Christmas Revels

  She was regretfully turning away from the window when a strange figure came down the front steps. It was a tall man wearing a swirling black robe with a deep, cowled hood that totally obscured his face. Since Gardsley was said to have a ghost or two, Ariel wondered idly if one of them was making an appearance. But the man who moved so lithely down the steps, then called for his horse, seemed quite real. Certainly the horse and the Gardsley footman who brought it were not phantoms.

  Abruptly she realized that the figure could only be the mysterious, reclusive Lord Falconer, sometimes called the Black Beast of Belleterre. He was something of a legend in Kent, and the maids often talked about him in hushed, deliciously scandalized whispers. Ariel had heard him described as both saint and devil, sometimes in the same breath. It was said that he gave much to charity and had endowed a hospital for paupers in nearby Maidstone; it was also said that he held wild, midnight orgies on his estate. Ariel had looked up the word orgy, but the definition had been so vague that she hadn't been able to puzzle out what was involved. Still, it had sounded alarming.

  Stripped of rumors and titillated guesses, the gossip about him boiled down to three facts: he had grown up in the Midlands, he was so hideously deformed that his own father had been unable to stand the sight of him, and he now concealed himself from the gazes of all but a handful of trusted servants, none of whom would say a word about him. Whether their silence was a product of fear or devotion was a source of much speculation.

  As Ariel watched him swing effortlessly onto his horse, she decided that his deformity could not be of the body, for he was tall and broad-shouldered and he moved like an athlete. With compassion she wondered what made him so unwilling to show his face to the world. Even more, she wondered why Lord Falconer was at Gardsley. He must have had business with her father. In fact that would explain why Sir Edwin had unexpectedly returned from London.

  Ariel had just reached that conclusion when Lord Falconer glanced up at the facade of the house. His gaze seemed to go right to her, though it was hard to be sure since his face was shadowed. Instinctively she stepped back, not wanting to be caught in the act of staring. Although, she thought with a hint of acerbity, a man who dressed like a medieval monk had to expect to attract attention.

  Dropping his gaze, he turned his horse and cantered away. He rode beautifully, so much in tune with his mount that it seemed to move without the use of reins or knees. Stepping forward again, Ariel watched him disappear from sight. The Black Beast of Belleterre.

  There was a larger-than-life quality about the man that was as romantic as it was tragic. She began considering different ways to portray him. Not watercolor, that wasn't strong enough. It would have to be either the starkness of pen and ink or the voluptuous richness of oils.

  She stood by the window for quite some time, lost in contemplation, until her attention was caught by another figure coming down the steps. This time it was her father, followed by his valet. As she watched, the carriage came around from the stables. After the two men had climbed in, she heard her father order the driver to take him to the station. So he was going back to London without even asking to see her.

  Silly of her to feel hurt when their meetings were so uncomfortable for both of them. Besides, now she would be free to go up on the roof and paint the sunset. But Ariel found that unexpectedly thin comfort. A sunset no longer seemed as interesting; not when she had just seen the enigmatic Lord Falconer. Yes, pen and ink would be best for him.

  Summer

  Falconer returned to Gardsley exactly three months after his first visit. The day was another fine one, so, despising himself for his weakness, he took the same detour across the estate that he had taken before. The land was in no better shape than it had been, and the hay would be ruined if it wasn't cut immediately, but he did not care for that. His real purpose was a wistful hope that he might catch a glimpse of the girl. But she was not sketching on the hill today. The blossoms were long gone from the tree and now small, hard green apples hung from the branches.

  Regretfully he turned his horse and rode to the house. He had had his solicitor make inquiries about Sir Edwin Hawthorne and the results had confirmed all of Falconer's suspicions. The baronet was a gambler and a notorious seducer of other men's wives. He was away from Gardsley for months on end, and had been hovering on the brink of financial disaster for years.

