A Wallflower Christmas (12 page)

“I think,” Lillian continued as Hunt walked quietly up behind Annabelle, “the tree is perfect. And I think
someone
had very good timing in arriving so late that he didn't have to decorate even one bloody branch of it.”

“Who?” Annabelle asked, and started a little as Simon Hunt put his hands lightly over her eyes. Smiling, he bent to murmur something private into her ear.

Color swept over the portion of Annabelle's face that was still exposed. Realizing who was behind her, she reached up to pull his hands down to her lips, and she kissed each of his palms in turn. Wordlessly she turned in his arms, laying her head against his chest.

Hunt gathered her close. “I'm still covered in travel dust,” he said gruffly. “But I couldn't wait another damned second to see you.”

Annabelle nodded, her arms clutching around his neck. The moment was so spontaneously tender and passionate that it cast a vaguely embarrassed silence through the room.

After kissing the top of his wife's head, Hunt looked up with a smile and extended his hand to Westcliff. “It's good to be here at last,” he said. “Too much to be done in London—I left with a mountain of things unfinished.”

“Your presence has been sorely missed,” the earl said, shaking his hand firmly.

Still holding Annabelle with one arm, Hunt greeted the rest of them cordially.

“St. Vincent is still away?” Hunt asked Evie, and she nodded. “Any word on the duke's health?”

“I'm af-fraid not.”

Hunt looked sympathetic. “I'm sure St. Vincent will be here soon.”

“And you're among friends who love you,” Lillian added, putting her arm around Evie's shoulders.

“And there is v-very good wine,” Evie said with a smile.

“Will you have a glass, Hunt?” Westcliff asked, indicating the tray on a nearby table.

“Thank you, but no,” Hunt said affably, pulling Annabelle's arm through his. “If you'll pardon us, I have a few things to discuss with my wife.” And without waiting for an answer, he dragged Annabelle from the ballroom with a haste that left no doubt as to what would happen next.

“Yes, I'm sure they'll be chatting up a storm,” Rafe remarked, and winced as Lillian drove her elbow hard into his side.

Every common room of the manor was busy after supper. Some guests played cards, others gathered around the piano in the music room and sang, but by far the largest group had gathered in the drawing room for a game of charades. Their shouting and laughter echoed far along the hallways.

Hannah watched the charades for a while, enjoying the antics of competing teams that acted out words or phrases, while others shouted out guesses. She noticed that Rafe Bowman and Natalie were sitting together, smiling and exchanging private quips. They were an extraordinarily well-matched pair, one so dark, one so fair, both young and attractive. Glancing at them made Hannah feel positively morose.

She was relieved when the case clock in the corner showed that it was a quarter to eight. Leaving the room unobtrusively, she went into the hallway. It was such a relief to be out of the crowded drawing room, and not
to have to smile when she didn't feel like it, that she heaved a tremendous sigh and leaned against the wall with her eyes closed.

“Miss Appleton?”

Hannah's eyes flew open. It was Lillian, Lady Westcliff, who had followed her out of the room.

“It is a bit of a crush in there, isn't it?” the countess asked with friendly sympathy.

Hannah nodded. “I'm not fond of large gatherings.”

“Neither am I,” Lillian confided. “My greatest pleasure is to relax in a small group with my friends, or better yet, to be alone with my husband and daughter. You're going to the library to read to the children, aren't you?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“That's very nice of you. I heard they all enjoyed it tremendously last evening. May I walk with you to the library?”

“Yes, my lady, I would enjoy that.”

Lillian surprised her by linking arms with her, as if they were sisters or close friends. They went along the hallway at a slow pace. “Miss Appleton, I…oh, hang it, I hate these formalities. May we use first names?”

“I would be honored for you to call me by my given name, my lady. But I can't do the same. It wouldn't be proper.”

Lillian gave her a rueful glance. “All right, then. Hannah. I've wanted to talk with you all evening—there is something highly private I want to discuss with you, but it must go no further. And I probably shouldn't say anything, but I must. I won't be able to get any sleep tonight otherwise.”

Hannah was dumbfounded. Not to mention rabidly curious. “My lady?”

“That forfeit you asked of my brother today…”

Hannah paled a little. “Was that wrong of me? I'm so sorry. I would never have—”

“No. No, it's not that. You did nothing wrong at all. It's what my brother gave to you that I found so…well, surprising.”

“The toy solider?” Hannah whispered. “Why was that surprising?” She had not thought it all that unusual. Many men carried little tokens with them, such as locks of hair from loved ones, or luck charms or touch pieces such as a coin or medal.

