Читать книгу Christmas Wishes Part 1 - Линн Грэхем, Elizabeth Rolls - Страница 17

Chapter Ten

It was still dark when he left her bedroom, rolling to kiss her lips before swinging his legs to the floor to search for his nightshirt.

Without thinking, she held her arms out to him.

In the dim light of the fire, she saw him shake his head. ‘I must be gone before the servants are up. I promised no gossip, remember?’

‘And where shall you go?’

‘To the sofa in the parlour. I will pull a rug over myself and sleep there.’ He grinned at her. ‘It will shock Mrs Jordan when she comes to lay the fire. But there are worse shocks, are there not?’

But would she be so shocked, really? The poor woman must have guessed the reason for Generva’s sudden indisposition yesterday. What would she think if the duke announced his plan to take them all to London for the Season?

She should not have silenced him when he had begun to speak of it. She should have refused immediately, so they might have enjoyed each other with no misunderstanding between them. In the cold light of morning, the memory of his suggestion made something special seem like a different, more elegant sort of disgrace.

He was standing over the bed, staring down at her as she brooded. ‘Might I trouble you for a last kiss before I go?’

He bent down, and she gave him an embarrassed peck upon the cheek. ‘Goodnight, Your Gr— Thomas.’

If he was disappointed by the lack of warmth, it did not show. ‘Good morning, Generva,’ he corrected. ‘And a very good one, I hope.’ With that, he was gone.

She began to miss him the moment the door closed. The night had been a mistake, one that she should have stopped immediately. What sort of an example was she to either of her children that she would bed a man she had known for less than two days? And how would she go on without him once he was gone?

But the senior Thomas Kanner was the sort of man that made one forget all that. It had been good to lie with a man again. But it had been amazing to lie with this particular man. When the sun rose, she would find herself humming the old carols he was so fond of, with their faintly sad melodies and their fearless welcoming of the darkness that came with the brightness of this season. When she looked in the mirror as she washed, she would smile. She might not be in the spring of her life, but neither had she reached winter. She was alive and happy to be so.

* * *

When she saw him again at the breakfast table, he was as jolly as ever. He greeted both children warmly and even coaxed a smile from Gwendolyn. But he gave no indication that anything had changed between them, other than a certain tenderness in his eyes as he looked at her.

But the song he had been singing as he shaved was about a maid in a lily-white smock opening the door to him. For Christmas morning, it was most improper. She hoped that he did not mean to sing when they were at church. Perhaps he could be persuaded to do some plainsong or chant that Reverend Allcot might not find so reactionary.

Then she recalled that she had not asked him his plans. ‘Will you be accompanying us to church, Your Grace?’

‘Of course,’ he replied with a smile. ‘I will be there for the wedding.’

Gwendolyn’s fork clattered to her plate, and she reached for a napkin as though ready to stifle a sob.

‘There is to be no wedding,’ Generva hissed. ‘I thought it was settled.’

‘Not for your daughter, perhaps.’ He looked at her with mock surprise. ‘But I thought you and I had reached an agreement on the subject last night.’

‘You and I. We. Today.’ Was that what he had meant when talking of a trip to London and a Season for Gwen? Their discussion had been sorely lacking in detail.

‘I am sorry if we are causing you pain by taking the day that was to have been yours,’ he said to her daughter in the gentlest of voices. ‘But there is no better way to deflate a scandal than by creating a bigger one. As the stepdaughter of a duke, I suspect you shall have your pick of gentlemen when you are ready to choose one.’

‘You and Mama are getting married?’ Gwen seemed surprised, but not unhappy. ‘How wonderful. I do not mind. Not at all, Your Grace.’

‘I gave my permission,’ Ben said around a mouthful of bacon. ‘Because I am man of the house.’

Generva was choking on her piece of toast. Even after she had managed to wash the bite down with a sip of tea, she could not seem to get air into her lungs. Her future had been settled to the satisfaction of everyone in the house. Even Mrs Jordan had heard the news and come in from the kitchen to congratulate His Grace on a wonderful plan.

It was a fairy tale after all, and she was the princess in need of rescue. Or perhaps she was a duchess, since he was not a prince.

