Tempting the Marquess (10 page)

After dinner, she, her aunt, and Sir Charles had settled in the drawing room to discuss their plans for the Twelfth Night fete. Sir Charles and her aunt had discussed it, at any rate. Livvy could not help with the guest list as she had no knowledge of the neighboring families, nor could she say whether the dancing ought to be held in the Great Hall, which Aunt Kate thought would be festive, or in the ballroom, which Sir Charles believed would be more comfortable, as she hadn’t known the castle
had
a ballroom. She voiced this last thought aloud.

“The ballroom lies above the gatehouse,” Sir Charles explained. “It may not have the same flair as the Great Hall, but it is far less draughty.”

They decided Olivia must see the ballroom and have another look at the Great Hall, since her vote would decide the matter, but they only made it to the Great Hall, as the kitchen was on the way to the ballroom and Sir Charles, who was always hungry, insisted on a quick detour. They found Mrs. Maddoc there alone; Cook and the rest of the servants were off having their own celebration to while away the hours before going to church.

The kitchen was a spacious room with whitewashed walls and stone flagged floor, very much like the one she had grown up with at Weston Manor. Dark oak shelves and dressers displaying shiny copper cookware lined the wall opposite the hearth, where the housekeeper sat stirring the contents of a pot set upon the range.

“A good thing you’ve come by. I was just trying to figure out how to send for you.” Mrs. Maddoc fanned herself with her free hand. “You’ll want to be gathering everyone, now I’ve set the
taffi
to boil.”

“Livvy, come with me and help me get the children up. Charles, you fetch Jason,” Aunt Kate directed, “and do at least
try
not to provoke him.”

The children had been given an early supper and then put to bed to rest before the festivities, so Olivia and her aunt had to wake them and get them dressed. By the time they made their way back to the kitchen, Sir Charles had successfully retrieved his quarry. They all gathered on stools and benches around the large pine worktable while they waited for Mrs. Maddoc to pronounce the toffee ready for pulling.

“How will we know when it’s time?” Edward asked, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

“I think it’s time now, lovey, but we’ll check to be sure,” the housekeeper responded.

“How?” inquired Charlotte.

“I’ll tell you, Lady Inquisitive. See this cup of water I have here? I’m going to pour a spoonful of the hot
taffi
into the cup. If it hardens right away, then it’s reached the right temperature,” Mrs. Maddoc explained. “ ’Tis best if done by an unmarried girl.” She beckoned Olivia over. “Go ahead, miss.”

Livvy had heard that the Welsh were superstitious, and though she could not think how her gender or marital status possibly affected the outcome, she took the proffered spoon and dumped the boiling sugary mixture into the cup of cool water. As Mrs. Maddoc had hoped, it hardened at once.

“Good,” the housekeeper exclaimed. “It’s ready.” She took the pot off the fire and carefully carried it over to a large marble-topped trestle table. She slowly began to pour the mixture onto the cool stone slab she had greased with butter.

Sir Charles ambled over and fished the piece of hardened toffee out of the cup. He was about to pop it into his mouth, when Charlotte spotted him. She tugged on her mother’s sleeve. “Why does
he
get to have the first piece? The rules are girls first.”

“Ladies first,” her mother corrected, “though I doubt you’ll be mistaken for a lady anytime soon.”

“The only person who’s touching that bit of toffee is Miss Weston,” Mrs. Maddoc broke in. “No one is to eat it until we’ve had a chance to look at it.”

Sir Charles examined the toffee. “It looks edible,” he pronounced. “What more do we need to see?”

“We need to see what letter it looks like. The
taffi
forms the initial of a girl’s true love,” the housekeeper explained.

“Does it now?” Sir Charles mused. “Well, just look at that! I do believe this is a J. What do you think of that, Jace?”

At that, Lord Sheldon got up and came over. He took the hardened toffee from his brother-in-law. “You’re looking at it the wrong way. It is quite clearly a C,
Charles
.”

“Don’t everyone fight for me at once,” Livvy muttered as she snatched the piece out of the marquess’s hands. “You’re both wrong. It is most definitely a U.”

“A U?” Sir Charles shook his head. “What man’s name begins with U?”

Olivia thought hard and came up blank. “I don’t know,” she huffed. “There must be someone.”

