Once Upon a Christmas Kiss (14 page)

“If it was a crime of opportunity,” Lucien said, “then someone might have put it there as soon as they saw you preparing to set off.”

Winnie shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold.

“It’s time to get you back to the house,” Lucien said firmly. And with no more than a slight exhalation, he lifted her into his arms and carried her over to where one of the sleighs had been brought to take Winnie back to the house.

She couldn’t help but feel comforted by his strong arms around her once more as they set off. Exhausted from her latest excitement, she lay her head against his chest and fell fast asleep.

Chapter Fourteen

As soon as he saw Winnie safely in the care of Mary and Cordelia, Lucien went in search of Leaming. Even if the man hadn’t been responsible for the crash, he was certainly on the line for having forced her into the sled in the first place.

He finally ran his quarry down in the billiard room where, none the worse for wear, Leaming was being trounced by both Lord Fowlkes and Lord Stannis.

“Sir Lucien,” cried Leaming on seeing the baronet. “How’s the miserable Miss Nightingale? Off singing her song of woe to anyone who will listen, I daresay.”

“If she is miserable,” Lucien said through clenched teeth, “then it’s no thanks to you. Did you really think that risking a lady’s life was a wise method of continuing your little vendetta against her?”

“Don’t be so melodramatic, Blakemore,” Lord Fowlkes said, gesticulating with the brandy glass in his hand. “Could have happened to anyone on that course. The real culprit, if you wish to know my opinion on it, is the footman who neglected to move that bloody large stone from the path.”

“He’s got a point, Fowlkes,” said Lord Stannis, much to Lucien’s surprise. Clearly the young lord was not quite so reckless as his friend. “I took that same course with Lady Emily just before Leaming and Miss Winifred, and there was no sign of a stone, bloody large or otherwise.”

“Rot,” Leaming responded. “It had to be there. It’s not as if it just appeared.”

“All I know,” Lucien said, looking from one to the other, “is that the rock was there when Leaming forced Miss Winifred down the path with him and damned near broke her neck on it.”

Much to his surprise, he saw a flush creep up the back of Leaming’s neck. “If you must know, Blakemore, I had no intention of causing Miss Winifred any harm. I did wish to set her back up a bit, which is only right considering how she’s tried to blacken my name ever since she was my sister’s governess years ago.”

“Besides,” he continued, intent on proving his case, “I’d hardly put myself at risk, would I? She’s not the only one who might have broken their neck on that rock. If I’d had any notion it was down there, I’d have taken the middle path.”

And the nasty thing, Lucien thought, was that he believed the rascal. He wasn’t going to nominate Leaming for sainthood anytime soon, but in this matter his words rang true. And, though he didn’t mention it aloud, it would not be in Leaming’s best interest to hurt Winnie before she married Lucien. There would be no way to blackmail her if she were dead.

Which meant that someone else had been trying to harm Winnie—because she had to be the target. Leaming was hardly the most popular man at the party, but Winnie had been the object of someone’s enmity from the very beginning.

“He’s making some sense, Sir Lucien,” Stannis said with a shrug. “Damned near killed himself on that rock as well. Though I’d be the first to cry foul if I thought he’d had done the thing on purpose. Even if he is my friend. But I don’t think it was him.”

“I’m beginning to agree with you, Stannis,” Lucien conceded. “The more I consider the matter, it doesn’t quite work.”

Slumping against the wall in ill-disguised relief, Leaming ran both hands over his face. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that, old fellow.”

“This does not, however,” Lucien continued, “mean that you are off the hook for all the other things you’ve done to discomfit Miss Winifred. But if you will agree to leave her be for the rest of your stay here, then I will agree not to call you out.”

Since Lucien was a crack shot, it was a generous offer. And since Leaming was no fool, he took the deal. “I don’t mind telling you that she’s been more trouble to me than she’s worth. You’re welcome to her.”

Not bothering to respond, Lucien turned and went in search of his cousin.

He found Jem in the study seated behind his enormous desk.

“I was wondering where you’d got off to,” Jeremy said, as Lucien stretched out in one of the chairs facing the desk. “After that incident with Miss Winifred, I thought you’d be standing guard outside her door.”

