Christmas Revels

  "Thank you." Nicole closed the door again. "I'm sure that Georgette will have a fine time here."

  "I hope so." Mrs. Turner rubbed absently at one of her gnarled knuckles. "Robert keeps asking me to come live with him in London, but it will never do if his wife and I don't get on."

  "I see," Nicole said softly. "That's why you are so particularly concerned about this visit."

  "I'm just a country woman of yeoman stock. I'm afraid Georgette will be ashamed to have someone like me in her house. To make it worse, her own mother died when she was a child, so likely she's used to having things her own way. She won't want me around."

  Nicole wished there was some comfort she could offer, but any words would sound hollow, for there was a very real chance that the judge's daughter would not wish for too much intimacy with her husband's rustic mother. "If Miss Georgette doesn't appreciate you, it will be her loss."

  Mrs. Turner sighed and changed the subject. "Your feelings for Sir Philip aren't sisterly, or even cousinly, are they?"

  At the unexpected comment, Nicole's face flooded with hot color. "Am I that obvious?"

  "Only to someone who notices such things," the older woman said. "I doubt that he does. Most men don't notice love until it hits them over the head. You'll just have to be persistent. In a discreet sort of way, of course."

  Attaching Philip's interest would take more than persistence, and it was far too late for discretion. Not wanting to explain, Nicole said, "Is there anything else you'd like me to do? It will surely be hours before the carriage is repaired."

  As Nicole's mother had often said, work was the best antidote for the dismals.

  IT was early afternoon when Sir Philip drove up in the repaired curricle. Nicole came out to greet him. "I was in luck," he said cheerfully. "The wheelwright wasn't too busy. Are you ready to go? We can be home in an hour."

  "Splendid," Nicole said, her voice a little hollow. If they were at Win-stead in an hour, in two hours she would be on her own again. Briefly she considered postponing her confession for two days, until Boxing Day was over, but that would be too dishonest. She gave Philip a false, blinding smile. "I'll put Merkle in her basket and get my cloak."

  After Philip had loaded cat and baggage into the carriage, Mrs. Turner came out to say farewell. Philip took her hand. "You saved our lives, Mrs. T., and gave us a splendid evening as well. Will you allow me to compensate you for your trouble?"

  She shook her head. "Taking you in was the Christian thing to do, and I'll not accept money. Besides, I had a fine time, too. Perhaps sometime when you and Nicole are driving by, you'll stop for a cup of tea."

  Philip wished he could do more, but accepted her comment at face value. Then he straightened up and saw Nicole's gaze go very deliberately from him, to Mrs. Turner, to the leather portmanteau that held the presents, then back to him.

  For a moment he didn't understand. Then he smiled. Of course; why0 hadn't he thought of that? He unpacked the music box and offered it to his hostess. "I understand why you don't want money, but will you accept this, as a reminder of a special evening?"

  Mrs. Turner took the music box with reverent hands. "You've found my weakness, young man. Thank you—this is the prettiest thing I've ever owned in my life."

  She opened the box, and they all listened with pleasure as the carol chimed through the crisp winter air. Nicole knew that never again would she hear "The First Noel" without thinking of Sir Philip and Mrs. Turner, and these brief, happy hours when their paths had crossed.

  The music was just ending when the rattle of a carriage could be heard coming up the lane. Mrs. Turner's expression became tense. "That must be Robert and Georgette."

  Philip went to hold his horses' heads while Nicole took the music box from the older woman. "I'll put this inside for you." Under her breath she added, "Courage! I'm sure Georgette will love you."

  Nicole set the music box on the kitchen table and was stepping through the front door when a chaise entered the yard, passing by Philip's curricle, which was drawn over to the side. As soon as the chaise stopped, a stocky, dark-haired young man tumbled out and swept Mrs. Turner into his arms.

  Happy Christmas, Mother," he said exuberantly. Clearly the young solicitoror was not ashamed of his countrified parent.

  Then Robert turned to the chaise to help his wife down. As Nicole watched, Mrs. Turner touched her hair nervously.

