For Love's Sake (17 page)

“It was to be a surprise, Mother,” he said, coming to Laurel’s rescue. “I know how badly you’ve wanted to see me settled down…”

The Dowager Marchioness of Amesbury regarded him over her glass of champagne. “Quite right! I’ve been saying for years that a wife was just what you needed.”

It was at that moment that Laurel was eternally grateful to Christopher for insisting that she learn how to comport herself at the table. If she had sat down to eat with his family
without
knowing her forks, she would have shriveled up with shame in front of his graceful, commanding mother. Without the knowledge of how to go about things, Laurel was certain that she would not have passed the bar that had been set for the future wife of her ‘darling boy’.

Even Constance, who was nothing more than a child, conducted herself as a lady at all times. She delicately folded her napkin on her lap, was careful not to soil her fingers, and ate as daintily as possible. The girl was a perfect emulation of her mother, who in turn, was an exact carbon copy of her own mother—the three of them were a force to be reckoned with.

It was Kate who tried to lighten the mood first. “It must be quite an adjustment coming from America. I hope that you are finding everything to your liking here.”

“Oh yes,” Laurel smiled sweetly. “It’s very lovely.”

“And this house?” the Dowager Marchioness added. “What do you think of my son’s home? Could you live here among
all this?
”

She meant it in a derogatory way, everyone knew. Christopher shifted in his seat.

“Actually, Ma’am,” Laurel said, “I love this house. I even like the sheep!”

His mother frowned. “Dirty, stupid animals.”

“
Dirty, stupid animals,
” Constance said, imitating her grandmother.

Kate gave her daughter a warning glance before focusing her attention on her own mother. “Christopher’s lifestyle is
his
prerogative, and I thought you agreed not to interfere. Besides, you couldn’t expect him to live with you all these years.”

“No. But I did not send my son to Oxford so that he could grow up to be a sheep farmer! For God’s sake, Kate, what woman would want to live here in this hovel?”

“
I
would,” Laurel said, drawing the conversation to an end.

“You’ll have to forgive my mother,” Christopher whispered as Laurel snuck into the bed beside him. “I’m afraid she is already teaching Constance to look down her nose at things from a very young age.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t mean anything by it.”

“Of course not. She may be thoughtless, but she is not cruel.” He pushed a wisp of light brown hair from across her brow.

“Why did you tell her that we were engaged?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t very well tell her why you were
really
here.”

“But what’s going to happen when we never actually get married?” she asked. “What are you going to tell your family then?”

Christopher was fully aware of the muddle he’d gotten himself into without her having to remind him. “We’ll just say we broke it off…of course, I will have to find you somewhere nearby to live.”

“I don’t want to live somewhere else! I came here to be with you!”

He sat on the bed and pulled on his shoes without bothering to look up at her. “I thought you wanted independence.”

“I do, but not like that.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll think of something. A proper, long-term solution that suits us both.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“Mother might believe that you are to be married, but
I
for one am not convinced,” Kate said to Christopher as they watched out the window as Constance tried to teach Laurel how to walk with a book on her head.

All Christopher could do was sigh.

“So who is this girl…truly?”

“She worked for me in the mill. I don’t know how it happened. Before I realized it, I was enamored with her,” he explained. “I just couldn’t leave her behind.”

“And you thought you would bring her
here?
”

On the lawn, Laurel practiced sitting on a bench while keeping the copy of
Jane Eyre
balanced upon her head. It fell and whacked Constance squarely in the face, knocking her bright red beret clean off her coppery head.

“I’m sorry, Kate. If I’d have known you were bringing Constance here, I never would have…I wouldn’t have subjected her to a situation like this.”

She waved him off and took a long sip of hot tea. “Miss Graham is the
last
person that I’d have concerns about. She’s a sweet girl and, in a way, I think Constance could learn a few things from her.”

Christopher looked at her questioningly.

