Season's Regency Greetings Page 9

  She giggled. “Your brother and sister-in-law will probably have a fit when you tell them this afternoon.”

  He laughed and pulled her onto his lap. “There you are wrong. They’ll be so relieved to find a lady in my life that they won’t even squeak!”

  She tightened her arm around his neck as the fears returned momentarily. “I hope they are not disappointed.”

  “No one will be disappointed about this except Miss Deprave. Trust me, Cecilia.”

  “Trust a barrister?” she teased, putting her hands on both sides of his face and kissing him.

  “Yes, indeed.” His expression was serious then. “Trust me. I trusted you when I told you about Jimmy that second night.” He took her hand. “I looked at your lovely face, and some intuition told me I could say something finally.” He shook his head.

  She knew she did not know him well yet, but she could tell he wanted to say something more. “What is it?” she prodded him. “I hardly think, at this point, that there is anything you might be embarrassed to tell me.”

  He looked at the closed door, then pulled her onto his lap. She sighed and felt completely at home there.

  “Before I left London, I made a wish on a star. Is that beyond absurd?”

  Resting there with her head against his chest and listening to the regular beating of his heart, she considered the matter. “Teachers are interested in results, dear sir, not absurdities. Did it come true?”

  “Oh, my, in spades.”

  She went to kiss his cheek, but he turned his head and she found his lips instead. “Then I would say your wish came true,” she murmured, once she could speak again.

  He smiled. “I’m a skeptic still, but I like it.”

  “I like it, too,” she admitted.

  “D’ye think you’ll still like it thirty or forty years from now?” he asked.

  “Only if you’re with me.” She kissed him again. “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  * * *

  No Room at the Inn

  “Mama, are we there yet?”

  Mary McIntyre smiled, and added another entry to her growing list of what was going to make the single life so comfortable.

  “I told you less than fifteen minutes ago that the snow is slowing our progress.”

  Mary glanced at Agatha Shepard, her seat companion, who was doing her best not to glare at her offspring. I understand totally, Mary thought. She was no more inclined than a child to enjoy creeping along at a snail’s pace, through a rapidly developing storm.

  She had left Coventry two days earlier, joining the travel of Thomas and Agatha Shepard and their two children from London, who were to spend Christmas in York with Agatha’s parents. The elder Shepards—he was a solicitor with Hailey and Tighe—already appeared somewhat tight around the lips when they stopped at her parents’ estate. In a whispered aside, Agatha said that Thomas had not made the trip any easier with his deep sighs each time the children insisted upon acting their age.

  Mary understood perfectly; she had known Thomas for years. What was it that his younger brother Joe told her once? “If people could select their relatives, Thomas would be an orphan.”

  As much as she liked Agatha, Mary never would have chosen the Shepards’ company for anything of greater length than an afternoon’s tour of Coventry’s wonderful cathedral. The fates had intervened, and dictated that she be on her way to Yorkshire. Two weeks ago, her station in life had changed drastically enough to amuse even the most hardened Greek god devoted to the workings of fate.

  She wished she could pace around the confining carriage and contemplate the folly of an impulsive gesture, but such exercise would have to wait. Tommy and Clarice quarreled with each other, their invective having reached the dreary stages of “Did not! Did, too!” My head aches, she thought.

  They should have stopped for the night in Leeds, even though they had scarcely passed the noon hour. Agatha’s timid “Thomas, dear, don’t you think …” had been quelled by a fierce glance from her lord and master.

  “My dear Agatha, I pay our coachman an outrageous sum to be highly proficient,” he said. He glared around the carriage, his eyes resting finally on his squabbling olive branches. “Agatha, can you not do something about your children?” he asked, before returning to the legal brief in his lap.

  We could dangle you outside the carriage until you turn blue, Mary thought. “Thomas, don’t you think it odd that we have not observed a single wheeled vehicle coming from the other direction in quite some time?” It’s worth a try, she thought. Let us see if I have any credit left with the family solicitor.

