“I thought I had forgotten,” he said. “But maybe I just pushed it deep and denied it and let it fester.”
“And coming home has brought it all back to you,” she said. She added quietly. “Cominghere. You did not have a happy childhood here, did you? I remember your telling me about your uncle’s volatile temper, about his openly favoring you over his own sons and causing them to hate you. But they are all dead, and it is not the place you hate, is it? It is someone. I am sorry. I do not wish to—”
“She accepted Wanstead’s marriage offer on a three-week acquaintance,” he said, “because he was an earl and had property and a vast fortune.”
“Gerard,” she said, touching his arm, “many women marry for such security. It is not easy being a woman. The prospect of being left destitute is more frightening for us than for men. We are so limited in the ways we can provide for ourselves.”
“Mmm,” he said. He did not want her making excuses for Christina.
“Perhaps,” she said, “she was fond of him or grew fond of him. You cannot know unless she has told you differently. You have been far away. She has two very sweet little children—I met them this morning.”
He smiled at her. “You are too easy to talk to, Jeannette,” he said. “I did not intend to burden you with my problems— certainly not with the specifics. Do you think you are going to enjoy being here?”
“Of course,” she said. “We expected, Andrew and I, that we would spend Christmas alone together in London. We were already feeling rather sorry for ourselves, far from home and family and particular friends. And then you invited us here. It was extremely kind of you. And yes, we are both already enjoying ourselves. It is a beautiful place and our fellow guests are amiable.”
“I suppose,” he said, only because she was Jeannette and it was not in the nature of their friendship to keep anything secret that concerned them both, “you have some idea of the reason behind this house party? Apart from the celebration of Christmas, that is.”
Her eyes wavered from his for just a moment. “Andrew suggested it,” she said, “and I have seen since yesterday that it is probably true.”
“Well,” he said, “my dear friend. Any comments?”
“Yes.” She set her head to one side and regarded him closely. “You have a great deal of energy, Gerard—restless energy. You have always been in search of something, I believe, and have still not found it. Don’t settle for anything less than that something even if you still do not know what it is. Don’t force yourself into believing that Miss Gaynor is the wife for you—unless youknowshe is. You would end up unhappy and bound for life to your unhappiness.”
“Perhaps,” he said, “it is of you I think more than of Lizzie Gaynor.”
She shook her head. “We have known each other for many years, Gerard,” she said. “Ever since I was a schoolgirl. You would haveknownby now.”
“And yet,” he said, “you are one of the dearest friends I have ever had, Jeannette, man or woman.”
“You need more than friendship of your life’s partner,” she said. “I have never seen it in action, but I sense deep passion in your nature. Just as there is in mine, though perhaps very few people realize it. One day I am going to share the sort of love with a man that poets write of.” She smiled impishly.
“I envy him,” he said.
“No, you do not,” she said. “You need only my friendship, Gerard, as I need yours. It is said, you know, that hatred is very akin to love.”
“There is too much dislike,” he told her. “There are too many irritants. There is too much bitterness and lack of trust. There is too much—”
“Passion?” she suggested. “My feet are cold. Are you going to take me walking, or are we to stay here until I am standing on two lumps of ice?”
He offered her his arm. “Shall we walk?” he suggested.
Chapter 10
THE rest of the day was filled with various activities. The earl gave a tour of the house after luncheon and then took most of the younger guests out riding while the countess ordered around the carriage and the gig and went into the village with another group. There were a few shops there at which some modest purchases might be made, as well as a Norman church to explore, and an inn at which to take a pot of tea before the return home. Christina, Lady Langan, and Mr. and Mrs. John Cannadine then took their children outside for a game of chasing across the wide lawns and a vigorous game of hide-and-seek among the trees. In the evening, after dinner, the card tables were set up and most of the guests settled to play. Clara Radway won the grand sum of five shillings and everyone else boasted lesser wins or lamented lesser losses. Not by any stretch of the imagination could the drawing room have been called a den of vice.
Although a few of the gentlemen ended the day with a game of billiards, most of the guests retired for a respectably early night in anticipation of another busy day on the morrow. Their services would be required for the gathering of greenery with which to decorate the house for Christmas, the earl had announced at dinner, and no one was to be excused. Sir Michael Milchip had complained halfheartedly about his gout until Lady Milchip had declared for everyone at the table to hear that it was the firstshehad heard of his suffering with any such malady. The baronet had looked sheepish as he winked at Margaret seated opposite him, there had been a general burst of laughter at his expense, and that had been the end of any attempt to shirk the hard labor.
The mood at breakfast the next morning might have been gloomy, given the fact that the daylight beyond the windows of the breakfast room looked almost as murky as the night that had preceded it. But as Viscount Luttrell remarked, standing at the window with his quizzing glass to his eye, those were snow clouds not so very far up there if he was not very much mistaken.
“All the more reason why we should go outside without delay once breakfast is over,” the earl said. “The snow will be falling by noon or very soon afterward. I have it on the authority of the head gardener, who made the prediction in the hearing of my valet. Sit down and eat, Harry, or you are going to have to work on an empty stomach.”
“Dear me,” the viscount said, lowering his glass and turning toward the warming plates on the sideboard. “Work— whatever is that, Gerard? It sounds decidedly nasty.”
“It means scouring the countryside for holly and ivy and pine boughs and mistletoe,” Mr. Ralph Milchip said. “It means chopping and tearing and climbing and suffering bleeding fingers, Harry. And then it means dragging heavy loads to the house. And, as a reward when one has done all that, it means the pleasure of climbing and balancing and pinning all over the house merely so that one may see indoors a meager shadow of what one can see outdoors any day of the week without any effort at all. It is for this pleasure that Gerard has invited us all here.”
Margaret laughed.
“Mistletoe?” Viscount Luttrell had brightened visibly. “If I really must work in order that you will continue to feed me, then, Gerard, I will volunteer to lead that party. Provided, of course, I may choose my own workers and test the efficacy of the product after I have found it.” He turned lazy eyes on Christina and took a seat some distance from her.
