Christmas with the Duchess (22 page)

“Was that really necessary?” Julia hissed at her husband as they followed the butler. “Must the whole world know that you hate me? What will people think?”

Nicholas shrugged. “Tell them that I snore. Tell them I am impotent. I don’t really care. I will not share a room with you. Indeed, I can hardly bear to share a house with you.”

Julia forgot to keep her voice down. “Oh, you take delight in humiliating me!” she complained. “I should have let Octavia have you.
Then
you would be sorry!”

“I’m quite sorry enough as it is, thank you,” he returned, drawing from her an inarticulate burst of rage. “Compose yourself, madam,” he said severely. “You wanted to be my wife. You have no right to complain of your treatment.”

Julia flounced into her room and banged the door shut. Nicholas moved on to his. When he had washed and changed his clothes, he headed for the stairs. Julia caught up to him on the landing. Insisting that they go down together, she seized his arm.

The yellow drawing room was about half the length of the main, or blue drawing room. It was used by the family for smaller, intimate gatherings. As Carstairs opened the doors to announce the arrival of Lord and Lady Camford, three ladies dressed in black looked back at them, startled.

Julia snickered at the sight. “Double, double, toil and trouble,” she murmured under her breath before surging forward to kiss her mother and her two aunts.

“Mama! Aunt Harriet! Aunt Susan!”

Lady Harriet and Lady Susan were playing piquet. With her severe white crop of hair, Lady Harriet looked much the same—tough and thin as a whip—but Lady Susan had grown so fat that her newest chin almost rested on the broad shelf of her bosom. She seemed to have abandoned her corset entirely, and her bright red hair had been allowed to go gray. Like an actress without cosmetics, she was almost unrecognizable.

“My dear Julia,” Lady Anne said faintly, as her daughter embraced her. She had been working at her embroidery frame, and the sudden arrival of her daughter had caused her to prick her finger. Next to her mother, Julia looked like an exotic bird with her vivid red hair and her bright blue and green costume. Lady Anne’s black gown emphasized her thinness and made her faded blue eyes look almost colorless. These eyes widened as she caught sight of her son-in-law, who had followed Julia into the room. Nicholas looked every bit as angry as he had when Lady Anne had seen him last, but she gave him a hopeful smile. For added protection, she touched the gold cross that hung around her neck on a fine chain.

“Nicholas! I did not expect to see you here. Oh, but you should be at Camford, both of you! Who will give the Christmas Ball at Camford if you are not there?”

Nicholas bowed to his aunt. “The same person who gave it last year, I should imagine.”

“But there
was
no ball last year,” Lady Anne said, puzzled. “Catherine could not give a ball on her own, and you were here with us.”

“You need not remind me of that, Aunt!” he said sharply.

Lady Anne was bewildered. “But you said—you said the same person—I asked you who would give the ball this year, and you said the same person who gave it last year.”

Julia rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Mama! You seem to grow stupider every year.”

Nicholas sighed. “My cousin, Lady Catherine, and her husband will be giving the ball this year at Camford.”

“But
you
are the Earl of Camford, not he,” Lady Anne protested mulishly. “
He
is nothing more than the son of my late brother’s steward! A mere country curate!”

Julia snorted. “With the dowry my husband gave poor Catherine, Mr. Prescott can well afford to play the country gentleman.”

“It is the least I could do after the way my uncle treated her when she was his ward,” Nicholas argued.

The jet ornaments on Lady Susan’s gown rattled like beetles as she bristled with anger. “You accuse my brother of being a poor guardian? Why, he doted on the chit!”

Nicholas snorted. “How? By stealing her allowance and gambling it away? Locking her in her room? Intercepting her letters? These are signs of affection, indeed! Why, he was like a villain in a novel, preying upon the weak, defenseless girl. His own niece, too!”

Lady Anne’s fingers felt at her throat for her gold cross. “Let us not speak of my husband,” she pleaded with Nicholas. “God has punished him for his misdeeds,” she added with a certain relish. “He can do no more harm to anyone.”

In July, Lord Hugh had suffered a severe apoplectic attack that had left him partially paralyzed. He had a nurse now, a brawny woman who pushed him around in a Bath chair. Every evening, Lady Anne sat with her husband for one hour, reading to him from the Bible. Otherwise, she had nothing to do with him. She had never known such contentment.

