Christmas Carol Page 6

  When the next waltz began and she was in Montfort’s arms once more, Carol asked him about it. To his credit he did not laugh the question away, nor did he become angry when she insisted on an answer.

  “I am sure Simmons does care for Penelope,” Montfort said. “However, I know him well enough to believe he would never displease his overbearing father by offering for a girl who would bring to her marriage only a small dowry. The settlement I will provide for Penelope will simply allow Simmons to follow his heart. It will also give Penelope what she most desires. You cannot disapprove of this arrangement, since you and I privately agreed to it weeks ago.”

  “I just want her to be happy,” Carol said, “and not only for a few months or for a year or two, but for the rest of her life. She is such a lovely, sweet girl. I don’t think she has ever had an unkind thought about anyone.”

  “I agree.” Montfort gave her a deliciously teasing smile. “However, I regret that I cannot say the same about you, my dear. I do believe you have, on several occasions, harbored unkind thoughts about me.”

  “I cannot deny it, my lord.” This response was greeted by a deep, appreciative chuckle.

  “Caroline, if you continue as you have been doing this evening, I will endeavor never again to give you cause to think unkindly of me.”

  “Is that a promise, my lord?” She meant it as a joke, but the words came out more sharply than she intended.

  “A most solemn promise,” he responded at once. “I find this new quality in your character to be most remarkably fascinating.” His eyes were a smoky green as they gazed into hers, and Carol could sense the leashed passion in him. She could tell that he wanted to kiss her again. And afterward he would put his mouth on her breast. … She shuddered in memory, and saw understanding in his face.

  “As you are tonight,” he said, “you could easily fascinate me for all eternity and to the exclusion of all others.”

  “Eternity is a long time,” she murmured.

  “Nevertheless…”

  The dance ended just then, and Penelope and Lord Simmons were left standing right next to them, so Carol and Montfort were forced to break off their too-intimate conversation, but Carol had the impression that Montfort would pick it up again as soon as he could. The way he looked at her, and stayed right beside her when the four of them went in to dinner together, the manner in which he neatly cut off the attentions other men would have paid to her, all convinced Carol that the fascination he claimed to feel for her was no empty compliment. With a bravado completely out of character for Carol Simmons, and from what she had learned of the lady, a bravado that would have been beyond the comprehension of Lady Caroline Hyde, Carol decided that while she was in nineteenth-century London, she might as well enjoy the masculine attention.

  The dining room was a large space that could have been coldly formal, but that was on this night made intimate with decorations of candles and greenery, and with white and red flowers in honor of the season. Instead of one long table, small tables for four or six people were set up around the room.

  Carol, Montfort, Penelope, and Lord Simmons occupied one of these tables by themselves. The gentlemen brought plates of ham and roast beef and salad for the ladies, and then sat drinking wine while the women ate. Throughout the light, casual conversation, Carol was conscious of Montfort’s continuing attention. She was also aware of Lady Augusta’s piercing gaze, and knew that at some point in the near future she was going to have to account for her behavior in the library.

  In spite of these concerns, Carol was having a wonderful time. Lord Simmons was witty and gallant, and within a few minutes of sitting down at the table with him, Carol was firmly convinced that he was in love with her sister. She caught herself in that thought. Sweet though Penelope was, the girl was not her sister, so why should she feel this tenderness and this need to protect her? It was an emotion that Carol could not put aside, though she tried her best to do so.

  And then there was Nicholas. His attentions were flattering, and Carol could not deny her response to him. She sat through the supper hour in a state of heightened awareness of everything that was happening around her, wishing she could sink into Nicholas’s arms and experience the pleasure of his lips on hers once more. From the looks he cast her way she thought he wanted the same thing.

  It was an impossible situation. Carol gathered that the real Lady Caroline had always held her fiance at arm’s length. Would he be hurt if Carol returned to her own time and Lady Caroline once more took over the body that belonged to her, and then proceeded to reject Nicholas when he tried to make love to her? The thought of hurting him sent a stab of pain into Carol’s bleak heart.

