The Christmas Wager (2 page)

lay beyond that, and some distance to the south, Andrew could

see the small village named for the hall.

As the carriage drove up to the wrought-iron gate, and the

coachman conversed with the gatekeeper, Andrew roused his

friend.

―Welcome home, Lord Barrington,‖ he said cheerfully.

Thomas rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and peered

bleary-eyed through the carriage window. ―Let‘s hope Mother

doesn‘t allow Father to keep his hunting rifles in the house.‖

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Jamie Fessenden

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Chapter 2

WHEN the carriage pulled up in front of the stone steps that

led up to the massive columns of Barrington Hall‘s façade, a

little girl in a bright blue dress and a heavy wool overcoat came

hopping down the steps alongside the servants. Thomas didn‘t

recognize her, but then she appeared to be only about four

years old. Presumably, she was the niece his mother had

written about.

What was her name? Susan. That was it.

Andrew allowed him to step out of the carriage first, and

the little girl was upon him the moment his feet touched the

ground. She was a pretty little thing, with wide eyes and lovely

red hair swept back with a blue ribbon. Now that he could see

her clearly, the resemblance to her mother was obvious.

But she regarded him with a rather serious expression for

one so young.

―Are you Susan?‖ he asked when the girl seemed

disinclined to speak first.

She nodded, reaching a hand up to take the butler‘s hand.

―She‘s a bit shy, my lord,‖ Simcox said, smiling fondly at

her. Then he turned his smile upon Thomas. ―It‘s good to have

you back, sir! I‘m afraid I wasn‘t informed of your coming, so

your room hasn‘t yet been prepared. But we‘ll soon see to it.‖

―Thank you, Simcox.‖ Thomas stepped aside to allow

Andrew to climb down from the carriage. ―My friend, Mr. Nash,

will also be staying with us.‖

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―Very good, sir.‖

Thomas leaned down to smile at Susan in a way that he

hoped was unthreatening. He hadn‘t the faintest idea how to

behave with children. ―Hello, Susan. I‘m your Uncle Thomas.‖

―Hello,‖ she replied politely, though she still regarded him

warily.

―Has your father ever mentioned me?‖

She shook her head.

That couldn‘t be a good sign, Thomas thought. Had his

very name become a dirty word at Barrington?

He was further disconcerted when they entered the great

hall. At this time of year, six years ago, Barrington Hall would

have been festooned with sweet scented spruce and balsam,

and ribbons in crimson and gold. Now, with Christmas less

than a week away, there wasn‘t a trace of holiday decoration.

Not a single bough of evergreen nor sprig of holly. Worse, the

two large mantels on either side of the hall were draped with

black cloth, one also sporting a portrait of the late Lady Anne

Barrington. Admittedly, she‘d been a very beautiful woman,

with flaming red hair like her daughter‘s. But the overall effect

was positively dreary. Was this to be the best he could offer

Andrew for a country Christmas celebration?

Simcox relieved them of their coats. Thomas was about to

ask the butler about the evident lack of holiday cheer in the

hall when the door to the parlor opened and Duchess

Barrington—his mother—appeared.

Now in her late forties and a grandmother, Duchess

Barrington was still a strikingly beautiful woman, her deep

chestnut hair seemingly untouched by age and drawn back in

fashionable braids, and her figure still trim in a white house

dress with blue lace. Thomas suppressed an urge to rush to

her and take her into his arms, not knowing what his reception

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would be. But he needn‘t have worried. Duchess Barrington‘s

face lit up at the sight of her son, and she came forward to

greet him warmly.

―Thomas! I didn‘t believe it, when they told me you‘d

come.‖

She hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. ―College has

been good to you, I see. You‘ve grown even more handsome!‖

―Mother,‖ Thomas said, blushing slightly, ―I‘d like to

introduce Mr. Andrew Nash. He‘s a dear friend from London.‖

She took Andrew‘s hand and said, ―I‘m pleased to meet

you, Mr. Nash.‖

―The pleasure is all mine, Duchess Barrington.‖

Thomas could see Andrew glancing around at the barren

hall and he couldn‘t resist saying, ―Mother, I‘ve brought

Andrew for Christmas….‖

His voice trailed off, but Duchess Barrington knew

perfectly well what he was getting at. She patted her

granddaughter on the head and said, ―Susan, why don‘t you go

up to the nursery? Katie will have your dinner ready soon.‖

―Yes, Grandmother.‖

The little girl gave Thomas one last cautious look, and

then ran up the broad staircase that led from the great hall to

the second floor. Duchess Barrington smiled at both young

men and said, ―Let us retire to the parlor, shall we? Simcox?

Would you kindly ask Charlotte to bring us some tea? Thank

you.‖

Then, with the air of one accustomed to being in charge of

her domain, the woman returned to the parlor, leaving her son

and Andrew to follow. Thomas caught Andrew smiling at him,

his eyes twinkling. As it sometimes did, the beauty of that

smile caught Thomas unawares, making him glance away

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quickly. He was fairly certain most men did not have to fight an

occasional desire to kiss their male friends on the mouth. It

disturbed him, but as always, he pushed it out of his mind.

Still, he couldn‘t resist touching Andrew lightly on the

back to guide him into the parlor. It was an affectionate

gesture, but not unseemly. Or so Thomas thought. Andrew

quickly stepped forward to break the contact, which left

Thomas wondering if he had done something inappropriate,

after all.

