A Christmas Affair (24 page)

Chapter Thirteen

“You are a devil,” Amanda announced some three hours later as the carriage made its way down the snowy lane toward home. “And I hope you are properly ashamed of yourself.”

Justin leaned back against his seat, folding his arms beneath his greatcoat as he considered Amanda’s laughing admonishment. “Indeed, ma’am?” he said, feigning innocence. “I’m sure I have no notion what you might mean.”

Amanda’s eyes sparkled with rueful amusement. “You know perfectly well what I mean,” she retorted, grateful the others were too involved in their own conversations to pay her and Justin any mind. “
One
dress might be considered a gift, but an entire wardrobe. . . ?” She shook her head at him.

“I would scarcely call a handful of gowns and a few fripperies a wardrobe,” he corrected, his smile growing more pronounced at her mock-fierce expression. “Am I to take it my small gift has somehow displeased you?”

“I am furious,” she assured him, albeit with a chuckle. “But as I know you meant well, I am resolved to put the matter behind me. Besides”—she stroked the luxurious fur wrap that had been waiting in the carriage for her — “you heard the vicar’s sermon; in this holiday season it is required of us to forgive each person their shortcomings.”

“That is most noble of you, Miss Lawrence.” He inclined his
head graciously. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” She mimicked his gesture and then turned to gaze out the window. Although it was well after nightfall, the brilliance of the fallen snow made it almost as bright as daylight, and she had no trouble picking out familiar landmarks as they rumbled past. How beautiful it was, she mused, snuggling deeper beneath her wrap, and in the light of such beauty, she found it impossible to remain angry about anything. And she
had
been angry, she thought, recalling her amazement when she’d walked into her room to find her maid unpacking a veritable mountain of boxes.

Her first reaction had been to go storming back downstairs and demand that Justin return the purchases post haste. She was about to do just that when she suddenly remembered the look on his face when he had offered her the first gown. He’d looked hopeful, she recalled, hopeful and a little frightened, as if he was afraid she would reject his present. Then she remembered her conversation with Stephen, and she knew then that no matter the price to her pride, she would accept his overwhelming gift.

Later, as she sat in her family’s pew listening to the vicar talking of Christ’s birth and the gifts of the Magi, she was glad she had behaved as she had. Reverend Smythe was right, she decided; Christmas was a time of joy and good fellowship, and it was past time she put aside her foolish pride. They were a family now, and she would no longer fight Justin out of simple stubbornness.

Justin sat in his corner of the carriage listening to the children’s chatter half-attentively as he mulled over Amanda’s behavior. He was both surprised and gratified by her good-natured acceptance of his gifts. It would have made things decidedly awkward had she refused them, and he could only be grateful she had decided to be cooperative . . . for a change. He smiled in sudden pleasure at the thought of her in some of the gowns he’d selected. The emerald satin would be particularly suitable for tomorrow morning, he mused, espe
cially if she wore her wonderful hair down with a green velvet ribbon wending its way through her fiery curls.

“Are you feeling tired, sir?” Amelia laid a shy hand on his, shattering his thoughts. “You are rather quiet.”

“No.” He turned his head toward her, smiling at her question. “I was just thinking about tomorrow, that is all. I can not think of the last time I was so impatient for a day to arrive.”

Amelia nodded her head in agreement. She, too, was also looking forward to the morrow, although not for the same reason as he was, of course. She’d caught a glimpse of Charles as they were leaving the church, and she trembled at the thought of seeing him again. Oh, God, she thought, her eyes suddenly misting with tears, however was she to survive the rest of her life without Charles?

“Is this your first Christmas without Daniel?” he asked, seeing the sparkle of tears in her eyes and misinterpreting their cause.

“No.” She realized what he was thinking, but made no effort to correct him. “He-he sailed for the Peninsula last year shortly before the holidays. But we have you now, so it will not seem quite so lonely.” And she flashed him a quick smile.

He accepted her explanation with a reassuring pat and then returned his gaze to the window. Why couldn’t Amanda be as open and honest as her sister, he wondered, noting they had turned up the lane leading to the manor house. Amelia was sweet and well-behaved, and he need never wonder what she was thinking. Just the sort of bride he had always wanted . . . or so he tried telling himself.

