Christmas Belles

  At least Chloe felt the tension, though she was not sure either Lucy or Agnes did. This waiting for the arrival of Captain William Trent was like anticipating the onslaught of a storm. Captain Trent—her guardian. It became a formidable word when applied to a stranger. To feel oneself at the complete disposal of a gentleman one didn't even know was frightening.

  Chloe wondered how Agnes could look so unconcerned. The girl sprawled on her stomach before the hearth, propped up by her elbows as she perused a book. Agnes seemed to be developing a squint, doubtlessly from eyestrain. At the moment, she was engrossed in Euclid's Elements, a treatise on geometry. The title alone was enough to give Chloe a headache.

  Wistfully, she turned her gaze to Lucy instead, but her older sister did not seem to be thinking of anything more than the stitches she was setting into one of Chloe's old gowns. Perched on the edge of the four-poster bed, Lucy frowned as she struggled with the needle. Snapping the thread, she suppressed a vexed exclamation as she pricked her finger. She held up one smooth, white hand, carefully examining it for any sign of a scratch.

  "There, Chloe," she said, tossing the gown at Chloe. "That is the best I can do:'

  Chloe caught up the folds of blue wool gratefully. She had been standing in her shift the entire time while Lucy stitched. A draft whistled through the nursery windows that not even the blazing fire could offset. Chloe's arms prickled with gooseflesh.

  Hurriedly, she wriggled into the gown while Lucy came to lace up the back. Chloe surveyed herself critically in the long pier glass. The image reflected back was a spritely young woman with flowing honey brown hair. She had always expected to be much taller when she reached the age of eighteen. She supposed that she might as well give over wishing for any more inches.

  With the gown smoothed into place, Chloe saw that Lucy had managed quite well with the hem. There really had been no need to let it down by much. However, the bodice was still uncomfortably snug.

  Chloe stood sidewise, ruefully surveying the outline of her curves. "And to think I could not wait until I had acquired a bosom," she murmured. "It has turned out to be a great nuisance."

  "It wouldn't be if your gowns fit you properly," Lucy grumbled. "You might spend some of your allowance to have more fashionable ones made."

  Lucy certainly had done so. She was smartly attired in a high-waisted yellow gown, set off by a spencer of apple green taffeta. With her golden blond beauty and willowy figure, the effect was quite charming.

  Each of them was now possessed of a generous quarterly allowance, owing to the pension and death benefits Papa had received from the government. Chloe would sooner have been a pauper condemned to a workhouse if only that would have meant the return of her father.

  Lucy continued to regard Chloe's old gown with an expression of distaste. "You might at least have ordered yourself one new frock for Captain Trent's visit, Chloe. I cannot imagine what you have been wasting all your money upon."

  "I can," Agnes chimed in, without looking up from her book. She still possessed the remarkable ability to read and follow a conversation at the same time. "Chloe opens her purse to every beggar who walks down the lane, to say nothing of slipping money to old Mr. Kirk to do some carpentry work on the west wing of the house."

  Chloe scowled at Agnes, tempted, not for the first time, to take one of Agnes's heavy tomes and thunk her over the head with it. Chloe waxed sheepish as Lucy fixed scolding eyes upon her.

  "Oh, Chloe, you know full well Windhaven belongs to Captain Trent now, even if he has been good enough to let us stay on here. He has hired his own bailiff to look after things, and you shouldn't interfere."

  "Mr. Martin?" Chloe pronounced the spindly bailiff's name with loathing. "He's a clutch-fisted old fool. All he will ever do is thrust his pointed nose in the air and declare that he has no authority to waste the captain's money on needless repairs. Meanwhile, Windhaven is going to rack and ruin."

  "Windhaven always was a ruin," Agnes said with gloomy satisfaction.

  "Then the captain needs must do something to save it."

  "No, he doesn't," Agnes replied. "He may not choose to fling his fortune away on Windhaven. Parts of the house are already quite hopeless."

  Chloe opened her mouth to hotly refute her sister's comment, but Mr. Kirk had said pretty much the same thing when Chloe had gone through the old west wing with him.

