Compromised by Christmas (11 page)

Roxana looked at him. "I do not mind, your grace.
Lord Thomas is only a little younger than my own brother, and I
have three sisters. I should much prefer if Lady Julia and he call
me by my given name. It reminds me of being home."

Roxana's deft turning of one of Max's set downs, had
Fanny holding her breath.

Max stood very still for a moment before nodding
slowly. Miss Winston put down her fork. They seemed very ill at
ease with each other this morning, when before it seemed they had
gotten on well. But Miss Winston had all but attached herself to
the richest eligible houseguest, Mr. Breedon. If she was not with
him, then Scully was at her side. And she had worn that striking
gown that had everyone looking at her and her perfect figure.

Roxana lifted her fork, but only stirred her eggs.
She stared at her plate.

"I've read this paper already." Max slapped the paper
together and tossed it down.

"Well, it does take a few days for them to reach us
from London," said Fanny. The same paper had probably been
delivered to him before he left town. Max was behaving oddly. He
watched Miss Winston. Good grief, was he attracted to her? Had his
decision to help chaperone Roxana thrust them too much in each
other's company? Would that be a bad thing?

Would Max consider offering for her? While Roxana's
birth was acceptable, Max could certainly find a young lady of
better birth and a superior dowry. Fanny had the sudden realization
that if Max took a wife, her position would be even more
fragile.

"Thomas, after breakfast I should like you to
accompany me to the office." Max gave a pointed look in Roxana's
direction. "Unless you have need of him, Fanny."

That meant she would need to chaperone Miss Winston
for the next few hours. She often had Roxana tagging after her in
the mornings as she went about her preparations for the party. "I
plan to spend the morning decorating the ballroom."

"I should be glad to help if you need me," said
Roxana.

"I want to help too," piped Julia.

Well, that would take care of that little problem.
Fanny had learned when having Roxana assist her with hanging the
mistletoe that the girl had a knack for decoration. Roxana had
taken a look at the kissing bower Fanny had set up in the ballroom
corner and had stepped in and draped it with twisted gold ribbon,
making the corner look extraordinary. Would she be so eager to help
if she thought Mr. Breedon would join them soon? Was she at all
curious to learn the whereabouts of Dev this morning?

But there was no need for an answer as that
gentleman, wearing clothes that fit him ill and were in the brown
tones Max favored, strolled into the room. Scully flashed his smile
and said, "Good morning, Fanny, Max, Miss Winston, Julie, Tommy.
How is everyone this fine morning?"

Fanny felt the familiar flip-flop of her stomach and
a stab of jealousy. She had been half afraid that Scully would find
her too old and careworn to want a flirtation with her. He would
surely be drawn to the bevy of young ladies she had invited to the
party. That he had spent a great deal of time with Miss Winston
last night after dinner only confirmed Fanny's suspicion that he no
longer thought about her. Besides, she had never had any reason to
believe he had ever wanted more than to be her cicisbeo.

She rose from her chair. "If you will excuse me, I
have a great deal to get done."

She told herself that she was just angry that Scully
used his position as Max's longtime friend to be overly familiar,
but really it was because every time he said her name she wanted to
melt into a puddle of adoration at his feet. That would undoubtedly
be the most humiliating experience of her entire life. A duchess
should be above behaving like a ninny over a coldhearted rake.

*~*~*

Max looked up from his desk. Thomas stared out the
window instead of going over the accounts Max had assigned him.

Max put down his pencil. "Is everything correct?"

Thomas slumped in his seat. "Why should I bother
adding up all the numbers when you shall do it again anyhow?"

"Because you need to know how to manage the estate.
Not all of it is riding around checking the fields and livestock."
Thomas took those instructions marginally better than when they
were closeted in Max's office with the ledgers and correspondence.
"Once I've seen that you know how to do it all, I shan't have to
double-check you."

Making the youngster feel his efforts were valued was
tougher than Max realized.

"I have lessons all week. It is not fair that I have
to do more of the same all day Saturday with you."