  She discovered, to her chagrin, that she did not. Not even bothering to reply, the family solicitor stared at her. She sat back in embarrassment.

  I suppose it is good to know where one stands in the greater scheme of events, she told herself later, when she felt like philosophizing. There was a time, Thomas Shepard, when you would have been nodding and bobbing at my least pronouncement, she thought. You would have at least considered my request to stop, and there would have been no withering looks. I think I liked you better when you were obsequious. And that is a sad reflection upon me, she decided.

  She thought about Colonel Sir Harold Fox, Chief of Commissary Supply, currently serving occupation duty in Belgium. His last letter to her had indicated a season of celebration, now that the Monster was on his way to a seaside location somewhere apart from shipping lanes in the South Atlantic. “My dear, you dance divinely,” he had written. “I wish you were here, as we endure no end of balls and routs.”

  I doubt you wish that now, she told herself. When her father—no, Lord Davy—broke the news to her, she had calmly retreated upstairs and wrote to Sir Harry. He had made her no declaration, but in his last letter, he had hinted broadly that he would be asking her a significant question during his visit home at Christmas. It seemed only fair to alert him that he might not wish to make her an offer.

  She sighed, then hoped that Agatha was engaged with her children, and not paying attention. Should I be angry at life’s unfairness? she asked herself, then shook her head. Here she sat, fur-lined cloak around her, in a comfortable coach, going to spend Christmas with …. She faltered. With a grandmother I do not even know, who lives on a farm, God help me.

  They continued another two hours beyond Leeds, with the coachman stopping again and again for no reason that Mary could discern beyond trying to see if he was still on the highway. She knew Agatha was alarmed; even the children were silent, sitting close together now.

  Another stop, and then a knock on the carriage door. Thomas pulled his overcoat up around his ears and left the vehicle to stand on the roadway with the coachman, their backs to the carriage. Young Tommy looked at Mary. “I have a pocketful of raisins, and Clarice has a muffin she didn’t eat from breakfast this morning,” he told her seriously.

  Mary reached over to touch his cheek. “I think you are wonderful children,” she told him. “How relieved I am to know that because of your providence, we won’t starve.” He smiled back, at ease now.

  Thomas the elder climbed back in the carriage a few minutes later, bringing with him a gust of snow. He took a deep breath. “The coachman advises me that we must seek shelter,” he said. “Thank God we are near Edgerly. If the inn there is already full, we will be forced to throw ourselves on my brother’s mercy.”

  Tommy clapped his hands. “Clarice, did you hear that? Uncle Joe!”

  “I didn’t know Joe lived around here,” Mary said.

  A long silence followed. When Thomas finally spoke, there was an added formality to his careful choosing of words. “He purchased what I can only, with charity, describe as a real bargain, Miss McIntyre. I tried to make him reconsider, but Joe has ever been stubborn and inconsiderate of the needs of others.”

  And you are not? she thought.

  The discussion animated Agatha. “Oh, my dear, it is a wreck!” she confided. “A monstrosity! He bought it for practically pence fro
m a really vulgar mill owner who thought to retire there.” She giggled, their plight momentarily forgotten. “I believe the man died of apoplexy after taking possession of the place. Thomas thinks the shock carried him away. The place was too much, even for him!”

  A smile played around Thomas’s lips. “I told him he’d regret the purchase.” He shrugged. “That was four years ago. We haven’t heard much from Joe since.”

  She tried to remember Joseph Shepard, the second son of her father’s—no, Lord Davy’s—estate steward, which wasn’t difficult. She couldn’t help smiling at the memory of a tall, handsome man who spent a lot of time in the fields, who was cheerful to a fault, and who seemed not to mind when both she and her little sister Sara fell in love with him. Edgar followed him everywhere, and there was never a cross word. Of course, he was a family servant, she reminded herself. He must be nearly thirty-three or so now, she thought.

  The inn at Edgerly proved to be suffering from the same problem experienced many Christmases ago. The innkeeper came out to their carriage to say that he had no room for anyone more. “Of course, you could sit in the taproom,” he suggested.

