“Are you the Spirit, sir, whose coming was foretold to me?” asked Scrooge. “I am.”; The voice was soft and gentle. Singularly low, as if instead of being so close beside him, it were at a distance. “Who, and what are you?” Scrooge demanded. “I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.”;
Glancing around, Hannah bit back a grin as she saw the children’s mesmerized faces, and the delighted shivers that ran through them at her rendition of a ghostly voice.
As she continued to read, the magic of Mr. Dickens’s words wrought a spell over them all and eased the doubt and anger from Hannah’s heart. And she remembered something she had forgotten: Christmas wasn’t merely a single day. Christmas was a feeling.
IT CERTAINLY WOULD HAVE BEEN NO HARDSHIP TO KISS LADY Natalie. But Rafe had refrained from taking any such liberty, mainly because she seemed so determined to entice him into it.
After Hannah had left the lower terrace, Natalie had been defensive and sheepish, telling him that men were fortunate not to require chaperones everywhere they went, because at times it could be maddening. And Rafe had agreed gravely that it must indeed be quite inconvenient, but at the same time Miss Appleton struck him as tolerable company.
“Oh, most of the time Hannah is a dear,” Natalie said. “She can be rather bourgeois, but that is only to be expected. She comes from the poor side of the family, and she’s one of four unmarried sisters, no brothers at all. And her mother is deceased. I don’t mean to sound self-congratulatory, but had I not told Father I wanted Hannah as my companion, she would have suffered years of drudgery looking after her sisters. And since she never spends a shilling on herselfshe sends her allowance to her fatherI give her my castoffs to wear, and I share nearly everything that’s mine.”
“That is very generous of you.”
“No, not at all,” she said airily. “I like to see her happy. Perhaps I was a bit harsh on her a few moments ago, but she was being unreasonable.”
“I’m afraid I have to disagree,” Rafe told her. “Miss Appleton is a good judge of character.”
Natalie smiled quizzically. “Are you saying that she was correct in her assessment of you?” She drew closer, her lips soft and inviting. “That you’re going to make the most of our privacy?”
“I hate to be predictable,” he told her regretfully, amused by her frowning pout. “Therefore…no. We should probably take you upstairs before we cause gossip.”
“I have no fear of gossip,” she said, laying her hand on his arm.
“Then you clearly haven’t yet done anything worthy of being gossiped about.”
“Perhaps it’s only that I haven’t been caught,” Natalie said demurely, making him laugh.
It was easy to like Lady Natalie, who was clever and pretty. And it would be no hardship to bed her. Marrying her would hardly be a difficult price to pay, to get the business deal he wanted with his father. Oh, she was a bit spoiled and pettish, to be sure, but no more than most young women of her position. Moreover, her beauty and connections and breeding would make her a wife whom other men would envy him for.
As he walked with her toward the main entrance hall, they passed by the open door of the library, where he had conversed recently with his father. A very different scene greeted his gaze now.
Warm light from the hearth pushed flickering shadows to the corners, spreading a quiet glow through the room. Hannah Appleton sat in a large chair, reading aloud, surrounded by a group of avidly listening children.
An elderly man had nodded off by the hearth, his chin resting on the ample berth of his chest. He snuffled now and then as a mischievous boy reached up to tickle his chin with a feather. But the boy soon left off, drawn into the story of Ebenezer Scrooge and his visitation by a Christmas spirit.
Rafe had not yet read the wildly popular book, but he recognized the story after hearing a few lines. A Christmas Carol had been so quoted and discussed that its ever-growing fame had become rather off-putting to Rafe. He had dismissed it as a bit of sentimental candy floss, not worthy of wasting his time with.
But as he watched Hannah, her face soft and animated, and heard the lively inflections of her voice, he couldn’t help being drawn in.
Accompanied by the Spirit of Christmas Past, Scrooge was viewing himself as he had been as a schoolboy, lonely and isolated during the holidays until his younger sister had come to collect him.
“Yes!” said the child, brimful of glee. “Home, for good and all…Father is so much kinder than he used to be, that home’s like Heaven! He spoke so gently to me one dear night when I was going to bed, that I was not afraid to ask him once more if you might come home; and he said Yes, you should; and sent me in a coach to bring you …”
Becoming aware of their presence in the doorway, Hannah glanced up briefly. She flashed a quick smile at Natalie. But her expression was more guarded as she looked at Rafe. Returning her attention to the book, she continued to read.