  The solicitor's report had gone on to say that Sir Edwin's only daughter, Ariel, was twenty years old. She had had a governess until she was eighteen; since then, she had apparently lived alone at Gardsley with only servants for company. On the rare occasions when she was invited into county society, she was much admired for her beauty and modesty, but her father's reputation and her own lack of dowry must have barred her from receiving any eligible marriage offers.

  Falconer had had trouble believing that part of the report. Surely the men of Kent could not be so blind, so greedy, as to overlook such a jewel simply because she had no fortune.

  The butler admitted Falconer and left him in a drawing room at the front of the house, saying that Sir Edwin would be with his guest in a moment. Falconer smiled mirthlessly. If the baronet had had the money, he would have been waiting with a bank draft in hand. Now he was probably in his study trying desperately to think of a way to save his profligate hide.

  Falconer was pacing the drawing room when he heard the sound of raised voices, the baronet's nervous tenor clashing with the lighter tones of a woman. The drawing room had double doors that led to another reception room behind, so Falconer went through. The voices were much louder now, and he saw that another set of double doors led into Sir Edwin's study, where the quarrel was taking place. The baronet was saying, "You'll marry him because I say so! It's the only way to save us from ruin."

  Though Falconer had never heard Ariel's voice, he knew instantly that the sweet, light tones belonged to her. "You mean it will save you from ruin, at the cost of ruining me," she replied. "Even I have heard of Gordstone—the man is notorious. I will not marry him."

  Falconer felt as if he had been struck in the stomach. Gordstone was indeed notorious—a pox-ridden lecher who had driven three young wives to their graves. Not only did he have an evil reputation, but he must be over forty years older than Ariel. Surely Sir Edwin could not be so vile as to offer his only daughter to such a man. Yet Gordstone was wealthy and Ariel's father needed money.

  In a transparent attempt to sound reassuring, Sir Edwin said, "You shouldn't listen to backstairs gossip. Lord Gordstone is a wealthy, distinguished man. As his wife, you'll have a position in London's most amusing society."

  "I don't want to be part of London society," his daughter retorted. "All I want is to be left alone here at Gardsley. Is that so much to ask?"

  "Yes, dammit, it is!" the baronet barked. "A girl with your beauty could be a great asset to me. Instead, you hide here and play with pencils and paints. In spite of your lack of cooperation I've managed to arrange a splendid marriage for you, and by God, you'll behave as a proper daughter and obey me."

  Voice quavering but defiant, Ariel said, "I won't! I'll be twenty-one soon. You can't make me."

  She was stronger than she looked, that delicate golden girl. But even as the admiring thought passed through Falconer's mind, he heard the flat, sharp sound of flesh slapping flesh, and Ariel cried out.

  Sir Edwin had struck his daughter. Nearly blinded by rage, Falconer put his hand on the knob to the study. He was about to fling the door open when he heard Ariel speak again. "You won't change my mind this way, Papa."

  Though he could hear tears in her voice, she did not speak as if she had been seriously injured, so Falconer paused, his hand still on the doorknob. What happened between Sir Edwin and his daughter was none of Falconer's business, and if he intervened, the baronet would surely punish the girl for it later, when her champion was not around.

  "Don't worry—I'll find a way that will change your mind," Sir Edwin snapped. "If you don't marry Gordstone, you won
't have a roof over your head, for Gardsley will have to be sold. Then what will you do, missy? Go to your room and think about that while I talk with that ugly brute in the drawing room. If I can't persuade him to give me another extension of my loan, I'll be a pauper, and so will you."

  Falconer turned and retreated noiselessly to the drawing room at the front of the house. He was standing there, looking out the window, hands linked behind his back, when the baronet entered the room.

  "Good day, my lord," Sir Edwin said in a voice of forced amiability. "You've come just in time to hear good news. My daughter is about to contract an advantageous alliance, and I will be able to repay you out of the settlement money. You need only wait a few weeks longer, for the bridegroom is anxious for an early wedding."

  Falconer turned and stared at his host but didn't reply. As the silence stretched, Sir Edwin became increasingly nervous. Falconer knew that his stillness disturbed people; once, behind his back, someone had said that it was like being watched by the angel of death.

