should not matter to her what happened. Still, she found her hands shaking as she struggled out of bed.

A rumbling rattled her windows and she glanced towards the dark glass.

Thunder.

Shivering, she ran barefoot to the window and pulled back the velvet drapery. The clouds lay so thick that not even a sliver of dawn streaked the eastern sky. Fat rain drops spattered against the glass. A stormy day for a stormy wedding, she thought, frowning at the darkness.

A soft knock on the door made her turn, and then her maid bustled in, balancing a tray with a rack of toast, a pot of tea, and a bright candle. Elizabeth and Emma came in just behind, already dressed, glowing with excitement and chattering about the wedding.

Elizabeth came to hug her as the maid settled the tray on the bed and then went to light the fire. And Emma pulled open the wardrobe and began the job of dressing her.

With no appetite, and little to do, Eleanor sat down beside her bed, next to her rabbit, Bother, who huddled in his crate, and she wished she could copy his actions. But she sipped her tea and watched her sisters shake out her wedding gown—a pale, icy-blue satin. They set out her white shoes and the pale-blue bonnet with its Brussels lace veil that she was to wear. Thunder rumbled again and Eleanor decided she would probably look like a dripping icicle by the time she had walked to the Westerley chapel.

Yawning, still in her night clothes, Evelyn stumbled into the room and curled up on the rug next to Eleanor's chair, close enough to pet Bother. "Are you excited?" she asked.

Eleanor nodded. "And nervous."

"And happy?" Elizabeth asked, smoothing a pair of elbow length, white kid gloves.

"I shall be happy when this is all over," Eleanor said, getting to her feet. Evelyn stole into Eleanor's vacated chair, picking up the cowering Bother to hold and pet.

Elizabeth frowned at Eleanor's comment, but Emma came forward and gave her sister another hug. "Of course you will, because then you shall have a wonderful wedding breakfast, and a splendid day. I must say, your steeplechase was not as bad as I thought it would be, although I still think it a pitiful waste of your card. Now, do you wear the stocking with the gold shot, or do you wish to borrow mine with the silver leaves on them?"

Eleanor suggested the gold, but Elizabeth and Emma both overruled her and said the silver would look better. Not that anyone will see them, Eleanor thought. But she soon found herself being dressed as if she were a doll.

Her gown—made in London for far too much money, Eleanor thought—could not be changed, but Emma and Elizabeth found plenty to argue over in the choice of jewelry, what flowers to carry, and how to dress Eleanor's hair. With Bother on her lap, Evelyn simply sat in her nightclothes and rolled her eyes over such fuss, and vowed to elope when it came her turn to wed.

"As if anyone would have you, imp," Emma said.

Evelyn stuck out her tongue at her sister.

"Really, Evelyn," Lady Rushton said, arriving just in time to see this unladylike display. She handed Eleanor a bouquet of forced narcissi, hyacinth, and hothouse camellias, which settled the issue of what flowers Eleanor would carry. After sending Evelyn out to go and dress herself, Lady Rushton took command.

"No, Eleanor will not wear diamonds, Emma. She is going to chapel to marry, not to a ball. You shall wear the pearls I wore when I married your father, dear. And Elizabeth, what have you done, putting her hair in all those braids? We must do something simple that will not spring out into its own life in this damp."

In less than half an hour, Lady Rushton had Eleanor organized, dressed and downstairs. She had arranged for footmen with umbrellas to walk with them to the chapel, an ancient structure that stood separate at the north end of the main house.

Eleanor glanced around, then asked, "Where is Lord Staines?"

"It is not good luck for him to see you before the ceremony," Emma scolded. Then she took Eleanor's shoulders and faced her toward the hall mirror. "Now, look once for good luck. But only once. Twice is both vain and a bad omen."

Lady Rushton glanced at the watch pinned to her deep blue velvet gown. "Oh, where is Evelyn? And your father? He went upstairs to assist Lord Herndon, and I have not seen anything of him since. I am certain Lord Staines will be on time, but I vow that your father will be late to his own funeral!"

Just as she spoke, Evelyn came running down the stairs, her bonnet untied and clutched to her head, her white gown rumpled and its ribbons streaming. "Father says to go on ahead, and he shall come over with Lord Staines and his brothers."