“If I thought it necessary, I’d do so,” the other man said grimly. “But I suspect she’s well looked after just now by her sister and her maid.”

“I asked the footmen who set up the courses about the stone,” Jem said, his normally merry countenance serious. “They all swear it wasn’t there when they finished marking off the paths. And they were far too busy the rest of the time to have done it.”

“Thank you for looking into it,” Lucien said, pinching the bridge of his nose to ward off a headache. “I suspected that was what you’d hear. And it makes no sense for them to wish harm on Winnie.”

“Agreed. Did you learn anything more from Leaming?” Jem tapped his quill pen against the desk. “I must confess that had I known he’d turn out to be such a damned nuisance I’d have thrown him and Stannis to the wolves the night they arrived.”

Quickly Lucien relayed the discussion in the billiard room.

“But if that’s true, then we’ve got no idea who planted the stone,” Jem said, shaking his head. “It could be anyone for any reason.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Lucien said wryly. “I believe we can safely rule out ourselves, Helen, Miss Cordelia Nightingale, Miss Hawthorne, and most likely Mr. Beesley. I don’t think Mrs. Green would be foolish enough to do it. And it’s not Mrs. Cowper’s style.”

“And there’s no way it could have simply been an accident? Like someone stumbling upon the stone and kicking it over there out of the way?”

The look on Jem’s face was hopeful, and Lucien hated to dash his hopes. But dash them, he did. “I’m afraid not. Someone knows what happened, but without more information we can’t know who.”

“All we wanted was a merry and bright Christmas house party,” Jem said, pulling the decanter from the shelf behind his desk and pouring himself and Lucien a glass. “First we are invaded by waspish young women who are too dashed competitive for their own good, then we are beset by two of the most reckless young men in the beau monde who simply must have beds for the week, and now your Winnie has put herself in the path of a murderer—or at the very least, someone intent on harm. It’s enough to make one swear off holiday parties all together.”

“Where is your Christmas cheer, Jem?” Lucien deadpanned.

“Gone the same place as my human charity, I daresay,” Jem groused, though his eyes lit with amusement. “The one highlight in all of this is watching your eyes follow Miss Winifred about the room. It really is quite amusing. Even Helen thinks so.”

“God spare me from meddlesome relatives,” Lucien said with mock severity. “She is my affianced bride, and if I wish to stare at her morning, noon, and night, that is my prerogative.”

“It’s a good match, cousin,” Jem said, all seriousness now. “Helen and I both like her. We’re also quite fond of her sister, even if some of the village ladies have taken her in dislike. Well, one in particular.”

“You are speaking of the odious Mrs. Green, I take it?” Fortunately, he didn’t think Cordelia would have any more trouble from her.

“One and the same,” Jem responded. “It’s quite clear that she wants Beesley for that daughter of hers, though why she’d think a man of his good sense would wish to ally himself to her wretched family, I have no idea.”

“There’s no accounting for sense,” Lucien said, shuddering at the very thought. “There’s no telling what some people will do for a large marriage settlement.”

***

The world outside her window was dark when Winnie awoke later that afternoon, after having been bundled into a hot bath, followed by a nightdress, then bed as soon as she’d returned from Miller’s Hill. Yawning, she realized she was feeling much more the thing, though her ankle was still painful. Noting that the clock on the mantle gave her enough time to dress for dinner, she rang the bellpull for Mary.

She was placing the last pin in her hair when someone knocked at her door. Nodding to Mary that she should answer it, Winnie was surprised to see Lucien.

“Apologies for interrupting your toilette, Miss Winifred,” he said with a smile, “but I thought you might need my assistance getting downstairs for dinner. Though after your afternoon, I feel sure the others would excuse you.”

Turning in the vanity chair, she saw that his valet had tamed his windblown hair of the afternoon and that he was impeccably attired, as always. “Not at all, Sir Lucien. I am feeling much better now and should like to go down. Thank you for thinking of me.”

“It’s no bother,” he said simply, moving further into the room.

As he approached, her heart began to race and she felt a little shiver down her spine. Without preamble, he slipped an arm beneath her knees, and another beneath her arms and lifted her into his arms for the second time that day. It was impossible for her to resist inhaling the scent of sandalwood and male as she slid an arm around his shoulders. She could see the shadow of his beard along his chin, though it was clear he’d been shaved recently. There was something strangely intimate about being carried by a man, she thought.