“Honestly, I worry about my daughter. She can’t play, doesn’t sing, and her French is mediocre
at best
. What kind of man would marry a woman who brought absolutely nothing to the table?”

“Probably someone who loved her simply for who she was.”

Never in her life had Kate ever imagined that she would hear her brother speak that way. She placed a soft, white hand on his shoulder. “I want you to know that if you are truly happy, then I am happy for you. I always hoped that you wouldn’t resort to a loveless marriage like Jonathan’s. You deserve so much better than that.”

After dinner that evening, everyone relaxed by the fireplace, enjoying the rosy glow that it cast across the room. It was Christmas Eve. Constance lay on the floor with a bowl of roasted chestnuts, her mother knitted in an armchair by the fire, and the Dowager Marchioness sat with her eyes closed, listening to Christopher read
A Christmas Carol
to Laurel on the sofa. Even the Humphrees, James, and Flora listened in from the hallway as their employer’s deep, clear voice concluded that cherished Christmas tale.

When he closed the book, Constance reiterated, “
God bless us, every one!
”

“What a lovely story,” Laurel stretched and yawned.

Kate agreed. “And you read it
so
well, Christopher.”

He only smiled. “I think that if someone doesn’t go to bed soon, we will miss Father Christmas.”

Constance scrambled to her feet, not wanting the jolly old man to pass by their house that night. She kissed her mother and grandmother goodnight, then scrambled up the stairs to her room.

Laurel walked to the bookshelf to return the story to its place. It was too high, and even on her tiptoes, she could not reach the open spot between the tomes. Christopher came up behind her, taking the book out of her hand and easily setting it upon the shelf.

“You should also get to bed, Dearest,” he whispered into her ear. “Father Christmas does not wait for grown-up girls either.”

Laurel snuggled against his chest. “This will be the best Christmas there ever was.”

Smiling to himself, Christopher was apt to agree. It would indeed be the most enjoyable Christmas—so far—of his life. He had never played host before, instead always being a guest in his brother’s home. Although he was always welcome there, his presence was never important. They could get along fine, enjoying Christmas whether he was there to join them or not. This year, however, there
was
someone who cared. Someone who needed him, and he would make sure that this was the best Christmas she ever had.

“Wake up!” Christopher nipped at her ear. “You have gotten your wish.”

Laurel swatted at him in her sleep and rolled over, pulling the bed sheets above her head. She grew used to sleeping late over the past few days, nestled warm in his bed, and in her dreams, it did not register whether it was Christmas day or any other Tuesday.

“If you do not get up
this instant
, you will miss Christmas altogether!”

Christopher yanked the sheets back from her face, letting the sunlight pour over her. Out the window, Laurel could see nothing but the bright white glare of the newly fallen snow.

“Oh, how beautiful!” she cried.

“The view downstairs is much better, I assure you.”

Downstairs!
Laurel had forgotten all about that. She bolted from the bed and snatched her dressing gown from off the floor, hardly managing to pull it over her shoulders before she raced down the staircase.

In the drawing room, candles flickered on the boughs of the tree. Their warm light was reflected in the shining silver stars, colorful spun-glass balls, and glimmering tinsel, all the way up to the splendid little white angel who presided over it all. Of course Laurel saw the tree the night before, but everything always seemed to take on a magical form come Christmas day.

There were gifts under the tree as well—brightly wrapped packages, jars of sweets, rolls of ribbons in a rainbow of colors, and even a brilliant green sledge with shiny red runners. None of it had been there when Laurel went to bed the previous night.

“You’ve been busy,” she said to Christopher, who had just come down behind her.

“I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about,” he said, but there was the slightest hint of mischief in his pale blue eyes. “Now, should we open gifts before or after the church service?”

Constance bounded down the stairs, skipping the last two steps and leaping across the floor. “Oh
now
! Can we please open them now?”