  When he could bear the silence no longer, the baronet said, "Are you unwell, my lord?"

  After another ominous pause, Falconer said, "I've already extended the loan twice. Since Gardsley is your collateral, I can have you evicted from here tomorrow if I choose."

  Sir Edwin paled. "But you can't ruin me now, not when a solution is so close at hand! I swear that within a month—"

  Falconer cut the other off with a sharp motion of his hand. "I can indeed ruin you, and by God, perhaps I will, for you deserve to be ruined."

  Almost weeping, the baronet said, "Is there nothing I can do to persuade you to reconsider? Surely it is the duty of a Christian to show mercy." He stopped a moment, groping for other arguments. "And my daughter… will you destroy her life as well? This is the only home she has ever known."

  His daughter, whom the villain proposed to sell to Gordstone. Falconer's hands curled into fists when he thought of that golden child defiled by such a loathsome creature. He could not allow the girl to marry Gordstone. He could not. But how could he prevent it?

  An outrageous idea occurred to him. To even consider it was wrong, blasphemous; yet by committing a wrong, he could prevent a greater wrong. When he was sure his voice would be even, Falconer said, "There's one thing that would change my mind."

  Eagerly Sir Edwin said, "What is it? I swear I'll do anything you wish."

  "The girl." Falconer's voice broke. "I'll take the girl."

  Half an hour after Ariel was sent to her bedroom, her father came up after her. She steeled herself when he entered, praying that she would be strong enough to resist his threats and blandishments. She was still shaken by what he had revealed earlier. Though Sir Edwin had never spent money on his estate or on her, she had always assumed that he had a decent private income or he could not have afforded to live in London. But today he had informed her that his entire fortune was gone and she must marry the despicable Lord Gordstone.

  Yet she couldn't possibly marry Gordstone. A fortnight earlier her father had brought the man to Kent for the weekend. In retrospect it was obvious that the real purpose of the visit had been for the old satyr to look Ariel over. Once he had caught her alone and pounced on her like a dog discovering a meaty bone. His foul breath and pawing hands had been disgusting. After escaping his embrace, she had spent the days in distant fields and had barred her door at night until he left.

  Without preamble her father said, "You didn't want to marry Gordstone, and now you don't have to. Another candidate for your hand has appeared. Sight unseen, Lord Falconer wants you."

  "Lord Falconer?" Ariel gasped, her mind going to the dark, enigmatic figure she had so briefly seen. "How can he want to marry a female he has never even met?"

  "Ask him yourself," Sir Edwin replied. "He's in the drawing room and wants to speak with you right now." Mockingly he stepped back and gestured her to go ahead of him. "It appears that you'll be the salvation of me in spite of yourself. You can't say I haven't done well by you, missy; you have your choice of two wealthy, titled husbands! Most girls would cut off their right arms to be in your position. "

  Ariel doubted that many girls would sacrifice a limb for the privilege of being forced to choose between a revolting old lecher and a faceless man known as the Black Beast, but she kept her chin high when she walked past her father. She gave a fleeting thought to her loose hair, but there was no time to tidy herself. In this her father was right; if she behaved like a young lady, sipping tea instead of roaming the fields, she would be prepared for such a momentous interview. Surely if she were dressed properly, she would be less afraid.

  She entered the drawing room with her father's heavy hand on her arm. The Black Beast of Belleterre stood in front of the unlit fireplace, tall and dark and so still that the folds of his robe might have been carved from stone. Trying to conceal the trembling of her hands, Ariel linked them together behind her.

  "Here's the girl," Sir Edwin boomed. "So excited by the prospect of receiving your addresses that she rushed right down. Ariel, make a curtsy to his lordship."

  As she obediently dipped down, the hooded man said, "Leave us, Sir Edwin."

  "That wouldn't be proper." Though the baronet's tone was virtuous, his hard glance at his daughter showed that he didn't trust her to say the right thing without him there.