“That soldier came from a set that Rafe had when he was a little boy. Having met my father, you won't be surprised to learn that he was quite strict with his children. At least when he was there, which thank God wasn't often. But Father has always had very unreasonable expectations of my brothers, especially Rafe, because he's the oldest. Father wanted Rafe to succeed at everything, so he was punished severely if he was ever second best. But at the same time, Father didn't want to be overshadowed, so he took every opportunity to shame or degrade Rafe when he
was
the best.”

“Oh,” Hannah said softly, filled with sympathy for the boy that Rafe had been. “Did your mother do nothing to intervene?”

Lillian made a scoffing sound. “She's always been a silly creature who cares more for parties and social status than anything else. I'm sure she expended far more thought on her gowns and jewels than she did on any of her children. So whatever Father decided, Mother was
more than willing to go along with it, as long as he kept paying the bills.”

After a moment's pause, the contempt vanished from Lillian's tone, replaced by melancholy. “We rarely ever saw Rafe. Because my father wanted him to be a serious, studious boy, he was never allowed to play with other children. He was always with tutors, studying or being taught sports and riding…but he was never allowed one moment of freedom. One of Rafe's few escapes was his set of little soldiers—he would stage battles and skirmishes with them, and while he studied, he would line them up on his desk to keep him company.” A faint smile came to her lips. “And Rafe would roam at night. Sometimes I would hear him sneaking along the hallway, and I knew he was going downstairs or outside, just for a chance to breathe freely.”

The countess paused as they neared the library. “Let's stop here for a moment—it's not quite eight, and I'm sure the children are still gathering.”

Hannah nodded wordlessly.

“One night,” Lillian continued, “Daisy was ill, and they kept her in the nursery. I had to sleep in another room in case the fever was catching. I was frightened for my sister, and I woke in the middle of the night crying. Rafe heard me and came to ask what was the matter. I told him how worried I was for Daisy, and also about a terrible nightmare I'd had. So Rafe went to his room, and came back with one of his soldiers. An infantryman. Rafe put it on the table by my bed, and told me, ‘This is the bravest and most stalwart of all my men. He'll stand guard over you during the night, and chase
off all your worries and bad dreams.'” The countess smiled absently at the memory. “And it worked.”

“How lovely,” Hannah said softly. “So that's the significance of the soldier?”

“Well, not entirely. You see…” Lillian took a deep breath, as if she found it difficult to continue. “The very next day, the tutor told Father that he believed the toy soldiers were distracting Rafe from his studies. So Father got rid of all of them. Gone forever. Rafe never shed a tear—but I saw something terrible in his eyes, as if something had been destroyed in him. I took the infantryman from my nightstand and gave it to him. The only soldier left. And I think—” She swallowed hard, and a shimmer of tears appeared in her dark brown eyes. “I think he's carried it for all these years as if it were some fragment of his heart he wanted to keep safe.”

Hannah wasn't aware of her own tears until she felt them slide down both cheeks. She wiped at them hastily, blotting them with her sleeve. Her throat hurt, and she cleared it, and when she spoke, her voice was rusty. “Why did he give it to
me
?”

The countess seemed oddly relieved, or reassured, by the signs of her emotion. “I don't know, Hannah. It's left to you to find out the significance of it. But I can tell you this: it was
not
a casual gesture.”

 

After composing herself, Hannah went into the library in something of a daze. The children were all there, seated on the floor, consuming sugar biscuits and warm milk. A smile tugged at Hannah's lips as she saw more children clustered beneath the library table as if it were a fort.

Seating herself in the large chair, she ceremoniously opened the book, but before she could read a word, a plate of biscuits was put in her lap, and a cup of milk was offered to her, and one of the girls put a paper silver crown on her head. After eating a biscuit and submitting to a minute or two of carryings-on, Hannah quieted the giggling children and began to read:

As Scrooge went on his travels with the second Spirit, and they visited the Cratchits' humble but happy home, Hannah was aware of Rafe Bowman's lean, dark form entering the room. He went to a shadowy corner and stood there, watching and listening. Hannah paused for a moment and looked back at him. She felt an anguished clutch of her heart, and a surge of ardent need, and a sense of remarkable foolishness as she sat there wearing a paper crown. She had no idea why Bowman would have come without Natalie to listen to the next part of the story. Or why merely being in the same room with him was enough to start her heart clattering like a mechanical loom.

But it had something to do with the realization that he was not the spoiled, heartless rake she had first believed him to be. Not entirely, at any rate.

And if that turned out to be true…had she any right to object to his marriage to Natalie?