And that was nonsense. All of it. There was no magic in the world. Wishes were not granted and miracles did not happen, even at Christmas. She could not even call it an answered prayer, since she had long ago given up praying that a man would come to change her name and her life.

Once again, common sense answered. But this time, it was with a laugh. Generva could not very well refuse him. It was too late for that. Nor could she announce that they had settled no such thing, last night.

One could not be forced, in the heat of passion, to make such a momentous decision.

Or perhaps one could.

But when one was a chaste widow, not supposed to be feeling the heat of passion at all...?

Then perhaps one must be sensible and keep one’s mouth firmly shut.

They finished their breakfast and pulled on bonnets and coats for the mile-long walk to church. At the first opportunity, Generva pulled Mrs Jordan aside and begged her to walk a short distance behind with the children so that she might speak privately with the duke.

The woman gave a smile and a knowing nod, completely misinterpreting their need for privacy.

Thomas misunderstood her as well, folding her arm into the crook of his elbow as though walking arm in arm with her was the most natural thing in the world.

When she was sure they were far enough ahead so that they might not be overheard, she whispered, ‘Are you mad?’

‘No more so than the next man,’ he replied. ‘Do you fear for the sanity of our children? Because we will need to have a son, if you do not wish to see more of young Tom Kanner.’

‘Children.’ She had been a fool not to think of that last night when they were being so careless in their lovemaking.

‘You do like children, do you not? You have two, of course. You seem to enjoy them well enough. It is a great comfort to me that you survived both the births and the upbringing. I suspect you are made of sterner stuff than the two duchesses who precede you.’

‘Duchesses,’ she said. That was what she would be, should they marry. Not a fairy-tale princess, but the very real Duchess of Montford.

‘Think of the advantages to Gwendolyn and Benjamin.’ He was speaking quickly, as though he feared that he must plead and win the case before they arrived at the church door.

‘I cannot,’ she said. ‘We cannot.’ It was as it had been at breakfast; she could not breathe. They were still travelling forward, down the road to the church. But she felt like a leaf on the tide, being dragged along against her will.

‘Are you not at least fond of me?’ He seemed taken aback by the thought. ‘I am sure you will find me the most amiable of husbands.’ Then he smiled.

‘It is not that,’ she said hurriedly, trying to ignore the little rush she felt when he smiled at her. ‘It is just that...’ And what was it, precisely? ‘It is so sudden,’ she said at last.

‘Not really,’ he answered. ‘I am near to fifty. To have waited half a century to feel the way I do is a long wait indeed.’

He felt something for her. Apparently, it was more than friendship and more than lust. ‘You have been married before,’ she reminded him.

‘Each time, it was different. And this...’ He gave a helpless shrug of his shoulders. ‘What I feel for you is different. It is sudden, as you say. But it is strong. And I have never been so sure of a thing in my life as I am when I look at you. Life is fleeting. Why should we wait?’

Why indeed? She knew what he spoke of, for she felt it, as well. Since the day he had walked into her kitchen, she had been caught in the sort of giddy, headlong rush she had not felt since she was a girl. But was it wise to trust such feelings?

He sensed her doubt and patted the hand that rested on his elbow. ‘Marry me. It will be fine. You shall see.’

‘So you keep saying,’ she replied. ‘But perhaps it would have been better had you told me of your intentions last night.’

‘I thought I made them clear enough.’ Now his smile was positively wicked. ‘With my body I did thee worship. In comparison, it is but an afterthought to endow you with my worldly goods.’

Very well. They had been married in body and spirit by the time the clock had struck twelve. And she had no intention of admitting, in a churchyard, on Christmas, that she had been willing to surrender to his charms without the benefit of matrimony. ‘I do not need a man to help me, Thomas Kanner,’ she said, a little too primly. ‘Until recently, we have done quite well on our own.’ And what a lie that was. ‘For you to swoop in and rescue me is entirely unnecessary.’ But most welcome.

He gave her a look that sent the blood singing in her veins. ‘Is that what I am doing? I had no idea. I was attempting to seduce you.’

