A Christmas Bride (7 page)

“Especially this year when he reaches the seventieth anniversary of his birth.”

“Especially this year when the whole family seems to be descending on Cheyney Park.” The housekeeper shook her head and sighed. “If only
they
were not coming, there might be hope of a calm holiday.”

“They?”

The housekeeper glanced toward the door and lowered her voice. “Those two, Miss Adams.”

A lady would not gossip with a servant
. In spite of her curiosity, she said, “I hope that things go better than you expect.”

“So do I, but I expect, Miss Adams, that you are going to have a Christmastide unlike any you have ever known.”

“What do you mean?”

Mrs. Scott's smile returned. “You shall see.”

Six

Timothy set the two leather-bound books on the desk in his bedchamber. With a wry grin, he opened a drawer and put them inside, out of view. Grandfather would be upset if he discovered Timothy had brought work with him to Cheyney Park. In only one way did Timothy see a resemblance between Grandfather and Felix: both of them believed that work belonged to the working class, not to the
ton
.

“You have no idea of all the fun that you are missing,” he mused.

“Did you say something, my lord?”

“Nothing, Henry.” He leaned on the desk and watched as Henry unpacked the rest of his bags.

Henry was no longer a young man, but no sign of age slowed him. He still bounced around the room, doing all his tasks with a sense of happiness. He acted as young as a youth, even though his face was lined with wrinkles and his hair was losing its ginger shade to a silver almost as bright as Serenity's eyes.

Blast it!
He should not be letting his mind linger on Serenity, but thinking of anything else seemed impossible. She had lauded him for his kindness. She must not guess that there had been two reasons why he had acquiesced to Felix's absurd plan. One had been, he had to own, a kindness, because he could not withdraw the generous offer of money that Felix had suggested as payment for her services. Seeing her dismay when she had thought Timothy would reject the whole scheme, he had understood her desperation when she spoke of her fear for her siblings she could not even recall past the words in that letter.

The other reason had been far less altruistic. Having seen how Serenity resembled the woman he had devised out of his dreams, he wanted to discover what this real woman was like. Would she be tenderhearted? Or coldhearted, as Charlene Pye had been when bidding him to give up his work and become a “real gentleman of the
ton
,” as she had said so pointedly? Only then had he understood that Charlene was jealous of any time he was not sitting by her side, plying her with court-promises and nothing-sayings.

“You are deep in thought, my lord,” Henry said as he closed the door to the armoire, where he had been placing the last of Timothy's clothes. “Is there a way I can be of assistance?”

“Not unless you wish to take my place when I explain to Grandfather why I have been keeping him waiting.”

“He would expect you to be certain that Miss Adams is well taken care of, no matter how much time that requires him to wait.”

Timothy smiled. “Have you always been so devious, Henry?”

“I am afraid so, my lord.”

“I shall have to remember that.” He clapped his valet on the shoulder. “That might come in handy someday.”

That his grandfather was waiting with patience did not surprise Timothy. Lord Brookindale had told him often that all things came to a man who knew how to wait and that it was a fool who chased after things before their time had arrived.

Timothy let a smile tip his lips when a servant stepped forward with a tray that held a single glass of brandy. Taking it with a nod, he sat in a chair facing his grandfather, who was sipping his own glass with appreciation.

“I trust Miss Adams is doing better,” Grandfather said quietly.

“I would express her apologies.”

“For what?” Grandfather's eyes sparked with dark fire. “For betrothing herself to a beef-head who thinks of greeting his grandfather instead of tending to his betrothed, who has endured an upset carriage?”

“The point is taken, Grandfather.”

“I thought it would be.”

“And I have apologized to Serenity.”

His grandfather leaned back in his chair and held up his brandy, so it caught the flicker of the firelight. “She is everything you wrote that she was.”

“You can determine that after exchanging so few words with her?” Wanting to ask what his grandfather had perceived so swiftly, he could not. The wrong word would allow the insightful earl to see through their scheme, which had as little substance as a spider's web.

