Christmas Carol Page 7

  “I don’t have any feelings for him,” Carol declared. When Lady Augusta sadly shook her head, Carol threw up her hands. “All right. If you want me to say it, I will. He’s handsome. He’s sexy. He is also manipulative and demanding. Is that why Lady Caroline has been cool to him?”

  “Has she been cool to him?” Lady Augusta tilted her head to one side, apparently fascinated by this disclosure.

  “That’s what he said.”

  “Why do you suppose that is, Carol?”

  “How should I know? You’re the one who has all the information on this situation. And you are the one who hasn’t told me what I need to know about the relationship between those two. I had to talk Nicholas into revealing what little I do know about their arrangement. It’s just a business deal. But you knew that, didn’t you?”

  “What do you intend to do about it?” asked Lady Augusta.

  “Do?” Carol stared at her. “You tell me. This is your mission, not mine.”

  “I suppose it is too much to expect you to understand all of it at once,” said Lady Augusta.

  “I don’t understand anything, because you aren’t telling me what I need to know,” Carol cried. “You haven’t really explained what our purpose here is, you only set me down among strangers and left me to figure things out for myself. It isn’t fair. Look, do me a favor. Just send me back to my own time.”

  “Neither of us can return until we have accomplished what we were sent here to do.”

  “What were we sent here to do?” If there were something at hand to throw, Carol would have thrown it at the older woman in outraged frustration.

  “We will know it when we have done it,” Lady Augusta responded with infuriating calmness. “Now, you must excuse me, Carol. There are household duties to which I must attend.” She waved a hand in dismissal. Carol refused to move.

  “Is this all you wanted to say to me?” Receiving no answer, Carol asked another question. “How long will we be here?” she demanded.

  “As long as it takes,” was the cryptic answer. Lady Augusta turned away, thus discouraging any further probing on Carol’s part. As if by magic, the servant Marie appeared to hold the door open and stand waiting until Carol passed through it.

  This interview left Carol, once she calmed down a bit, with the sense that in spite of the tart inquiries Lady Augusta had made, she did not really disapprove of what Carol had done in the library with Montfort. Why she did not disapprove, Carol could not guess, and she was pretty sure that Lady Augusta was not going to supply any more clues. What Carol needed to know about Lady Caroline, she was going to have to find out on her own. The only fact of which she could be certain was that she would remain in the nineteenth century for a while. Which meant she would see Nicholas again, when he came to take her for a drive that afternoon. The pleasant anticipation she felt at the prospect frightened her.

  “I don’t know what to wear,” she said to herself as she made her way down the corridor toward her bedchamber. “More important, I don’t know what to expect or how to behave.” When she reached Penelope’s door she stopped and knocked on it.

  “Help me,” she begged as soon as Penelope opened the door. “What shall I wear when Nicholas comes?”

  “I knew you would ask,” Penelope said, laughing. “You always do. And I always give you good advice, don’t I?”

  With Penelope’s assistance, and by pretending to be a bit distracted and sleepy after the ball in her honor, Carol got through a morning and early afternoon that included calls by three young women who claimed to know the Hyde sisters well. These visitors were full of the latest gossip about betrothals, marriages, and social events amongst the aristocracy. Carol listened avidly to their conversation and tried to remember everything she heard. When her responses weren’t right, Penelope was there, gently laughing, to supply sisterly aid. Carol discovered that though their visitors were a bit silly and giddy, Penelope was dependable. She was beginning to treasure Penelope.

  She did not even mind Penelope’s teasing over the arrival of a huge bouquet of flowers sent to Lady Caroline by Nicholas. Carol was able to respond with a pointed comment of her own when, a short time later, a slightly smaller offering was brought to the door for Penelope from Lord Simmons. It was so delightful to have a companion to whom she could talk, whom Carol knew cared about her, that for an hour or two Carol almost forgot she was not Lady Caroline Hyde.

  Thanks to Penelope’s suggestions, by the time Nicholas called for Carol in late afternoon she was properly dressed in a gray and blue striped gown with a long, dark blue woolen pelisse buttoned over it and a matching blue bonnet that had a large bow arranged beneath her chin.

