Once Upon a Christmas Kiss (17 page)

As the girl continued to glare, Winnie knew without a doubt that it had been Miss Green who had set up all of the calamities that had befallen her over the course of the week.

“But my ankle is feeling much better, Miss Green,” she assured the girl, whose fair skin turned blotchy with rage. “I really hate to thwart your plans to steal my intended by not becoming injured enough. But sometimes one’s plans do not go as one might wish.”

Lucien’s eyes widened. “It was her?” he asked, astonished. “But she’s nothing like her mother.”

“No I am not,” Miss Green said hotly. “Not that it makes a difference in the way I’m treated. For every eligible man assumes I’ll be cut from the same cloth and avoids me like the plague.”

At that moment, Mrs. Green, who had been foisting one of her other daughters on some poor unsuspecting gentleman, looked up. Seeing that her eldest was in deep conversation with Sir Lucien, she hurried forward.

“My dear,” she said, hastily, “you must remember that we aren’t to bother Sir Lucien.” Clearly she had not forgotten his threats to ruin her, Winnie thought wryly.

“Why not?” Miss Green demanded in disgust. “It isn’t as if there are any other gentlemen who will bother with me. And even if this one seems taken with this governess, I think he can be made to see reason.”

“Rose Green!” her mother said, clearly shocked by her daughter’s rudeness. “You don’t know what you are saying. You must be unwell. Let’s just get you—”

But Rose was having none of it. “The only thing making me unwell,” she hissed, “is the fact that I’m saddled with a mother who doesn’t know any better than to have all four of her daughters out at one time. And who alienates every possible friend or suitor who crosses my path. And who is too stupid to realize that rather than flattering her about her wonderful daughters, everyone is laughing at her to her face!”

By this time a crowd had gathered and while Mrs. Green stood blinking in the aftermath of her daughter’s rage, Winnie said, “So, it was you who left the note in my bedchamber.”

“Of course it was me,” Rose said with a roll of her eyes. “I’d already lost Mr. Beesley to your slut of a sister, and here you’d come to lure Sir Lucien with your sly looks and wanton wiles.”

“That is my fiancée you are maligning,” Mr. Beesley said coldly from where he stood beside Cordelia. “And there was never any question of me marrying you. Or any other of your sisters for that matter.”

“Which is why I had to remove Miss Winifred from the field,” Rose said patiently. “Of course I should have known you’d ignore the note. So, I had to try something else. I got the idea of making it look as if you were with child when I recalled how Mama always had fainting spells with my sisters. But instead of thinking you were having some stranger’s child, everyone assumed it was his.” She glared at Lucien as if he had forced the others to assume it.

“You might have killed her,” he said with barely leashed fury. “Did you think of that?”

“It was only a tiny bit,” Rose said defensively. “I learned about herbs and tinctures from my nanny. She was always careful about such things and she taught me to be as well.”

“Rose,” Mrs. Green said, shaking her head. “How could you?”

“How could
you
?” Rose demanded. “You made me a laughingstock, Mama. There is no way I will ever be able to find a husband. I’m going to be trapped with you for the rest of my life. Can’t you see that?”

Seeing that this was going to devolve into a family argument like the world had never seen, Winnie tried to move the conversation along. “What about the boulder on the track, Rose?”

At this point, the girl was beginning to look defeated. “It was just a happy accident that Lord Leaming forced you onto the difficult path. I saw the stone and though it was a bit heavy, I managed to hide it in my cloak while I carried it to the track. I covered it with snow. I thought he’d just steer around it,” she admitted. “It hadn’t occurred to me that he’d be too foxed to notice.”

“I wasn’t foxed,” Leaming said from the other side of the room. “I wasn’t expecting to find a bloody great stone blocking my path. Did it occur to you that you might not only have killed Miss Winifred but also an innocent bystander?” He sounded genuinely shocked, which almost made Winnie laugh. It was unusual for Leaming to be the one sinned against.

“Oh, you’re hardly an innocent lamb,” Rose retorted. “I’ve seen how you’ve been saying nasty things to her the whole week. You’re a horrid man and it would have been no great loss if you’d been—”

Before she could finish, Mrs. Green interrupted. “Hush, Rose. That’s enough. That’s quite enough.”

