Thirteen
F
or a moment, Camille was tempted to close her eyes and savor the serenity of gliding across the frozen pond. The stillness of the late winter afternoon surrounded her, crept into her soul, soothed her. She had nearly forgotten how peaceful it could be. How the tranquility she had once found here made her feel as if she could accomplish anything she set her mind on. Surrounded by the frozen fields and bare trees starkly outlined against the gray sky, it had always reminded her of a magical place to be found only in fairy stories. She'd skated often as a girl, but it had been a very long time since she last stepped foot upon the ice. Her hands were deep in her fur muff; her head was kept warm by her fur-lined hat. She reveled in the bracing feel of the cold breeze upon her face.
Grayson skated up beside her. “You're to be congratulated. All seems to be going smoothly.”
The moment vanished and she cast him a skeptical look. “I am not as silly as that. The very instant I start thinking things are going well will be precisely when disaster strikes.” She glanced at the bench by the side of the pond where Nikolai and Miss Murdock chatted and laughed together. Nikolai had begged off skating, claiming that a long-ago ankle injury limited his ability on skates, but he had gallantly insisted the others enjoy themselves. “And I don't like that one bit.”
“Jealous?”
“Don't be absurd.” She settled her hands deeper into her muff and raised her chin. “In spite of Miss Murdock's proclivity for flirtation, I have no doubts as to Nikolai's affections.”
“I see,” Grayson said slowly. “He has declared himself then?”
“Not yet.” Nor did she intend to allow him to do so. While a kiss might well change everything, she was fairly certain that marriage to Nikolai was no longer her ambition. Her only goal now was to achieve her perfect Christmas, stay clear of a proposal, get rid of the man and avoid scandal. “I'm just not sure leaving him alone with Miss Murdock is a good idea. I do wish Beryl had come with us.”
Beryl had refused to accompany them, saying she had spent more than enough time in the out-of-doors this morning, thank you very much, and had some reading she wished to catch up on in the library. Odd, as Beryl had never been especially inclined toward reading, but then she had never been overly fond of out-of-doors activities either.
“Camille,” Grayson began, “about Pruzinskyâ”
“Grayson, I know you neither like nor trust him, so I would much prefer not to discuss him with you.”
“Very well.” His gaze slid to the other couple on the ice. “Then shall we discuss how Mrs. Montgomery-Wells and Mr. Henderson are remarkably proficient on skates?”
She turned her attention to the older pair. “I'm not sure âproficient' is the right word. âAdequate' might be better. Neither has fallen, at any rate.” Mrs. Montgomery-Wells could be heard giggling like a schoolgirl and Mr. Henderson looked to be having a jolly time as well. Camille smiled reluctantly. “They do seem to be having an enjoyable time of it.”
“No doubt reliving more youthful days.” He chuckled. “Which I can well understand. I haven't skated in years.”
“And yet you haven't fallen either.”
“Nor have you.”
“You should congratulate me for that as well. I can't remember the last time I was on skates.” She shook her head. “Odd how things you haven't given a second thought to come back to you when you need them.”
“This does bring back fond memories, you know.” He made a fast rotation on the flat of his blade to skate backward, facing her.
She stifled a smile. “Now you're just trying to show off.”
“And doing a fine job of it, I'd say.” He grinned. The cold had reddened his cheeks and his dark eyes sparkled. Without warning, the years vanished and she was back to those long-ago days when she had ignored how much she had adored him because they were never meant to be anything more than friends. For a moment, she saw the fun-loving, adventurous boy he'd once been. Now, with the passage of years, he'd grown into the handsome promise of his youth, with a fine veneer of intelligence and experience that made him dashing and interesting and . . . seductive. Blasted man. “But if I really wanted to show off, I would challenge you to a race.”
“Nonsense, Grayson.” She sniffed. “We are not children now.”
“Even so, I daresay, I could still beat you.”
“You only beat me then because I allowed you to do so.”
“That's not exactly as I remember it.”
“Age is no doubt addling your mind.”
He laughed. “I beat you then because I was stronger and faster. And you were a mere girl.”
“As I am no longer a mere girl,” she said, “should I wish to engage in such a childish pursuit, I have no doubt I could best you handily.”
“I would be willing to take the chance.” His eyes shimmered with laughter. “And I would win.”
“Not if I threw a stone in your path to trip you up.” She smiled sweetly.
He gasped. “That wouldn't be fair.”
“Fair would be if you had to skate in skirts. As you would not, I would feel no qualms whatsoever about taking any advantage that came my way. Fair or not, I would still enjoy triumphing over you.” She shrugged. “All is fair in love and war, you know.”
“And what is this?” His smile remained, but his tone was abruptly sober. “Love or war?”
“Both,” she said without thinking; then realized what she had said, turned and skated off. Whatever possessed her to say that? Perhaps it had been love once, but now . . . now it was . . . what?
“You're not getting away that easily!” he called after her.
She skated faster, but he was ahead of her in a flash. He turned and stopped abruptly, his blades shaving the ice in what might have been an impressive display under other circumstances. He was too close; and before she could veer away, she slid into him. He caught her in his arms and stared down at her.
“It's not war, Camille.”
Her heartbeat quickened. “It's not love.”
“It could be.” His gaze bored into hers. “It was once.”
She started to deny it, but what was the point? Even if she'd never told him. Even if he'd never given her the chance. “ âOnce' was a very long time ago.”
He studied her closely. “Your sister said I broke your heart.”