Julia flung herself down in a chair. “Is God punishing me, too?” she wanted to know. “Practically speaking, Nicky has
given
Camford to Catherine,” she told the other ladies with the air of one reporting a terrible crime. “After he turfed out my mother, my father, and all my sisters,
we
did not stay long ourselves. I have been living in London all these months, while
Catherine
plays the great lady at Camford. Anyone would think that
she
was the countess.”

“London?” Lady Anne echoed in disbelief. In her usual way, she missed the crux of Julia’s complaint. “London in the summer? But it is so very hot. How can you bear it?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Julia said resentfully. “But my husband is determined that Catherine should be mistress of Camford, and that
I,
his wife, should be a vagabond.”

“Lady Catherine was born in that house,” Nicholas told her sharply. “It is the only home she has ever known. I will not take it from her and give it to you. Besides, she is very popular with the local people. Her goodness will repair some of the harm my father-in-law caused.”

“I’m sure my brother only did what he thought was best,” Lady Susan snapped.

“Now it is
my
turn to do what
I
think best,” Nicholas replied shortly.

Lady Harriet looked at him shrewdly. “Have you come here for revenge, sir? What can you do to my brother? He can’t even walk. He can barely talk. He can’t even feed himself.”

Nicholas blinked at her in surprise. “Revenge? Not at all, ma’am. It would be cruel to pursue a vendetta against a man in a Bath chair.”

“Then why are you here?” Lady Harriet asked bluntly. “Anne is right—and I do not say this often. You should be at Camford.”

“I did not want to come to Warwick,” Nicholas admitted, “but Julia has not seen her family since April. She has not seen her father since his unfortunate…decline. She wanted to be with her family at Christmas. I am prepared to be civil to everyone,” he added.

“Does that include me, Nicky?” Julia drawled. “Are you going to be civil to me?”

A servant entered the room with refreshments. Lady Anne hurried to make the tea.

“Aren’t you glad to see me, Mama?” Julia demanded, watching her mother with narrowed eyes. “You look nervous. What are you hiding?”

“Of course I am glad to see you,” Lady Anne protested. “And Nicholas, too, of course. I am just surprised, that’s all. You might have written to me, Julia.”

“I’m a married woman,” Julia said loftily. “I’m far too busy to write letters. Where are my sisters?” she asked, her suspicions now thoroughly aroused. “They should be here to pay their respects to me. Has Cornelia brought her new husband? I long to see him. He must be a great fool to have taken her. Or, perhaps his spectacles were broken the day he proposed.”

Lady Anne flushed faintly. “Regrettably, Mr. Farnsworth has obligations to his family, and Cornelia, of course, will not want to be parted from her husband. She is with child, you know.”

Julia laughed unpleasantly. “How nice for Cornelia! And my other sisters?
They
are here, surely.
They
have no husbands to take them anywhere.”

Lady Anne made a silent appeal to Lady Harriet.

Lady Harriet grimaced. “Your sisters went out for a ride with Mr. Palafox, but they were caught in the rain. I am sure they will join us presently, when they have dried off.”

Nicholas frowned at the mention of Palafox. He had thought that he had seen the last of that gentleman. “Charles Palafox?” he said stiffly. “He is here?”

Julia sat forward in her chair. “
Charles?
” she shrieked. “What is
he
doing here?”

Lady Anne now looked quite frightened. Again, it was left to Lady Harriet to explain. “Charles Palafox is engaged to your sister, Octavia,” she said bluntly.

“Octavia! I am all astonishment,” Julia said coolly. “Poor Mr. Palafox!”

Lady Harriet snorted. “Not he! When the marriage takes place, Mr. Palafox will be a very rich man, from what I understand. His rich old aunt, Mrs. Allen, approves the match.”

“How nice for Octavia,” Julia said sourly. “I am glad she finally has found someone. I
do
feel rather guilty at times for having stolen Nicky from her. That is why I have never allowed him to buy me that enormous pink diamond he is always raving about! Why, how merry we shall be this Christmas!” she went on gaily. “Who knows? Perhaps we will find husbands for poor Flavia and Augusta!”