"Oh, very well. Now, mind you, Ellie, put on you pattens to keep your slippers out of the wet. Evelyn, dear, hold still while I finish tying your ribbons."

With her feet in the wooden pattens, which fit around her slippers, Eleanor tottered towards the door, feeling more likely to trip on the awkward clogs and go face first into the mud. But her mother was there by her side, an arm around her waist with a reassuring squeeze.

"It shall all be wonderful, darling," Lady Rushton said. She gave Eleanor a kiss on the cheek. "All weddings are."

They hurried through the rain to the chapel. Not making the dignified parade that they ought to, but rushing across the gravel drive and into the ancient stone building.

From a window on the second storey of the house, the earl watched the parade of umbrellas chase across the lawn. The rain blurred his view, but he caught a glimpse of pale gowns and assumed the bride had taken her place. He gave a snort of disgust. In his day, he wed his bride after a proper walk through the village to the church. And it had been a fine, blustery spring day for that proper procession.

However, the choice of weather was as much his fault as anyone, for he had pushed for this Christmas wedding date.

Twisting around in his wheeled chair, he glared at Lord Rushton. "Well, they have gone to the chapel, so it must be time for the deed to be done."

Rushton pulled the watch from his waistcoat pocket, glanced at it and then put it away again. "You sound as glum as the sky looks. Is this not what you wanted? What we all want, in fact? Just keep thinking of the grandchildren we shall both soon have."

The earl's lined face lightened with a momentary smile, but then he fell back to brooding. "That assumes your daughter won't turn missish about the getting of them."

"If you think that, you have not seen enough of how my Ellie looks at your son. And I don't see a man with your son's reputation having any trouble courting his wife. But none of this can happen if we don't get them properly tied, so come along, old friend, and let us give the women a reason to have a good sentimental cry."

Rushton moved behind the earl's chair and began to wheel it forward, but as they reached the door, a knock sounded and then Bellows ushered in Dr. Ibbottson.

"Ah, Dr. Ibbottson. Come for the wedding, or to see your impatient patient here?" Rushton said, moving around the chair to shake Ibbottson's hand.

The doctor's fleshy jowls lifted in a brief smile. He wished the gentlemen a good day, but turned to address the earl. "If I might just have a moment of your time, my lord."

The earl waved Rushton away, telling him, "Go on, Edward. Don't want your gel fretting. I shall be there in a moment. Go and make certain they do not start without me."

"As if they could," Rushton said, and he left with the butler.

The earl turned to his doctor. "Well, what word do you want? Another caution for me not to be too active today? Or more of the same prattle as you gave me yesterday?"

Ibbottson frowned and rubbed at the gray stubble on his cheek. "I did nothing last night but think about this day, and our conversation yesterday."

"Not another attack of conscience, man. I thought we sorted that out already."

"No, my lord. You sorted, and I—to my shame—allowed you. But I cannot continue in this. Not after seeing Lord Staines with that poor girl yesterday. And not after seeing that he is not yet over his other attachment. I do agree with you that that infatuation could not have prospered, but still it is a bar between him and beginning anything else."
"Bah. She is married, and he will soon be and that is enough."

Ibbottson straightened his bulky form. "No, my lord. It is not. I allowed you yesterday—and once before that—to convince me that this arrangement could work. But you argue logic when what I have seen are two people who do not have the temperament to conduct this marriage as the business affair you wish it to be. You are playing with the human heart, my lord. And it is to my shame that I let you persuade me that no feelings would be bruised."

Glaring at the man, the earl leaned forward in his chair. "What is this? You want more from me? Is that it?"

"What I want more is for the truth to be told, my lord. But I am still bound by my word to you not to speak of this, and so I ask you again that you release me from that pledge of silence. Or tell Lord Staines yourself the whole of it. Then if he marries this ceremony can take place without that cloud of deception over it."

"Deception! I tell you, sir, the only deceiving going on is your own in thinking that any good will come of telling all at this stage of the game. She is not all I would have wanted in a daughter, but I'll make do with her."

"You will? And what will your son do when he learns that he has been manipulated? Will he be a happy husband who seeks his wife's bed?"

The earl hunched down in his chair and glared at Ibbottson. "He'll do as he's bid and get me grandsons!"

Ibbottson's watery eyes narrowed. "Your son, my lord, is as stubborn as yourself. You ought to think a moment and consider what you would do if the tables were turned?"