  Then came the Christmas miracle. The girl who climbed from the carriage was not the haughty judge's daughter whom Mrs. Turner had feared. Instead, she was a golden-haired elf whose huge blue eyes mirrored Mrs. Turner's own nervousness. As the two women came face-to-face, Robert said proudly, "Mother, this is Georgette. Isn't she everything I said?"

  Mrs. Turner smiled. "Welcome to my home, Georgette. You're even lovelier than Robert said."

  The elf blushed. "I've been looking forward so much to meeting you. Robert speaks often about you and growing up in the country—the way you and he and Mr. Turner worked and read and laughed together. It sounds like the most wonderful childhood imaginable." Wistfulness showed in the depths of her wide blue eyes. "May . . . may I call you 'Mother'? I've never had a mother of my own, and I've always wanted one."

  Her face transformed by joy, Mrs. Turner said, "Nothing would make me happier, my dear." She stepped forward and hugged her new daughter.

  Nicole was edging her way toward Philip when the newcomers belatedly realized that there were strangers present. After introductions and handshakes all around, Nicole and Philip drove off down the lane. Nicole's last glance over her shoulder showed the Turners going into the cottage, Robert in the middle with one arm around his mother and the other around his wife.

  Nicole felt a prickle of bittersweet tears. She did so love a happy ending. There wouldn't be one for her, but she didn't doubt that the three Turners would be happy.

  PHILIP was silent during the seven-mile drive to Winstead Hall, but not because the familiar road required all of his attention. Instead he found himself thinking of the young woman sitting quietly by his side. In the day and a half he'd known her, he had seen her many different ways: as a pretty little tart, as a gallant waif, as an uncomplaining traveler, as a young woman with warmth and kindness for everyone. She was lovely, desirable, intelligent, and agreeable; everything, in fact, that a man would want in a wife. No dowry, of course, but he could afford to marry for love. But he didn't want a wife! Moreover, he couldn't possibly be in love with a girl he'd just met. Could he?

  The more Philip thought, the more confused he became. He'd never been in love, apart from one or two infatuations when he was younger, and even at his most infatuated he'd known that what he felt was passing madness, not true love. But his feelings for Nicole were different from anything he'd experienced before. He liked the idea of having her around all the time, day and night. Definitely at night, but equally definitely during the day. He liked talking with her, and listening to her, and he couldn't imagine ever growing tired of having her around. Was that love?

  He had not reached any conclusions when they arrived at Winstead. As they drove up the sweeping entrance road, Nicole drew her breath in sharply. Her reaction made Philip see his home as if for the first time. Winstead Hall was only a few decades old, built for comfort rather than defense. It was also quite beautiful, a triumph of the Palladian style. As Philip drew the curricle to a halt in front of the portico, he tried to visualize Nicole coming down the stairs as mistress of Winstead. It was surprisingly easy to conjure the image up.

  A manservant came to take the reins of the curricle, and Philip helped Nicole down. She was very silent as she accepted the cat basket and accompanied him up the stairs and into the hall. She had the same nervous expression that Mrs. Turner and Georgette had worn when they met, and for the same reason. Philip gave his guest a reassuring smile, knowing that his mother would quickly put her at her ease.

  Even as the thought crossed his mind, Lady Selbourne came floating down the stairs. She was a remarkably y
outhful-looking woman, with dark hair and a face marked by a lifetime of laughter.

  She did raise her brows at the sight of the appalling scarlet cloak, but made no comment. She'd always been hard to perturb, even the time Philip had led his pony into the vestibule with the intention of having it to tea. Giving her unexpected visitor a friendly smile, Lady Selbourne said, "Philip, I'm so glad to see you. I was beginning to fear that you might not be back in time for Christmas. Did the weather cause you trouble?"

  "A bit. We had a minor accident near Blisworth and had to spend the night, but it was nothing serious." After kissing his mother's smooth cheek, Philip ushered the two women into the drawing room. "Mother, this is Miss Nicole Chambord."