“Oh, Justin!” Belinda’s eyes were wide with awe as she gazed up at the candle-lit tree. “It’s beautiful!”

“Do you really think so?” Justin asked, smiling with pleasure at the young girl’s exuberant praise. In keeping with the family’s tradition, as the eldest person there he’d led the youngest family member into the parlor, giving Belinda the
first glimpse of the spectacular tree. Amanda had been right, he realized, stealing another glance at the
tannenbaum,
the tree was a sight he’d not soon forget.

“Oh, yes,” Belinda said, tugging on Justin’s hand as she guided him farther into the parlor. “It’s the bestest tree I’ve ever seen!”

The twins soon came rushing in, adding their words of praise to Belinda’s. “Not that
we
believe in that Father Christmas rot,” Joss hastened to explain to Justin. “We just pretend to for Belinda’s sake. Girls like that sort of thing,” and he nodded his head wisely.

“Not just girls,” Justin said, a dim memory stirring in his mind. “I can recall hanging my stocking by the chimney in the hopes of getting a sovereign.”

“Did you get one?” Jeremey crowded closer, his eyes wide at the thought of such largesse.

“No,” Justin admitted with a shrug, remembering how stealthily Edward had crept into the nursery to leave a small gift tucked in the stocking. “But I did get an orange and a whistle.”

“Oh.” These were the sorts of presents both boys could identify with, and they soon lost interest.

The rest of the evening was spent singing carols and enjoying the delightful repast Mrs. Hatcher had prepared for them. The children were wound up as tightly as clocks, and when Amanda sternly ordered them into bed, they set up a hue and a cry.

“But Amanda, it ain’t even nine o’clock yet!” Jeremey wailed, his bottom lip thrusting forward in an angry pout. “Belinda just went up, and you know we get to stay up an hour past her. You can’t send us to bed now!”

“Oh, yes she can, lad,” Justin spoke before Amanda could open her mouth. “She is your commanding officer, you know, and you must obey her. I have told you this before.”

“Females can’t be officers,” Joss said, cautiously defying his idol. “They can’t even be foot soldiers!”

“I was speaking figuratively.” Justin was wise to the twins now and would not be swayed. “Besides, you are usually abed at half-past eight, so she has already granted you a favor by letting you stay up late. Say your good-byes and go to bed.”

“What about Henry?” Jeremey asked in a last desperate appeal. “It is just before a big battle, and you promised you would finish reading it to us.”

“Later.”

The twins exchanged bitter glances, knowing that when an adult said “later” in that tone of voice, it was time to stage a retreat. Dragging their heels, they said their good nights, their muttered complaints audible as they closed the door behind them.

Stephen stayed up another half hour, trying to hide his pleasure at being invited to join the adults in a glass of champagne. After taking his first swallow, he set the glass down with a sigh.

“What’s wrong, lad? Don’t you care for the taste?” Justin asked, noting his disappointed expression with amusement. “You’ll soon grow to like it, I promise you.”

“It isn’t that, sir,” Stephen replied with another sigh. “It’s just that . . . well . . . it didn’t tickle.”

“Tickle?” Amanda set her own glass down and moved closer.

Stephen nodded. “I heard some of the older boys in my forum talking, and they said champagne is supposed to tickle your nose when you drink it. This didn’t tickle. Maybe it’s not real champagne.” He picked up the glass, studying it with suspicion.

“It’s real enough, Stephen,” Justin said, managing not to crack so much as a smile. “And on occasion champagne bubbles do tickle one’s nose, but not always. This is still excellent wine, however,” and he drained the contents of his glass in a single swallow.

Stephen followed suit, his face screwing up at the sharp taste. “If you say so, Justin,” he said, setting his glass back
down. “But I think I shall prefer sherry.”

After he had gone upstairs, the three adults set out the presents, laughing and visiting comfortably with each other. Justin seemed genuinely touched when he saw the presents the children had made for him, and Amanda was glad they had thought to include him in the celebration. She set the package of gloves she had made for him on top of the pile and was surprised when he snatched it up and began examining it like a curious child.

“Stockings?” he guessed, tipping his head to one side as if trying to make up his mind. “Or a scarf, perhaps?”

“Brat.” She was laughing as she snatched it back. “You aren’t supposed to peek at your presents until Christmas morning.”