  She had not the faintest idea what kind of carriage Nicholas was driving, but the single seat to which he handed her was by Carol’s standards a high and precarious perch and she held on tightly at first. He drove with such assurance and ease that after a while she began to relax, understanding that this light, sleek conveyance was the early nineteenth-century version of a young man’s sports car. Before long she could even begin to enjoy the ride.

  Taking her cue from Nicholas, she bowed and smiled at the people they passed. As they rode along she also watched Nicholas out of the corner of her eye, waiting to catch the right moment to raise an important issue with him. She was planning to strike another blow for Lady Caroline. In the meantime, she could admire the imposing figure he presented in his bottle-green, many-caped greatcoat and beaver hat.

  Nicholas turned into the park, where he slowed the horses and moved into a line of carriages of various types, all of them carrying people who were out to see and be seen while enjoying the fine, cold day. This, Carol decided, was as good a time as any to speak her piece.

  “I have a bone to pick with you, sir,” she announced.

  “I beg your pardon?” He sent a surprised glance her way. Carol bit her lip, wishing she had been more careful in her choice of words. Nicholas had probably never heard that particular expression before this day.

  “What I mean to say,” she corrected herself, “is that I believe you and Lord Simmons are manipulating Lady Caro—manipulating me and my sister in order to force me to marry you.”

  “Caroline, have you gone mad?” He gave her another quick look before turning his attention back to the horses. “Simmons and I are attempting to provide Penelope with the happy future she wants and deserves. You cannot object to my efforts in her behalf, because you have repeatedly endorsed them. As for you, our betrothal is publicly known. I have no need to manipulate you into anything.”

  “Doesn’t a woman have any right to make her own decisions?” Carol cried.

  “Certainly, she has,” Nicholas replied. “You could have refused to marry me.”

  “I see.” Carol spoke sharply. “Case closed, then. There is nothing more to discuss.”

  “On the contrary, I think there is a great deal more to say,” he responded in a low, compelling voice. “We will marry. The kind of marriage we have is up to us. I do confess that I began by expecting the usual polite arrangement we see so often in society. After last night, however, I have begun to hope for more.”

  “More, my lord?”

  “I have begun to dream of a marriage in which my wife expresses the warmest feelings toward me,” he told her. “I know it is not fashionable for husbands and wives to care deeply for each other, but I now believe that you and I could do so, once we learn to know each other completely. Are you willing to try, Caroline? Will you trust me not to betray your heart?”

  In the instant when he leaned toward her to look into her eyes, Carol saw beneath the veneer of dominant male and calculating man of the world to a reservoir of kindness and tenderness that lay hidden deep within the man. Nicholas wanted to love Lady Caroline, if only she would let him. But Carol was not Lady Caroline and could not answer for her.

  “I—I don’t—I’m not sure—” In vain she fumbled for the right words. She could not find them. With grief she watched him
pull back and saw his eyes turn cool again.

  “I am aware that the idea is new to you,” he said. “Perhaps you will think on it and give me your answer at some later time.”

  Before Carol could make any further response, they were hailed by a voice from a carriage moving past them in the opposite direction. Nicholas pulled his horses to a halt, and the other carriage stopped, too.

  “My Lady Falloner. Lord Falloner.” Nicholas raised his hat. “Good day to you.”

  In the carriage now halted next to them Carol recognized the elderly lord with the gouty toe and his wife who had been at Lady Augusta’s ball. Carol bowed to them in imitation of the nobles she had been observing during this drive.

  “Well, well,” cried Lord Falloner to Carol. “You are as rosy and pretty as ever, I see. Late hours never do seem to affect the young. Tell me, my dear, are you planning to attend Lady Lynnville’s ball tonight?”

  “Aunt Augusta, my sister, and I will all be there,” Carol replied.

  “I wish I could ask you to save a waltz for me,” Lord Falloner said, “but my gouty toe will not allow me to dance. Would you inform your aunt that I hope to partner her at the whist table this evening?”