“I doubt it,” Lady Harriet said dryly. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Julia, we are all in mourning for Lord Michael.”

“We mourn General Bellamy, too, Sister!” Lady Susan said angrily.

Nicholas was startled. “I beg your pardon, ma’am! I—I did not know that your husband had died. I thought—”

“Killed at Waterloo,” Lady Susan interrupted. “Just like poor Michael.”

“I am sorry,” Nicholas stammered. “I could have sworn I read in the papers that General Bellamy had been sent to India to put down the latest mutiny.”

Lady Harriet sighed. “He was, Camford. He was. George Bellamy is not dead, Sister,” she told Lady Susan firmly. “I don’t doubt you
wish
he were dead, but wishing don’t make it so. He has gone to India with his mistress, that Campersdine creature, but he is not dead.”

“Slander!” snarled Lady Susan. “I tell you, my husband was killed leading a cavalry charge at Waterloo. That was
my
George, brave and faithful to the end. He died with my name on his lips!” she shouted, glaring at them defiantly. “This other Bellamy, that one reads of in the newspapers, is nothing more than an imposter.”

Lady Harriet rolled her eyes. “There is no arguing with her,” she told Nicholas. “Bellamy’s desertion has driven her out of her wits, I’m sorry to say.”

“You must forgive my sister’s stupidity,” Lady Susan interrupted coldly. “She has been in love with George these many years, and his death has unhinged her mind. She cannot accept that he is dead. She cannot accept that he died loving me,” she added. “But, then, ever since the curate found her naked in the baptismal font, she’s been a little bit off.”

“I…I see,” said Nicholas, wondering if it were not too soon to make some excuse and run back to his room, or perhaps even back to London. If the sisters’ irrational bickering was any indication, it was going to be a most tedious Christmas.

“Will you not sit down, Nicholas?” Lady Anne said pleasantly.

Nicholas declined. “I have been sitting in the carriage all day. I prefer to be on my feet.”

Julia, in a burst of wifely duty, brought Nicholas a cup of tea. “Where is everyone?” she demanded, returning to her seat. “The duke isn’t here.”

“His grace has been delayed,” Lady Anne told her. “We expect him tomorrow.”

“Very well, but where are the other guests? Nicky and I expected the house to be full of people and gaiety. Instead, it’s quiet and dull.”

“Julia, we are in mourning,” Lady Harriet reminded her. “I’m afraid that means you can expect a very quiet, dull Christmas. There’s to be no Christmas Eve Ball this year.”

“Why not?” cried Julia. “I have brought the most beautiful ball gown from London. I had it made specially! It cost me a fortune.”

“You mean it cost
me
a fortune,” Nicholas corrected her.

“It has not been six months since I lost my poor Bellamy!” Lady Susan bawled. “Not to mention poor Michael. Would you dance on their graves, young woman?”

“I don’t think they’re buried under the ballroom floor, Aunt Susan,” said Julia.

“My George is interred in the Fitzroy crypt, of course,” said Lady Susan. “There is a place beside him waiting for me. I will join him soon, I daresay. But poor Michael was buried in godless Belgium. It was the most terrific scandal! But I suppose that dago wife of his couldn’t be bothered to bring him home,” she sniffed. “Well, she has gone back to her own dusky people now, I understand. I still say she should
not
have been allowed to keep Michael’s fortune—or the little boy, for that matter. Though, personally, I doubt the child is my nephew’s.”

“Based on what, you old fool?” Lady Harriet demanded.

“These dago women are all the same,” Lady Susan informed her curtly. “Fast! Very fast indeed! I am sure she was deceiving poor Michael. She tried to seduce my poor Bellamy, you know. But George could never stop loving me. He died with my name on his lips.”

“And Mrs. Camperdine on his whatsit,” Lady Harriet muttered under her breath.

Nicholas could endure no more. Hastily, he made his excuses and returned to his room, where he spent the rest of the afternoon writing letters.

That evening, before dinner, Nicholas was the first to arrive at the lounge. His attention was immediately caught by the painting hung prominently beside the fireplace. It showed Emma, Duchess of Warwick, seated beneath a beautiful spreading oak tree, flanked by her two sons, the younger being encircled in his mother’s arms. The 11
^th
Duke of Warwick looked straight at the viewer with an expression of arrogant condescension as he placed a crown of leaves on his mother’s head.