Max wondered if he had ever said the things Thomas
said. He remembered feeling that way, but he could not remember
disputing with his father about the necessity of learning how to
manage the duchy. But then, for Thomas, dealing with an older
brother had to be different from Max's learning from his father.
"You need to know. You are my heir."

"Yes, well, I shall hire a steward if it comes to
that," said Thomas.

"I have a land steward, a secretary and a man of
business. But if I do not know what is about, they could make
mistakes or rob the estate." His money was stretched too thin to
risk losing any through a failure to manage it properly. His income
was large, but so were the estate's expenses. Paying his father's
death taxes had forced Max to liquidate more than a few assets. And
the debts he had inherited were more than Max had ever
expected.

"You don't trust your hirelings?" Thomas gawked at
his older brother.

"Of course I trust them. I would not keep them on if
I had any reason to doubt their loyalty." Max sighed. Why was this
so difficult to explain? "The lord has to oversee everything."

Thomas folded his arms. "It is not fair. Julia is
helping decorate the ballroom, and Roxy said she would show me how
to cut paper decorations if I joined them."

"Very well." Max pointed to the door. If Max showed
Thomas the total amount of the outstanding loans of well over a
hundred thousand pounds, would he understand the need to account
for every penny? But Max feared his brother might tell Fanny or
become angry with their father. "Go on, then."

Thomas was out of the office before the words were
finished. He nearly crashed into the butler holding a silver
salver.

Max rubbed his forehead, knowing that he had to dig
the estate out from the quagmire of debts, yet fearing he would
never be successful.

"Correspondence, your grace."

"Thank you." Max nodded as he retrieved the stack of
letters and bills from the tray. Three letters were for guests,
addressed to his care, so that the recipients would not have had to
pay the postage. One was for Roxana.

Too late to call Thomas back to have him deliver
Roxana's letter.

Max pushed back from his desk. He might as well
inspect the ballroom while handing Roxy's letter to her. Ignoring
the rise of anticipation in his gut, Max closed up the business
affairs that had seemed so pressing a moment earlier.

*~*~*

In the midst of uncovering holiday decorations,
Roxana spied a heap of wine-colored velvet in the corner of the
attic. "What is that?" she asked Fanny.

"Just some damaged bed coverings. I should throw them
out."

Roxana bit her lip, wondering if she could salvage
the material.

"One of the maids scorched it with a warming pan.
I've told them not to let them sit," Fanny explained. "It is a
wonder she did not burn down the house."

Roxana opened her mouth to ask if she could have it,
when a footman entered the room.

"Your grace, a traveling coach is on the drive."

Reaching to straighten her lacy cap, Fanny stood and
then swiped at her skirts as if she felt unkempt. Every time a new
guest arrived, the duchess stopped whatever she was doing and went
to greet the new arrivals and escort them to their rooms and make
sure their needs were seen to. The servants always knew where to
find her, and one must be assigned to watch the drive at all times.
Instead of a glow of excitement, as she'd exhibited yesterday,
Fanny's brow puckered and she looked harried.

"We can finish the ballroom, your grace," Roxana told
Fanny.

Fanny nodded. "Thank you. Julia, can you tell Miss
Winston where everything is? The fresh holly is—"

"We have the list." Julia waved her mother's
handwritten note.

Roxana stole a glance at the list.
Hang stars from
chandeliers.
Drape columns with tinsel.
Wrap holly
around wire frames . . .

"Truly, your grace, decorating is a treat for me,"
said Roxana. "If I don't understand anything, I'll be sure to find
you and ask."

"Oh, do just call me Fanny. You are nearly family,
after all."

Roxana ducked her head, uncertain how to respond to
that. Was it because she had befriended Julia and Thomas, who
seemed largely abandoned while their mother flitted around seeing
to her hostess duties? Or did she know what had happened with Max
under the mistletoe?

"Do not, fret, Mama. We shall make it look
wonderful."

Fanny nodded, and with a backward glance over her
shoulder, she followed her servant downstairs.