  “We would never do that,” Thomas snapped.

  I wish your father could hear you now, Mary thought, and felt no regret at her own small-mindedness. Funny, but if my choice was for my family to freeze in a carriage, or sit among less renowned folk in a taproom, I would choose the taproom. She smiled. Perhaps I am better suited to the common life.

  “Well, then,” said the innkeeper. “I won’t keep you from … uh … whatever it is you think you can do now.”

  “One thing more,” Thomas said. Mary felt her toes curl at his imperious tone. “Are you acquainted with Joseph Shepard?”

  “We all know Joe! Are you a friend of his?”

  “I am his brother.”

  “Who would have thought it?” the keep said. “Planning to drop in on him now?”

  Thomas glared at him. “My arrangements are my business. Give me directions.”

  The innkeeper looked inside the carriage, and Mary realized exactly what he was thinking. She had no doubt that if Tom had been unaccompanied, he would have been given directions that would ultimately have landed him somewhere north of St. Petersburg. Mary couldn’t resist a smile at the keep, and was rewarded with a wink.

  Practically feeling his way like a blind man, the coachman finally stopped before a large house, just as the winter night settled in. The carriage shifted slightly as the coachman left his box and walked around to the door. Thomas stepped down after the coachman dropped the steps. “Agatha, I predict that Joe will open the door. He has probably sent his servants home during the Christmas season. Providing he has any to send home!”

  The Shepards chuckled as Mary watched thoughtfully. “I suppose you have retained your regular household in London this week, even though you are not there?” she asked, hoping that the question sounded innocent.

  “Of course!” Agatha exclaimed. “The housekeeper will release them for a half day on Christmas. Only think what an excellent time this is for them to clean and scrub.”

  “Of course,” Mary murmured. “Whatever was I thinking?”

  The house was close to the gate. Peering through the darkness, Mary could discern no vulgar gargoyles or statues. It appeared to be of ordinary brick, with a magnificent cornice over the door, which even now was opening.

  “It is Joe himself,” Agatha said. “There is probably not a servant on the place.”

  The carriage door opened, and Joseph Shepard looked around at them, his eyes bright with merriment. “Can it be? Lord bless me, do I see Tommy the Stalwart, and Clarice the Candid? Welcome to Edgerly, my dears.”

  It felt like a rescue, especially when he held out his arms and his niece and nephew practically leaped into them. Agatha’s feeble effort at control—“Children, have you no manners?”—dissolved quickly when he beamed at her, too. “Oh, Joe, thank goodness you’re here! I do not know what we would have done.”

  He only smiled, and then looked at her. “Lady Mary? What a pleasure.”

  His arms were full of children so he could not help her down. Instead of retreating to the house with his burden, he stood by the carriage while Thomas helped Agatha and then Mary from the vehicle. He brushed off Agatha’s apologies with a shake of his head, then led the group of them to his house. Mary still stood by the carriage as the others started up the narrow walk. The coachman closed the carriage door. “Things are always a little better when Joe is around,” he said, more to himself than to her.

  She started up the walk after the others, when Joe came toward her. He had deposited the children inside, and he hurried down the steps to assist her. She did not think she had seen him in at least eight years, when she was fifteen or so, but she would have recognized him anywhere. He bore a great resemblance to his brother; both were taller than average, but not towering, with dark hair and light eyes. There was one thing about him that she remembered quite well. She peered closer, hoping she was not being too obvious, to see if that great quality remained. To her delight, it did, and she smiled at him and spoke without thinking. “I was hoping you had not lost that trick of smiling with your eyes,” she said, and held out her hand.

  “It’s no trick, Lady Mary,” he replied, and he shook her hand. “It just happens miraculously, especially when I see a lovely lady. Welcome to my house.”

  He ushered her in and took her cloak. She looked around in appreciation, and not a little curiosity. He must have noticed the look, because he glanced at Thomas and his family toward the other end of the spacious hallway. “Did Thomas tell you I was living in a vulgar barn I bought for ten pence to the pound from a bankrupt mill owner?”

