Holiday House Parties (15 page)

She threw him a rueful glance. “Thank you, Miles. I needed only that to make my day perfect.”

He ignored her attempt at witticism. “You are obviously more ill than when I saw you last. Why aren't you in bed?”

“You know why. Nine guests—ten, counting you.”

“Your mother and the servants can take care of the guests,” he pointed out sourly. “I think it's time I gave your mother a piece of my mind.”

“No, Miles, please don't make a to-do! It's only a little cold. Come in and let's take some tea.”

He eyed her worriedly, shaking his head in disapproval, but knowing how she abhored being fussed over, he finally shrugged, took her arm, and led her to a chair. As soon as she was seated, Elinor looked up to find Julian's eyes on her. He'd taken note of her entrance on Miles's arm. Despite her dizziness and a growing feeling of sickness in the pit of her stomach, she felt herself blush. What was Julian thinking? Had Miles's fatherly attention appeared to be loverlike affection to the onlooker?

The room was beginning to spin around. If a sip of tea failed to steady her, she would have to excuse herself and go upstairs; she couldn't keep up this smiling demeanor for long. She hoped no one was watching her, but almost immediately Felicia, who was sitting alongside her, leaned over to her and whispered, “Are you well, Elinor? You look so tired.”

Before she could answer, Elinor heard herself being addressed by Lady Lovebourne. “Don't you think, Elinor, dearest, that April will be a perfect time?” the countess asked.

“Perfect time?” Elinor echoed stupidly.

Felicia came to her rescue. “For the wedding.”

“Oh,” Elinor murmured. “Yes.”

“April is indeed lovely here in North Riding,” her mother said, “but perhaps you and Julian would prefer to have the nuptials sooner.”

Elinor's color deepened, and her eyes flew to Julian. He merely smiled and stirred his tea. “What is an eager bridegroom to say?” he remarked smoothly. “Whatever Elinor wishes, of course, but I must admit that I prefer March. Or February, if that is possible.”

“February is quite impossible,” his mother declared firmly. “Since so many guests will be coming up from London for the ceremony, we must choose a time when the weather will not make travel too difficult. Prinny himself has said he'd make an effort to come—didn't he say that, Maurice, my love?”

“Yes, my dear,” the Earl said obediently. “The Prince did say that.”

“So you see, it must be April,” the Countess insisted.

“If that is what Elinor wishes, I have no objection,” Martha said. “The garden and lawns will be greening then. April is a lovely time.”

Lady Lovebourne nodded in satisfaction and sipped her tea. Then she looked about the room with a change of expression. “You intend, I hope, Martha, to refurbish the public rooms.”

Martha Selby, in the act of popping a triangular cucumber sandwich into her mouth, stayed her hand. “
Refurbish
—?”

“Yes, indeed, my dear. Your furnishings are well enough, I suppose, for an ordinary country seat, but this house is, fortunately, a good deal better than ordinary. It has space and a certain rustic dignity. Even Maurice says so, don't you, my love?”

“Yes, my dear,” the Earl said.

“It might even be considered fine,” her ladyship went on, “if it were properly decorated. I admit that you'll have difficulty doing it over in only three months. If only Elinor had agreed to be wed in London, in our town house, you wouldn't have needed to bother, which is not to say that I don't respect Elinor's wishes to be married in her family home. But since you will be hostess to the cream of the
ton
for the affair, you must agree that we wouldn't wish them to be entertained in a setting that some might find … well, to be frank … shabby.”

“Shabby?” Martha cried, reddening furiously.
“Shabby?”

“I mean no offense, of course,” Lady Lovebourne proceeded heedlessly. “These furnishings were probably quite fashionable when you came here as a bride. But tastes have changed, you know, and those unadorned country-style tables and sideboards are decidedly outdated. New furnishings in the
Haute Egypte
style would do wonders for this room, wouldn't they, Maurice, my love?”

The Earl sighed. “Yes, my dear.”