And despite her earlier outburst against her, Rose threw herself into her mother’s arms and began to sob.

Hurst, looking bewildered, ushered mother and daughter, followed by the other Green sisters, who seemed just as shocked, from the room.

“Well,” Mrs. Cowper said with a shake of her head. “That was certainly unexpected.”

“Quite,” Leaming said with feeling. “I had no idea. She seemed like such a quiet girl.”

“It’s a shame, because I’ve always liked Rose,” Helen said. “The apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”

Winnie looked up at Lucien, who had slipped his arm about her waist in support as they had listened to Rose Green’s diatribe. “It doesn’t always have to, Lady Helen,” she said, realizing that she meant it. “Not all children grow up to be just like their parents.”

“No,” Lucien said, looking at her with affection in his eyes. “Sometimes they grow up to be wonderful.”

Chapter Seventeen

The next morning, the guests bundled up in coats and scarves and mittens and muffs and piled into the horse-drawn sleighs for the ride to the little church in the village.

Winnie, Cordelia, and Emily sat on the front-facing seat of one carriage with Lucien, Beesley and Lord Stannis across from them. The weak sun shone down a few faint rays onto a world bright with a cover of snow and ice. Because of the cold, Winnie was grateful for the warm bricks that the footmen had placed in the floor of the vehicle—despite her earlier disparagement of such luxuries.

Perhaps, she thought wryly, she was more like her fellow guests than she had previously thought.

“I wanted you to know,” Emily said quietly to Winnie, as the men and Cordelia spoke, “that ever since our talk the other day, about my nanny, that is, I’ve felt so much differently about things. About myself and other people. And even about her passing. I know with all my heart that if I hadn’t spoken to you about her, I’d still be feeling miserable and unhappy. And I’d likely have been taking those feelings out on everyone around me. Like that awful Miss Green.”

“I very much doubt that,” Winnie assured the girl. “Miss Green’s actions stemmed not from unhappiness but from selfishness. You merely needed a reminder that you needed to reflect a bit on your behavior. Though I am sorry we didn’t get to celebrate any of your Christmas traditions that you used to share with your nanny.”

“That’s just it,” Emily said with a puzzled smile. “We have. The Yule log and the sledding and hot cider and wassail. I thought you’d arranged it all.”

Winnie gasped. “No,” she said with a shake of her head. “I didn’t arrange any of that. It was all Lady Helen’s doing. And in a couple of instances, Sir Lucien. But it wasn’t me, I assure you.”

“I wonder,” Emily said, with a faraway look in her eyes.

“What?”

“It just seems to me that whoever planned them, whenever I took part, I thought of her,” Emily said with a watery smile. “And that’s what’s important.”

“You are right,” Winnie said, appreciating the girl’s philosophy. “I think you have the right of it.”

The sermon was an uplifting one, and as the attendees streamed out of the little church, Winnie saw a familiar face hovering near the path. Pulling Lucien along with her, she stopped before Mrs. Green, who looked as unhappy as could be.

“Mrs. Green,” Winnie said, deciding that the woman had been punished enough. “Happy Christmas to you.”

“Thank you, Miss Winifred,” she said with a pained smile. “I did not wish to disturb you, but I wished to apologize again for my daughter’s behavior. I had no idea she was so desperate to get away from me. Though I suppose I can see now why. At any rate, I am humbly sorry.”

“There’s no need for it,” Winnie said firmly. “You are not your daughter. And though you have done some unkind things, I don’t think you wished for me to die. And I suspect that now she’s had time to think it over, Rose has come to regret her actions as well.”

At Mrs. Green’s blush, Winnie said wryly, “Or not. Whatever the case, I do not wish you to refine upon it. I hold you entirely blameless and I want you to enjoy the holiday without worrying about the rest of us.”

“Thank you, Miss Winifred,” the other woman said, her eyes bright with tears. “It’s more than I deserve. And I won’t forget your kindness. Or yours Sir Lucien. I hope that you will have a happy Christmas.”

As they watched, Rose walked off in the direction of the village.

Soon they were bundled back into the sled and on their way to Sanditon House, where after stomping the snow from their feet, they hurried inside and enjoyed a full breakfast complete with hot drinks.

When the meal was over, they gathered once more in the drawing room and exchanged gifts.

