Christmas Carol (8 page)

In spite of these concerns, Carol was having
a wonderful time. Lord Simmons was witty and gallant, and within a
few minutes of sitting down at the table with him, Carol was firmly
convinced that he was in love with her sister. She caught herself
in that thought. Sweet though Penelope was, the girl was not
her
sister, so why should she feel this tenderness and this
need to protect her? It was an emotion that Carol could not put
aside, though she tried her best to do so.

And then there was Nicholas. His attentions
were flattering, and Carol could not deny her response to him. She
sat through the supper hour in a state of heightened awareness of
everything that was happening around her, wishing she could sink
into Nicholas’s arms and experience the pleasure of his lips on
hers once more. From the looks he cast her way she thought he
wanted the same thing.

It was an impossible situation. Carol
gathered that the real Lady Caroline had always held her fiance at
arm’s length. Would he be hurt if Carol returned to her own time
and Lady Caroline once more took over the body that belonged to
her, and then proceeded to reject Nicholas when he tried to make
love to her? The thought of hurting him sent a stab of pain into
Carol’s bleak heart.

With the pain came anger at Lady Augusta. As
a ghost who clamed to know everything important about her, Lady
Augusta must have been aware of how much of Carol’s emotional
energy over the last six years had been devoted to avoiding any
feeling that might cause the least bit of distress. How, then,
could Lady Augusta now subject Carol to the possibility of real
anguish? It was a nasty thing to do, and terribly unfair.

And yet, despite her resentment toward Lady
Augusta and her feeling of being misused, Carol had to admit to
herself that there was no place else where she would want to be on
that particular evening. Of all the changes worked upon her during
the course of that astounding night, this was the most surprising
change of all—that she was happy to be where she was.

The late supper was followed by more dancing,
which did not end until the early morning hours. By the time the
last of the guests were leaving, Carol was so sleepy she could
hardly keep her eyes open. She gave Nicholas her hand and let him
kiss her politely on the cheek while she tried to swallow the yawn
she could not prevent. Of course, he noticed.

“I will assume it is the result of the late
hour and not caused by my presence,” he teased, taking advantage of
her distraction to place another kiss on her opposite cheek, this
one a bit too close to her mouth for Carol’s peace of mind. “May I
call for you during the afternoon and take you for a drive?”

“Oh, do, Nicholas,” said Penelope before
Carol could answer for herself and before Lady Augusta could offer
any objection. “I am sure Caroline would enjoy it, and we have no
engagements before dinner because Aunt Augusta insisted we should
be quite worn out after tonight. But I do not expect to be the
least bit tired, and I don’t think Caroline will be, either.”

“Caroline?” Nicholas watched her with raised
eyebrows.

How could anyone, even Lady Augusta, expect
her to refuse his offer? Carol smiled and nodded her assent, and
Nicholas took his leave.

“Caroline,” said Lady Augusta in a stern
voice, “we must have a little talk.”

“Not now,” Carol retorted, surprising even
herself with her firmness. “I am much too tired to get into a
heated discussion tonight. We can talk later if you want. For the
moment, I am going to bed.”

And if you take me back to the twentieth
century before we get a chance to talk
, she added silently to
herself,
then whatever you are planning to say to me won’t
matter
.

“Very well, I will expect to see you in my
boudoir shortly before noon.” Lady Augusta began to climb the
stairs to the upper floor. “I absolutely insist on speaking to you
before you go out for your drive with Montfort. Now, it is time for
both of you to be in your beds.”

“Yes, Aunt Augusta.” It was Penelope who
answered, Carol being occupied with another large yawn. Laughing at
Carol, Penelope added in a whisper, “Dear sister, I want to talk to
you, too, and hear everything that Montfort said to you this
evening, but I am nearly asleep where I stand. Aunt Augusta sounds
remarkably irritated, so in contrast to the lecture she no doubt
plans for you, I shall cheer you up with the most delightful
news.”

“Let me guess,” Carol retorted. “Is it
something to do with Lord Simmons?”

“You will have to wait until tomorrow,” said
Penelope. She embraced Carol warmly and then all but danced down
the corridor to her own room, which Carol only now discovered was
just next to the chamber occupied by Lady Caroline.

