Nigel Sterling walked into the room, Lord Hastings and Lord Tarryton, the Duke of Owenfield, with his new lady duchess following behind him.
The music died, the servants ceased to shriek with laughter, and a curious quiet fell upon the room.
“Hello, Father,” Amanda greeted him coolly. Her fingers were trembling. She could not forget that the weapons had been seized, that she was lying to the man with whom she had fallen in love. Dear God, why on this day! she prayed in silence, but he was already upon her, taking her hands, brushing her cheek with his cold kiss. Thom was quickly there to take coats and hats; she greeted Lord Hastings and Robert and his duchess, and quickly suggested that they retire to the dining room where there was still warm food and a blazing fire. She saw that Eric watched her, carefully, and she wondered at his thoughts.
There was a scuffle as she led their new guests toward the dining room. Startled, Amanda twirled around. She was shocked to see Eric standing there with his arm locked about Jacques Bisset’s throat, holding him despite the fact that the muscled Frenchman was straining to break free. Eric smiled despite his determined fight. “Do go on, my love. I’ll be right with you.”
“But, Eric—”
“Our guests, Amanda.”
Confused, she nevertheless hurried forward to escort their new guests to the dining room. As she closed the doors, she could see that Danielle had come over to talk swiftly to the man she had claimed as her brother. Amanda could not catch the words. With a sigh, she gave up. She turned about, facing those who had come. Her father watched her with his ever-calculating eyes; Lord Hastings with his ever-lecherous eyes; Robert with a startling lust; and Anne, the Duchess of Owenfield, with her soft brown doe’s eyes, ever frightened and timid.
“Anne, you must have some of our Christmas grog!” Amanda said cheerfully. “And the rest of you must try this too. Father, I know you prefer your whiskey, but this is a wonderful concoction with a trace of whiskey in it.” She didn’t wait for a reply, but played the grand hostess, pouring from a silver decanter that sat atop a small pot of burning oil to keep the contents warm. She placed a stick of cinnamon in each drink. By then Eric had come into the room, looking only slightly worse for the curious tussle.
“Welcome,” he said to the group, taking Anne’s hand in the best manner of the Virginia aristocrat. He kissed her fingers and smiled at the young woman—a trifle more gently than he smiled at her, Amanda thought, but then she realized that he was very sorry for the timid woman married to Robert. “Duchess, it is indeed a pleasure to have you here. I’m so sorry I missed your wedding. I understand it was quite the occasion of the decade.” His eyes sparkled. “Tell me, do I detect something special here already?”
“Quite.” Robert had the grace to hold his wife’s shoulders and pull her against him. “We are expecting our first child.”
“Oh! How wonderful!” Amanda said, raising her glass to the pair. “A toast to the two of you, and to a healthy, happy babe.”
“Here, here!” Eric agreed, and he lifted his glass to the pair. “To a healthy, happy babe! Come, lady, be warmed by the fire.”
Eric was wonderful with Anne, light and warm, making her feel very much at home. But the conversation did not stay light long; Nigel Sterling brought up the fact that Williamsburg was alive with gossip about the conclave that was already being planned. “The time is coming, and coming fast, when a man will have to make up his mind! He will either be the king’s servant or his enemy.”
Eric waved a hand in the air, but Amanda noted that her husband’s eyes were glittering with tension. She knew to beware of him in such moods; she doubted if her father would see the danger or heed it. “Nigel, I have just recently returned from service at Dunmore’s request,” Eric stated. “I met the Indians upon our borders while politicians argued. Why do you tell me this?”
“Because, sir, you should abhor these proceedings! You, with your strength and power and your influence, you should be out there fighting the hotheads, not joining them!”
“Or leading them!” Robert suggested sharply.
It was out—it was almost an accusation of treason.
Amanda stood, bursting in between them. “I’ll not have it!” she announced, lifting her chin imperiously. “This is my house, and it is Christmas, and every man here shall behave with propriety for the occasion, or leave. This is not a tavern, and you’ll not act like it! Are we all understood? Nigel, you are my father, and as such you are welcome here, but not to reap discord!”
There was silence for several long seconds. Amanda realized that Eric was looking at her and that his temper had faded. His eyes were glistening with laughter.
“Amanda—” Sterling began.
Eric rose. “You heard my wife. We’ve quite a traditional Christmas here and we are delighted to have you, but only in the Christmas spirit. Come along. We’ve excellent musicians, quite in the spirit of the holiday. Come, Lady Anne, ’tis a slow tune. If your husband will allow, I will gladly lead you gently to it.” The group returned to the party.
Robert nodded distractedly. As soon as Eric had taken Anne to the dance floor, he swept his arms about Amanda. He held her too close. Trying to ignore him and the pressure of his arms, she danced focusing her attention on the music and the movement of her feet. The fiddler was wonderful and the plaintive tunes of the instrument, joined by the soft strains of flute and harp, were haunting. Or they could be…if she did not feel Robert’s arms about her.
“Marriage becomes you, Amanda. You are more beautiful than ever.”
“Thank you. And congratulations. You are to be a father.”
“No child yet, eh? Tell me, do you sleep with the bastard?”
“With the greatest pleasure,” she replied sweetly. She felt his hands quicken upon her so that she was in pain; he nearly snapped her fingers.
“You’re lying,” he told her.
“No woman could find a more exciting lover.”
“You have not forgiven me yet. But you love me still, and I can warn you now, the time is coming when you will run to me.”
“Oh? Is it?”