“Thank you, Mary,” she said to her maid, who stood holding the door as they stepped through.

“I hope you are feeling better after your rest,” he said once they were alone in the hallway.

“I am, thank you,” she said, after a long pause, tearing her gaze away from a landscape painting on the wall that looked entirely different from this angle. “I was rather surprised at how exhausted I was, for with the exception of the trek up the hill, the rest didn’t really involve all that much of an expense of strength.”

“Terror can be quite tiring,” he said, frowning. “Speaking of which, I had a word with Leaming while you were resting.”

Winnie held onto him a little tighter. “And? What did you learn? Did he admit to trying to harm me?”

Knowing Leaming, she had little hope on that score, but anything was possible. And he had seemed genuinely surprised by their accident.

“He did not,” Lucien said as they reached the first-floor landing. “In fact, though he admitted to having a grudge over how you treated him in the past, he claimed to have no knowledge of the stone. And, I’m sorry to say, I believed him.”

Winnie released the breath she’d been holding. “I suppose we’re still looking for the same culprit we’ve been all along, then. Which is disappointing since they’ve been quite elusive up until now.”

“Indeed it is,” Lucien said, his frustration evident in his tone.

Before she could reassure him, they were spotted by someone in the drawing room, and Winnie was soon surrounded by a host of well-wishers.

***

When dinner was over, and the gentlemen had rejoined the ladies in the drawing room, Jem announced that it was time for the lighting of the Yule log. The guests, along with Winnie, who had been given an old bath chair from the attics for her use and was being propelled about by her sister, followed him into the great hall where they waited around the large hearth.

With much fanfare, two footmen carried the enormous log between them and placed it in the large fireplace. Once Hurst finished lighting it, he addressed the assembled group. “And now,” he said merrily, “for more hot cider and wassail.”

Lucien carried two cups of wassail to where Winnie sat in her wheeled chair chatting with her sister and Beesley. “I took the liberty, Miss Winifred,” he said handing her the steaming cup. “I hope you do not mind.”

“Thank you, Sir Lucien,” she said echoing his formality. “I don’t mind at all.

“I’ve come to quite enjoy wassail,” Cordelia said as she sipped from her cup. “I’ve joined the carolers for the past few years here in the village, but it’s not been as good as this. Has it, Mr. Beesley?”

Lucien eyed the other man, who watched Miss Cordelia Nightingale as if she were the Christmas star incarnate. “No indeed, Miss Cordelia. In fact, this is the most delicious thing I’ve ever had.” He paused with a gleam in his eye. “Well, perhaps not quite the
most
delicious.”

Cordelia blushed, and Lucien exchanged a pointed look with Winnie. Definitely something had changed between these two. And Lucien hoped that seeing her sister so happy would prod Winnie into accepting that same joy for herself.

“It tastes rather like Mama’s own recipe, doesn’t it Cordy?” Lucien was pleased to know that not all their memories of their mother were unhappy ones. Perhaps being reminded of them would make it possible for Winnie to get past her fears about following in their footsteps.

At her sister’s question, Cordelia looked a bit sheepish. “I gave Mama’s recipe to Lady Hurst,” she admitted. “I so wanted this Christmas to be special for you. And when Sir Lucien asked if I had the recipe, I thought, why not?”

Winnie’s eyes shot to his face. “You?” she asked, with a shocked expression. “Why on earth would you do that?”

Wishing he’d been more insistent on Cordelia’s keeping his request confidential, Lucien shrugged. “For the same reason as your sister. I wanted this to be a special Christmas for you.” That had been before he’d heard the tale of how their mother had died, of course, but perhaps that this hadn’t been a misstep after all.

To his relief, instead of annoyed or saddened, Winnie looked pleased.
Progress
, he thought.

“Now, everyone,” Jem announced, “I know this is the wrong order, but why don’t we have some caroling in payment for this delicious wassail.”

So the group retired to the drawing room, where they sang Christmas songs and enjoyed the warmth of the fire and the company. Even Lady Fowlkes and Mrs. Cowper seemed to be enjoying themselves, which Lucien attributed to the liberal dose of brandy he’d seen them pouring into their cups.