  Sharply Falconer repeated, "Leave us! I will speak with Miss Hawthorne privately."

  Ariel surreptitiously wiped her damp palms on her skirt as her father reluctantly left the room. In spite of what he had said and done earlier, she watched him go with regret, for he was a known quantity, unlike the frightening man by the fireplace. Even without the hood, he would have been hard to see clearly, for he had chosen to stand in the darkest part of the room.

  Falconer turned to her. "Your father told you why I wish to speak with you?"

  Not trusting her voice, she nodded.

  His voice was the deepest she'd ever heard, but the commanding tone he had used to address her father was gone. In fact he sounded almost shy when he said, "Don't be afraid of me, Ariel. I asked your father to leave so we could speak freely. I know you're in a difficult position and I want to help. Unfortunately the only way I can do so is by marrying you."

  Startled, she said, "You know about Gordstone?"

  "Yes, while I was waiting to speak to your father, I overheard the discussion between you."

  Unconsciously Ariel raised one hand to her cheek where a bruise was forming. When she did, the folds of Falconer's robe quivered slightly and the atmosphere changed, as if a thundercloud had entered the room. Her face colored and she dropped her hand, embarrassed that this stranger had heard what had passed between her and her father. It explained a great deal; apparently the Black Beast of Belleterre was enough of a gentleman that he had been upset by her father's bullying. But that didn't answer a more basic question. Thinking of those ill-defined orgies, she asked, "Why are you willing to offer marriage to someone you've never met?"

  After a long silence he said, "No young lady should be forced to wed Gordstone. I had not intended ever to marry, so offering you the protection of my name will not deprive me of anything." His tone became intense. "And that is exactly what I am offering—a home and the protection of my name. I will not require… marital intimacy of you."

  Her blush returned, this time burningly hot. The maids always lowered their voices when they spoke of the marriage bed, or of the nonmarital haystack. Ariel guessed that the subject might be related to orgies, but that still told her nothing worthwhile. Haltingly she said, "Do you mean that it will be a… a marriage in name only?"

  He grasped at the phrase with relief. "Exactly. You told your father that you wished to be left alone at Gardsley. I can't give you that, for it's just a matter of time until he loses the estate, but if you like the country, you'll be happy at Belleterre. You'll be free to draw or paint, or do anything else you desire. I promise not to interfere with you in any way."

  Her eyes widened.
How could he know about her art and how important it was to her? Vainly she tried to see Falconer's face within the shadows of the cowl, but without success. There was something uncanny about the man; no wonder he had such an alarming reputation. "Your offer is very generous," she said, "but what benefit will you derive from such a marriage?"

  "The warm glow that comes from knowledge of a deed well done," he said with unmistakable irony. Seeing her expression, he said more quietly, "It will please me if you are happy."

  She began twisting a lock of hair that fell over her shoulder. He seemed kind, but what did she know of him? She wasn't sure she trusted disinterested generosity. If she became his wife, she would be his property, to do with as he wished.

  Guessing her thoughts, he said, "Are you wondering if you can trust the Black Beast of Belleterre to keep his word?"

  So he knew his nickname. This time when she blushed, it was for her fellow man, for inventing such a cruel title. "I'm confused," she said honestly. "An hour ago, I scarcely knew that you existed; now I'm considering an offer of marriage from you. There's something very medieval about it."

  He gave an unexpected rumble of laughter. "If we were in the Middle Ages, you would have no choice at all, and the man offering for you wouldn't be wearing a monk's robe."

  So he had a sense of humor. For some reason that surprised her, for he was such a dark, melodramatic figure. She sank down into a chair and linked her hands in her lap while she considered her choices. Marrying Gordstone she dismissed instantly; she'd become a beggar first.

  Perhaps she could stay at Gardsley for a while, but sadly she accepted that her days at the only home she had ever known were numbered. Even if her father received some unexpected financial windfall, he would soon squander it. He cared only for London society and placed no value on his estate beyond the fact that being Hawthorne of Gardsley gave him position.