At any rate, Andrew appeared to have taken a liking to his

mother, which pleased him.

The parlor was just as Thomas remembered it—tastefully

done in blue and gray, with a burgundy Persian carpet to add

color. The mantel over the fireplace held an assortment of

porcelain figurines—children and animals, mostly—that the

servants had always grumbled about having to clean so often,

in order to keep them free of smoke and soot. The room was

unusually small, compared to other rooms in Barrington Hall,

but his mother had always liked it because it felt cozy to her.

Not until Duchess Barrington was settled in her chair by

the fire, and the maid had come to bring them their tea, did

she address her son‘s question. ―As you must know, Thomas,

from the letters I‘ve sent, Anne passed away three years ago,

from scarlet fever.‖

―Yes, I received the letter.‖

He could tell from the look she gave him that his failure to

respond to the letter—or indeed, to any of her letters, over the

years—irked her, but she diverted her gaze to Andrew. ―Anne

was Susan‘s mother, and the wife of Thomas‘s older brother,

Edward.‖

―My condolences, Duchess Barrington.‖

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―Thank you,‖ the woman replied graciously. ―Well, of

course Edward was devastated. It happened just before

Christmas, and he refused to celebrate the holidays at all.

―Your father and I,‖ she added, looking pointedly at

Thomas, ―respected his wishes, of course.‖

―Of course,‖ Thomas responded. ―But that was three years

ago, Mother.‖

Duchess Barrington sighed wistfully and took a sip of her

tea. ―Yes. I quite agree that Edward has been dwelling on this

tragedy for far too long. It cannot be healthy for him. Nor for

Susan. But he won‘t listen to me, and your father has little

concern these days for anything other than those wretched

dogs.‖

Dogs?
Thomas decided to let that one go, for now. He stood

from his place on the settee beside Andrew and began pacing, a

dangerous thing to do in the close quarters of the sitting room.

―Mother, this is really intolerable. I promised Andrew that I

would show him a real Barrington Hall Christmas, and what do

I find? No decorations, no tree, I can only presume there are no

plans for a ball—‖

―No, dear.‖

Thomas was gesticulating wildly now, as he often did when

he was frustrated, ―Why, there isn‘t even any snow!‖

His mother clucked at him. ―Thomas, you can hardly

blame us for lack of snow.‖

―It‘s all right, Thomas,‖ Andrew said, attempting, no doubt,

to head off one of Thomas‘s infamous rants. But he was hiding

a smile. He always seemed to find some kind of perverse

amusement in Thomas‘s overzealousness. ―Really. I‘m quite

sympathetic to your brother‘s circumstances.‖

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―Well, I‘m not,‖ Thomas stated firmly. ―Never mind how

any of us feel about it, he has a little girl to look out for!‖

―I hardly think you‘re in a position to give your brother

advice on childrearing,‖ Duchess Barrington said.

This brought Thomas up short. It was true, he knew very

little about children. And this particular child had lived her

entire life without his benefit. He hadn‘t even been to Lady

Anne‘s funeral.

But it was Christmas, dash it! And here was a four-year-

old girl trapped in a cavernous old hall without a single holly

berry to brighten its cheerless corridors. Surely she deserved a

champion?

―Regardless, Mother,‖ Thomas said, calming himself, ―I feel

I should have a word with Edward. The girl deserves to have

some fun over the holidays.‖

His mother sighed and put her tea cup down on its

delicate china saucer. ―If you wanted to speak with Edward,

you would have done better to stay in London. He‘s there

attending to some business for a few days.‖

Thomas felt his frustration mounting. He really had no say

over anything at the hall anymore. He could hardly take it into

his own hands to start decorating without getting Edward‘s

permission.

While he was mulling this over, he was dimly aware of a

commotion in the outer hall, an odd sound like hundreds of

tiny pebbles clicking against the stone floor.

―Really, Thomas,‖ Duchess Barrington said, ―you have far

more to worry about than Christmas, I think. Your father, for

one thing.‖

Thomas was almost knocked over by a large hound darting

between his legs and into the room, the animal‘s toenails

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clicking against the floor until its muddy paws reached the

Persian carpet.

His mother was horrified. She stood, attempting to shoo

the dog away from the tea and cakes with her handkerchief.

―Get out of here, you filthy brute!‖

But it was no use. Two more dogs shoved their way past

Thomas, and one jumped up on the settee, placing its giant

paws in Andrew‘s lap and sending the tea cup Andrew had

been drinking from flying out of his hand. The cup shattered

against the table.

―What are you doing here?‖ The voice that came from

behind Thomas was a furious growl.

Thomas turned reluctantly to face his father, the Duke of

Barrington. He‘d grown a bit heavier since Thomas had last

seen him, but otherwise he looked fit. Apart from the fact that

his face was red with anger. He was holding one of the hounds

by the collar, restraining the beast from joining its brothers in

the parlor, as he glared at his prodigal son.

―I thought we were well shut of you!‖

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Chapter 3

ANDREW liked dogs. But three was a bit much for a room this

size, and the one in his lap was threatening to tear his best

breeches. He managed to push the large hunting hound off the

settee, but that merely caused the dog to bump against the

table and rattle the china tea service.

―Henry!‖ Duchess Barrington snapped at her husband.

―Get these beasts out of my parlor, at once!‖

The duke whistled loudly, and the dogs nearly knocked