“And so,” he said, “there were no balls here during your marriage, no parties, no laughter, no merriment.”
“And no vice either,” she said tartly.
“Poor Margaret,” he said quietly. “Was she at least taught to dance?”
“Country dances, yes,” she said. “They are a part of any young lady’s education.”
“But not often performed in company, at a guess,” he said. “I suppose even a mention of the waltz would send you into a fit of the vapors?”
“I have never seen it danced, my lord,” she said stiffly. “I have heard about it and have no wish to see it.”
“You will do so nevertheless,” he said, “in the ballroom here the evening after Christmas.” He was feeling more than ever irritated with her.
“I wish you would reconsider, my lord,” she said, “and arrange for only country dances. I will not dance at all, of course. I am in mourning, as you may have observed. But—”
“Did you love him so much, then?” he asked. It was none of his business whether she had loved Gilbert or not. It seemed to him that they had deserved each other.
“He was my husband,” she said.
“Christina.” He sat down at last on the chair opposite hers and sighed. This was not how he had planned for this meeting to proceed. He had meant it to be all business. “I will have house guests arriving next week. They are coming to celebrate Christmas. I am prepared to work hard preparing for their arrival and entertaining them once they are here. Though, as you observed last evening, the servants will bear the brunt of the work. I daresay that between us they and I will be able to do a good enough job. But it would be better if I had a hostess. My aunt would assume the role, but if she is as I remember her, she is a well-meaning ditherer. Margaret is too young. And if I chose one of them, it would appear to be a slight to you, something I would not have happen publicly, no matter what my private feelings may be. Will you do it? Be my hostess, that is, not just a dark wraith hovering in the background, grieving widow of the former earl?”
“I will do whatever you command me to do, my lord,” she said.
He found her answer intensely irritating. He had invited some sort of truce, and all he had got for his pains was coldness. “I would advise you, my lady,” he said, his eyes narrowing on her, “not to try impertinence on me.”
Her mouth opened and shut again. Her eyes widened, and in them for the merest moment he read—what? Fear?Fear?She said nothing. She did not remove her eyes from his. Had he been mistaken? Surely he must have been.
He sighed again. “This would all be so much easier if we had never met before last evening, would it not?” he said. “Well, we did meet and fancied ourselves in love. You married Gilbert and I went off to Canada. Now our fates are linked once more—forever, I suppose, though after the holiday we may both forget the fact once more. I will return to Canada; you will remain here. There, it has been set in the open. Can we accept reality now and move on? I think we must both be agreed that young love is a foolish and impermanent thing and that we were fortunate indeed that Gilbert came to town when he did. Will you help me make this a pleasant Christmas for all who will be here?”
“Yes,” she said.
“And will you,” he asked, his eyes sweeping over her with distaste, “leave off your blacks?”
She licked her lips. He wondered if he understood her hesitation—and if it was something else she had been determined not to ask for. But he refused to give vent to irritation again.
“Is there a dressmaker in the village?” he asked. When she nodded, he swept on. “Make use of her services. I shall instruct Monck to settle the bill.”
Her cheeks flushed for the first time. “I am becoming too much of a charge upon you,” she said.
But he ignored the remark. “What do you know,” he asked her, “about organizing house parties?”
“Very little,” she admitted.
It had not occurred to him that after ten years at Thornwood as the countess she might not be up to the task of preparing for his guests. But it seemed that she and Gilbert—and necessarily poor Margaret—had lived a quiet, sober, puritanical existence. Well, it had been their right, he supposed, though he would no longer allow his young cousin to suffer for it.
“Perhaps,” he suggested, “we should move over to the desk, get paper and pens ready, and begin to pool our meager resources.”
She half smiled at him again, but this time there seemed to be some real amusement in the expression. “At least,” she said, “we know that invitations must be sent out for the ball. Meg is going to write them.”
It was the first small suggestion of amiability between them. Something to build upon, perhaps? He hoped that at least they could establish some sort of working relationship over the coming days.
If not, it would be a long and possibly disastrous Christmas.
Chapter 4
SHE was going to have an allowance, sufficient for her own needs and the girls’ needs. That was a vague promise, of course. Their combined needs might be judged to be very limited. But even so,she was going to have an allowance, money that would be all her own to spend in any way she pleased. Rachel was to have a governess—of Christina’s own choosing, and she would be able to spend her own time with her daughters simply being a mother to them. She could have a new dress made by Miss Penny, perhaps even two. What an impossible extravagance.
By the time Christina emerged from the long session at the library desk, her head was spinning with the large number of tasks that lay ahead for the next week—not to mention what would need doing after the arrival of the guests. And yet it was not so much that prospect that lodged in her conscious mind as the fact that she was to have an allowance and a new dress or two. Frivolities.