Cordelia squeaked in delight at the verbena scent and the sheet music Winnie had bought for her. And Winnie did the same over the lovely scarf her sister had knitted for her and the lavender water Cordelia had purchased from the same shelf where Winnie had found the verbena.

“We know one another too well,” Winnie said, hugging her sister.

“We do,” Cordelia agreed with a grin. “Which is the way it should be. We are sisters, after all.”

Silly grins lighting both their faces, they laughed.

“I am so very happy for you, my dear,” Winnie said, hugging her again. “Mr. Beesley is a good man. And he is clearly besotted with you.” They glanced over where even as he appeared to listen intently to Lady Fowlkes, Mr. Beesley kept a watchful eye on Cordelia. As if sensing their scrutiny, he turned fully to look at them. And grinned.

“He is, isn’t he?” Cordelia asked, after she and Beesley had stopped staring at one another. “I am besotted with him as well. I cannot believe I almost let that horrid woman keep us apart. Thank you, truly, Winnie for convincing me to ignore her.”

“Of course,” Winnie said. “But only if you will accept my thanks for your insistence that I listen to Lucien’s proposal. I have no doubt I’d have gone on being stubborn about the man for years to come.”

“Oh, I have a feeling he’d have found a way to convince you,” Cordelia said with a grin. “He looks as if he can be very persuasive.”

“You have no idea,” Winnie said, her heart full of love and the spirit of the holiday. “No idea.”

***

It was much later, when the rest of the house was fast asleep, that Winnie lay with her head pillowed on Lucien’s shoulder.

“Happy Christmas,” she said, lifting her head to kiss him.

“Happy Christmas,” he said, kissing her back. Then before she could lose herself in him, he pulled back. “Wait one minute.”

She watched in appreciation as he stood with his back to her walking to where he’d folded his coat over a chair. When he turned she saw that he had a paper-wrapped parcel in his hand.

“If I’d known all this would happen,” he said with an apologetic smile, a lock of his dark hair falling over his brow, “I’d have brought the family ring. I do however have something special for you.”

Sheepishly he handed her the cylindrical package, and Winnie sat up with her back to the headboard so that she could remove the paper wrapping.

It was a scrolled up sheet of vellum. Winnie glanced at him, puzzled.

“Open it,” he said.

Curious, she unrolled a handwritten sheet of music. “For Winnie” was written in a neat hand she’d come to recognize as Lucien’s.

“A song?” she asked, a little breathlessly. “You wrote this, didn’t you?”

To her amazement, twin flags of color appeared on his cheeks. “It’s just something I’ve been working on here and there. I’ll get you a proper gift once we get back to Yorkshire.”

“You will do no such thing!” she said throwing her arms around his neck. “This is the most wonderful gift I’ve ever received.”

“Wait until you hear it before you say that,” he said wryly, before kissing the top of her head.

“I want to hear it right now,” she declared, untangling herself from him and climbing down from the bed. “Let’s go to the music room, and you shall play it for me.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” Lucien protested, though he was climbing—still gloriously naked—from the bed and looking for his breeches.

A few minutes later—neither of them as neat as they’d like to be in company, but not caring one way or the other—they sat side by side at the pianoforte in the Hurst’s music room while Lucien played the song he’d first begun to compose on the afternoon they met.

When he’d played the final note, Winnie turned to him, her eyes filled with tears. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard,” she said kissing him firmly on the lips. “Better than anything that charlatan Herr Beethoven could possibly conjure.”

Lucien chuckled. “I’m not sure it’s as fine as all that,” he said with a grin.

“It is my song and I’ll say what I like about it,” she declared hotly. “Why did you never tell me you wrote music?”

“It’s hardly something one can go around boasting about,” he said pulling her into his lap. “And I could say the same about you and your singing.”

“That’s different,” she corrected, tucking her head under his chin. “I’m not half as talented as you are.”

“I’ll thank you not to talk about the woman I love like that,” he chided with mock severity. “She’s magnificent, as you would know if you’d met her.”

“You’re absurd,” she said giggling.

“You’re beautiful,” he answered back, kissing her palm. “I love you, Winnie.”

“I love you, too,” she said softly, her heart so full with love for him she was sure it would burst. “I never thought I’d fall in love. Never thought I’d find you.”