Trevor's eyes narrowed. “Surely you're not thinking of returning to Windmere Abbey?”
“My thoughts have been far too jumbled to take clear form. I would like to go to Camden Hall for Christmas.” She shrugged. “I don't know what Nick wants, though I daresay he would not mind being rid of me.”
“I think you misjudge your husband,” Trevor said in a grave voice.
“Your high regard for me influences
your
judgment.”
“I think not. Birmingham's besotted.”
“Nicholas Birmingham has a mistress.”
Trevor's eyes rounded. “I make it my business to know everybody's business, and I'm sure you're wrong there, my sweet. Where did you get your faulty information?”
She rubbed her gloved hand to her eyes to staunch the flow of tears. “Wife's intuition.”
“What you need, my dear pea goose, is to sit down with that husband of yours as soon as he returns . . . from Essex and be honest about your feelings for him, about your doubts.”
She shook her head. “You know why he married me. I can't pretend to own him. He should be free to . . . fall in love with another woman.”
Trevor took her hand and squeezed it. “Allow him to fall in love with you.”
“Oh, Trevor, if you only knew how I've humiliated myself for the pleasure of his touch.”
Trevor clapped his hands to his ears. “I beg that you say no more. You will put me to the blush.” When she made no response, he redirected their conversation. “So, what about your brothers? Will you see them at Christmas?”
“I've had no communication with Randy.” Then she brightened. “But Stephen's coming. It's been over a year since I've seen the scamp.”
“I daresay I'd hardly recognize him. The fellow gets biggerâand more decidedly muscledâevery time I see him.”
“Then you must come with us to Camden Hall for Christmas and see for yourself how much Stephen's grown.”
Biddles brought the tea, and Fiona quickly poured Trevor's, adding extra sugar. “I'm sure a hot cup of very sweet tea is just what the doctor would order for you, Trev.”
“I tell you my very bones are icy.” He sighed. “I only hope I'm well enough to travel with you to Camden Hall, and I simply won't go if it's as cold as it is today.”
After he finished his tea, Trevor stood and gazed down at her. “I must go. My bed beckons.” He rolled his eyes and spoke in a martyred voice. “I pray my valet doesn't discover my lifeless body tomorrow morning.” Then he wrapped his muffler several times around his neck and halfway up his face, donned his gloves, and left.
As soon as he was gone Fiona called for her coach to be brought around, then she donned her own pelisse and cape and scurried to the conveyance, making a mental apology to Trevor. It
was
beastly cold. She directed the coachman to take her to the Birmingham's bank.
Through bleary eyes she watched out the window as they sped toward The City. It was so utterly gray today, a perfect match to her gloomy mood. Only the raggedly dressed children with cheeks rosy from the cold seemed oblivious to the frigid weather as they frolicked on the pavement, a few of them pausing to gather around the chestnut roaster.
When she arrived at the bank, she stuffed her hands into her muff, leaped from the coach, and hurried into the lobby, then went directly to Adam's tastefully decorated office.
He stood when she entered. He looked so much like his brother it made her heart ache. “My dear lady, Nick would not at all like your being out on such a wretched day, and I promised him before he left that I would look after you. Please take a seat.” He indicated a throne-style chair that was swathed in a pumpkin-colored silk.
“I'm not staying. I merely wished to ask you a question.”
One dark brow arched in the exact manner as Nick's.
“Where has my husband gone?”
He did not answer for a moment. “To Essex,” he finally said.
She didn't believe him. “To interview the new foreman?”
“Yes. I expect he's already on his way back to London by now.”
“You've told me what I wanted to know.”
No, not what I wanted.
She turned to leave, tears clouding her vision.
“My lady!” He started after her.
But she did not stop.
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She wept all the way back to Menger House. Nick had lied to her when he said he was going to Essex to resolve a labor dispute. How careless of him not to apprise his brother of his lies. Now he was found out.
But no matter. She would not be at home when he returned. He would be free of her. Free to cavort with his mistress in any way he wanted.
She was such an utter failure at everything, from the estrangement with her brother, to her unfulfilled promises to Verity, to her inability to win her husband's affection.