‘Shh,’ she said, looking around her to be sure none of the villagers gathering on the path ahead of them had heard. And then she whispered, ‘You succeeded.’

‘That is good,’ he said. ‘Because once you realise how much work comes with the title, you will wonder if you have gone from the frying pan into the fire.’

‘Work?’ It had never occurred to her that there would be more than the title.

‘The management of several houses, scores of servants, entertainments to arrange, charities to organise...’ He ticked off the duties on his fingers. ‘Your poor daughter would have had no idea how to go on, and you’d have ended up doing the work anyway.’ He glanced down at her, a sly sidelong glance. ‘And I’d have been your son-in-law. For the sake of the girl’s honour, I’d have been willing to try. But it was scant hours in your presence before I realised how awkward that would have been.’

‘Awkward?’

‘To have such carnal thoughts about a woman who should be respected as a mother?’ He shuddered.

She gave another hurried ‘Hush,’ and then followed with ‘Good morning, Reverend Allcot! And a Merry Christmas to you.’ They had arrived at the church door, and the vicar was there to greet them, eyeing the man who escorted her with obvious disapproval.

Before he could speak, Thomas supplied his own introduction. ‘Allcot, is it? Good morning, Vicar. I am Montford. Let us go into the vestry. I wish to speak to you about performing a marriage.’

‘But the service is about to begin.’

‘Do not worry. It cannot begin without you. Nor me, for that matter.’ Thomas cast a dazzling smile at the most sombre spinster in the village. ‘It is not every day a duke comes to hear you preach the homily.’

If he meant to create gossip, he was succeeding. There was an audible gasp from the woman, and a whisper rippling through the parishioners lined up behind them.

And now Mr Allcot was being swept along on the same tide that carried her, until they reached the vestry and Thomas produced the licence from his pocket.

‘There has been a slight change of plans, as you well know. My nephew was totally unfit to offer for young Miss Marsh.’ He smiled again. ‘I have no such encumbrance, nor does Mrs Marsh. So if you would do us the service of a sacrament, in the time allotted...’

Allcot glanced down at the paper before him. ‘This cannot be proper. The names are wrong. Perhaps if you could reapply...’

Generva had not realised how much she had come to want the marriage until it appeared it might be impossible. The sudden sense that her heart was crashing towards the ground was proof enough of her true feelings. She inserted herself into the conversation. ‘The groom’s name is right, is it not, my darling Montford? Thomas Kanner was named to honour you.’ She looked up at him in adoration.

He smiled back at her, reading the message in her eyes. ‘That is very true. We will add my title to the line.’ He picked up a pen from the writing desk, and did so. ‘There. Right as rain.’

‘But the bride...’ Allcot laid a bony finger beside Gwendolyn’s name.

Now Thomas took up the aspergillum resting on the table and obliterated the bride with a sprinkling of holy water. ‘Oh, dear. I seem to have smudged it. But we can fix it yet.’

He scrawled Generva in the place from which Gwendolyn was rapidly disappearing. ‘There.’ He smiled in satisfaction. ‘All better.’

The vicar stared in alarm at the mangled paper. ‘That cannot be proper,’ he insisted in a weak voice.

‘I fail to see why not,’ Thomas said, all innocence. ‘The licence is right. But the names were written wrong. They are correct now. For myself, I can hardly wait to upbraid Chuckles for his mistake. Over dinner, perhaps.’ He turned to Generva, as if in an aside. ‘You will love the man, my darling. We must entertain him as soon as we are back in London.’

‘Chuckles?’ she said.

‘An old nickname for my friend Charles. Manners-Sutton,’ he added for the benefit of the vicar.

‘The archbishop?’ The vicar turned as white as his alb.

‘His Grace, Canterbury,’ Thomas added, tapping the signature, Cantaur:, at the bottom of the paper. ‘He would marry us himself, in my drawing room, if I asked. But I do not want to wait until we have removed to London. It would be a shame to take Generva away from her home parish when there are so many who want to wish her well.’

She was not so sure of that herself. The ladies of the congregation looked more like a pack of jackals drooling for her marrow than friends eager to celebrate her good fortune.

The vicar still looked doubtfully at the marred paper. ‘If you are sure that the Archbishop made a mistake...’