Roxana opened a carton that contained wire wreaths
with a bit of dried leaves stuck in the joints, while Julia
unearthed a box of silver stars. She took one out and rubbed it
with a polishing cloth.

Thomas entered the attic storeroom, looking over his
shoulder. "It's not fair. He hardly ever comes home and then he
expects me to slave over the accounts with him."

Roxana gently urged Thomas to assist with the
decorations while he vented his spleen about his brother's
expectations. Roxana forbore answering. After a while Thomas
settled into decorating.

They steadily moved back and forth between the attic
storeroom and the ballroom. A couple of footmen magically appeared
with ladders to assist in the hanging. Roxana dismissed them as she
set Thomas to cutting paper snowflakes. She returned to the
storeroom to wind the holly around the wire wreaths.

Julia stood and watched. "You make those look so
wonderful. Mama just throws on the stuff, then insists they are
horrid."

"I am sure that hers look wonderful, far better than
mine." Roxana took one last look at the pile of material in the
corner. With a sigh she lifted the wreath, while Julia lifted
another.

"No, Mama hates the holly because of the sharp
points. It is about like how I hate to play the piano, but Mama
says I must, and my teacher says I do not practice enough."

"Would you like me to sit with you when you
practice?" It had been almost a decade since Roxana had played the
piano. She remembered her mother had taken great pleasure in
playing before her fingers were broken and she could not play any
longer. Then they moved to the cottage, which was not large enough
to hold even a harpsichord.

"You would hear how very horrid I am."

"I assure you, I am probably worse." Roxana's piano
lessons had ceased the day her mother's hand was injured.

Julia looked at her skeptically.

Roxana laughed. "If I promise to show you my lack of
skill, will you play for me?"

Julia nodded.

Holding the large holly wreath, Roxana entered the
ballroom. A frisson of anticipation passed through her, as if the
room had garnered fairy magic in her brief absence to retrieve the
last of the decorations from the attic storeroom.

Thomas leapt to his feet and called out that he was
done as he raced out of the room.

Shiny silver stars hung from the ceiling,
interspersed with dozens of snowflakes cut from white paper.
Traditional evergreen boughs covered the two mantelpieces and lent
their crisp fragrance to the air.

The room resembled a holiday paradise, thought
Roxana. Swags of forest-green velvet framed every tall window, and
she and Julia had just finished replacing all the tie-backs with
thick gold ribbons. Fat candles sat on the sills waiting to light
the windows in the holiday spirit.

The room was so much more formal than the ballroom at
Wingate Hall. Besides that, the last time Roxana had seen that
ballroom it had been draped in red silk to resemble a harem's
tents. Mrs. Porter had ordered yards and yards of what she called
sari silk from India. The silk had been draped all over the
ballroom to create little semi-private tent rooms for her party.
Mrs. Porter filled the bowers with every cushion that could be
found and a few more that Roxana was commissioned to make. Roxana
guessed there was not much dancing at Mrs. Porter's party.

That none of the girls commissioned new ball gowns
disappointed Roxana. Although, she did have a high demand for
peignoirs and undergarments. Apparently a regiment of soldiers,
temporarily stationed nearby, had needed entertainment.

The silk became Roxana's after the party. Mrs. Porter
had said to throw it away; the stuff was too transparent to be of
any practical use. Roxana had doubled it, sewed it into dresses and
then cut undergarments of the same cloth.

"Oh, Max, isn't it lovely?" said Julia. She carried a
holly wreath too.

Roxana drew up short, and Julia plowed into her from
behind. The sharp holly leaves pricked through the simple muslin
gown.

Max stepped out from behind one of the
silver-tinsel-wrapped columns. He walked toward them. "Quite."

She had been looking so much at their newly finished
decorations that she had not noticed the figure at the far end of
the room, standing behind one of the columns. But she had sensed
him, hadn't she? Was he the reason she felt magic when she entered
the room this time?

"Roxy and I made all the snowflakes."

Roxana mentally nudged her frozen limbs toward one of
the fireplaces, lifting her wreath to place over the mantel.