“Is something amiss, Timothy?”

His fingers clenched on his glass. “Why do you ask?”

“You are as evasive as a thief surrounded by the watch. A simple comment brings forth a sharp question from you.”

“I am curious how you intuited so much about Serenity during such a brief conversation.”

Grandfather smiled. “I did not. I saw she is as lovely as you described, so I assumed you have not exaggerated any of her other virtues. During the past seven decades, I have discovered that if there is one thing a man embellishes about the lady he loves, it is her appearance.”

“Again a point well taken.” Letting his shoulders ease from their rigid stance, he smiled.

His smile stayed in place as his grandfather turned the conversation to the jumble in the foyer, where Branson was overseeing the hanging of the greens. By the time he had finished his brandy, his grandfather's eyes were growing heavy with the passage of the afternoon. Timothy bade his grandfather to have a pleasant nap and took his leave.

Timothy whistled a light tune under his breath as he strode along the hall. He jumped aside as a warning was shouted. Holly cascaded around him. Waving aside a lass's hurried apologies, he picked up the holly and handed it back to her. She dipped in a curtsy and gave him a smile that suggested she would be grateful for anything he wanted to offer her.

Blast it!
He had enough trouble with the single woman in his life. He did not need to complicate things more by a flirtation with a serving lass.

When his name was called, he wondered how a day could go from one disaster to the next with such speed. He waved to his cousin, who was coming in the opposite direction along the hall. From the expression on Felix's face, Timothy guessed his cousin had been waiting, but with far less patience than Grandfather had shown.

“I thought you would be done long ago,” Felix complained as he opened the door to a small parlor. Although a fire was burning on the hearth, the room had the odor of one that had been closed for too long.

Timothy frowned. He had not thought of how empty this house must seem to Grandfather, who had been accustomed to his large family, but which had dwindled to so few. Timothy and Felix and Felix's father were seldom here, so that left the staff and Grandfather and mayhap Cousin Theodora and her mother, although he had seen no sign of either of them.

Felix dropped into a leather chair and smiled. “Serenity's first meeting with Grandfather went well.” He rubbed his hands together. “Did you arrange with her to feign vapors like that to garner Grandfather's compassion?”

“Nothing was arranged or feigned.”

“Is she that badly hurt? Having her die now would truly ruin Grandfather's birthday party.”

Timothy grimaced. “I am sure Serenity shall be gratified to hear of your concern for her continued well-being.”

“Bah!” Felix waved a dismissive hand toward him. “You understand very well what I mean.”

“I do understand very well what you mean, and I trust you shall understand what I mean when I ask you to excuse me. I have matters to deal with.”

“Work?”

“You need not make it sound like an oath.”

“You are on holiday, Timothy. That accursed factory will run without you hovering over it like a worried mother.”

“Have a pleasant afternoon.” He left his cousin to fume alone. Arguing over this was a waste of time, because, if Charlene Pye could not change his mind, Felix should know that he could not.

He continued along the hallway, noticing again how empty the house seemed. Was it just the house, or was it he who was empty?

“It will have to do.” Mrs. Scott clucked her tongue in dismay as she moved to view Serenity from another angle. “Nan, there is nothing else?”

The maid shook her head. “That is the last of the lot that Mrs. Danton left behind.”

Serenity looked down at the light blue gown and brushed her fingers along the sprigged linen, which was highlighted with white blossoms. “It is lovely.”

“But it does not fit you!” moaned Mrs. Scott. “It is too full at the waist, and Nan left the hooks undone at the top, for they will not close at the bodice. You cannot go out of this room half-dressed.”

“Do you have a shawl amid all those things?” Serenity asked, turning to look at the bed that was nearly lost beneath the clothing that Nan had brought to the room. The abigail was not much taller than a child, and when she carried all those dresses that apparently belonged to one of Timothy's cousins, she looked like a stack of clothing with legs.