 

For the next two days Hannah searched for an opportunity to return the toy soldier to Rafe Bowman, but with
the manor so busy and Christmas drawing near, privacy was in short supply. It seemed that Bowman's courtship of Natalie was running smoothly: they danced together, went walking, and he turned the pages of music for Natalie as she played the piano. Hannah tried to be unobtrusive, keeping her distance whenever possible, staying quiet when she was required to chaperone them.

It seemed that Bowman was making a concerted effort to restrain himself around Hannah, not precisely ignoring her, but not paying her any marked attention. His initial interest in her had vanished, which certainly wasn't a surprise. He had Natalie's golden beauty dangling before him, along with the certainty of power and riches if he married her.

“I do like him,” Natalie had told her privately, her blue eyes glowing with excitement. “He's very clever and amusing, and he dances divinely, and I don't think I've ever met a man who kisses half so well.”

“Mr. Bowman kissed you?” Hannah asked, fighting to keep her tone even.

“Yes.” Natalie grinned mischievously. “I practically had to corner him on the outside terrace, and he laughed and kissed me under the stars. There is no doubt he'll ask me to marry him. I wonder when and how he'll do it. I hope at night. I love getting proposals in the moonlight.”

 

Hannah helped Natalie change into a winter dress of pale blue wool, the skirts heavy and flat-pleated, the matching hooded cape trimmed with white fur. The guests were going on a massive afternoon sleigh ride, traveling across the newfallen snow to an estate in Winchester for a din
ner and skating party. “If the weather stays clear,” Natalie exclaimed, “we'll be riding home under the stars—can you imagine anything more romantic, Hannah? Are you certain you don't want to come?”

“Quite certain. I want to sit by the hearth and read my letter from Mr. Clark.” The letter had been delivered that very morning, and Hannah was eager to peruse it in private. Besides, the last thing she wanted was to watch Natalie and Rafe Bowman snuggle together under a blanket on a long cold sleigh ride.

“I wish you would join the sleighing party,” Natalie persisted. “Not only would you have fun, but you could do me the favor of keeping company with Lord Travers and diverting him. It seems that every time I'm with Mr. Bowman, Travers tries to barge in. It's dreadfully annoying.”

“I thought you liked Lord Travers.”

“I do. But he is so reticent, it drives me mad.”

“Perhaps if you corner him, as you did Mr. Bowman—”

“I've already tried that. But Travers won't do anything. He said he
respects
me.” Scowling, Natalie had gone to join her parents and Mr. Bowman for the sleigh ride.

Once the sleighs had departed, the horses' hooves tamping down the snow and ice, bells jingling on bridles, the manor and grounds were peaceful. Hannah walked slowly through the manor, enjoying the serenity of the empty hallways. The only sounds were the distant muffled conversations of servants. No doubt they, too, were glad that the mass of guests were gone for the rest of the day and evening.

Hannah reached the library, which was empty and inviting, the air lightly pungent with the scents of vellum and leather. The fire in the hearth cast a warm glow through the room.

Seating herself in the chair by the fire, Hannah removed her shoes and drew one foot up beneath her. She took the letter from Samuel Clark from her pocket, broke the seal, and smiled at his familiar penmanship.

It was easy to picture Clark writing this letter, his face still and thoughtful, his fair hair a bit mussed as he leaned over his desk. He asked after her health and that of the Blandfords, and wished her a happy holiday. He proceeded to describe his latest interest in the subject of inherited characteristics as described by the French biologist Lamarck, and how it meshed with Clark's own theories of how repeated sensory information might be stored in the brain tissue itself, thereby contributing to the future adaptation of species. As usual, Hannah only understood about half of it…he would have to explain it later in a way that she could comprehend more easily.

“As you see,”
he wrote,
“I require your good, sensible companionship. If only you were here to listen to my thoughts as I explain them, I could arrange them more precisely. It is only at times like this, in your absence, that I realize nothing is complete when you are gone, my dear Miss Appleton. Everything seems awry.

It is my fondest hope that when you return, we will sort out our more personal issues. During the course of our work you have come to know my character, and my temperament. Perhaps by now my meager charms have made some sort of impression on you. I have few
charms, I know. But you have so many, my dear, that I think yours will atone for my lack. I hope very much that you might do me the honor of becoming my partner, helpmate, and wife…

There was more, but Hannah folded the letter and stared blindly into the fire.

The answer would be yes, of course.

This is what you've wanted,
she told herself. An honorable offer from a fine, decent man. Life would be interesting and fulfilling. It would better her to be the wife of such a brilliant man, to become acquainted with the people in his educated circles.

Why, then, did she feel so miserable?

“Why are you frowning?”