“Maybe it’s his title,” her aunt suggested, coming over to see. “Lord Underwood must be out of mourning by now.”

“I doubt he was ever in mourning,” Sir Charles said. “Rumors are he killed his wife.”

“Oh dear.” Her aunt shook her head. “Not Underwood, then. Ulster, perhaps?”

Lord Sheldon shot her a disgusted look. “Ulster is eighty, if he’s a day.”

“In any case,” Sir Charles added, “he just married a dairymaid.”

“That would be awkward,” Aunt Kate agreed. “And speaking of awkward . . .” She followed Mrs. Maddoc’s example and covered her hands in butter, then reached for the hot, gooey mess on the slab.

Mrs. Maddoc was twisting and pulling a long rope of the stuff, which had turned a lovely golden brown and smelled simply heavenly.

“She makes it look easy,” her aunt told her, nodding her head in the housekeeper’s direction, “when really it’s anything but. I always bungle it, but it’s fun to try.”

Rather than the rhythmic stretching that Mrs. Maddoc employed, her aunt’s method seemed to consist more of juggling the hot toffee from hand to hand.

“Here, you work on this, miss.” Mrs. Maddoc handed Livvy some toffee she had been working on. “Just keep pulling at it until the color turns a light golden brown.”

Olivia soon got the knack of pulling the toffee and thought it quite fun. Once all the toffee had been pulled, Mrs. Maddoc cut the long strands into smaller pieces and made up a plate for them to take back to the drawing room. Actually she made up two plates—one for Charlotte and another for everyone else—then sent them out of the way so she could clean up.

Eating the toffee, Livvy found, was even more enjoyable than making it. The candy was soft and chewy, and it seemed to have the very taste of Christmas. As they ate, they prepared to make garlands out of the evergreens Dimpsey and the children had collected that afternoon. Mrs. Maddoc had found a mess of red and green ribbons that had been used to tie up the greenery some Christmas past, which Livvy, her aunt, Charlotte, and Edward set about untangling.

Charlotte and Edward soon lost interest and quietly slipped from the room. They returned with armfuls of her aunt’s bonnets, which they proceeded to try on the unprotesting dogs stretched lazily before the fire.

Sir Charles declared he had never seen more beautiful ladies, present company excluded, of course. When Blue rose to stretch, Sir Charles walked over to him and held out his hands. At once Blue leaned back on his haunches and lifted his front legs in the air. Sir Charles guided his paws onto his shoulders.

“Dance!” Charlotte clapped her hands in delight.

The expression on the dog’s face was a combination of puzzlement and eagerness, which made for such a comical effect, even Lord Sheldon was moved to smile. He had to laugh, though, when Blue leaned forward and licked his companion’s cheek.

“Ugh!” Sir Charles laughingly pushed Blue away. He wiped his face against his coat sleeve. “I never smelled anything so foul in my life.”

“Oh, goodness!” Her aunt wiped tears of mirth from her eyes. “Olivia, you must get your sketchbook and capture these poor beasts in all their finery. On second thought, I doubt my poor bonnets will survive that long. Charlotte, that dog is about to chew those feathers right off!”

Sir Charles and Lord Sheldon assisted the children in removing the dogs’ headdresses, which was no easy task, as the dogs had decided this was some sort of game and refused to let themselves be caught. Livvy and her aunt laughed themselves silly watching the two grown men chase after the enormous, bonnet-wearing canines. Edward and Charlotte were very little help, as they mostly stood to one side, looking terribly proud of having so amused the adults.

Even with the dogs returned to their natural state and the bonnets put away—minus a few feathers—the fun did not end. The marquess and Sir Charles taught Edward and Charlotte how to play whist while Livvy and her aunt tied up bunches of holly, ivy, rosemary, mistletoe, and bay leaves. The scene was so cozy, with the warmth from the fire, the fragrant scents of the evergreens, and the happy chatter of the children, that the hours slipped past. With her fingers occupied, her mind began to wander. . . .

The marquess snagged Olivia’s arm. “You have made the mistake of walking beneath the mistletoe, Miss Weston. Now you will pay the price.” He caught her up against him and leaned her back over his arm.