Nan rushed to the bed, reached in, and plucked out a white lace shawl. Smiling, she brought it to Serenity.

“If,” Serenity said, “you can latch the top two hooks, I think this will cover the rest of them.”

Mrs. Scott's eyes threatened to bounce right from her skull. “Miss Adams, you still would be half-dressed.”

“But no one shall be the wiser.” When the housekeeper opened her mouth to argue, Serenity added, “Would you rather that I wore my mended dress to dinner with the earl?”

Taking a deep breath, Mrs. Scott released it slowly. “No, you cannot wear rags to dinner with Lord Brookindale. Very well, but keep the shawl about you at all times.”

“I promise to you that I shall. I don't want to do anything to shame Timothy.”

Mrs. Scott's smile returned, but she did not answer as a knock sounded on the door to the hall. Motioning Nan to open it, she settled the shawl over Serenity's shoulders.

Serenity smoothed it around her just as she heard Timothy ask, “Will you inquire if Miss Adams is ready for an escort down to dinner?”

Glancing into the glass once more and making sure that her hair covered the small bandage Mrs. Scott had placed on her forehead, Serenity found herself instead admiring Timothy's reflection. His black coat was the perfect contrast to his tawny hair. His buckskin breeches were topped with a crimson-striped waistcoat. The hint of gold must be his watch chain.

She would have liked to stand there and drink in the sight of him, but she was aware of Mrs. Scott and Nan—
and Timothy
—watching. She went to the door. “Thank you, Timothy. I hope you will escort me every evening until I know my own way.”

“And beyond that,” he said with a smile. It broadened as he eyed her from head to foot and then back again. “You look lovely, Serenity.”

“I never have looked my best with mud and scratches on my face.”

He chuckled and offered his arm. “I shall endeavor to remember that.”

Putting her hand on his arm, she let him sweep her out of her room and along the hall. He soon had her laughing as he pointed out portraits of some of his less illustrious ancestors, portraits that had been banished from the more public regions of the house, but could not be put in the attics. He regaled her with the story of a several-times great-uncle who had tried his hand at finding gold in America and had found only icy winters that sent him fleeing back to Cheyney Park.

Voices reached toward them as they came down the stairs, and Timothy grew suddenly somber when he asked, “Are you sure you feel well enough for this?”

“I will reassure your grandfather that
I
insisted on coming down for dinner. If you would like, I can add that you tried to persuade me to remain in bed.”

His smile flickered across his lips. “Trust me, Serenity, if I had tried to persuade you to remain in bed, I would not want my grandfather to witness my failure.”

Heat flashed along her face. “You are misconstruing my words.”

“I know.”

She scowled at him. “A fiancée should be granted a certain level of respect that does not include such comments.”

“You need not fritter away your ladylike airs on me. Save them for Grandfather.”

“Timothy, what is wrong?” she asked, tightening her hold on his arm to keep him from walking away. “Did something happen while I was resting?”

“Yes, my grandfather swallowed the whole of this clanker.”

She dampened her lips, then whispered, “If you want to have that brangle now that will put an end to the betrothal, you need only say so.”

“And what would you do then? You have not recalled anything of where you have been living, I assume.”

“Nothing.”

His hand curved along her cheek as he smiled sadly. “It seems we both are captives of our own machinations.” His hand dropped away. “Shall we?”

“Yes.” She hesitated, then said, “Timothy, I do not mind if you blame any mistakes I make on my uneven memory after the accident.”

“I would prefer not to make your misfortune my good fortune.”

“We shall need all the good luck we can find.”

He put his hand over hers on his arm. “Sweetheart, for once we are in utter agreement.”

As before, the endearment sent a warm flush through her. Telling herself not to be ridiculous, for she realized he had spoken thusly because they were within earshot of those within the parlor ahead of them, she could not keep from imagining how wondrous it would be to have a handsome man like Timothy Crawford addressing her like that with complete sincerity.