  Her dark eyes bright with curiosity, her ladyship said, "I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Chambord. Let me ring for some tea. You must both be chilled from the drive."

  Philip's gaze went to Nicole. Her hands were clenched around the handle of the cat basket, and she looked as if she were riding in the tumbril to the guillotine. Yet her head was high, and she had a grave dignity that touched him in ways he couldn't explain. Wanting to relieve her anxiety, he said, "Miss Chambord is a distant relation of Masterson's and in need of a situation. I thought we had a position here that would suit her."

  Lady Selbourne nodded with understanding. "I see. You were thinking she could be a companion for me?"

  "Perhaps." Philip looked into Nicole's enchanting, expressive brown eyes, and pure madness struck him. "Or if she's interested, there's another position available. As my wife."

  A bomb thrown into the drawing room couldn't have struck with greater impact. Both women stared at him with identical expressions of shock, and Nicole almost dropped Merkle's basket. Philip hastily took it and released the cat.

  As he did, the silence was broken by his mother going into gales of laughter as she looked first at her son, then at the young woman she had just met. "Oh, Philip, my only and adored son," her ladyship gasped when she could speak again. "Have you learned nothing of French savoir faire from me? This is not the way to offer a young lady a proposal of marriage!"

  Face scarlet, Nicole blurted out, "The situation is much worse than that, Lady Selbourne, for I am not a young lady. My only relationship to Lord Masterson was that he hired me to spend the night with your son as a ... a Christmas present." She blinked hard. "If Sir Philip really meant what he said, it is only because he wants to save me from ruination."

  Lady Selbourne's laughter ceased, and she plumped down on a velvet-covered chair rather quickly. After a long, alarming silence broken only by the ticking of the mantel clock, she said, "It sounds as if you are already ruined." Aiming a gimlet gaze at her son, she said in a dangerously reasonable tone, "I have trouble believing that you would bring a doxy to Winstead. Am I wrong, Philip?"

  Philip winced, realizing that he couldn't have handled the matter more badly if he had tried. "I did meet Nicole in an irregular manner," he admitted, "but she's not a doxy. As an orphaned emigree, she was forced to earn her living as a seamstress. Several days ago she was unjustly discharged, so she accepted Masterson's offer because she was penniless and totally without prospects. When I realized that she was gently bred, of course I couldn't take advantage of her situation. So I brought her here." After a moment, he added stiffly, "I assure you, nothing improper occurred."

  "God forbid that I should consider her turning up in your bed as improper," Lady Selbourne said dryly. Her shrewd gaze went back to Nicole. "Is what Philip says true, Miss Chambord?"

  Nicole nodded miserably.

  Her fingers drumming on the right arm of her chair, Lady Selbourne studied her potential daughter-in-law. At length she said, "Well, you've a practical mind, and that's no bad thing." Switching to French, she said, "Tell me about your family."

  Seeing that Nicole was speechless, Philip said helpfully, "Her mother is related to a count."

  "Which one?"

  Finding her tongue, Nicole said in French, "The Count du Vaille, but the connection is remote."

  Lady Selbourne bit her lip absently. "The Count du Vaille? He's also a distant relative of mine, so you and I are in some way related. Where in France did you live?"

  Still in French, Nicole sketched in her background and the story of how her family had been forced to flee to England. After listening intently, Lady Selbourne thought for a moment, then began tapping one dainty foot. "Tres bien. With the du Vaille connection, the world can be told that you are a cousin to whom we offered a home. After a few months of proximity, no one will be surprised if there is a happy announcement."

  Nicole gaped at Lady Selbourne. "You mean that you would approve of such a match?"

  Philip's mother gave her son an affectionate glance. "I have been doing my best to find my son a suitable bride, and you are the only girl who has caught his fancy. Philip is very like his father—an easygoing Englishman, but once he makes his mind up, nothing will shake him from his path. While I would certainly not approve of him marrying a courtesan, I have heard nothing about your past that disqualifies you from becoming his wife."

  Voice choked, Nicole exclaimed, "But he can't possibly marry an unknown female with no reputation! He knows nothing of me."

