ONCE UPON A REGENCY CHRISTMAS Page 8

  ‘I am not beautiful.’ If she could just wriggle a little more she would be in the perfect position.

  ‘If you say things like that I will take even more time. I don’t lie to you, Julia. You are lovely and I—’ He closed his eyes. ‘I want you very much. Now, where was I?’

  ‘Torturing me.’

  ‘Oh, yes. How cruel. Is this what you wanted me to do?’ He slid into her, just an inch.

  ‘Yes. More. Please. Yes.’

  So slow, so agonisingly, blissfully slow. So big, so deep, so...much. Julia looked up, deep into his eyes as Giles made love to her with all the gentle strength of his body, saw the man stripped bare to his soul. Honest, honourable, loaded with obligations he would fight to fulfil, whatever he wanted for himself.

  ‘Giles!’

  He took her cries into his kiss as he surged once, twice, hard and deep, beyond control now, then, at the last moment, tore himself from her body and spilled his hot seed on her stomach.

  Julia thought she would faint. Perhaps she did. When she came to herself she was tangled in a tight, sticky embrace under the covers. Giles had shifted his weight off her, but he still sprawled, possessive, against her, his arms holding her to him, his head on her shoulder. He was asleep, already snoring softly, a big cat’s rumbling purr.

  She had heard of Christmas miracles and this was hers, this man. And now she had received this gift she was going to toss it aside because that was the sensible thing to do. Julia buried her face in the thick brown hair and slept.

  * * *

  ‘Julia, time to get up.’

  ‘Mmpf?’ She blinked and found Miri, wide awake, a steaming cup of tea in her hand. ‘Where am I?’

  ‘In your cold and lumpy bed at Chalcott Manor.’ Miri put the cup down on the bedside table. ‘It is eight o’clock and Captain Markham is complaining that he is starving and the bacon is congealing.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Julia gulped the tea. ‘I’ll be right down. Tell him to start without me.’ Giles must have carried her back to bed.

  And she remembered as she saw the sunlight lying in bars across the floor. It was thawing. This was the last day before Giles left. She closed her eyes on the tears that threatened, fighting the despair. How had he come to mean so much in such a short time?

  A short time was all they had, one day, one night. Julia opened dry eyes and flung back the covers. Time to create a Christmas to remember, the Christmas of her dreams.

  * * *

  Giles and Miri blinked at her when she swept into the dining room. ‘I am starving.’ She ignored the wicked twinkle in his eye, the unspoken suggestion that making love all night was enough to give anyone an appetite. ‘There is so much to do today. Miri made a wonderful start on the decorations, but we need a yule log and mistletoe and table decorations and presents.’

  Giles was openly grinning when she ran out of words. ‘I haven’t experienced a Christmas like that since I was a child.’ He didn’t point out that he would not be there on Christmas Day, and she was grateful for that. One day at a time.

  ‘I haven’t either and Miri never has. Where should we begin?’

  ‘Outside while the sun shines.’ Giles was on his feet. ‘I saw some mistletoe yesterday.’

  They followed him out, bacon crammed into slices of bread to eat as they struggled into heavy coats and boots, found scarves to wrap each other in. Giles tramped across the snowy waste behind the house and pointed up into an ancient apple tree. ‘See?’

  ‘It is a very big tree,’ Miri said doubtfully. ‘Won’t it be dangerous?’

  ‘Just the thing to say to a man if you want him to risk his neck,’ Julia teased as Giles began to strip off coat and gloves.

  He shook his head at her and began to climb in a shower of dislodged snow and broken branches. ‘Stay back.’

  Julia edged away, holding Miri’s arm. He was making steady progress, long legs stretching to solid footholds, his hands testing and tugging as he climbed higher. She saw him hold on one-handed while he pulled something from his boot, then he was tossing down mistletoe to land bright green on the sparkling snow.

  ‘The berries are poisonous,’ she warned Miri as they collected it up. ‘That’s enough!’ she called up and Giles began to climb down, faster than he had gone up, swinging from branch to branch. ‘Show-off,’ Julia called as he turned a somersault around the biggest bottom branch and landed at their feet.