  "See those doors, Miss Chloe? They don't hang right, and those stairs are starting to list. Like as not, the foundation has gone bad. Perhaps the house was not built proper to begin with."

  "It has managed to remain standing for two hundred years, Mr. Kirk," Chloe had informed him proudly.

  "Well, I daresay it will never hold up for another two hundred. I wouldn't even give it twenty. By far the cheapest course would be to knock it all down and start over again."

  Knock down Windhaven? The old carpenter's suggestion had appalled Chloe. What! Sweep away over two centuries of grace and charm and history? She would never permit it except... Chloe constantly had to stop and keep reminding herself that Windhaven was no longer in truth her home. It belonged to this captain now. But surely he must realize the value of the estate.

  "Why else would Captain Trent be coming here?" Chloe insisted. "Except to see about restoring Windhaven."

  Lucy gave an impatient sniff. "To arrange something about our futures, I hope, instead of worrying about a creaky old house. I do not intend to spend the rest of my life buried at Windhaven It was very tiresome and arbitrary of Captain Trent to advise Emma that we should all remain quietly here in Norfolk until he gets around to deciding what to do with us. Not even permitting me to visit my own cousins in London! Why, it's positively barbaric."

  Although Chloe was not exactly in charity with the captain herself, she felt obliged to be fair. "I suppose it was the most sensible course for the captain to follow. He would be held accountable if any harm came to us, traveling about. I daresay he doesn't want to make any hasty decisions until he becomes better acquainted with us."

  "Well, he has had plenty of opportunity to do that. He should have called upon us during the past year."

  "He is a naval captain, Lucy," Agnes said, her voice laced with sarcasm. "There is the little matter of trying to stop Napoleon's plans to launch an invasion fleet."

  "I don't see any need for Captain Trent to feel obliged to do it single-handedly. There are plenty of other men in the navy, you know." Lucy strutted before the mirror, pausing to pinch some color into her cheeks—an unnecessary gesture, as her face was already flushed with indignation. "Captain Trent or no Captain Trent, I don't intend to miss the London Season this year."

  "Much good it will do you." Agnes smirked as she turned another page. "The allowance you have been drawing scarce constitutes a fortune."

  Lucy tossed her golden curls. "I don't care. Other women have made successful matches with nothing more than beauty to recommend them. Why shouldn't I?" A hardness crept into Lucy's eyes. Chloe had seen that look come over her sister too often of late, and she did not like it. In some strange way, it diminished Lucy's beauty.

  "By this time next year," Lucy declared, "I am going to be wed to a lord, at the very least, and be hideously, fabulously wealthy."

  "And very much in love too, I hope," Chloe added anxiously.

  Lucy gave her a look of lofty disdain. "Do strive for a little maturity, Chloe. Love has nothing to do with marriage."

  "It did for Mama and Papa."

  Lucy appeared momentarily taken aback by this quiet reminder, but she was quick to rally. "Oh, but that was a long time ago. Things were very different then. These are modern times, Chloe. At present, all I want to do is make a good impression on this dreary captain, convince him that he need only point me toward London and wash his hands of me."

  So saying, Lucy turned back to the mirror. Although her toilette was already quite perfect, she spent the next several minutes primping, fussing with the folds of her skirt, until Chloe began to feel self-conscio
us and stole a second peek at her own appearance.

  Although she hated to admit it, she was both nervous and excited at the prospect of meeting this unknown naval officer. More than anything, she longed to ply Captain Trent with questions about her father's last hours. His report had seemed so curt, so unsatisfactory.

  The hardest thing about losing Papa had been the suddenness with which he seemed to disappear from their lives. They had not even been able to mourn over him, lay him to rest in the family crypt. Papa had simply vanished, consigned to the depths of the cold, cruel sea.

  There was so much Chloe needed to know about Sir Phineas's last days. And yet she wondered if she would ever have the courage to make inquiries of this captain, who was a complete stranger.

  "What do you suppose he is like, this Captain Trent?" Chloe asked her sisters.

  Lucy stopped primping long enough to consider this question. "I don't know. I have never really thought about it. One of those stiff-necked military types, I suppose."