  “Of course, my lord. I will give her the message. Do you also intend to play cards, Lady Falloner?”

  “I shall be busy serving as chaperone to my niece,” the lady replied.

  When the other carriage moved on, Carol returned her attention to Nicholas. She was grateful for the interruption. It had given her a chance to catch her breath so she could turn the conversation to less intimate subjects than the future marital relations between Nicholas and Lady Caroline.

  “Will you also be at Lady Lynnville’s ball?” she asked.

  “I am planning to attend.” Leaning closer to her Nicholas added, “I wish I could ask you to save every dance for me.”

  “If you want me to, I will.” Good intentions or no, she could not help her response, not when he was looking right into her eyes. He really was remarkably handsome when he smiled in that teasing way.

  “It would be most improper.” Taking the reins into one hand, Nicholas used the other to cover her fingers. Through the leather of his gloves and hers she could feel his warmth. The sensation left her weak. “Lately, Caroline, you have become the most tantalizing woman. Is it your intention to create a scandal?”

  “Could we?” She grinned at him. His hand tightened over hers. “I mean, can an engaged couple actually become social outcasts just for dancing together too often?”

  “I begin to think that for your sake I would gladly flout all propriety,” he said. When she curled her fingers around his, he added, “Have a care, Caroline, or you will drive me mad.”

  “I don’t know how long I will be here,” she murmured, thinking out loud. “This won’t last forever, and when I am gone, I will never again have the chance to learn what this life is like, or what it’s like to know you.”

  “I hardly expected philosophical speculation from you,” he responded, looking surprised.

  “I want to discover everything I can about you before it’s too late,” she said. “Nicholas, where will we live once we are married?”

  “In my house, as we have already decided,” he said. “At Montfort Place.”

  “Is it here in London?”

  “Yes, Caroline, you know it is. Has this something to do with our earlier conversation?” She could tell he was perplexed by her odd questions. She was also aware of the flare of renewed hope in his eyes. It was painful to remind herself that the hope was for Lady Caroline, but having made up her mind to learn as much as she could about him, she would not stop.

  “I want to see your house.” She took his hand in both of hers and held it against her bosom. “Please, Nicholas. I want to know what it looks like so I can imagine you living there when I’m not—” She caught herself and stopped speaking just in time to avoid revealing too much.

  “Very well,” he said. “But you must release my hand before we cause any more raised eyebrows amongst the ton. People are staring at us.”

  “Is everything we do food for scandal?” she asked.

  “You know how you ought to behave in public,” he replied with just a touch of severity in his voice. “While I welcome your expressions of warmth in private, I do not want us to become the subject of gossip. This caution is for the sake of your reputation, my dear.”

  “Of course. I should have realized.” What she had seen and heard while in the drawing room of Marlowe House with Penelope and her friends earlier in the day ought to have taught her that young women were expected to be more restrained. Letting go of Nicholas’s hand, Carol folded her own hands together in her lap. “I am sorry, Nicholas. I wasn’t thinking. But will you show me your house?” she asked again.

  “If you wish, we will drive past it,” he said. “You know I cannot take you inside without a chaperone.”

  “I understand.”

  The house was in Mayfair, an ornate white wedding cake of a place. Nothing about it struck a chord in Carol’s memory, though she had walked along that particular street many times during her ramblings around London.

  “It’s huge,” she whispered.

  “I feel certain you will know how to manage it,” he told her. “Your mother raised you to be the competent mistress of such an establishment.”

  By the time Nicholas returned her to Marlowe House, Carol felt as if her brain would burst from all the information she was trying to sort out. As she watched him drive away, she was certain of only one thing. She could scarcely wait to see him again that evening at Lady Lynnville’s ball.

  Chapter 4

  Carol, Penelope and Lady Augusta went to the theater first and then on to Lady Lynnville’s ball. The ballroom was large and it was badly crowded with elegantly dressed people.

  “What a crush,” gasped Penelope. “Lady Lynnville must be delighted to know her affair will be considered a huge success.”