  Giles stumbled against her and they fell into the snow, laughing, as Miri, doubled up with laughter, waved the mistletoe over their heads and called, ‘Kiss her...kiss him.’

  ‘That was my first kiss under the mistletoe ever,’ Giles said as he got to his feet and pulled her up in a shower of snow. ‘Now for a yule log.’

  ‘We could try the shrubbery. I saw some dead trees.’ The first mistletoe kiss. He will remember it, years hence, Julia told herself as they trooped past the snow family, stopping for Miri to put sprigs of mistletoe in their hats. And so will I.

  The log they found was so large that Giles had to fetch one of the carriage horses and rig up long traces. He lifted Miri on to its back where she clung, waving to the staff who all came out to see what the noise was about as they towed it back to the front door. It took all the men to heave it into the front room and wedge it into the hearth, but eventually they managed to set a fire under it and it began to smoulder.

  ‘It burns until Twelfth Night,’ Julia explained to Miri, on her way out to pick sprigs of evergreen for table decorations.

  Giles hung the bunch of mistletoe from the hall lantern and kissed her again, this time without an audience and without laughter and she clung to him for a moment before breaking free to let in Paul with an armful of fragrant pine branches.

  The men went off to find a saw to cut up pieces to fit over the doors, leaving Julia standing in the hallway, the cold breeze from the open door stirring her hair, her fingers to her lips. I love him. That was what this was, this hollow feeling when he wasn’t there, this warm glow when he was. It wasn’t simply desire, it was something far, far more.

  But he was a poor man, a man with debts, a man who made no bones about needing a rich wife. The sort of man she had resolved to avoid at all costs. It is the lovemaking, she told herself. That, and the isolation and the magic of the snow and of Christmas. I am letting my emotions rule my head and I vowed not to do that again. And yet I trust him more than I have ever trusted before.

  ‘Julia?’ Miri shut the front door with a bang that made her jump. ‘Stop daydreaming and tell me what we must do next.’

  ‘Christmas presents,’ Julia said, her smile so bright it hurt the muscles. ‘We surely have enough things in our luggage from India to find something novel for everyone. Let’s go and see.’

  She already had some gloves and a muff for Miri, bought in Bond Street, but she had given no thought to having a houseful of servants and no way to reach the shops.

  They unearthed a cache of silk scarves and chose several each for Mrs Smithers and the Girl, whose real name they had discovered was Jennet. Miri suggested the carved sandalwood boxes that were so useful for everything from buttons to cufflinks, so they chose one each for Smithers, Paul and Thomas and then wrapped up the gifts in silver paper tied with silk threads.

  ‘What about the Captain?’ Miri asked.

  ‘Oh, I’ll find something,’ Julia said. ‘You take these down and arrange them on the sideboard. There was another box, smaller than the others, just the size of the palm of her hand. From her jewellery box she took an ivory heart deeply carved with exquisite twining vines and flowers. It was too large to be worn as a pendant, but she had been entranced by the carving and had bought it anyway. Now it nestled in a bed of silk in the little box as though it had been made for it and she wrapped it carefully, then went downstairs and slipped it into the breast pocket of Giles
’s cavalry greatcoat where it would lie over his heart for him to find when he was miles away.

  ‘Julia?’ he called. ‘We need a decision on holly in the dining room.’

  ‘Coming,’ she called back and found her smile again.

  * * *

  The morning came with a sickening inevitability on the heels of a night of lovemaking, of sleepy embraces in front of the fire, of murmured words, none of which had been, I love you.

  Julia sat up in her own bed in the cold light of dawn to the sound of voices from the stable yard. She looked down from her window to see Giles talking to the men. Paul was carrying a saddle. This was the end, then.

  She began to dress, blindly, and then stopped, one shoe still in her hand. It didn’t need to be the end. She knew this man, she trusted him as well as loved him. He needed a rich wife and she could be that woman. He would not feign liking or passion for her because she knew he already felt them. And surely he might learn to love her, too? She only had to have courage and believe in him, in herself.