When she awakened the next morning Carol was
surprised to find herself still in the lovely blue and white
bedchamber, and thus still in the nineteenth century. She had fully
expected to open her eyes to the dreary, bare room in which she had
slept and taken most of her meals for more than five and a half
years.

After the maidservant pulled the draperies
back to reveal the pale sun of a late December day, Carol lay
quietly, looking around the room. There was something remarkably
soothing about her surroundings. The blue and white porcelain vases
on the mantel were so pretty, the blue brocade chair was
comfortable, the rug was designed with a pleasing pattern of roses
and ribbons, and the taffeta and sheer lace curtains at the windows
were fresh and crisp and let in a softened light.

“Good morning, my lady.” The maid presented a
small tray containing delicate pieces of china in a pink and blue
pattern, including a fat little teapot. “A plain roll and tea, just
as you like your morning meal.” Pushing herself up to a sitting
position, Carol accepted the tray, letting the maid place it across
her lap.

“I never noticed what a nice room this is,”
Carol said. “Or how sleeping in such comfort can improve even the
most irritable disposition.”

“Oh, my lady, no one could ever call you
irritable,” the maid responded. “Quiet and mild you are, and a
great favorite with all the staff, if I may say so.”

“Am I?” Carol did not think the staff who
maintained Marlowe House in the twentieth century would say the
same about her.

“Oh, yes,” said the maid, “and we’re all so
pleased to know you will be marrying such a great nobleman. He’s a
lovely man, Lord Montfort.” Her sigh made it plain that she fully
appreciated Montfort’s manly attributes.

When the maid was gone, Carol stayed in bed
for a while, sipping her tea and thinking over the remarkable
events of the previous day. Apparently there were still more to
come; otherwise she would have been returned to the twentieth
century.

Nicholas
. The thought of him propelled
Carol out of bed and across the room to the wardrobe to pull out a
dress she hoped would be suitable for daytime wear. The maid had
brought a pitcher of hot water as well the breakfast tray. Carol
was washing her face when the chambermaid returned.

“Oh, my lady, I didn’t know you were getting
up so early. No, don’t try to dress yourself. That’s what I’m here
for. Don’t you remember when you first came to London and thought
you ought to take care of your own clothes and brush your own hair,
and how we agreed that you would let me take care of you as the
maid of a great lady ought to do?”

“You do have a point. I can’t seem to twist
my arms around enough to button up the back of this dress. Is it
the thing for morning?”

“Exactly right, my lady. Now you just stand
still and let Ella take care of those buttons.”

The dress was yellow and white striped
muslin, scarcely warm enough to afford protection from the winter
cold, but Ella did not appear to think her mistress ought to be
wearing a more substantial garment. She did drape a
flower-patterned yellow and green shawl around Carol’s shoulders.
From its warmth and softness, Carol decided the shawl must be woven
of cashmere.

“Now, my lady,” Ella said when Carol was
clothed to her satisfaction, “I know Lady Penelope is waiting for
you in her own room. I finished helping her to dress just before I
came in to you.”

Penelope’s bedchamber was much like Carol’s,
except that it was decorated in pink and white. When Carol entered,
Penelope was sitting at a dainty lady’s desk, using a quill pen.
Catching sight of Carol, she threw down the pen and rose, hurrying
forward.

“Oh, Caroline, I gave my solemn word I would
tell no one but you, so you must promise to keep my secret,” she
exclaimed.

“What secret?” But Carol thought she could
guess. She was immediately proven correct.

“Alwyn—that is, Lord Simmons—has declared
himself,” Penelope announced. “He says he loves me.”

“Has he asked you to marry him?”

“Of course not, dunce!” Penelope began to
laugh. “You know he cannot in honor ask for my hand until he has
his father’s permission. Alwyn is always perfectly correct where
his father is concerned.”

“Then I am surprised hear he was incorrect
enough to speak to you before discussing the matter with his
father,” Carol said.

“Alwyn told me that Montfort did advise him
to wait, but he was afraid someone else would ask for me in the
meantime, so he revealed his feelings to me while we were waltzing
last night. You do recall that he came to the ball specifically to
waltz with me?”