As if in afterthought, the duke reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy purse, setting it on the table, then pushed it to the side as though he had already forgotten its presence. ‘I am, Reverend Allcot. I am.’

* * *

As they sat later, snug in the box pew that her family shared, Generva could not imagine a better Christmas gift. Their toes were kept warm by the little stove upon the floor in front of them, but it was the feeling of a man’s hand holding hers that truly warmed her heart.

Although she had dreaded the day for a week, now that it was here, she saw no censure directed towards her daughter. The recently jilted Gwendolyn sat on her other side, completely ignored and dozing through Reverend Allcot’s sermon. Beside her, Ben toyed with a penknife Thomas had given him as a Christmas gift, opening and closing it, staring thoughtfully at the mahogany of the pew.

Thomas followed the boy’s gaze, then reached into his pocket and produced a bar of soap. He handed it over and they all ignored the pile of shavings building up at their feet as Ben began work on an effigy of Boney, the spaniel.

Generva marvelled at his sangfroid. She suspected he was as calm and collected in Parliament as in the parlour, equally untroubled by small boys and large men. His mere presence held the entire congregation in rapt attention. But he paid no attention. He cared for no one but her. And when she looked at him, she felt the same.

At the end of the service, the congregation sat in pious silence to witness the marriage of Mrs Generva Marsh to the Duke of Montford. There was an awkward pause when Mr Allcot asked, ‘Who giveth this woman?’

She was about to answer that it should hardly be necessary to be given away at this stage in her life when her son came bounding up the aisle, complete with penknife. He left a trail of soap shavings behind him like so many rose petals dropped in the aisle. ‘I do.’ He turned and glared back at the congregation. ‘Because I am the man of the house.’

‘For the moment,’ Thomas added quietly. But he smiled as he said it. And when the time came for a ring, he removed an enormous ruby from his own hand and slipped it on to her finger.

When, at last, the vicar pronounced them man and wife, Generva breathed a sigh of relief. There would be no more looking back. Now that she had grown accustomed to the idea, a life with the man beside her was all that she could have wanted.

And they could begin that future whenever Mr Allcot came to the end of the ceremony. She did not remember her last wedding being quite so sombre. That had been a hurried affair, in a chapel by the London docks that many sailors claimed as their home parish.

Perhaps Mr Allcot meant to impress the visiting peer. Or was he attempting to make up for the lack of formal licence with extra prayers? He said not one psalm, but two. He delivered the blessing that they might be ‘fruitful in procreation’ with a look that discouraged any joy in the attempts at breeding.

And then he began to quote, at length, from Saint Paul.

It was not necessary. With three previous marriages between them, she and Thomas were well aware of their duties to each other. They were certainly better schooled than Mr Allcot, who was as yet unmarried. As the ceremony dragged on, she could feel Ben shifting from foot to foot as his patience wore thin. There was no telling what might happen when he could no longer contain himself.

Her son was not the only male bored to mischief by Mr Allcot. Next to her, Thomas still wore a benign smile. But his foot had begun to tap. It did not seem to be a sign of impatience. There was a rhythm to it, as though he kept time to a song.

Oh, dear.

As Mr Allcot exhorted her to obedience and submission for what seemed like the hundredth time, Thomas began to hum.

There were murmurs of disapproval from the congregation, but the vicar pretended not to notice, although it was clear he did. A warning to reverence her husband was delivered in a louder voice and at a faster pace, as though he meant to race the groom to the end of the service.

It was a race he was destined to lose. As he extolled the merits of a meek and quiet spirit over ornaments of gold, Thomas burst into song.

‘In a manger laid, and wrapped I was

So very poor, this was my chance

Between an ox and a silly poor ass

To call my true love to my dance.’

At the mention of the silly ass, Ben burst into laughter and Mr Allcot dropped his prayer book.

And then, to prove that she had been listening to the vicar’s sermon, Generva demonstrated that she was willing to follow her new husband, no matter where he might lead. She joined him on the chorus in perfect harmony.

‘Sing, oh! my love, oh! my love, my love, my love,

This have I done for my true love.’

* * * * *