  With the pain came anger at Lady Augusta. As a ghost who clamed to know everything important about her, Lady Augusta must have been aware of how much of Carol’s emotional energy over the last six years had been devoted to avoiding any feeling that might cause the least bit of distress. How, then, could Lady Augusta now subject Carol to the possibility of real anguish? It was a nasty thing to do, and terribly unfair.

  And yet, despite her resentment toward Lady Augusta and her feeling of being misused, Carol had to admit to herself that there was no place else where she would want to be on that particular evening. Of all the changes worked upon her during the course of that astounding night, this was the most surprising change of all—that she was happy to be where she was.

  The late supper was followed by more dancing, which did not end until the early morning hours. By the time the last of the guests were leaving, Carol was so sleepy she could hardly keep her eyes open. She gave Nicholas her hand and let him kiss her politely on the cheek while she tried to swallow the yawn she could not prevent. Of course, he noticed.

  “I will assume it is the result of the late hour and not caused by my presence,” he teased, taking advantage of her distraction to place another kiss on her opposite cheek, this one a bit too close to her mouth for Carol’s peace of mind. “May I call for you during the afternoon and take you for a drive?”

  “Oh, do, Nicholas,” said Penelope before Carol could answer for herself and before Lady Augusta could offer any objection. “I am sure Caroline would enjoy it, and we have no engagements before dinner because Aunt Augusta insisted we should be quite worn out after tonight. But I do not expect to be the least bit tired, and I don’t think Caroline will be, either.”

  “Caroline?” Nicholas watched her with raised eyebrows.

  How could anyone, even Lady Augusta, expect her to refuse his offer? Carol smiled and nodded her assent, and Nicholas took his leave.

  “Caroline,” said Lady Augusta in a stern voice, “we must have a little talk.”

  “Not now,” Carol retorted, surprising even herself with her firmness. “I am much too tired to get into a heated discussion tonight. We can talk later if you want. For the moment, I am going to bed.”

  And if you take me back to the twentieth century before we get a chance to talk, she added silently to herself, then whatever you are planning to say to me won’t matter.

  “Very well, I will expect to see you in my boudoir shortly before noon.” Lady Augusta began to climb the stairs to the upper floor. “I absolutely insist on speaking to you before you go out for your drive with Montfort. Now, it is time for both of you to be in your beds.”

  “Yes, Aunt Augusta.” It was Penelope who answered, Carol being occupied with another large yawn. Laughing at Carol, Penelope added in a whisper, “Dear sister, I want to talk to you, too, and hear everything that Montfort said to you this evening, but I am nearly asleep where I stand. Aunt Augusta sounds remarkably irritated, so in contrast to the lecture she no doubt plans for you, I shall cheer you up with the most delightful news.”

  “Let me guess,” Carol retorted. “Is it something to do with Lord Simmons?”

  “You will have to wait until tomorrow,” said Penelope. She embraced Carol warmly and then all but danced down the corridor to her own room, which Carol only now discovered w
as just next to the chamber occupied by Lady Caroline.

  When she awakened the next morning Carol was surprised to find herself still in the lovely blue and white bedchamber, and thus still in the nineteenth century. She had fully expected to open her eyes to the dreary, bare room in which she had slept and taken most of her meals for more than five and a half years.

  After the maidservant pulled the draperies back to reveal the pale sun of a late December day, Carol lay quietly, looking around the room. There was something remarkably soothing about her surroundings. The blue and white porcelain vases on the mantel were so pretty, the blue brocade chair was comfortable, the rug was designed with a pleasing pattern of roses and ribbons, and the taffeta and sheer lace curtains at the windows were fresh and crisp and let in a softened light.

  “Good morning, my lady.” The maid presented a small tray containing delicate pieces of china in a pink and blue pattern, including a fat little teapot. “A plain roll and tea, just as you like your morning meal.” Pushing herself up to a sitting position, Carol accepted the tray, letting the maid place it across her lap.