“And your lovely windows would show to more advantage if those faded draperies were replaced,” the Countess continued. “The sofas and armchairs might be saved, I suppose, if they were properly reupholstered, but an Aubusson carpet would make all the difference to these floors.…”

On she prattled, ignoring or unaware of the effect her words were having on her listeners. Fanny Fordyce, who hated scenes but who knew her sister-in-law was capable of a formidable show of temper when irked, exchanged a nervous look with her husband. Elinor, although aware that the entire argument was moot (since there would be no wedding), was too feverish to think of something useful to say. But Miles Endicott was under no such inhibitions. “It seems to me, your ladyship,” he said curtly, “that everything in this house is pleasing to the eye just as it is. It's designed for the comfort of inhabitants and guests, and no one should ask for more.” He turned to the Earl and asked in a tone of unmistakable mockery, “Don't you agree, Lord Lovebourne?”

The Earl looked from Miles to his wife and merely shrugged.

Miles rose from his chair and put down his cup. “Furthermore,” he told the Countess as he started toward the door, “I can't for the life of me understand what possible difference new draperies would make to the prospects of the bride and groom, nor how standing on an Aubusson carpet could affect the sincerity of the vows they will be taking.”

“Hear, hear!” Henry Fordyce muttered under his breath.

“Perkins!” Endicott shouted into the hallway. “Get my hat!”

“Well,
really
!” gasped Lady Lovebourne, who was not at all accustomed to being scolded. “I must say, Miles, I am surprised at you. Don't you care what the prince might think?”

“Not in the least,” Miles retorted, “though I have no doubt he will find these surroundings perfectly satisfactory.”

“If you think that,” her ladyship snapped, “you've never been to Carleton House.”

“Enough, Mama,” Julian said, getting up. “Cut line! The furnishings in this house are not your affair. You must permit Lady Selby to make her own decisions about her household.” With that he turned to Miles, who was just taking his hat from the butler. “Wait for me, Endicott,” he said, crossing the room. “I'd like a word with you. I'll see you to the door.”

Elinor, flushed and dizzy with fever, nevertheless sensed that she shouldn't permit Julian to have a private conversation with Miles. “Wait, Julian!” she said, rising unsteadily. “I'll see him out myself.”

But the two men had already left the room. She hurried out after them, but by the time she reached the entry hall, she was so wearied from the exertion that she had to lean against the wall. The two men did not see her in the shadows. Julian was occupied with shaking Miles's hand. “I must congratulate you for your courage,” he was saying. “There aren't many men who could take my mother on that way.”

“Hummmph!” Miles snorted, clapping on his hat. “It didn't take courage. Only temper.”

“I must admit, old fellow,” Julian went on, “that I didn't really approve of Elinor's choice when she told me of it, but now that I know you a little better, I fully understand why—”

“Julian!” Elinor gasped, but her cry was too weak to be heard in the huge hall.

“Elinor's choice?” Miles asked, bewildered. “What on earth are you babbling about, Lovebourne?”

“It's all right, old fellow,” Julian assured him. “You needn't hide your feelings from me. Elinor and I won't announce it for a few days, but we've agreed to sever our connection. So you see, the way is cleared for—”

With the greatest effort of will, Elinor took a few steps into the hallway. “Julian, for heaven's sake, stop!” she tried to say, but her voice emerged from her constricted chest in an unrecognizable croak. She put out her hand to stop the world from spinning so crazily about, but it would not stop. The ground shifted beneath her feet, and then, with Julian and Miles staring at her in horror, she did what she'd never in her life done before—she fainted dead away.

6

Elinor was only dimly aware of being brought round by a sniff of sal volatile, of being carried up to her room, examined by the doctor, dosed with James's Powders and lemon-and-barley water tisanes, and treated with cold compresses on her forehead. She had no real sense of time's passage. She only knew that, after a while, the thickness seemed to clear from her head, and she was able to turn on her side, snuggle into her pillows, and surrender to a deep, deep sleep.

She awakened to the sound of clicking needles. She opened her eyes and discovered her mother sitting beside her bed, calmly knitting. Elinor sat up gingerly, expecting to feel dizzy, but her head was quite clear. And the pain in the throat was gone!