“And you said I broke yours.” She stared into his dark eyes.
“You did,” he said simply.
“Oh, come now.” She pulled out of his arms. “One would think a man with a broken heart would do something, anything, toâ”
“Lady Lydingham!” One of her footmen ran toward the pond waving frantically. Odd, she didn't remember any of them having bright red hair.
“Excellent timing,” Gray said under his breath.
“Indeed, it is,” she snapped. “But you are right about one thing. We do need to talk about the past.” She nodded and skated toward the footman waiting at the edge of the pond.
“Lady Lydingham.” The poor man struggled to catch his breath. He must have run all the way. And was he wearing a wig? “Lady Dunwell says you must return immediately. She said it's of dire importance.”
“Of course she does.” Camille knew the moment she relaxed her guard, disaster would strike. She stepped off the ice.
“What is it?” Grayson said behind her.
“I don't know,” she said sharply, grabbing his arm to steady herself while she removed her blades. It struck her how natural and familiar it seemed to lean on him for balance. She shoved the thought aside. There were far more pressing matters to concern herself with at the moment. She glanced at the footman. What could possibly be of dire importance? Nikolai and everyone else in the “family” were here. “I can't leave now. Are you sure it's important?”
“She said she would have my head if you did not return at once.” The young man's eyes widened. “Pardon my saying, my lady, but I think she meant it.”
“No doubt,” Grayson muttered.
“You can make yourself useful by staying with the others. Here, take these.” She handed Grayson her skates. “They'll only slow me down.” She nodded at the servant. “Come along.” They started back toward the house.
“I'm coming with you,” Grayson called after her.
“No, you're not!” She didn't turn to see if he was doing as she asked; only picked up her pace. The footman was taller than she was, and she had to work to keep up with him. “And you, take that stupid thing off.”
“Yes, my lady.” He snatched the wig off his head. Obviously, she would need to have another chat with Fortesque.
They trimmed a good ten minutes off the half-hour walk. The house was almost in sight when Grayson joined them.
“I thought I asked you to remain at the pond?” She huffed.
“I thought you might need my help,” he said. “If this is indeed of dire importance. And I have taken care of the others.”
“Have you now?”
“I cut through the fields and went directly to the stables. I arranged for your carriage to pick up everyone at the pond. They should be no more than ten minutes behind us,” he said. “Clever of you not to have actors take the places of your carriage driver and groom.”
“They're very loyal, they can be trusted and they don't gossip. Besides, I needed them. It appears servants who work primarily out-of-doors do not long to be on the stage the same way others might.” She leveled a hard look at the footman. He winced and walked faster.
They turned onto the front drive and approached the manor. They were nearly there, when the door slammed open. Beryl fairly flew down the drive toward them.
“Good Lord, Beryl.” Camille stared at her sister. “What is it?”
“Children!” Beryl could scarcely get the word out. Her always composed, completely self-possessed sister had the appearance of someone who had just escaped from Bedlam. “There are children here. Dozens and dozens of children! They were . . .” Her eyes grew wider if possible. “Delivered! And this”âshe thrust an envelope at Grayâ“came with them. For you!”
“Ah yes, of course. I was expecting this.” He tore open the envelope. “Not so quickly, but I knew I could count on Win.”
“Grayson.” Camille stared at him in horror, a dreadful sense of apprehension twisting in her stomach. “What have you done?”
“A brilliant job, I would say.” He pulled out a folded note, shook it open and read.
“Children!” Beryl sputtered and grabbed her sister's arm. “They're everywhere, Camille. Everywhere, I tell you.”
“Grayson.” Camille studied him closely. The damnable man didn't look the least bit concerned, but then perhaps children didn't affect him the way they did Beryl. “Why are there children in the house?”
“Well, as you are trying to have a Christmas based on the works of Mr. Dickens, and most of his books have orphans in them . . .” He shrugged. “I thought a few orphans would only increase the authenticity.”
“ âOrphans'?” Disbelief widened her eyes.
“Orphans?”
He grinned in an all too satisfied manner. “Orphans.”
“Grayson.” Camille resisted the urgeâno, the needâto scream. “
Oliver Twist
has orphans!
Great Expectations
has orphans!
The Old Curiosity Shop
has orphans! There are no orphans in
A Christmas Carol
!”
“Are you sure?” he asked with obvious suspicion.
“Yes,”
she hissed the word.
“My mistake.” He shrugged. “But as it happens . . .” He glanced back at the note. “These are not orphans. They were simply going to
act
the part of orphans.”
“I don't want orphans!”
“Not that we aren't concerned about orphans,” Beryl said quickly. “Camille and I both raise funds and donate and do what we can to help the plight ofâ”
“Now is not the time,” Camille snapped.
“I thought it was worth mentioning, as you're not being the least bit charitable at the moment,” Beryl said, “toward orphans. At Christmas.”
Camille clenched her teeth. “I do not want orphans for Christmas!”
“Excellent, as you do not have orphans but merely children. Although”âhe leaned closer and lowered his voice in a confidential mannerâ“I suspect if they can play the role of orphans, they can certainly play the role of whatever else you might wish of them. Christmas elves, perhaps?”
“I don't want Christmas elves either!” She clenched her fists, closed her eyes and counted to ten. Considering ways to murder Grayson was not productive at the moment. Time enough for that later. Remaining calm and serene was the best way to handle this. She inhaled a calming breath and opened her eyes. “Let's start from the beginning, shall we? Where did these children come from?”