As the coach glided to a stop in front of Menger House, Fiona took a long look at the classically styled mansion that had always filled her with pride. This wasn't her home after all. Windmere Abbey was her home. How she longed to go there, to have Randy and Stephen and Mama and Papa all together again. To be surrounded by her own family. But, of course, that was impossible. Mama and Papa were dead. Randy did not desire her company. Besides, even if Windmere Abbey was her home, she was married to Nicholas Birmingham. She was his property. If she must leave Londonâand she mustâthen she would have to go to Camden Hall.
How she had looked forward to going to Camden Hall for Christmas, to taking Emmie with her to gather the holly and berries and mistletoe. Now she would go alone. As much as she wished to take Emmie with her, she couldn't. Nick would never give up the child.
Inside the house, she ordered Prudence to pack her things for Camden Hall, then she trudged up the terrazzo stairway to find Emmie.
The child was playing in the nursery with her favorite dollâone Fiona had given herâwhen she looked up and saw Fiona. “My Lady,” she exclaimed, running to Fiona and throwing her little arms around her.
Fiona held her close. Such a precious little being. “Oh, my little pet, I'm going to miss you so much.”
Emmie's face clouded as she looked up into Fiona's equally clouded face. “Where are you going?”
“I have to go to Camden Hall. I must ensure that all our cottagers and the loyal servants receive their Christmas packages. I do hope you and your papa will join me for Christmas.”
“I want to go with you!”
“Oh, pet, I wish you could, but your papa will be lonely when he returns, and he'll want his little girl here.”
“Then I must stay, but I'll beg him to take me to you.”
“That would make me very happy, love.”
Losing Nick was the worst pain she'd ever experienced, and now added to that was the sting of leaving a piece of her heart here in the Menger House nursery.
Chapter 27
His thirst to see Fiona was so great he had not stopped to sleep, or to change his clothes, or even to shave. The aching anticipation of seeing her helped to dull his constant fear for William's safe return. Nick repeatedly consoled himself that by having enlisted Yvonne's help, he had stacked the deck in William's favor. If anyone could secure William's release, it was Yvonne.
But the situation was grave.
His dusk arrival at Menger Houseâbone weary but exhilaratedâcould not have been timed better. Fiona would surely be home. No evening engagement would have started this early. “Where is Mrs. Birmingham?” Nick casually asked Biddles as he divested himself of his greatcoat and heaped it on the butler's proffered arm.
Biddles's face was inscrutable. “The lady has gone to Camden Hall.”
Profound disappointment slammed into Nick. Though Fiona had mentioned her desire to spend Christmas at Camden Hall, he had allowed himself to believe she would be waiting for him at Menger House, as anxious to see him as he had been to see her. Her passionate response to him that last night had fooled him into believing that she cared for him. But, of course, if she cared for him, she would be here now.
He disguised his disappointment. “She took my daughter?”
“She went alone.”
How strange. Fiona had shared with him her plans to include Emmie in all the holiday preparations.
Then suddenly, as quick and painful as the strike of a cannonball, he realized his wife had left in anger.
His stomach churned and his heart drummed as he mounted the stairs to the third-floor nursery. Had Fiona thought herself a deserted wife? Had, God forbid, she returned to Warwick's arms? He had but to ask her guards to know if she had met with Warwick. But he would not do that.
Dazed by his own grief, he eased open the door to the nursery.
“Papa!” a smiling Emmie said as she flew into his arms.
He gathered her close and just held her. He loved the feel of her, the sweet smell of her.
Her little arms tightened around him. “I'm ever so glad you've come back. I was so afraid you'd not return. Like My Lady. Please, can we go to her?”
What if she doesn't want to see us?
But he could not voice such a suspicion to his daughter. “We'll go there for Christmas,” he said firmly.
And heaven help me if she sends me away.
“I wish My Lady were my real mother.”
“I do too, love. I do too.”
And I wish she were my real wife.
“Go get your hat and coat. We're going to buy My Lady a fine Christmas present.”
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It was Christmas Eve and Nick hadn't come. She had been right. He was glad to be rid of her. Now he could channel all his attentions on his damnable mistress. Was she Hortense? Or could it be he was still seeing Diane Foleyâregardless of what Trevor had told her?