  She must talk to him, now. There was no need for such haste, no need for him to ride off into the freezing wilds of Norfolk. She would tell him he had the rich wife he needed and she could watch his face break into that wonderful smile, see the anxiety of those debts fall away. This would be the perfect Christmas Eve.

  When she ran downstairs Giles came into the hall from the kitchen, hat and whip in hand, his greatcoat already fastened. ‘I am glad you are down, I did not want to scandalise Miri by going up to you.’

  ‘Giles, I must speak with you.’ She caught his arm and tugged him towards the drawing room. ‘Please, close the door.’

  He was sombre as he closed it, leaned against it. ‘Goodbye isn’t easy to say, Julia. I will never forget you. I hope you will find what you want in this life.’

  ‘Giles, don’t go.’

  ‘Last night...’ He shook his head as though there were no words. ‘Last night was...extraordinary. This is abrupt, but it must be, Julia. We were trapped here, trapped into an intimacy that otherwise would have taken weeks, perhaps months to achieve. We must put it behind us now.’

  ‘You need a rich wife, I know.’ He made an abrupt gesture with his hand, but she pressed on. ‘I should have told you before, I suppose... Giles, I am a rich woman. A very rich woman. Marry me.’

  She saw the shock strike, then his expression became blank. ‘Explain. You said your husband was a failed merchant.’

  ‘He was. But I began to trade in secret on my own behalf. At first just with what I could save from my allowance, from the housekeeping. I found I was good at it. When I carried out Humphrey’s orders for his company I was trading for myself as well. It is easier in India for a woman to find places to invest, to keep her savings safe. By the time Humphrey died I was a very rich woman.’

  ‘So you came back to England to be a female nabob, did you? And what else—to buy a big house, of course, that’s what nabobs do—and to find yourself a husband, perhaps? You weren’t joking when you told me that was what you were looking for, was it?’ His voice was cold, mouth hard.

  ‘If I found the right person. But—’

  ‘So you tried me out. On approval, as it were.’ He pushed away from the door and stalked across the room to the window, over six foot of darkly furious masculinity. ‘You know, I really do have the worst judgement when it comes to women. I really hoped that one day I would find an honest one.’

  ‘No! It isn’t like that. Giles—’

  ‘You lied to me. The carriage is borrowed, is it? You don’t wear these plain gowns without a single piece of jewellery as a matter of course, I’ll wager. All part of the disguise while you survey the goods. After all, you don’t want the studs you are choosing from to get too excited about the money, do you?’

  ‘That is so right,’ she flared. ‘Men become mesmerised by money far more than they do by the sight of a naked bosom. They’ll do anything to get their hands on it. So, yes, I would like a rich husband, because I know he would want me for myself, not my bank balance. But you, you were different, I felt different with you.’

  ‘Charitable, presumably?’

  She slapped his face then. He made no move to avoid her. ‘You said you needed a rich wife.’ What have I done? She had never used violence against another person in her life—and this was the man she loved.

  ‘I need a rich wife, yes. I want someone who is honest with me. I was prepared for open negotiation, for contracts and settlements, a business transaction. What I was not prepared for, madam, was an emotional entanglement where I am lied to, used for sex and then insulted with offers of money. I have a secret to share, too. I am the Earl of Welbourn. Good day to you, Lady Julia.’

  She was still shaking when Miri came running into the room. ‘He has gone—and his face. Julia, did you slap Giles? Why?’

  ‘Because I love him.’ She collapsed into the nearest chair. ‘I hurt his pride and insulted him and he said hateful things and I hit him and...and I will never see him again.’

  Miri came and huddled into the chair next to Julia, held her tight. ‘Perhaps he loves you, too. If he does, he will realise when he calms down.’

  ‘No. He doesn’t.’ But Giles had said an emotional entanglement. That, surely, meant he had some feelings for her? Feelings she had turned to disgust and dislike. Best not to hope. Somehow plan, to survive, to endure.