The triple portrait had not hung there last Christmas, but Nicholas recognized it all the same. Earlier in the year, it had been on display in London in the atelier of the famed society portrait painter, Sir Thomas Lawrence, who had been knighted only that January. Engravings had been available for purchase all over London, but crowds flocked to Russell Square to see the original, especially after Napoleon Bonaparte’s return to France, when the duchess’s fate was still in doubt.

“Quite a good likeness, don’t you think?” said a voice at Nicholas’s elbow.

Lady Susan had sailed into the room “Ma’am,” he muttered, embarrassed to have been caught staring at Emma’s portrait like a lovesick schoolboy.

“But then no one knows her better than Lawrence,” Lady Susan went on. “They were lovers, of course. They are still good friends. Such a philanderer! Why, he even tried his charm on
me,
if you can believe that!”

Jealousy writhed in Nicholas’s breast. He could not contain it. “Is there anyone who was not her lover?” he muttered bitterly.

Lady Susan looked at him with pity. “Oh, you poor man,” she said.

Mr. Charles Palafox escorted Octavia Fitzroy into the room. Or, perhaps, it was the other way around. To Nicholas’s annoyance, Octavia brought her fiancé directly to him. Pale and slim, Octavia looked like a scarecrow in her black gown. “Good evening, Cousin Nicholas,” she said evenly. “You remember Mr. Palafox, of course.”

“Vaguely,” Nicholas said, yielding to childish pique as Palafox smiled at him.

The man had not changed at all. He was as handsome and false as ever. He had sold out of the army just in time to be spared any danger of having to fight at Waterloo.

“My lord,” he said, offering Nicholas an ironic bow. “You have heard our good news?”

“Yes. My congratulations,” Nicholas answered shortly.

“Thank you, Cousin Nicholas,” Octavia answered evenly, her handsome face as masklike as ever. “Is Julia not with you? She will want to congratulate us, I am sure.”

“Yes, indeed,” said Palafox, his gray eyes sweeping the room. “Where is the vivacious Lady Camford this evening?”

“If she is true to form,” Nicholas answered, “she will be the last to arrive.”

Octavia suddenly stiffened, looking over Nicholas’s shoulder. “Lord, what are
they
doing here?” she murmured resentfully.

Turning, Nicholas saw two gentlemen in evening dress standing on the threshold. One was Lord Colin Grey. The other Nicholas recognized belatedly as Lord Ian Monteith. Monty had been badly wounded at Waterloo, and he was still recovering.

As Colin helped his friend down the steps, Nicholas made his excuses to Octavia.

“Hullo,” he greeted the two men cheerfully. “Am I glad to see you! I thought I was going to have to pass the port with Palafox.”

“Fetch that footstool for me, will you?” Colin said, hardly acknowledging Nicholas’s greeting as Monty lowered himself onto a sofa, his rugged face pale from exertion.

“I am
using
this footstool,” Lady Harriet snarled at Colin.

“Hand it over, you old witch, or I shall make you eat it,” he threatened.

“Please don’t fight,” Monty said wearily.

Muttering a curse, Lady Harriet pushed the footstool away from her with her foot. Thanking her, Nicholas carried it over to the sofa. “Compliments of Lady Harriet,” he said, as Colin eased Monty’s foot up onto the stool.

A horrifying scar cut across the Scotsman’s cheek, slicing him right across the lips. At Waterloo, he had been slashed across the face by a French cuirassier, and thrown from his horse. Left with a broken leg, he somehow had dragged himself into the relative safety of a farmyard, where he had lain overnight before being found the next morning, one of the few to have survived the night. He had been thrown on a cart and taken to a cottage.

“The most unsanitary little hovel you ever saw,” Colin elaborated, shuddering delicately, as he related this part of the tale. Colin looked incredibly unchanged, as slim and young and beautiful as ever, and no less flamboyant. “I nearly fainted when I saw it. What a nightmare! I couldn’t sleep a wink, I was so terrified of the rats. I still wake up in a cold sweat. But
this
is not the work of a Portsmouth tailor!” he suddenly exclaimed, eyeing Nicholas’s attire with warm approval. “Why, Camford, I do believe you have acquired the London stamp!”