  She nodded, shy then.

  “All true,” he told her. “I wonder why it is he seems faintly disappointed that the scandalous statues and the red wallpaper are gone?” He touched her arm. “Perhaps he will be less disappointed if I tell him that the restoration is only half complete, and he will be quite inconvenienced in the unfinished bedchambers. Do you think he will prefer the jade green wallpaper, or the room where Joshua and I have already stripped the paper?”

  She laughed, in spite of herself. “Joshua?” she asked.

  “My son. I believe he is belowstairs helping our scullery maid, Abby, cook the sausages.” Joe looked at his brother. “Thomas, I trust you have not eaten yet?”

  “And where would that have happened?” Thomas asked in irritation. “Even the most miserable inn from Leeds on is full of travelers! Surely you have something less plebian than sausages, brother,” Tom continued.

  “We were going to cook eggs, too,” Joe offered, with no evident apology.

  “And toast,” Thomas said with sarcasm. Her face red, Agatha tugged at his arm.

  “Certainly. What else?”

  “Brother, did you dismiss your staff?”

  “I did, for a fact,” Joe stated. “My housekeeper has a sister in Waverly, and she enjoys her company around the holiday. Ditto for my cook, of course. The two maids—they are sisters—informed me that their older brother is home from the war. I couldn’t turn them down.”

  “I call it amazingly thoughtless of you!”

  Mary stared at Thomas and curled her hand into a fist. Surprised at herself, she looked down, then hoped that no one had noticed. She was almost afraid to look at the brothers. The angry words seemed to hang in the air between them. “Thomas, I am certain your brother had no any idea that we were all going to descend on him,” she said.

  Thomas turned to glare at her. “Miss McIntyre, this is a matter between me and my brother,” he snapped. “I’ll thank you to stay out of it.”

  Joseph Shepard spoke quickly. “Thomas, have some charity. It’s Christmas.” He smiled at Mary. “Lady Mary, if you don’t mind what I am certain amounts to delving deeper into low company than you ever intended, you might want to help Joshua belowstairs. I know that you are a game goer, and we need more sausages.” He gestured
down the hall. “It’s through that door. I’ll sort out some sleeping arrangements.”

  “Certainly,” she said, grateful to flee the scene.

  The servants’ hall was empty, so she followed her nose into the kitchen, where two children stood by a modern Rumford stove. The little boy with the apron about his middle who poked at sausages sizzling in the pan was obviously Joshua. The young girl who cracked eggs into a bowl must be Abby. She felt their scrutiny, but also felt it was unencumbered by the tension that was so heavy upstairs.

  “Hello, my dears,” she said. “My name is Mary McIntyre. I think I’m going to be a Christmas guest. Joshua, your uncle Thomas and his family are upstairs. Your father says there will be a few more people for dinner.”

  “Good,” he replied. “We like company.” He smiled at her. It was Joe Shepard’s slow smile, but without any other resemblance to the originator of it. As the boy put more sausages in the pan, she wished his uncle Thomas could have appeared belowstairs to witness real courtesy.

  Mary rolled up her sleeves and placed herself at the service of the scullery maid, who shyly asked for more eggs, and showed her how to crack them. When she admired the way Abby whisked the eggs around in the bowl and told her so, the child blushed and ducked her head. “She’s a little shy, Miss McIntyre,” Joshua said.

  Joe Shepard came downstairs when the next batch of sausages was cooking. He helped Abby pour the eggs into a pan. “You see what good hands I am in, Miss McIntyre,” he said, “even if my own brother thinks I am a barbarian without redemption.” He leaned against the table. “I think I offended Agatha’s maid.”

  “Never a difficult task,” Mary murmured. “Did you dare suggest that if she wanted a can of hot water that she come belowstairs to get it?”

  “How did you know?” he asked. “She insists that the ’tween stairs maid bring it up to her.” He looked at his son. “Josh, do we need a ’tween stairs maid?”