Читать книгу Unlaced At Christmas: The Christmas Duchess / Russian Winter Nights / A Shocking Proposition - Elizabeth Rolls, Christine Merrill - Страница 11

Chapter Six

It came as some relief that the duke was an early riser on Christmas Eve morning and willing to partake of the breakfast Generva had ordered for the rest of the family. Only Gwen was absent. No amount of prodding could convince the ungrateful girl to leave her bed and take another meal with the duke.

For some reason, Generva could not manage to be as disappointed as she ought to be at the utter failure of his suit. A match with a duke should have been an answer to a mother’s prayers. But she had not been looking forward to calling this particular man son-in-law. It would spoil some part of the friendship that had sprung up between them once she had set down the broom.

She smiled at the memory of their meeting.

The duke paused midbite to stare at her. ‘At last the sun has come up, for Mrs Marsh is smiling. What are you plotting? Some surprise for Christmas, perhaps?’

Christmas. In the fuss over the wedding, she had forgotten to treat it as a holiday in its own right. She would have to find some nuts and an orange for Ben, and perhaps a few pennies. He must think he had been forgotten in the rush to marry off his sister. ‘No surprise,’ she admitted. ‘It will not be as merry as some holidays we have shared. But we will manage.’

‘I noticed the lack in your decorating thus far, madam.’ He glanced at the bare mantel over the fireplace.

‘Perhaps it is because in the country we cannot afford the extravagances of a ducal manor, Your Grace.’ It was wrong to snap at him. It cost nothing to pull down some ivy from a nearby wood. She had been remiss.

‘No worries,’ he said with a smile. ‘Ben and I will handle it all. The weather is fine and I fancy a walk after breakfast. We will return to green the house. And if it is not too early to do so, we might hunt a wren for St Stephen’s Day.’

At this suggestion, her son’s eyes brightened and he began shovelling kippers into his mouth as though fearing the duke might leave without him, should he linger too long at table.

Generva gave him a worried look. ‘I shall only permit it if you promise me that no harm shall come to the bird. It is one thing to carry it alive from house to house. But to call it the king of all birds only to beg pennies for the burial of its poor little corpse, when it has done no harm to anyone...’

The duke laid a hand on her arm to calm her. ‘I promise we shall build him a little cage and let him go when we are done.’

‘Very well, then.’ She gave him an approving nod. ‘My son is quite bloodthirsty enough without encouragement.’ The duke was saying we as though he meant to be here for the twenty-sixth to take the boy house to house himself. She could not exactly send the man away. But if there was no hope for a match with Gwen, how long did he mean to stay?

‘Very well, then.’ The duke was staring at the little boy across the table from him. ‘Finish your breakfast. Then we will cut down some greens and harass the wildlife.’

It was only a moment more and Ben was pushing away from the table to search for a muffler and gloves. The duke took another sip of his coffee, then smiled at her and rose, bowing in her direction. ‘Madam, if you will excuse me? Duty calls.’

She managed to contain her amazement until he had cleared the doorway. Was it fair that the man should be gallant, good-looking and willing to escort her fractious son into the woods? Ben liked him, as well. Not enough to cease playing pranks on him, of course. But Montford’s amused response to them made him seem all the more attractive.

Thomas, she reminded herself. He had given her permission to use the name.

Then she remembered why she should not. A duke arriving at Christmas to marry her daughter was something straight out of a fairy tale. But in those stories, peers never appeared on the doorstep ready to set their titles aside so that they might be a father to young boys and rescue matrons from their lonely widowhood. Generva had never been fair, could hardly be called young and had not been a maiden for quite some time.

She must not forget, even for an instant, that her story had ended, unhappily, when John had died. In whatever plot continued, she was a minor character at best. Even the Duke of Montford was but a player in a single, short scene. She would force Gwen to meet with him this very day. If the girl did not want him, she must say so to his face. Then they might get him out of this house and on the road back to London. If not, she would be as foolish as her own daughter by Twelfth Night, weeping and mooning over a man she could not have.

* * *

‘Holly and his merry men, they dance and they sing.’ It was mid-afternoon before Montford’s voice rang out in the front hall. Generva could feel the blast of air that had entered with him all the way to the back of the house.

‘Ivy and her maidens, they weep and they wring.’ She answered with the next line of the song almost before she could help herself. How annoyingly appropriate for the state of the house lately. She straightened her skirts and went to meet him. ‘Close the door,’ she called. ‘You are letting in a draught.’ Then she bit her tongue. Had she forgotten so quickly her plan to treat him as an honoured guest and not a member of the family who could be scolded and ordered about?