“Is this why all the maids keep leaving, my lord? You believe you can force your attentions on the women in your employ?”

A wicked gleam came into his dark eyes. “Only you, my dear Miss Weston, and I’ve yet to find a woman who flees from my attentions.”

“Such arrogance is most unappeal—”

He silenced her with a kiss. And, oh, what a kiss it was!

Olivia’s knees turned to jelly, and she had to cling to the marquess to prevent herself from collapsing. Her heart was thundering so loudly she felt certain he must hear it. Oh, why had she no defenses against this man?

He laughed against her mouth, sensing her capitulation, and deepened the kiss.

She gave herself over to the magic, forgetting she was the lowly governess. She had come here for him—for this. She knew it was true. Whatever lies she told herself, in this moment, in his arms, she knew in her heart of hearts what had really brought her here. She had come for—

“Wake up, Livvy.” Aunt Kate squeezed her arm. “It’s after midnight, and we must get about putting on our winter wear. The service likely won’t start until three, or perhaps later,” she explained as they made their way upstairs, “but in this weather, we won’t make it to town in less than an hour. And what with the time needed to get the children dressed and put our own things on and have the carriage readied, we’ll be lucky to leave by half past one.”

Her aunt had been right, Olivia realized, glimpsing the carriage clock as they drove off, with Dimpsey acting as coachman. The time was nearly two! Of course, as her aunt had pointed out on more than one occasion, she was nearly always right. It was, she thought, the one trait all the women in her family shared.

Christmas/Y
Nadolig

St. Mary’s Church was located in the village of Haverfordwest, which lay about ten miles west of Arlyss. The medieval town actually boasted three parish churches but, as Jason’s stepmother informed the other occupants of the carriage, “The Trahernes have had ties to St. Mary’s for three centuries. To go anywhere else would be unthinkable.”

Miss Weston pushed the curtains aside and peered out the window of the carriage. Jason was just able to make out the church in the distance. The building seemed to glow in the near blackness, a welcoming beacon for all those cold, weary pilgrims who sought shelter within.

But there would be no comfort for him there that night. Only memories. And with the memories came anger and regret. The two emotions were so entwined for him, he no longer knew how to separate them.

He was careful to let none of this show on his face. Katherine would almost certainly notice, and he had no wish to have another of
those
conversations, but more important, he didn’t want to do anything that might spoil the night for Edward.

The joy and magic of the holiday might be dead for him now, but Jason remembered a time when he had believed anything was possible on Christmas. That had been before he had learned that some prayers were too impossible to be answered and some sins were too grievous to be forgiven.

He knew there were those who would say he had lost his way, and perhaps they were right. Those were the same people who had tried to console him with the rationale that everything in life happened for a reason. He remained unconvinced.

For all his disbelief, Jason found himself hesitating on the steps to the church, waiting for a bolt of lightning to strike him down, but none was forthcoming. A punishment of another sort struck on the brief walk from the carriage to the church; icy gusts of wind pricked at his face like a swarm of tiny needles, making his eyes sting and water. He drew Edward close to his side, trying to shield him from the harsh elements.

Edward shrugged off his arm and nimbly dashed up the stairs behind Charlotte. Charles was helping the ladies mount the slippery steps, and Jason moved to help him. He offered his arm to the lady nearest him, which happened to be Miss Weston. That was how Jason came to see her face the moment they entered the church.

In the countryside, people from even the most remote farmsteads came to attend the Plygain at the parish church, which meant that St. Mary’s was filled nigh to bursting. As was the custom, every person had brought a candle to help to illuminate the church. In addition to the candles held by individuals, the chandeliers held brightly burning colored tapers, and yet more flames danced from the hundreds of votives set upon every possible flat surface. There could be no doubt that the day marked the coming of the Light of the World.

Miss Weston gasped and clutched at his arm. He smiled down at her. “It is certainly a sight, is it not?”

“Oh!” she exclaimed, her face suffused with joy and her eyes shining.

Watching her, Jason forgot to remember. He forgot to be angry. Her happiness overflowed, spilling into him, and he found himself smiling back at her.

“How magical!” she whispered. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so lovely in my life.”

An unfamiliar feeling settled in Jason’s chest and took root somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. For once, he could not agree with her more.