From the way the rays of the sun were slanting in through the windows, she deduced it was afternoon. “Mama,” she exclaimed, “you shouldn't have let me sleep so late!”

“Elinor, my love,” Martha Selby cried, throwing aside her knitting and jumping to her feet in delight, “you're awake!”

“Yes, and feeling so much better. I knew that I only needed a few hours of good, sound sleep.”

“A few
hours
?” Martha gurgled with laughter as she sat down on the side of the bed and enveloped her daughter in an ecstatic embrace. “My dear, you slept the clock twice round!”

Elinor's face fell. “What? Twenty-four hours?”

Martha grinned at her. “More than that. Your fever broke yesterday morning, and then you simply turned on your side and went to sleep.”

“I don't believe it. Are you saying that almost two days have passed? Then today is … good
heavens
! Friday! Tonight is
Christmas Eve
! I must get up at once—there's so much to do!”

She tried to throw off her blankets, but her mother held her back. “You will
not
get up! Whatever has to be done will be done by the staff and me. You will not leave this bed for another day at least. Those are Dr. Ogilvy's orders.”

“But, Mama, that's silly. I feel fine. Quite recovered.”

“Nevertheless you will remain abed. If you are very good, if you rest quietly and drink your barley water and hot soup—which I shall go down and prepare for you forthwith—you may come down for Christmas dinner tomorrow. But you will not set foot on the floor until then.”

“Not until Christmas dinner
tomorrow
? Mama, you can't mean it!”

“But I do. You had a fever from a respiratory infection, which Dr. Ogilvy said could have been pneumonia if you'd had a less healthy constitution. Fevers tend to leave one weak, and I shan't permit you out of bed until your strength is fully restored.” She got up from the bed, rescued her knitting from the floor, and started out of the room. “Besides,” she added over her shoulder, “Miles has already given me a tongue-lashing for neglecting to order you to bed sooner. I don't wish to receive
another
scolding from the fellow.”

The mention of Miles's name brought back to Elinor's mind a vivid recollection of the scene in the entry hall. Her cheeks reddened in shame, and she sank back against the pillows. “Mama, did Miles say anything else? Or Julian?”

“Anything else?” Martha, her hand on the doorknob, turned and studied her daughter curiously. “About what? What do you mean?”

Elinor shrugged. “Nothing, Mama. Never mind.”

Martha frowned at her daughter suspiciously. “What's amiss, Elinor? Has something happened between you and Julian?”

“Why do you ask?” Elinor countered cautiously, surprised at her mother's astuteness.

“Because of your manner. It's a bit evasive, isn't it? But you don't have to explain anything to me if you don't wish to. I pride myself that I am not the prying sort. However, my love, don't think I haven't noticed that your Julian is behaving very peculiarly.”

“Is he?”

“Indeed he is! He hasn't asked more than twice to come up to see you—which Miles asks every hour on the hour—and, what's worse, he's been flirting with Felicia quite brazenly.”

“Well, don't let that trouble you, Mama. I myself requested that he … er … entertain her.”

“Did you really?” Martha shook her head in bewilderment. “I don't understand you young people.” She sighed. “When I was betrothed, your father and I carried on in a much more romantic style. However, if you're not concerned about Julian's behavior, I won't trouble myself about it, either.”

“Good.”

Martha Selby opened the door. “Shall I let Miles come up, my dear? He's waiting so anxiously.”

Elinor shuddered fearfully. If Miles wanted to see her, his motive was surely to berate her for her lie. She supposed she would have to endure a tongue-lashing sooner or later. But not yet, she prayed in cowardly silence. “No, Mama, no!” she said hastily. “Tell him I'm still asleep.”

“Elinor!” Martha exclaimed in surprise. “Are you asking me to
lie?
To
Miles
, of all people? He's as worried about you as if he were your
father
! What on earth has gotten into you?”

Elinor winced. She was a sorry creature indeed, wishing to avoid a reprimand that she fully deserved. “I'm sorry, Mama,” she muttered, shamefaced. “Let him come up, if he wishes.”

“
If
he wishes?” Martha threw her daughter an enigmatic smile. “Oh, yes, my love, that is most certainly what he wishes.”

7