  "I daresay he is like most sea captains," Agnes piped up. "Coarse, with a booming voice, bandy legs, and a flaming red nose because he drinks too much rum."

  "Pooh," Lucy said. "How would you know? How many sea captains have you ever met?"

  But Lucy looked a little daunted all the same. Agnes was so well read. She had a way of knowing about these things. As for Chloe, she found Agnes's description positively alarming. But before either she or Lucy could press Agnes for the source of her information, they were interrupted by a knock on the bedchamber door.

  The maid, Polly, thrust her head inside long enough to announce, "If you please, young ladies, Miss Emma is wishful of having a word with you in the drawing room."

  When Polly ducked out, the three sisters exchanged uneasy glances. They were not usually so formal in their household. The last time they had all been thus summoned it was to find Emma, red-eyed, the letter from Captain Trent clasped in her hand as she steeled herself to inform them about Papa.

  "Now what's amiss?" Agnes slapped her book closed and sat up. But her sharp tone did a poor job of concealing her anxiety.

  "Do you think that anything has happened to Great Aunt Martha?" Agnes asked.

  "Oh, no, I am sure it is nothing terrible," Chloe said, although she was sure of no such thing. But she sought to reassure her younger sister, taking Agnes's cold hand within her own. For once, Agnes let her.

  The three of them crept downstairs to the drawing room, huddling upon the threshold to peer inside. Emma was perched primly in Papa's wing-back chair, her hands folded in her lap. She looked composed, not at all as though she had been weeping, but Emma was good at concealing such things.

  Since she had turned twenty-two, she had adopted a habit of tucking her soft brown hair beneath a lace cap. Emma only wore it loose, Chloe had noticed, on those days the Reverend Mr. Henry came to tea This afternoon Emma's cap was fixed firmly in place.

  She summoned a smile at the sight of her sisters. "Come in, my dears. Do not look so alarmed. It is not anything so very dreadful I have to tell you, I promise you."

  Her words reassured Lucy and Agnes, but not Chloe. Emma's eyes appeared serene, but there was great unhappiness present all the same. Chloe heard it in her voice.

  Lucy flounced onto the settee, sitting down in a swirl of taffeta. "Then, Emma, I do wish you would not make such a piece of work about it. You frightened us half to death with that summons."

  "I am sorry. That was never my intent."

  Chloe settled beside Lucy, while Agnes took up a post behind the settee, tapping her foot. "I hope this will not take long. I am already behind on my program of study for today."

  "No, it won't," Emma promised. "It is only something regarding Captain Trent's visit. He will likely be here late today or perhaps tomorrow, Christmas Eve, you know."

  "Yes, we do know that already," Agnes said impatiently.

  "What you don't know is the captain's purpose in coming here." Emma's voice wavered a little. She was making an effort to look too brave. A sudden terrible suspicion shot through Chloe.

  "He's coming to say we cannot live here in his house anymore, to turn us all out of doors."

  "No, Chloe dear. 'Tis nothing like that."

  "Then what is it, Emmy?" Lucy demanded. "It is most unlike you to tease us so."

  "It is just so difficult. I don't know how to begin." A deep blush stained Emma's cheeks. "The truth is that Captain Trent is coming here to marry me."

  Stunned silence met this announcement, the room going so deathly quiet, Emma was driven to repeat herself as if fearing they hadn't understood.

  "The captain and I are going to be wed. Here in the village church."

  "Well!" Lucy exclaimed. "Knock me down with a feather!"

  Agnes frowned. "This does not seem logical, Emma. You have never met Captain Trent."

  "But you know I have been corresponding with him on matters involving the estate."

  Chloe remained rigid, her shock every bit as great as when she had heard of her father's death. Her mind whirled, mostly with the image of Captain Trent that Agnes's words had recently conjured up. Chloe had a sudden horrific vision of Emma being dragged to the altar by some great, swarthy brute with gold rings in his ears, a cutlass clenched between his teeth.

  "Oh, Emma!" she burst out."You can't! You mustn't."