  “I never noticed what a nice room this is,” Carol said. “Or how sleeping in such comfort can improve even the most irritable disposition.”

  “Oh, my lady, no one could ever call you irritable,” the maid responded. “Quiet and mild you are, and a great favorite with all the staff, if I may say so.”

  “Am I?” Carol did not think the staff who maintained Marlowe House in the twentieth century would say the same about her.

  “Oh, yes,” said the maid, “and we’re all so pleased to know you will be marrying such a great nobleman. He’s a lovely man, Lord Montfort.” Her sigh made it plain that she fully appreciated Montfort’s manly attributes.

  When the maid was gone, Carol stayed in bed for a while, sipping her tea and thinking over the remarkable events of the previous day. Apparently there were still more to come; otherwise she would have been returned to the twentieth century.

  Nicholas. The thought of him propelled Carol out of bed and across the room to the wardrobe to pull out a dress she hoped would be suitable for daytime wear. The maid had brought a pitcher of hot water as well the breakfast tray. Carol was washing her face when the chambermaid returned.

  “Oh, my lady, I didn’t know you were getting up so early. No, don’t try to dress yourself. That’s what I’m here for. Don’t you remember when you first came to London and thought you ought to take care of your own clothes and brush your own hair, and how we agreed that you would let me take care of you as the maid of a great lady ought to do?”

  “You do have a point. I can’t seem to twist my arms around enough to button up the back of this dress. Is it the thing for morning?”

  “Exactly right, my lady. Now you just stand still and let Ella take care of those buttons.”

  The dress was yellow and white striped muslin, scarcely warm enough to afford protection from the winter cold, but Ella did not appear to think her mistress ought to be wearing a more substantial garment. She did drape a flower-patterned yellow and green shawl around Carol’s shoulders. From its warmth and softness, Carol decided the shawl must be woven of cashmere.

  “Now, my lady,” Ella said when Carol was clothed to her satisfaction, “I know Lady Penelope is waiting for you in her own room. I finished helping her to dress just before I came in to you.”

  Penelope’s bedchamber was much like Carol’s, except that it was decorated in pink and white. When Carol entered, Penelope was sitting at a dainty lady’s desk, using a quill pen. Catching sight of Carol, she threw down the pen and rose, hurrying forward.

  “Oh, Caroline, I gave my solemn word I would tell no one but you, so you must promise to keep my secret,” she exclaimed.

  “What secret?” But Carol thought she could guess. She was immediately proven correct.

  “Alwyn—that is, Lord Simmons—has declared himself,” Penelope announced. “He says he loves me.”

  “Has he asked you to marry him?”

  “Of course not, dunce!” Penelope began to laugh. “You know he cannot in honor ask for my hand until he has his father’s permission. Alwyn is always perfectly correct where his father is concerned.”

  “Then I am surprised hear he was incorrect enough to speak to you before discussing the matter with his father,” Carol said.

  “Alwyn told me that Montfort did advise him to wait, but he was afraid someone else would ask for me in the meantime, so he revealed his feelings to me while we were waltzing last night. You do recall that he came to the ball specifically to waltz with me?”

  “I remember Montfort saying that Lord Simmons would be there.” Carol began to wonder what part Nicholas was playing in this particular romance.

  “Well,” Penelope went on, “Alwyn wanted to be certain that my affections were as firmly engaged as are his.”

  “And you assured him they were?”

  “Oh, yes.” Penelope’s face was aglow with excitement. “I know we cannot make a public declaration of our betrothal until Alwyn’s father has agreed, and Aunt Augusta, too, but at least we can each be certain of the other’s love. Alwyn says Nicholas is strongly in favor of the match, and has promised to go with Alwyn when he speaks to his father about me. With someone like Lord Montfort supporting his cause, Alwyn has every hope his father will approve.”