Her words did not seem to bother him. As she entered the hall, he was dragging the door shut with his foot, since his hands were too busy to do the task. He was carrying the plants he sang about, and pine boughs and mistletoe, as well. Ben was a step ahead of him, carrying a wooden cage with a small, unhappy bird hopping about inside.

‘Have you cut down the whole forest and brought it into my house?’ She had decorated in the past. But she had never needed such a profusion of greenery.

The duke responded to her frown with an innocent, almost boyish look. ‘They will grow back, you know. Your mantel has no garland. Nor does your banister. If I mean to remedy the fact, I decided it was better to have too much than too little. I would not want to make a second trip.

‘True,’ she said, and took a deep breath. He had brought the scent of pine and fresh air into the house when he’d returned to it. Surely that explained the sudden buoyancy of her spirit.

‘If you give me some twine, or perhaps a bit of wire, I shall set it all to rights.’

Would that you could. For a moment, the solid maleness of his voice washed her worries away. She did so miss having a helpmate. Not that John had been that much help, if she was honest. He was away far too often. She shook her head, as though trying to clear it, and said, ‘It is my duty. You are a guest.’

‘And I owe you much,’ he said softly. ‘It is better, staying here, than at the inn I would have chosen. But I have placed an unexpected burden of hospitality upon you.’ He smiled in a way that was far too open and friendly for so important a man. ‘It would be my pleasure to help you in this.’

She gave a little flutter of her hands, trying not to look as foolish as his words made her feel. ‘Very well, then. I shall get the twine.’ She was back in a moment with a work basket that held wire, hammer and nails, as well. At the last minute, she’d added a handful of bright red ribbons that she’d meant to save for trimming her wedding bonnet.

He nodded in approval and set to work. For a gentleman, he was surprisingly adept at it, twining the branches together and threading sprigs of holly through the wires. Ben had disappeared into the kitchen to find crumbs for his feathered prisoner, which left Generva to steady the branches and snip the wires that he tied. In no time at all, he’d fashioned a creditable swag and draped the banister with it.

He stood back satisfied. She had to admit, the results were impressive and the time expended had been minimal. They moved on to the parlour, piling the mantel with holly and ivy.

He glanced down at her. ‘You are smiling again, Mrs Marsh. Twice in one day. It must truly be Christmas.’

Was it really so rare a thing to see her smile? She hoped not. But now that he had commented on it, she could not manage to raise the corners of her lips to prove him wrong.

The duke sighed. ‘And now it is gone again. Do you think, if we put up a kissing bough, it will come back?’

‘Certainly not.’ At least he had given her a reason to frown. All the kindness in the world did not give him the right to tease her.

‘You have several fine arches and a hook in the centre of the parlour where you might hang it.’ He glanced up in mock sadness at the empty door frames. ‘And yet, I see none there.’

‘That is because there is no point in hanging something of that kind in this house,’ she said firmly, as though the matter was settled. ‘There is no one here that wants or needs kissing.’

‘Really,’ he said, surprised.

‘My son is too young to care. If I allow my daughter to run riot at the holidays I will have even more trouble than I do already. The servants have no right to be distracted with it for half the month of December.’

‘And you?’ he prompted.

‘I?’ She did her best to pretend that the thought had not occurred to her. She turned away. ‘It is foolishness, and I have no time for that, either.’

‘Perhaps it is time to make the time,’ he said, stepping forward, holding the branch above her head and kissing her on the lips before she could object.

It was as if the world had been spinning at a mad rate and suddenly stopped, leaving her vision unnaturally clear. She was not a minor character waiting in the wings of her own life. She was standing in the centre of the stage, alone except for the duke.

And then it was over. A strange, adolescent awkwardness fell over them. He cleared his throat. She straightened her skirt. They both glanced at the door and then back to each other. ‘I trust I have demonstrated the need for further decoration?’ he said.

She touched her lips. And against her better judgement, she nodded.

‘Shall I get a bit of ribbon? I am nearly tall enough to reach that hook without a ladder. Or I could steady you while you place it on the hook,’ he offered.

She imagined how easy it would be for him to lift her, and her slow slide down his body once the job was done, leaving them standing close again, under the white berries. ‘I will get you a ladder.’