Rafe was aware of that same warm, curious pull he felt every time he was near Hannah. She looked adorably rumpled, sitting in the large chair with one slippered foot drawn up beneath her. He wanted to play with her, kiss her, pull that shiny hair down and comb his fingers through it.
“Let’s leave,” Natalie whispered beside him.
Rafe felt a mild sting of annoyance. Natalie wanted to go somewhere else and continue their earlier conversation, and flirt, and perhaps have a taste of the adult pleasures that were so new to her, and so damnably familiar to him.
“Let’s listen for a moment,” he murmured, guiding her into the room.
Natalie was too clever to show her impatience. “Of course,” she returned, and went to arrange herself gracefully in the unoccupied chair by the hearth. Rafe stood at the mantel, leaned a shoulder against it, and glued his gaze to Hannah as the story continued.
Scrooge witnessed more from his past, including the merry Fezziwig ball. A mournful scene followed, in which he was confronted by a young woman who had loved him but was now accepting that his desire for riches had surpassed all else.
” …if you were free to-day, to-morrow, yesterday, can even I believe that you would choose a dowerless girl…choosing her, if for a moment you were false enough to your one guiding principle to do so, do I not know that your repentance and regret would surely follow? I do; and I release you. With a full heart, for the love of him you once were …” “Spirit!” said Scrooge in a broken voice, “remove me from this place.”
Rafe disliked sentiment. He had seen and experienced enough of the world to resist the pull of maudlin stories. But as he stood listening to Hannah, he felt unaccountable heat spreading through him, and it had nothing to do with the crackling fire in the hearth. Hannah read the Christmas story with an innocent conviction and pleasure that was too genuine for him to resist. He wanted to be alone with her and listen to her low, charming voice for hours. He wanted to lay his head in her lap until he could feel the curve of her thigh against his cheek.
As Rafe stared at her, he felt the quickening of arousal, the rising warmth of tenderness, and an ache of yearning. A terrible thought had sprung to his mind, the wish that she were Bland-ford’s daughter instead of Natalie. Sweet God, he would have married her on the spot. But that was impossible, not to mention unfair to Natalie. And thinking it made him feel every bit the cad that Hannah had accused him of being.
As Hannah finished the second chapter, and laughingly promised the clamoring children that she would read more the following night, Rafe made an unselfish wish for someone else for the first time in his life…that Hannah would someday find a man who would love her.
AFTER PRAISING THE SINGERS AND MUSICIANS FOR THEIR FINE performance, and leading a group of ladies into the parlor for tea, Lillian returned to the drawing room. Some of the guests were still congregated there, including her husband, who stood in the corner speaking privately with Eleanor, Lady Kittridge.
Trying to ignore the cold needling in her stomach, Lillian went to Daisy, who had just finished talking with some of the children. “Hello, dear,” Lillian said, forcing a smile. “Did you enjoy the music?”
“Yes, very much.” Staring into her face, Daisy asked bluntly, “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing’s the matter. Nothing at all. Why do you ask?”
“Whenever you smile like that, you’re either worried about something, or you’ve just stepped in something.”
“I haven’t stepped in anything.”
Daisy regarded her with concern. “What is it, then?”
“Do you see that woman Westcliff is talking to?”
“The beautiful blond one with the smashing figure?”
“Yes,” came Lillian’s sour reply.
Daisy waited patiently. “
I suspect …” Lillian began, and was startled to feel her throat closing and a hot pressure accumulate behind her eyes. Her suspicion was too awful to voice.
Her husband was interested in another woman.
Not that anything would come of it, because Westcliff was a man of absolute honor. It was simply not in him ever to betray his wife, no matter how acute the temptation. Lillian knew that he would always be faithful to her, at least physically. But she wanted his heart, all of it, and to see the signs of his attraction to someone else made Lillian want to die.
Everyone had said from the beginning that the earl of West-cliff and a brash American heiress were the most improbable pairing imaginable. But before long Lillian had discovered that beneath Marcus’s outward reserve, there was a man of passion, tenderness, and humor. And for his part, Marcus had seemed to enjoy her irreverence and high-spirited nature. The past two years of marriage had been more wonderful than Lillian could have ever dreamed.