“Yes, but that won’t be for another hour and a half” he protested, imitating Joss’s pout. “Can’t I have even one peek?”

“No.” Amanda returned the present to the pile. “And if you persist you’ll find naught but a lump of coal in your stocking!”

Justin was about to reply in kind when something caught his eye. Glancing up he saw a sprig of waxenlike berries with bright green leaves, and a slow smile spread across his face. “So, you believe in following traditions, do you,” he drawled, moving to stand beside her.

“Yes,” she replied warily, not trusting the gleam in his tawny-colored eyes.

“
All
of them?”

“All of them,” she affirmed, albeit reluctantly. “May I ask why you seem so curious about the matter?”

In answer he simply pointed upward, and the sight of the mistletoe dangling from the main beam brought a rosy blush to her cheeks.

“He has you now, Amanda!” Amelia laughed, delighting in Amanda’s discomfiture. “You must kiss him; you must!”

Amanda’s color grew more pronounced. “Really, Amelia, the wretch is your fiancé;
you
kiss him!”

Amelia’s blond curls danced around her shoulders as she
shook her head. “Oh, no, ’tis you he caught beneath the mistletoe,” she reminded her with every indication of enjoyment. It wasn’t often she saw her formidable sister so flustered, and she was determined to derive what pleasure she could from the experience.

“Traitor.” Amanda turned to face Justin, who was regarding her with a maddeningly superior smirk on his face. “Oh, very well, then,” she muttered ungraciously, “let’s get it over with.” And she steeled herself as if for a blow.

“Such enthusiasm,” he murmured, eyes dancing with laughter as he drew her against him. His hands cupped her shoulders, and the jest he was about to utter withered on his lips as he gazed down into the velvet softness of her eyes. Suddenly his reasons for starting this foolish game disappeared, and he began responding to her in a way he had never intended.

As if possessed of their own will, his hands slid slowly up her neck, his thumbs supporting the gentle curve of her jaw. His fingers were nestled beneath the thick coil of her hair, and for a brief moment he wondered what it would feel like to bury his hands in the glowing, copper strands. The delicate scent of roses teased his nostrils as did the enticing warmth of her slender body held so close to his. He closed his eyes as desire, hot and sweet, threatened to overwhelm his sanity.

Amanda was lost in a maelstrom of her own emotions, trembling with a hunger she dared not name. She was burningly aware of Justin’s strong masculinity and her own melting response to it. For the briefest of moments she longed for the kind of kiss no gentleman would ever give a lady — a kiss she herself could only imagine. But in the end sanity prevailed, and she stepped back from him, breaking the sensuous spell that had ensnared them both in its silken coils.

“Well, sir?” she challenged, purposefully infusing a teasing note into her tremulous voice. “What are you waiting for? I’ve much left to do, and I can not wait all night for you. Kiss me or kindly let me go.”

Justin’s hands curled into tight fists. He was aware of what she was attempting to do, and he was grateful for it. “Ever the tyrant, aren’t you?” he replied with a light laugh, then bent and deposited the lightest of kisses on her cheek. “There,” he said, drawing back, “and from now on, mind where you stand.”

“Oh, I will,” she promised fervently. “I will.”

“Happy Christmas, Justin, Happy Christmas!”

The twin’s voices, loud with their customary exuberance, rang in Justin’s ears, bringing him rudely awake. He groaned loudly and prayed he was still dreaming. He’d just fallen asleep, he reminded himself, snuggling deeper beneath the down comforter. It couldn’t possibly be morning.

“Justin aren’t you
ever
getting up? It’s almost eight o’clock!” He recognized Joss’s insistent wail seconds before the twins landed on the bed beside him, all but knocking him onto the floor.

“Mandy says we wasn’t to wake you,” Jeremey continued, unconcerned that he had just violated that stern admonishment. “But you was already awake . . . wasn’t you?” He bounced up and down.

“I am now” Justin said, surrendering to the inevitable as he raised one bleary eye to study the twins. The room was still quite dark and he gave them both a suspicious look. “And just how close to eight of the morning is it?” he asked, not bothering to hide a huge yawn.

“A quarter until seven,” Joss supplied, struggling valiantly for a guileless expression. “But we wanted to be the first to wish you Happy Christmas, so it’s not the same thing as waking you.”