Once the rest of the family made their appearance, the mountain of presents beneath the tree could be distributed to their rightful owners. A set of ivory cufflinks and matching shirt studs, a monogrammed silver cigarette case, as well as a pair of bright yellow chamois gloves Constance had saved all of her allowance to buy found their way to Christopher’s lap. As for Constance, Father Christmas delivered the sleek new sledge, and Christopher presented her with a delicate mother of pearl fan.

“I believe you have outgrown your dollies,” he explained.

“But I shall
never
outgrow this!” Constance said as she practiced fanning herself.

The Dowager Marchioness of Amesbury reached into the boughs of the tree and produced a tiny black velvet box tied with a bright gold bow. “I believe there is one more present here for you, Christopher.”

He took the small box from her hand. His mother was not usually so secretive, and it troubled him. Christopher untied the ribbon and opened the lid—inside lay a silver ring with a sparkling rosette of diamonds.

“It was my grandmother’s,” she informed him. “I had it brought down yesterday afternoon.”

His mother then gestured her head in Laurel’s direction, urging him to place the ring on her finger.

Christopher turned to the young woman whom his mother believed to be his fiancée. Unknowingly, he had been placed in the very worst situation imaginable. To refuse the ring would be rude, but to actually place it on Laurel’s hand would be a dreadful farce. Across the room, Kate watched without taking a single breath. Her brother did not mean to
really
give away a cherished family heirloom! If he placed the ring on Miss Graham’s finger, he could not in good conscience ask for it back later.

Laurel stared at him. She was mortified to her very soul, but could not for the life of her think of a way to diffuse the situation. The tension in the room was almost suffocating, and she longed to flee upstairs to the sanctuary of her bedroom. In her mind, it seemed like minutes had passed, but in reality only a few seconds of hesitation ticked by.

With a sigh of quiet concession, Christopher slipped the exquisite diamond engagement ring onto her trembling finger. Whether he meant to or not, he would marry Laurel Graham.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Laurel believed Christopher had no intention of marrying her. She only wore the ring to please his mother, and after his family returned to wherever it was that they lived, she would give it back. None of this bothered her in the least, except for when she found herself studying the enormous diamond flower on her finger.

Christopher told her that it was over a hundred years old, and that if the old family story was true, it had once belonged to a princess who had been sold in matrimony by her wicked father, a Russian grand duke. How it ever came into his great-grandmother’s possession was still a mystery. Laurel thought that, whatever the ring’s history, it was incredibly beautiful.

She also thought that whoever deserved to wear such a fabulous piece of jewelry needed to be a highborn lady, and not the daughter of a back-alley prostitute who grew up wild in the foothills of North Carolina. Lord Christopher Brayles would never lower himself to marry a girl that couldn’t tell one fork from another and barely managed to keep red dirt from underneath her fingernails. Yet when he announced that was exactly what he meant to do, Laurel almost fell off the bed.

“You’ve been a very good sport about our false engagement,” he told her, “But, I have to confess that the idea of marrying you has grown on me these last few weeks.”

“It has?”

His features were grave, but his words were tender. “Despite whatever I told myself when I invited you here, I knew all along that you could never just be my mistress. If I could marry any woman, Laurel, it would be you…if you would have me.”

She never wanted to get married, to turn her future over to some man. Her plans for herself were always
her
plans—always alone, and always free. Laurel scoffed at her friends’ wishes for homes and families, and swore that she would never degrade herself by becoming a dutiful little wife. All her life, she had spat in the face of matrimony, but here she was, actually contemplating whether or not to marry the man whose head rested on the pillow next to hers!

Christopher could sense the struggle taking place inside of her, and it made his stomach churn. “Before we go any further, there is something I think you should know…”

He had only told one other woman what he was about to confess, and her reaction so many years ago still cut him deeply even to this day. The image of whatever sort of man he had portrayed himself to be up until this point would be shattered. Christopher braced himself for the revulsion and the rejection that would soon follow.

“Laurel, I cannot give you children.”

She looked at him almost as if the weight of what he said had not sunken in.