Once Upon a Christmas Kiss (5 page)

Over my dead body
, Lucien thought grimly. Whatever had happened between them, he knew very well it had nothing to do with hearts or friendship.

Perhaps sensing the undercurrent between Lord Leaming and the governess, Cordelia approached and, slipping her arm through Winifred’s said, “I do hate to cut this short, but I know my sister must be positively parched from her performance. Let us go in search of some tea, my dear.”

To Lucien’s relief, Winnie allowed herself to be led away. He was not surprised to see Leaming frowning after the two ladies.

“Perhaps you’d do better to leave off your attention to Miss Winifred, Leaming,” Lucien said, infusing a tone of warming in his voice. “She is clearly made uncomfortable by it. And I do so dislike to see her made unhappy.”

“Perhaps you’d do better to mind your own affairs, Sir Lucien,” the younger man said, his dark eyes narrowing with animus. “Unless the little governess is under your protection, of course. But I have a feeling she hasn’t changed
that
much since I”—he paused with a knowing leer—“knew … her.”

There was no mistaking the meaning of the viscount’s words. And if Lucien were thinking only of his own wishes, he’d have called out the bastard right then and there. But he knew that a duel would ruin Winifred’s reputation, as well as her sister’s. And he had no wish to put her in such a position.

That did not mean, however, that he would let Leaming get away with his ugly remark. “The lady is a friend,” he said, a hint of steel in his words. “And I protect my friends from those who wish them harm.”

“And you believe I wish her harm, sir?” Leaming asked in a falsely surprised tone, though his eyes were bright with malice. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

But, obviously weary of their discussion of another lady, Mrs. Cowper slipped an arm through Leaming’s, forestalling Lucien’s reply. “Do come with me, Lord Leaming,” she said silkily. “I think I can find some subject for conversation much more interesting than the ‘little governess,’ as you call her.”

As he watched them walk over to where Jem was pouring snifters of brandy for the gentlemen, Lucien fumed. He was unsure what, exactly, had happened between Leaming and Winifred, but he knew it had frightened her. And he’d be damned if he’d let the other man toy with her like a cat with a mouse while he was there to put a stop to it.

Chapter Five

After a brief respite, during which Winnie was pleasantly surprised to find herself the subject of much praise, the next of the ladies to perform was the unfortunate Miss Green. Unfortunate because it was clear from the start that she herself was reluctant to do so, but had been bullied into it by her mother.

“For I know that everyone here would be thoroughly disappointed to miss the treat of hearing you play, my dear,” Mrs. Green said, all but carrying her daughter to the seat before the pianoforte. “Indeed, it would be cruel of you to deprive them of it, dearest.”

How a mother could press her daughter so cruelly when it was obvious to everyone that Miss Green would rather not perform was entirely beyond Winnie’s ken. She’d known many such overbearing parents in her career as a governess, of course, but she’d always found them to be more concerned for themselves than in the well-being of their children. Mrs. Green was certainly no exception. But it was clear from the angry glances she’d been sending not only Winnie’s way but also Miss Hawthorne’s, that Mrs. Green had seen their triumphs as a personal slight and felt the need to assure everyone assembled that her daughter was equally as talented as a mere governess and a shy girl with a stutter.

When Miss Green began to play, however, it became quite clear that she had been reluctant to play for a very good reason. It wasn’t that her playing was bad, exactly. It was that she played with technical precision but little passion. There was nothing to elevate her performance above Miss Hawthorne’s. Indeed, by comparison, Miss Green seemed a rank amateur. And Winnie felt a pang of sympathy on her behalf.

Once she had, thankfully, finished, the room clapped politely, but there was nothing like the enthusiasm they’d shown either Miss Hawthorne or Winnie.

Even so, Winnie was sure to make her way to Miss Green’s side and tell her how much she’d enjoyed her performance. “I can tell from your playing that you’ve spent many a long hour practicing, Miss Green. It is rare I’m privileged to see such skill.”

Blushing, the girl said, “Thank you, Miss Winifred. That is quite a compliment coming from you. Both you and your sister are very talented.”

Before Winnie could reply, however, Mrs. Green rushed forward and ushered her daughter away, as if afraid she would catch some communicable disease.