Dear Trevor. She smiled to herself. At this very moment he had ensconced himself beneath a rug in front of the fire, where he sipped steaming tea and cursed the foul weather. He had begged off gathering the Christmas greenery, leaving that task to Fiona and Verity. Thank the heavens for Verity. The daily intercourse with her sister was the only thing that made leaving Londonâand Nickâalmost tolerable. Almost.
“Here you are,” said Verity as she strolled into the morning room and set down her basket.
“What have you there?” Fiona asked.
“Presents for my loved ones.”
Fiona sighed. “A pity Nick and Emmie won't be coming.”
Verity's eyes softened as she peered at Fiona. “It's not Christmas yet. I believe Nicky will come.”
“You've brought him a present?”
Nodding, Verity began to rifle through the basket. “I found him the nicest copy of Blake's poemsâto replace what he gave you last Christmas. I know how dearly he loved that book.”
As Fiona loved it. “Would that I'd thought of that. Not that I expect to see him, of course.” She shrugged. “It's exceedingly difficult to find a gift for the man who has everything.”
“What about giving him a miniature of yourself ?”
Fiona gave a bitter laugh. “Miniatures are to be given to those who love you.”
And Nick most certainly does not love me.
She spoke with false brightness: “I must show you the miniature of my eldest brother. 'Tis one of my most treasured possessions.” She went to her reticule, withdrew the miniature of Randolph, and gave it a quick glance. “Of course he's changed vastly since he had this made for Mama a decade ago.” She presented it to Verity.
Verity's face went white as she took the oval in her shaking hands.
“What's the matter?” demanded Fiona, who rushed to Verity's side and settled her hand at Verity's waist.
“This is y-y-your brother?”
“Randolph, Viscount Agar.” Fiona nodded. “I wish you could have met him.”
“I have.”
Fiona stared at her sister. Then everything became so clear. “You mean . . . he's the man from the park?”
Verity nodded.
“Oh, my dear sister, this is wonderful! You're the perfect wife for Randy. I must write to him straight away.”
Shaking her head, Verity grabbed Fiona's arm. “You'll do no such thing! Your brother has no more desire to marry a Cit's daughter than he desires his sister be wed to a Cit.”
Fiona stiffened. Of course, Verity, in her infinite wisdom, was right. As much as Fiona loathed to admit it, her brother had proven to be a terrible snobâand such behavior was at tremendous odds with the person she had thought him to be.
She had no reply for Verity. In the span of a few seconds she had swung from an incredible high to a despairing low.
Verity handed the miniature back to Fiona.
“No, I want you to keep it. I think no other woman will ever love my brother as you do.”
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Her cheeks were still red from gathering the berries and evergreens, and her hands were numb from the cold as she fastened sprigs of holly to the foggy windowpanes in the front parlor. Off in the misty distance she saw smoke curling from the chimneys at Great Acres. The sound of Verity's and Trevor's laughter came from the next room as they contrived to make a Christmas bough. Stephen was in the wood selecting a yule log. At least Fiona would not have to spend Christmas completely alone.
Her thoughts drifted to the last Christmas Eve. Her wedding day. She could not look fondly upon that day. Everything had been too new, too bizarre for her to have enjoyed that first day she had become the bride of a stranger. Would that she could have understood then how precious that time was. Looking back on it now she was filled with a bittersweet sadness. How fortunate she had been then to have Nick, to share his bed. She would give all that she had to be able to go back now and recapture that night.
She heard the clopping of a lone rider before she looked up to see him, her heart hammering wildly in expectation of seeing Nick. But Nick would not come on horseback. He would come in his fine carriage. Her hands stilled, her pulse pounding in her throat, as she watched the rider draw closer. It was difficult to tell who it was because he was so heavily bundled against the cold.
Even as he dismounted some twenty feet from her, she could not tell who it was. Not until he shook off his hat and she saw his blond hair. It was Randy!
She dropped her basket of holly, ran to the entry hall, and swung open the door to greet him with the broadest of smiles.
His eyes narrowed, he cocked his head to one side. “Forgive me?”
She answered by flowing into his arms.