  "I know that you're honest and lovely and brave and kind, and enchantingly unexpected," Philip said. "What more do I need to know?"

  "But. . . but I could be lying about everything," she said helplessly.

  "You are the most ruthlessly honest female I've ever met," he retorted. "I may not have much savoir faire, or a deep understanding of the female mind, but I do know that."

  Lady Shelbourne gave a low chuckle. "Resign yourself, Miss Chambord. If Philip has decided that he wants to marry you, you had best accept it. Granted, his proposal was cabbage-headed in the extreme, but I've always found his judgment to be sound."

  She got to her feet. "I think it's time to leave you young people to sort this out." Leaning over, she scooped up Merkle, who was sniffing inquiringly about her slippers. "You're a pretty little puss. Would you like a Christmas ribbon around your neck? Not red, that would clash with the orange in your fur. Green would be better." She floated out of the room, the calico cat draped across her shoulder.

  Nicole stared after her until the door closed. "I've never met anyone quite like your mother."

  "She is rather remarkable. You remind me of her a bit." Philip caught Nicole's hand and drew her over to sit beside him on the sofa. "Now, ma petite, shall we discuss our future?"

  "How can we have a future?" she protested as she settled next to him. "We hardly know each other." She swallowed hard, determined to keep her head. "Why do you want to marry me?"

  He smiled. "I rather think I'm in love with you. Isn't that the best of reasons?"

  She gave him a level look. " 'Rather think' isn't enough. I don't want to be one of your broken-winged birds or injured hedgehogs that you take in from pity."

  Philip's laughing face sobered. "I might try to help a waif because of pity, but I'm not foolish enough to marry for such a reason. I enjoy your company, I admire you, and I desire you. If you turn me down, it's myself I'll pity, not you, for I've never met another woman with whom I could imagine spending my life." His hand tightened on hers. "But just as you don't want me to propose from pity, I don't want you to accept from gratitude or desperation."

  "I wouldn't," Nicole assured him. "I've seen what love should be like between man and wife, and I won't settle for a marriage that is merely convenient."

  He caught her gaze with his. "Do you think that someday you might be able to love me?"

  Philip's nearness and the warmth of his eyes were rapidly disabling her logic. Looking away from his face, she whispered, "Last night I realized that I was falling in love with you, but it never occurred to me that you might reciprocate. You made it very clear that you didn't want a wife."

  "I didn't. I still don't want 'a wife.' What I want is you, ma petite, for now and always. I've never thought of marrying before. Now th
at I've met you, I can think of nothing else." He gently brushed a curl from her temple. "I know this is very sudden. There's no need to rush to a decision—since this is a house of mourning, it will be several months before a I betrothal could be announced. That will give us time to become sure of our feelings. As my mother said, you can be a distant cousin come to keep her company. No one will question that."

  "I don't really need more time," Nicole said shyly, looking at him from under her dark lashes. "You make my heart sing with happiness. I think it must be love, for I can't imagine anything better or more right."

  "Neither can I." With a burst of exuberance, Philip scooped her up in his arms and whirled her around, not caring if she thought him a Bedlamite. Setting his laughing lady back on her feet, he said, "Shall we seal our agreement with a kiss?"

  Not waiting for a reply, he drew her into an embrace. Nicole received him eagerly, her pliant body molding to him with the sweet enthusiasm of a playful kitten. And she was a quick learner; her kissing had improved since the night before.

  That being the case, it was a distinct shock for Philip to realize that Nicole was weeping. Lifting his head, he said wryly, "My dearest Christmas tart, why are you crying this time?"

  She smiled and ducked her head against his chest. "Because I'm so happy. I'm sorry, Philip, I'm just a watering pot." She looked up with sudden anxiety. "Perhaps you should reconsider."

  "I suppose I'll become accustomed to tears, as long as they are mostly of the happy variety," he said philosophically as he pulled her back into his arms. "Besides, if I cried off, I'd never again see you sitting on the bed with a red ribbon tied around your neck." He grinned. "The best Christmas present I ever had."