  "Of course she must." Lucy shot Chloe a look of deep scorn. "It is a very good match. The captain is exceedingly wealthy and of good family. Of course, there is no title, but, this is so much better than I ever hoped for you, Emma."

  "Thank you, my dear," Emma said in dull tones.

  "My heartiest congratulations, Em." Lucy rustled over to plant a kiss on Emma's cheek.

  "Mine, too," Agnes said.Even at sixteen, she was still mystified as to why one would be eager to be married. But she followed Lucy's example and went to give Emma a hug. But it seemed to Chloe that it was mostly to her that Emma's soft brown eyes appealed, looking for approval. An approval Chloe couldn't give.

  What was the matter with all of them—accepting Emma's dreadful decision as though it were something to rejoice in? Lucy lost no opportunity in racing back upstairs. She had to write her fashionable London friends, boast that she was about to acquire a brother-in-law of wealth and distinction. Agnes yawned and returned to her book.

  But Chloe remained rooted upon the settee, unable to move. Any misery, any calamity that came upon the family, Emma was always the comforter. She had cradled Chloe all night long when the news of Papa had come. But Emma made no move to either seek or give solace now. She tried to skirt past Chloe, murmuring about something that needed her attention in the kitchens.

  Chloe could not let her escape so easily. She clutched at her older sister's sleeve. "Oh, Emmy, why? Why are you doing this?"

  "Well, as Lucy says, it is an excellent match."

  "As if you care for such stuff. This isn't right. You know it isn't. You are not in love with the captain."

  "I am sure that, given time, I will learn to esteem him."

  "No, you won't. Not when you are already in love with someone else."

  Emma paled. "Chloe, please."

  But Chloe continued relentlessly. "You are in love with Mr. Henry. And he is in love with you."

  "No, Chloe. You must never speak of such a thing again."

  "Why not, when it is true?"

  Emma looked stricken. "Have I been so terribly obvious, then, going about with my heart on my sleeve?"

  "No, Emma, if anything, you conceal your feelings far too well. But I can hear it in the way you say his name, the way he speaks of you. And it was predicted, remember? That last Christmas Eve we spent with Papa, when I read your fortune in the lead. It said you would wed a clergyman."

  "A silly children's game, Chloe."

  "Perhaps it was, but being in love is not. I have been expecting Mr. Henry to offer for you, oh, for ages."

  A sad smile tipped Emma's lips. "Then you have little understanding of his c
haracter, my dear. He is a poor man, but very proud. While he can offer me so little and he is already burdened with the responsibility of his mother and younger brothers, he will never ask me to be his wife."

  "Then you must wait. Surely something will happen. Perhaps he will get a better living or a rich uncle will die and leave him a fortune."

  "We are a little too old to believe in fairy-tale endings, Chloe."

  "Perhaps so, but that is still no reason for you to rush into marriage with a stranger."

  "I fear there is, Chloe. We are all under a deep obligation to Captain Trent. Not only did he permit us to continue living in his house, but I strongly suspect he has done more for us. Papa was returned to government service for only a few months. It is foolish to suppose he would have been paid such a handsome settlement. I suspect, nay, I am certain the captain has been supporting us with his own money."

  "Oh, Emma. No!" Chloe exclaimed, much shocked.

  "Yes, and even you must fully perceive how improper that is. He is not even that close a relative. It places us quite deeply in his debt. Since he has done me the honor of asking for my hand, it is clearly my duty to accept him."

  Duty. Chloe winced. That was one of those disagreeable words that always applied to something vastly unpleasant. It did not at all fit Chloe's romantic conception of what a bride's attitude toward her intended should be.

  Yet Chloe saw the uselessness of further argument. Gentle Emma might be, but she could wax stubborn as well, especially when she was thoroughly convinced she was doing the right thing.

  She would marry this captain in stoic fashion, be a good and faithful wife. Over the years, she would forbid herself to even think of Mr. Henry. But those moments would come, Chloe knew, when Emma would be unable to help it, and then her heart would break in silence.

  Long after Emma had left her, Chloe sat alone in the parlor, feeling very bleak. The burden of that final responsibility Papa had laid upon her suddenly seemed very heavy, weighting down her heart.