But lately Westcliff had started paying marked attention to Lady Kittridge, a gorgeous young widow who had everything in common with him. She was elegant, aristocratic, intelligent, and to top it all off, she was a remarkable horse-woman who was known for carrying on her late husband’s passion for horse breeding. The horses from the Kittridge stables were the most beautiful descendants of the world’s finest Arabians, with an amiable sweetness of character and spectacular conformation. Lady Kittridge was the perfect woman for Westcliff.
At first Lillian had not worried about the interactions between Lady Kittridge and her husband. Women were always throwing themselves at Westcliff, who was one of the most powerful men in England. But then a correspondence had begun. And soon afterward he had gone to visit her, ostensibly to advise her on some financial matters. Finally Lillian had begun to experience the pangs of jealousy and insecurity.
“I…I’ve never been able to quite make myself believe that Marcus is truly mine,” she admitted humbly to Daisy. “He is the only person, aside from you, who’s ever truly loved me. It still seems a miracle that he should have wanted me enough to marry me. But now I think…I fear…he might be tiring of me.”
Daisy’s eyes turned huge. “Are you saying you think that he…and Lady Kittridge …”
Lillian’s eyes turned hot and blurry. “They seem to have an affinity,” she said.
“Lillian, that is madness,” Daisy whispered. “Westcliff adores you. You’re the mother of his child.”
“I’m not saying that I think he’s unfaithful,” Lillian whispered back. “He’s too honorable for that. But I don’t want him to want to.”
“Has the frequency of his…well, husbandly attentions…lessened?”
Lillian colored a little as she considered the question. “No, not at all.”
“Well, that’s good. In some of the novels I’ve read, the unfaithful spouse pays less attention to his wife after he begins an affair.”
“What else do the novels say?”
“Well, sometimes a cheating husband may wear a new scent, or start tying his cravat in a different way.”
A worried frown gathered on Lillian’s forehead. “I never notice his cravat. I’ll have to start looking at it more closely.”
“And he develops an untoward interest in his wife’s schedule.”
“Well, that doesn’t helpWestcliff has an untoward interest in everyone’s schedule.”
“What about new tricks?”
“What kind of tricks?”
Daisy kept her voice low. “In the bedroom.”
“Oh, God. Is that a sign of infidelity?” Lillian gave her a stricken glance. “How do the bloody novelists know these things?”
“Talk to him,” Daisy urged softly. “Tell him your fears. I’m sure Westcliff would never do anything to hurt you, dear.”
“No, never deliberately,” Lillian agreed, her smile turning brittle. She glanced at a nearby window, out at the cool black night. “It’s getting colder. I hope we’ll have snow for Christmas, don’t you?”
CHAPTER 9
Although Hannah and Natalie had tacitly decided to put their tiff of the previous evening behind them, the relations between them were still cool the next day. Therefore, Hannah was relieved not to be included when Natalie and Lady Blandford went with a group of ladies on a festive carriage ride through the countryside. Other women had elected to stay at Stony Cross Park, conversing over tea and handiwork, while a sizable contingent of gentlemen had left for the day to attend an ale festival in Alton.
Left to her own devices, Hannah explored the manor at her leisure, lingering in the art gallery to view scores of priceless paintings. She also visited the orangery, relishing the air spiced with citrus and bay. It was a wonderfully warm room, with iron grillwork vents admitting heat from stoves on a lower floor. She was on her way to the ballroom when she was approached by a small boy whom she recognized as one of the children she had read to.
The boy appeared apprehensive and uncertain, hurrying through the hallway in an erratic line. He was clutching some kind of wooden toy in his hand.
“Hello. Are you lost?” Hannah asked, squatting to bring herself to face level with him.
“No, miss.”
“What is your name?”
“Arthur, miss.”
“You don’t seem very happy, Arthur. Is there anything the matter?”
He nodded. “I was playing with something I shouldn’t, and now it’s stuck and I’ll get thrashed for it.”
“What is it?” she asked sympathetically. “Where were you playing?”
“I’ll show you.” Eagerly he seized her hand and pulled her along with him.