Nicholas hardly heard the compliment. “You were there? In Belgium?”

“My dear, everyone was there,” Colin replied. “Except you, of course, and poor Emma, who was stuck in Paris missing all the fun.”

“Fun!” Nicholas protested.

“Oh, yes; it was great fun while it lasted,” Colin replied. “When the London Season ended, we just picked up and moved the party to Brussels. It was nothing but balls and parties until that horrid little man invaded with his nasty little army. Why, the night before the invasion, Monty was doing his sword dance at the Duchess of Richmond’s ball, weren’t you Monty?”

Without waiting for a reply from his friend, Colin ran on. “Of course,
I
knew all along that Bonaparte would move to strike before the Allies had consolidated their forces. But no one ever listens to me.” He sighed. “I spent three days looking for Monty, first in all the makeshift hospitals. Then I screwed my courage to the sticking place, and rode out to the battlefield. I found Lord Michael first, just clinging to life. His wife was with him already. He’d been knocked off his horse by a cannonball. They’d taken him to some dreadful farmhouse, too. I didn’t find Monty in his hovel until the twenty-first of June! He’d not seen a surgeon; indeed, there were scarcely any surgeons to be had. By this time, the army was in pursuit of the French, and they naturally had taken their surgeons with them. I ended up having to nurse him myself. What a bore! I really thought that Michael would live, and Monty would die, but mysterious are the ways of God and man.”

He made no mention of his sister, and Nicholas did not ask.

Colin shook his head as if to clear it of all gloomy thoughts. “But enough of that!
Damme,
I’m hungry. Who are we waiting for?” he asked brightly. “Julia, of course.”

Julia arrived at last, looking ravishing in a satin gown of royal blue. “Sorry, I don’t have anything black to wear,” she said carelessly, enjoying the effect her entrance had on her drab unmarried sisters, especially Octavia, who looked positively green with envy.

“Oh, dear!” she said, looking at the gentlemen in the room. “Only four men! And seven ladies? I’m afraid my sisters will have to console each other. Now then! Which of you handsome gentlemen will be taking
me?
To dinner, I mean,” she added with a laugh. “Let’s see…Nicky should take Mama. Lord Colin, of course will take Aunt Harriet. That leaves Lord Ian for Aunt Susan, and Mr. Palafox for me.

“You’ll have to give him up, I’m afraid,” she said, marching up to her eldest sister with breathtaking arrogance.

“I’m not taking that moldy old nanny goat anywhere!” Colin declared. “’Tis enough to make a man lose his appetite. Come, Julia, I’ll take you.”

Lady Harriet glared back at Colin with venomous hostility. “Whoreson! As though I should go anywhere with a tedious, puking, milk-livered, mincing fop like you.”

“
What
did you call me?”

“Oh, you’re not still fighting, are you?” said Julia, taking Mr. Palafox’s arm, even though Octavia had not relinquished him. “I thought for sure you would have mended fences by now. So he kidnaped you, Aunt Harriet. He stripped you naked and locked you in the church. It’s Christmas! Can’t you just forgive him?”

“She?” Colin shouted. “She—forgive
me?
She’s the one who started it! I’m the victim here! I should be forgiving her for writing her poison letters.”

“Oh, but it was not Aunt Harriet who wrote those letters,” Julia said gaily, her beautiful, dark eyes dancing with amusement.

“Of course it was,” said Colin. “She admitted it!”

“No, I didn’t,” said Lady Harriet, her lip curled back over her teeth like an angry dog’s. “I refused to deny it, that’s all. I refused to answer your impertinent questions.”

“That’s because you did it,” Colin growled at her. “You were jealous of Monty, so you got rid of him.”

“It wasn’t her,” Julia insisted. “
I
did it. If you could see your faces right now!” she went on, giggling as they all stared at her in disbelief. “Oh, I could just die laughing! Did you really never suspect me?”

“Julia!” Nicholas rebuked her.

“I must say, I never saw what all the fuss was about,” Julia babbled on. “So
what
if Lord Colin is a backgammon player? Lots of people play backgammon.
I
play backgammon. When I am in a mood, I can even prefer it to cards. Charles, do you play backgammon?”

“Never mind all that,” Nicholas said impatiently. “Why would you do such a thing, Julia?”

