Unlaced At Christmas: The Christmas Duchess / Russian Winter Nights / A Shocking Proposition
again, standing well clear of the thing so that he might talk to the girl in peace. ‘And while I have you alone, I wish to speak with you for a moment.’ He gestured to the chairs by the window and they sat.
He resisted the urge to clear his throat, fearing that it would make him seem even more old and pompous than he already felt. ‘I wanted to apologise personally for the actions of my nephew.’
He could see, in the bright afternoon light, that her eyes were still red from crying. But for the moment, at least, they remained dry.
‘That is not necessary. They were not your fault after all.’
‘He is my heir and it reflects poorly upon my family that he used you, in such a way. I wish to make it right, if that is possible.’
‘I fail to see how you can,’ she said with a sad smile. ‘The man is already married. Even if he were not, I doubt I would take him back after how he has treated me.’
‘I understand that,’ he said as gently as possible. ‘Nor would I wish you to. It disappoints me to say so, but had I known of his courtship from the beginning, I would have warned you away from him.’
‘Because you did not think me worthy?’ She seemed ready to take offence.
He hurried to put her at her ease. ‘On the contrary. It is he who is not worthy. I had hoped on hearing that he meant to marry that it would be otherwise. But he has proved my worst fears and toyed with your affections. I must do what I can to make reparation.’
She gave him another sad smile that made her seem older than her years. ‘That is very kind of you, Your Grace. Mama said something on the subject to me already. If you mean to propose, I beg that you do not. It will save us both the embarrassment when I refuse.’
He hoped the relief he felt was not as obvious as it seemed. ‘You would not accept such an offer? You would be a duchess, you know. It is what Tom would have made you on my death.’
She shuddered. ‘Let us not talk of that, either. You are in good health at the moment, are you not?’
‘And I hope to be so, for some time,’ he said. ‘All the same, you would have been the duchess eventually.’
‘I hope you do not think that was an enticement when I accepted your nephew. I saw nothing further than the man in front of me.’ She smiled again. ‘I proved myself a very poor judge of character.’
‘If gentlemen behaved as they ought, it would not be necessary for ladies to be on guard,’ he reminded her. ‘And it is unfair that your reputation should suffer from his cavalier treatment of you.’
She gave a slight nod to say that he was too kind.
‘There will be a settlement,’ he said, stopping her before she could speak. ‘I will not accept a refusal of that, after the mortal blow you have dealt me by refusing my hand. You wound me to the quick, miss, for though I am old enough to be your father, I do not like to be reminded of the fact.’
She hurried to deny the fact, then noticed his smile and relaxed at the shared joke. ‘Very well, Your Grace. I thank you for your concern.’
‘I have another plan that might suit you better,’ he said, trying not to sound as cryptic as he felt. ‘I do not wish to speak of it as yet. But if I could repair your reputation in some other way, one that would give your broken heart time to heal and not trap you in a marriage not of your choosing, would you accept my help?’
Her shoulders sagged as well-disguised tension was released from them. ‘If such a thing was possible, I would accept it gladly, Your Grace.’
He rose and offered her his hand. She rose as well, and he escorted her to the door. ‘Then I shall endeavour to do my best for you.’ He glanced up to see the mistletoe that he had hung only a few minutes ago. ‘And now, you must indulge an old man, if only for luck.’ He laid a finger to direct her and she went up on tiptoe to kiss him, a brief, daughterly peck on the cheek.
He responded with a fatherly kiss on the top of her head. ‘Merry Christmas, my dear. Do not worry, I will make all right.’
She all but scampered as she left him, and he reached thoughtfully up to pluck one of the berries and toss it into the fire.
* * *
Seven, eight, nine...
Generva stared suspiciously up at the mistletoe, counting the berries there. She was sure there had been ten when she had left the room earlier in the day. She held her breath as she peered around at her feet to make sure the berry had not dropped off and rolled away. There was no sign of it on the floor.
She resisted the urge to move the furniture just to make sure. It was a roundabout solution to a perfectly simple problem. If she wished to know if a kiss had occurred after the meeting between the duke and her daughter, she had but to go and ask Gwen.
Strangely, she did not want to. She had left them alone together so that the matter of the proposal could be properly settled. But she had trusted that he would behave as a gentleman, especially if the answer was no. If he had pressed his advantage, as he had when Generva had been alone with him, she could not ignore it. She would explain to her daughter that what might have been a simple Christmas game last season might now be seen as permission to take even greater liberties. If she had agreed to a marriage, then it must occur tomorrow as scheduled.
If not? Then Generva would inform the duke that he must offer again and allow no second refusal. The girl would likely pout and sulk. But in the end she would have a husband who was both rich and powerful, and good-humoured, as well. He had a friendly, almost playful nature, and an excellent singing voice. Smiles came easily to her when he was around, and she was not normally given to such frivolity.
She was waxing on his virtues again. It netted her nothing. If she must speak of them at all, it would be to Gwen. After his marriage to her daughter, she could brag of the match to the jealous mothers of less-fortunate girls.
Perhaps Gwen would not have the grand passion she hoped for. But it was well past the time for romance. If she married the duke, she would have kindness and security, and never feel the desolation of the soul that came with knowing one was alone. The women of the Marsh household, both of them, must stop behaving like silly, love-struck maidens and face facts.
‘Are you looking for something?’
She jumped at the sound of his voice, placing her hand over her suddenly heaving bosom.
The duke was glancing down at the floor, just as she had as she searched for the berry. ‘I am sorry to startle you. But it seemed, just now, that you were searching for something. May I be of assistance?’
Darling, it has been a long time...
A sudden image flashed into her head of John, returned from sea. He would smile and coax her to the bedroom, claiming he needed help removing his boots. She would smile and follow, and they would close the door, even if it was the middle of the afternoon....
Why, of all times, must she think of such a thing? And why, in the presence of this particular man? The answer was obvious. But she was sure, somewhere on the other side of the veil, her husband was laughing at her.
She caught her breath and swallowed. ‘The room needs sweeping. It was foolish to decorate before giving it a good cleaning.’ She looked up into his face, which was very near hers, and leaned back into the door frame to keep from falling.
‘I shall bring the broom from the kitchen, if you promise not to strike me again.’ He was smiling, as though they shared a secret joke.
Her heart was beating so loud and fast she feared he must hear it from where he stood. She braced her shoulders against the woodwork, leaning back into the solidness of the house. ‘That will not be necessary. It has been a most confusing week,’ she added, hoping this would explain her behaviour.
‘It has indeed,’ he replied. ‘And I suppose you are wondering the results of my conversation with