“I remember Montfort saying that Lord Simmons
would be there.” Carol began to wonder what part Nicholas was
playing in this particular romance.

“Well,” Penelope went on, “Alwyn wanted to be
certain that my affections were as firmly engaged as are his.”

“And you assured him they were?”

“Oh, yes.” Penelope’s face was aglow with
excitement. “I know we cannot make a public declaration of our
betrothal until Alwyn’s father has agreed, and Aunt Augusta, too,
but at least we can each be certain of the other’s love. Alwyn says
Nicholas is strongly in favor of the match, and has promised to go
with Alwyn when he speaks to his father about me. With someone like
Lord Montfort supporting his cause, Alwyn has every hope his father
will approve.”

“It would seem as if Montfort and Lord
Simmons have our lives neatly arranged between them,” Carol
murmured.

“Well, of course they have. Men are supposed
to arrange these things. You cannot object, Caroline, since you
wanted a good marriage for me, and now both of us have found
wealthy and titled husbands. What noblewoman could ask for more?
You are happy, aren’t you?”

“Divinely happy.” Penelope missed the dry
tone of Carol’s voice and went on cheerfully talking about her
plans for a blissful future as the wife of Lord Simmons.

Carol was unwilling to spoil Penelope’s happy
mood by discussing what she knew about Penelope’s dowry. Since she
wasn’t sure whether Penelope knew of this arrangement or not, a
certain amount of discretion seemed to be advisable.

After her revealing talk with Nicholas on the
previous night, Carol was aware that he was using her sister’s
dowry to exert a subtle pressure on Lady Caroline. He would not
actually make that all-important settlement on Penelope until after
Caroline had fulfilled her part of their bargain by marrying
him—and, Carol was sure, by allowing Nicholas to consummate their
marriage so he could have at least some hope of an heir. The Earl
of Montfort was far from being a mustache-twirling villain, yet he
had Lady Caroline exactly where he wanted her.

“Excuse me, my lady.” Lady Augusta’s personal
servant, Marie, stood in the doorway. “My mistress would like Lady
Caroline to attend her in her chamber at once.”

“Oh, dear,” said Penelope in mock terror.
“Caroline, shall I go with you to protect you from the dragon?”

“I think I ought to handle this one by
myself.” Carol gave the girl a quick hug and a kiss. “We will talk
more about your plans later. If you are happy, and if you are sure
of Lord Simmons’s affection, then you have my blessing and I wish
you all the best.”

Carol was halfway down the hall to Lady
Augusta’s room before she realized what she had just done. She
could not remember the last time she had hugged someone out of pure
affection. But hugging Penelope felt good. There was an unfamiliar
warmth around her heart as she knocked on Lady Augusta’s door.
Unfortunately, it did not last long.

“I have been waiting for more than an hour to
speak to you.” Lady Augusta did not waste time on small talk.
“Kindly explain to me just what you thought you were doing with
Montfort last night.”

“He wanted to kiss his fiancee. I could
hardly object, could I?”

“What I saw appeared to be considerably more
than a mere kiss.”

It had indeed been more, and at the memory of
Nicholas’s demanding mouth on hers, Carol began to feel again some
of the tumultuous emotions she had experienced on the previous
night. There seemed to be no way for her to prevent her own
reactions to him. The realization of her own susceptibility made
her angry. Telling herself the anger was for Lady Caroline’s sake,
she attempted to explain the incident to Lady Augusta.

“Lord Montfort believes he is in complete
control of his relationship with Lady Caroline,” she said. “He is
apparently loaded with money, so he thinks he can do whatever he
likes. Did you know he is providing a dowry for Penelope? But only
after Caroline marries him.”

“Yes, I do know. It is not an entirely
uncommon arrangement, not when a man is as rich—and as generous—as
Montfort. Do you expect me to believe that what you were expressing
in the library last night was gratitude for his consideration of
your sister’s happiness?” The hint of sardonic amusement in Lady
Augusta’s voice made Carol wonder just what this irritating ghost
was really up to.