His tone was that of an autocratic husband, but nearly a year of marriage had taught Julia that his bark was worse than his bite. She had no fear of him.

“I’ll never tell,” she said coyly.

“I put her up to it,” Monty quietly announced. Pushing aside the footstool, he struggled to his feet. “I’m responsible.”

“Ha!” said Lady Harriet. “I guessed as much. You never fooled me for an instant!”

Colin was stunned. “What? Monty!” he said, fumbling his words.

“He told me it was a joke,” said Julia, eager to reclaim everyone’s attention. “He told me he’d do it himself, but that Colin would recognize his handwriting.”

“After Emma rejected my advances, I really had no excuse to stay,” Monty explained. “I had to leave. So…I asked Julia to write the letters.”

“But why, Monty? I don’t understand.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Lady Harriet sneered. “He wanted to poison the well. He was afraid you’d find someone else to take his place, Lord Colin. Those letters were meant to scare everybody else away. If
he
couldn’t have you, no one else would.”

“Oh, Monty!” Colin said sadly. “Is it true what the ugly old hag is saying?”

“Can you ever forgive me?” Monty asked contritely.

“Of course he’ll never forgive you,” Lady Harriet snapped. “You’ve cost him the only true friend he’s ever had—me! He wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire!”

“Don’t be an ass, Monty,” Colin said impatiently. “Of course I forgive you. There’s nothing to forgive. I just wish you’d told me, that’s all.”

“What!” howled Lady Harriet. “What do you mean you forgive him? How can you even possibly
think
of forgiving him? What he did was
un
forgivable!”

“So is what I did to you,” Colin pointed out. “But you’ve already forgiven me for that, haven’t you?”

“No,” she said darkly. “No, I haven’t!”

“But it’s Christmas,” he protested.

“Not yet, it isn’t.”

“Well!” he said indignantly. “May I at least escort you to dinner?”

“No, you may not,” she sniffed. “And I don’t want your Scotsman either. Lord Camford, would you be good enough to lend me your arm?”

“Of course, ma’am,” said Nicholas.

They went in to dinner. The food was plain English cookery, nothing like the sumptuous feasts they had enjoyed the year before. At the close of the meal, Lady Harriet rose to lead the ladies out, but Julia jumped up, insisting that she, the Countess of Camford, take precedence over her aunt, her mother, and her three elder sisters.

“I have a terrible feeling,” said Palafox, when the gentlemen were alone, “that we shall all be very dull until the duchess arrives. She brings her French chef with her, I hope, when she comes tomorrow?”

It vexed Nicholas that Palafox seemed to know when Emma planned to arrive. “If the food is not to your liking, Palafox,” he said irritably, “then perhaps you should go elsewhere.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like the food,” Palafox answered coolly. “I expect it will be better when the duchess arrives, that is all. Your lordship needn’t bite my head off. Will you be good enough to pass the port, my lord?”

“You wouldn’t like it,” Nicholas assured him, helping himself to more port. “It’s not very good. How is your brother?” he asked, turning to Colin. “I’ve not seen Lord Scarlingford since the parliamentary recess. Will he be here for Christmas?”

“Heavens, no. My brother is now the Duke of Chilton,” Colin said. “Far too busy and important to visit his relations at Christmastime.”

“I’m sorry,” said Nicholas. “I had not heard that your father was dead. My condolences. Perhaps your sister is at Chilton now?”

“Emma at Chilton? Our father died months ago. I believe Emma was in Germany when he died. She took the boys there for the summer, to visit our mother’s people, the Brandenburgs. At present, my sister is purchasing an estate for Grey; she stayed at Wingate an extra day to close with the attorneys. She will be here tomorrow, unless something delays her.”

“What a charming Christmas present!” Mr. Palafox remarked. “I wish someone would buy
me
an estate. Is it a very large estate?”

“Not at all,” said Colin. “Only about twenty thousand acres or so. Nothing to Warwick, of course, but what is? I would not have bought it myself. The attics are drafty, and the breakfast parlor has the most hideous green wallpaper you ever saw.”

“Paper can be changed,” said Palafox, “and I never look into attics.”

“I believe my sister means to refurbish the place, but nothing can change the fact that it is too close to the village church.”