With a shrug, Winnie moved to her sister’s side, where she was pleased to find Cordelia speaking with Mr. Beesley.

“You both did very well,” he said as Winnie approached. “I do not think I’ve heard anything lovelier than the Nightingale sisters in performance.”

To Winnie’s amusement Cordelia blushed. She wished fervently that there was some way of thwarting the unpleasant Mrs. Green. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that Cordy and Mr. Beesley belonged with one another.

She was still mulling over the problem when she let herself into her bedchamber some half hour later.

Smiling, she saw that Mary, the maid she shared with Cordelia, was there.

“Good evening, Miss Winifred,” she said with a brisk curtsy. “I took your wine-stained gown to the laundry while you were downstairs.”

Relaxing to be away from the others at last, Winnie stepped out of her slippers and placed them in the wardrobe, causing Mary to chide her. “Miss, you are supposed to let me do that.”

“I am sorry, Mary,” Winnie said wryly. “You must know I’m not used to having someone to do for me.”

“Well, it’s what I’m here for,” the maid fussed, turning Winnie so that she could unfasten her gown. “Otherwise I’ve nothing to do but stand about twiddling me thumbs. For your sister is nearly as bad as you are.”

“Poor Mary,” Winnie said with real remorse. “I suppose you’ve experienced some grief at being assigned to two such ignominious ladies as the Nightingale sisters.”

When the maid did not immediately respond, Winnie stepped out of her gown and saw that her mouth was tight. “You have,” she said, aghast. “I am so sorry, Mary.”

But the maid shook her head. “It’s not that, Miss Winifred,” she said, looking up to reveal a troubled expression on her solemn face. “It’s just I’ve been trying to reckon how to tell you something this whole time you’ve been downstairs.”

A frisson of alarm danced over Winnie’s spine. “I think plain speaking is best in such matters. Don’t you?” Whatever the girl had heard, it was unpleasant, Winnie knew that for sure.

Mary’s words simply confirmed her suspicion. “I found more than your stained gown when I came up earlier, miss,” she said almost apologetically. “It was written in powder on your dressing table.”

“Where?” Winnie asked, glancing in the direction of the mahogany table, then hurrying over to look at it herself. Sure enough, someone had spilled a liberal coat of face powder on the dark wood surface. And written with a fingertip in the lavender-scented cosmetic were the words, “Go home, sluts!”

Despite herself, Winnie gasped. Giving in to impulse, she dashed her hand over the powder, effectively erasing the hateful message while sending a cloud of dry mist into the air.

“I’m that sorry, Miss,” Mary said. “I don’t know who would do such a wicked thing. For I know your sister from the village, and she’s the sweetest, most genteel lady I know. And though I don’t know you as well, I do know that you’re not … well, not what them words said.”

The maid’s loyalty brought tears to Winnie’s eyes, but it was the very real fear pounding through her that truly overset her.

“Thank you, Mary,” she said, trying to sound calmer than she felt. “I am grateful for that.”

“Who could have done it, Miss?” Mary asked, her brow furrowed with worry. “For I don’t mind telling you I’d not hesitate to tell the Lord and Lady Hurst about it. They deserve to know if one of their guests is going about threatening other guests.”

“Oh, no!” Winnie said, hurriedly, thinking of the humiliation that would cause her sister. Even if the threats were false, making them public would give rise to the sort of speculation every lady wished to avoid. “Please don’t disturb the Hursts with this news, I beg you. This is likely nothing more than a childish prank by one of the other ladies.”

Or one of the gentlemen with a grudge to settle
, she realized with a gasp. At the idea of Leaming in her bedchamber, a chill that had nothing to do with the winter temperature ran through her.

“Not a funny sort of joke, though, is it?” Mary asked, her sharp gaze on Winnie’s trembling hands.

“No,” Winnie agreed, infusing steel into her spine. If she couldn’t fool Mary into thinking there was nothing wrong, how on earth would she convince the others? Her face once more wearing a mask of calm, she continued, “Which is why we should ignore it. After all, if we give it any attention, then the miscreant will get what he or she wants. They wished to embarrass my sister and me. And I do not mean to let them.”

The other woman frowned, her expression troubled.