  ‘I was an idiot, Miri. But this is Christmas and we have made this dreadful old house look festive and Mrs Smithers promises Christmas pudding for tomorrow. We will celebrate all that we have and make plans for the New Year.’ Plans that did not involve men. She had not wept when she had woken after that dreadful fever to discover that she had nothing and no hope of happiness. She would not weep now. ‘I will be fine soon, just give me a little time.’

  The rest of my life.

  * * *

  It was almost dark when Giles turned a weary Trojan between pillars topped with griffins. There were no lights in the lodge houses flanking the entrance. Gatekeepers were a luxury that could be dispensed with. He wondered where the dispossessed family had gone.

  Trojan fidgeted, perhaps scenting a stable, but Giles kept him at a walk. He had been valiant today and he would not risk him on this last stretch home. Home. That was an interesting word for a ball and chain on his ankle, but he must start thinking of it like that. This was his home and his duty. Behind him an indignant gobbling emerged from the basket tied to the crupper. Bulstrode was furious at his imprisonment and had complained ceaselessly.

  ‘Be quiet. If I’d left you she’d have eaten you. She does that to males.’

  The stables contained only half a dozen horses and fewer grooms. The men hurried out, their faces lighting up when they realised who had come. ‘We’ve been expecting you, my lord,’ Fraser, the head groom, explained as an underling led Trojan to a warm rug and a bran mash. ‘But not this side of Christmas, not with the weather so bad.’

  ‘The last fifteen miles weren’t a problem, once I’d got round the broken bridge.’ Giles stretched the stiffness out of his back and looked round for his saddlebags, but the footmen who had appeared as if by magic had taken them, leaving only a rush basket full of furious stag turkey. ‘The bird needs putting into a stall and feeding. It is not, under any circumstances, to be harmed.’

  ‘Certainly, my lord.’ A groom picked up the basket. At least an earl, even an impoverished one, could get first-class service for his livestock.

  ‘Her ladyship has been apprised of your arrival, my lord.’ One of the footmen was back.

  ‘I’ll get cleaned up first.’ Giles walked beside the man to the front steps. ‘I can’t come to her in all my dirt.’

  ‘Certainly, my lord. I will show you to your suite.’

  It was a beautiful house, he realised as he followed the man through the grea
t doors. Classical, elegant, exquisitely furnished. And...cold. Strangely it felt chillier than Chalcott Manor had, although it was not a matter of temperature.

  It was a house in mourning, of course. There was none of Miri’s exuberant greenery and swags of silk. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he would soon be forced to sell much of the furniture to mend the roof that was letting in water like a sieve.

  Or perhaps it was the absence of a warm heart at its core. Julia, organising, chivvying, giving the staff purpose and direction, praise and confidence. Do not think about Julia. She is a merchant and she tried you out like a customer taking home a painting to see if it looked well on the drawing room wall before deciding to purchase.

  ‘The Earl’s suite, my lord.’ The footman threw open the door to a large bedchamber with a fire burning in the grate.

  Firelight on her skin, her hair tossed and tangled on the cushions...

  ‘Your dressing and bathing rooms, my lord. There will be hot water there.’

  ‘I will be causing the Countess inconvenience if I take this suite.’

  ‘Her ladyship moved to guest rooms several weeks ago, my lord.’

  Poor woman. A guest in her own home. ‘Not the Dower House?’

  ‘It is not habitable, my lord. One of the chimneys fell in last month’s gales. If your lordship’s valet is not with you, I can assist.’

  ‘Thank you, no. I can manage. Please tell the Countess I will be down directly.’

  Giles washed and put on his uniform with the speed most officers acquired early in their careers. It was not strictly correct to wear uniform now, but he had no mourning beyond a few black neckcloths and his breeches and boots were in a dire state.

  A butler—his butler—waited at the foot of the stairs. ‘I am Greaves, my lord.’ He opened the nearest pair of doors in silence. Of course, an earl was not announced in his own home.

  The woman seated by the fireplace rose to her feet and curtsied in a flutter of black veiling. ‘My lord.’