  “It would seem as if Montfort and Lord Simmons have our lives neatly arranged between them,” Carol murmured.

  “Well, of course they have. Men are supposed to arrange these things. You cannot object, Caroline, since you wanted a good marriage for me, and now both of us have found wealthy and titled husbands. What noblewoman could ask for more? You are happy, aren’t you?”

  “Divinely happy.” Penelope missed the dry tone of Carol’s voice and went on cheerfully talking about her plans for a blissful future as the wife of Lord Simmons.

  Carol was unwilling to spoil Penelope’s happy mood by discussing what she knew about Penelope’s dowry. Since she wasn’t sure whether Penelope knew of this arrangement or not, a certain amount of discretion seemed to be advisable.

  After her revealing talk with Nicholas on the previous night, Carol was aware that he was using her sister’s dowry to exert a subtle pressure on Lady Caroline. He would not actually make that all-important settlement on Penelope until after Caroline had fulfilled her part of their bargain by marrying him—and, Carol was sure, by allowing Nicholas to consummate their marriage so he could have at least some hope of an heir. The Earl of Montfort was far from being a mustache-twirling villain, yet he had Lady Caroline exactly where he wanted her.

  “Excuse me, my lady.” Lady Augusta’s personal servant, Marie, stood in the doorway. “My mistress would like Lady Caroline to attend her in her chamber at once.”

  “Oh, dear,” said Penelope in mock terror. “Caroline, shall I go with you to protect you from the dragon?”

  “I think I ought to handle this one by myself.” Carol gave the girl a quick hug and a kiss. “We will talk more about your plans later. If you are happy, and if you are sure of Lord Simmons’s affection, then you have my blessing and I wish you all the best.”

  Carol was halfway down the hall to Lady Augusta’s room before she realized what she had just done. She could not remember the last time she had hugged someone out of pure affection. But hugging Penelope felt good. There was an unfamiliar warmth around her heart as she knocked on Lady Augusta’s door. Unfortunately, it did not last long.

  “I have been waiting for more than an hour to speak to you.” Lady Augusta did not waste time on small talk. “Kindly explain to me just what you thought you were doing with Montfort last night.”

  “He wanted to kiss his fiancee. I could hardly object, could I?”

  “What I saw appeared to be considerably more than a mere kiss.”

  It had indeed been more, and at the memory of Nicholas’s demanding mouth on hers, Carol began to feel again some of the tumultuous emotions she had experie
nced on the previous night. There seemed to be no way for her to prevent her own reactions to him. The realization of her own susceptibility made her angry. Telling herself the anger was for Lady Caroline’s sake, she attempted to explain the incident to Lady Augusta.

  “Lord Montfort believes he is in complete control of his relationship with Lady Caroline,” she said. “He is apparently loaded with money, so he thinks he can do whatever he likes. Did you know he is providing a dowry for Penelope? But only after Caroline marries him.”

  “Yes, I do know. It is not an entirely uncommon arrangement, not when a man is as rich—and as generous—as Montfort. Do you expect me to believe that what you were expressing in the library last night was gratitude for his consideration of your sister’s happiness?” The hint of sardonic amusement in Lady Augusta’s voice made Carol wonder just what this irritating ghost was really up to.

  “I was trying to show him that Lady Caroline has some backbone,” Carol retorted. “I was hoping he might treat her better.”

  “I am not aware that he has been treating her badly.” Lady Augusta’s eyes bored into Carol’s. “I very much doubt that your motives were as altruistic as you pretend. Montfort is, after all, a devastatingly handsome man.” She paused, still watching Carol.

  “I am not interested in handsome men,” Carol said. “I had my fill of them six years ago.”

  “In more ways than one,” Lady Augusta agreed.

  “If you intend to stand there and throw that old incident with Robert Drummond in my face again,” Carol told her, “then I am going to leave.”

  “Carol, you must learn to be honest with yourself. It is the very first requirement for the success of my project. Admit to your true feelings for Montfort.”