“If you’re sure,” Mary said, still not sounding convinced.

“I am,” Winnie assured her, with a brisk nod. “So I’ll ask that you tell no one about this. Especially not my sister. I should hate for her visit to be ruined by such nonsense.”

With a slight shrug, Mary set about helping Winnie prepare for bed. They didn’t speak again of the incident, but it hung in the air between them, like the remains of the powder that had conveyed the threat.

When she was gone, Winnie got up and went to the door to make sure the key was there. Turning it in the lock, she carried it back to bed with her, slipping it beneath her pillow before extinguishing the light and pulling the covers tightly around her.

Now more than ever she would need to have a word with Sir Lucien, she decided, slipping her hand reassuringly under her pillow to clutch the key. In addition to Leaming, she now had a threat to contend with.

Sleep was long in coming that night.

***

Lucien was putting the finishing touches on his cravat the next morning when a knock sounded on his bedchamber door. Curious, he followed his valet to the door and was surprised to see Winnie on the other side.

“I was wondering if I might have a word with Sir Lucien,” she told his valet.

“I am here, Miss Winifred,” he said, stepping forward. Noting her troubled expression, he added, “Let us find somewhere we may speak freely.”

Offering her his arm, he led her to his cousin’s study, which was deserted at this early hour. Closing the door behind them he gestured to a chair, but Winnie shook her head, apparently too overset to relax.

“What is it, my dear girl?” he asked, taking her hands in his only to realize they were trembling. “Has something happened?”

To his shock, her eyes brightened with tears. But, true to form, she took a deep breath and blinked them back. Unwilling to show weakness before him, he guessed as she pulled her hands away.

Once she’d regained her composure, she said, “Something
has
happened, Sir Lucien. And I should like to ask for your help.”

“Anything,” he said, meaning it. Standing before her he realized there was very little she could ask of him that he would not try to make happen. It wasn’t surprising or overwhelming. It simply was. “Say the word and I will do whatever is in my power to assist you.”

“You are more kind than I deserve, sir,” she said with feeling. “You cannot know what it means to me to know you are so willing to come to my aid.”

“It is nothing more than I would afford any of my friends,” he replied sincerely. “And we are friends, are we not?”

“We are,” she said, her expression softening. “Which is why I came to you.”

“I suppose you must have noticed Lord Leaming’s arrival last night,” she continued. “And perhaps my reaction to it.”

“I did,” he said, fearing the worst. “What has he done to upset you?”

Already every muscle in his body was flexed in preparation to fight. In his mind, he’d already thrown the first punch.

“Nothing now,” she assured him, her voice breaking through his battle preparations. “And I should like to keep it that way.”

“Something in the past then,” he said, fearing that he was not going to like this story. “You may rest assured that I will keep your secret.”

She crossed to take a seat on a small sofa. “I know that. It is why I’ve chosen to come to you.”

Briefly, she explained what Lord Leaming had attempted all those years ago. “I had hoped that he’d forgotten the matter altogether,” she continued, “but his words last night assured me that he has not.”

“I’ll have a word with Hurst,” Lucien assured her, fighting the urge to stride from the room that very minute and shake Leaming until his teeth rattled. He’d guessed that there was some history between the young man and Winnie, but it was one thing to guess and another to have it confirmed. Men who preyed on women as Leaming did deserved to be shunned from society. “He will be gone from the house within the hour.”

But Winnie shook her head. “No, Sir Lucien, you are not thinking clearly. It will reflect poorly on me if the truth becomes known. Besides, there is no way Lord Hurst can remove Leaming without causing the worst sort of talk. And there is also the matter of Lord Leaming’s broken carriage to consider.”

“Who gives a damn about his carriage,” Lucien said hotly. “He can bloody well freeze to death for all I care.”

“But what of my reputation?” Winnie pressed. “I cannot afford to have my good name tarnished. It would make it impossible for my sister to keep her position. To say nothing of my own.”

Realizing that she spoke sense, Lucien forced himself to calm down. Of course she was right. Fair or not, it was more often the ladies in these situations who bore the brunt of the social pain. And as a governess, Winnie needed her reputation more than most.

“What then?” he demanded, frustrated, and wanting to make things right somehow. “What can I do to help?”