  “Must social success be dependent upon how uncomfortable the guests are?” Carol demanded, trying to push her way through the throng. “If that’s the case, then we didn’t make the grade last night, did we? There was plenty of room at Marlowe House.”

  “Do you mean you didn’t notice?” As usual, Penelope was laughing, and her pretty blue eyes were twinkling merrily. “I vow, you had eyes only for Nicholas and saw no one else. And then, you spent so much time in the library with him.”

  “There is a charming library in this house,” a voice at Carol’s shoulder said, interrupting Penelope. “I will be happy to show it to you, my dear.”

  “Nicholas,” Penelope exclaimed, “you ought not to make such suggestions.” Looking at the man with him, she added with a slight blush, “Good evening, Lord Simmons.”

  Within a few moments Penelope and Lord Simmons were dancing and Carol was swept into Nicholas’s arms. This second evening in early nineteenth-century London passed in a blur of overcrowded, overheated rooms, of constant frivolous chatter and dances claimed with her by men whom Carol did not know. Through it all Nicholas frequently returned to her side, and Carol began to regard him as the one stable element in an unfamiliar, shifting, and confusing scene. Penelope was spending most of her time with Lord Simmons, except for a few dances with other men in order to assuage the demands of propriety. Lady Augusta seemed to have disappeared, possibly into the card room with Lord Falloner. Nicholas was the only constant.

  “Are you feeling unwell?” he asked sometime after midnight, when he discovered her standing on the terrace just outside an open French door.

  “It’s too hot in the ballroom,” she answered, taking a deep breath of the bitterly cold fresh air, “and everyone is wearing so much perfume. I wanted to clear my lungs.”

  “You will end with lung fever,” he cautioned. There followed a moment of silence until he asked, “Shall I take you home, Caroline?”

  “Now?” She turned toward his tall, dark figure. He was wearing black again this eveni
ng. In the shadows where they were standing, only the pristine white of his linen and the pale shape of his face were visible. “Are you telling me we can leave this—this fearful crush, as Penelope calls it, without causing an uproar among the chaperones, or hurting our hostess’s feelings?”

  “It can be arranged,” he said. “If an early departure is what you wish.”

  Something in his voice told Carol that more than transportation back to Marlowe House was included in his offer. Suddenly the prospect of several additional hours spent dancing with men whom she would have to pretend to recognize, or conversation with young ladies who were chiefly interested in snagging rich and titled husbands, was unbearable.

  “I find that I am most dreadfully tired,” she said in her best imitation of one of those ladies. Spreading her fan, she fluttered it gracefully. “I do believe I feel the beginnings of a headache. Not to mention a cough that may presage development of a serious inflammation of the chest.”

  “All excellent reasons for you to return home as soon as possible.” He spoke with complete seriousness, but she could tell he was amused.

  “Would you be good enough to arrange a speedy, yet quiet departure?” she asked.

  “It will be my pleasure. Allow me to offer you the support of my arm.”

  He handled their leave-taking beautifully. He found their hostess, explained Lady Caroline’s indisposition, and begged Lady Lynnville to excuse them. Meanwhile, Carol drew Penelope aside and whispered her own explanation so her sister would not worry. Lady Augusta was nowhere to be seen, but Penelope promised to transmit the message to her.

  “I cannot think where she could be,” Penelope said. “I looked into the card room a few minutes ago and she wasn’t there. Lord Falloner is trying to find her, too.”

  Carol could not help wondering if Lady Augusta had herself departed the ball in order to make a brief visit elsewhere, there to receive further instructions on how best to torment her victim.

  She did not dwell on that thought. Never had she felt less like a victim. After wrapping her in Lady Caroline’s warm, fur-lined cloak, Nicholas hurried her out of Lady Lynnville’s mansion and down the steps to his waiting carriage. This was not the small, open conveyance he had driven earlier in the day, but a closed coach with someone else to drive it and two footmen to help them in and out of it. Inside, the coach was luxuriously appointed with well-padded gray leather upholstery and with a fur rug to cover her knees. Nicholas tucked the rug in around her, then sat back on the seat beside her.