After they had affectionately embraced, she rushed him to the front parlor. “Come stand beside the fire. You've got to be frozen. I shall be most vexed that you came by horseback on such a frigid dayâbut, of course, I'm too happy to be vexed.”
After taking off his damp greatcoat, he removed his gloves and waved his hands in front of the fire.
Turning somber, Fiona asked, “Did you know that she's here?”
His brows squeezed together as he regarded his sister. “Who?”
“Miss Birmingham. The lady from Hyde Park. The woman you're in love with.”
He whirled around, his eyes wide. “My lady's . . . Miss Birmingham?”
“Indeed.”
He cursed himself under his breath. “Of course Birmingham's sister would be all that is refined. A pity I've alienated her.”
Fiona's voice softened. “Did you not tell her you didn't care whose daughter she was?”
“I did.”
“Did you mean it?”
He did not answer for a moment. “I've done many stupid thingsâthings that have hurt those I love most, but I want you to believe me when I tell you I had to hit the bottom before I could rise, before I could see how dearly my beastly pride has cost me. Rank no longer matters to me. All that matters is those I love.” He turned around and faced the fire again. A moment later, his voice thick with emotion, he asked, “Do you think she'll have me?”
“You shall have to ask her yourself.” Fiona came to link her arm through his. “Come, allow me to introduce you to the woman you love.”
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Despite that Nick had not come and that William was God-only-knows-where on the continent, Verity took comfort in Fiona and in the knowledge that Adam would be there that night to celebrate Christmas with his family. She found that she was rather enjoying Christmas Eve. It was much merrier than she had expected, especially given the bleakness of her own romantic future. Trevor Simpson and the delightful, if quite youthful, Stephen Hollingsworth contrived to keep a smile on her face throughout the making of the kissing bough.
One moment she was laughing at Stephen Hollingsworth; the next moment she was gazing up into the handsome face of his elder brother. She felt as if a bolt of lightning had struck her.
“Hey, brother,” Stephen exclaimed, “I didn't know you were coming. By Jove, we could have ridden together. I arrived only today myself.”
But Randolph was not attuned to what his brother was saying. His eyes were on her. His blond locks were in disarray, his cheeks bright red from the cold, but Verity thought she had never seen a more handsome man.
“I wish he
would
have ridden with you,” Fiona said. “Our foolish brother came on horseback all the way from London in this wretched weather.” As Fiona gazed affectionately at Randolph, Verity thought she had not seen her sister so cheerful in a very long while. “Come, you must stand by the fire,” Fiona told him, “but first I must present Miss Birmingham to you.”
Verity's chest pounded, and she was quite certain she was trembling like an octogenarianâand even more certain that Lord Agar's presence had rendered her speechless. She showed a great interest in studying her lap as he strolled to her, took her hand, and brushed his lips across it.
Then she allowed herself to gaze into his eyes.
Had there been a hundred people in the room, she still would have felt as if she and her blond lord were the only two people on earth. If the eyes were the windows to the soul, then Lord Agar was as deeply affected by her as she was by him. She suddenly recalled Fiona's talk about destiny. Nick was Fiona's destiny; Lord Agar, Verity's.
She was only vaguely aware that Fiona was asking Mr. Simpson and young Hollingsworth to assist her in hanging the kissing bough, but she was keenly aware of the door closing behind them, of being alone with Lord Agar.
“So you're Miss Birmingham,” he said, still hovering over her chair.
“And you're Lord Agar,” she said breathlessly.
He just stood there looking at her as if she had sprouted angel's wings.
“You must be chilled to the very bone, my lord. You came on horseback?” Thank God she had not lost her voice.
He nodded. “Allow me to say that any discomfort I experienced was well worth the reward of seeing my sisterâand seeing you once again, Miss Birmingham.”
She stood and moved toward the fire. “I beg that you come warm yourself by the fire.”
He came to stand next to her, zigzagging his hands in front of the flames. Neither of them spoke for a moment. A rush of memories flooded her. Memories of him.
“When you quit coming to the park,” he said solemnly, “it was one of the blackest times in my one and thirty years, but now I'm glad it happened.”
Her stomach dropped, her pulse accelerated. So he wasn't her destiny after all. She wanted nothing so much as to flee the room ahead the torrent of tears that was threatening.