A Wallflower Christmas (Wallflowers 4.5)

“I’m sure it’s ladies dancing,” Annabelle said.

“No, no, it’s lords a-leaping,” Lillian assured her.

“It’s ladies, dear. Evie, don’t you agree?”

Ever the peacemaker, Evie murmured, “It doesn’t m-matter, surely. Let’s just choose one and”

“The lords are supposed to go between the ladies and the maids,” Lillian insisted.

They began to argue, while Evie tried to suggest, in vain, that they should abandon that particular song and start on “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” or “The First Noel.”

They were so intent on the debate, in fact, that none of them were aware of anyone entering the room until they heard a laughing female voice.

“Lillian, you dunderhead, you always get that wrong. It’s ten leaping lords.”

“Daisy!” Lillian cried, and went in a mad rush to her younger sister. They were uncommonly close, having been constant companions since earliest memory. Whenever anything amusing, frightening, wonderful, or awful happened, Daisy had always been the first one Lillian had wanted to tell.

Daisy loved to read, having fueled her imagination with so many books that, were they laid end to end, would probably extend from one side of England to the other. She was charming, whimsical, fun-loving, butand here was the odd thing about Daisyshe was also a solidly rational person, coming up with insights that were nearly always correct.

Not three months earlier Daisy had married Matthew Swift, who was undoubtedly Thomas Bowman’s favorite person in the world. At first Lillian had been solidly against the match, knowing it had been conceived by their domineering father. She had feared that Daisy would be forced into a loveless marriage with an ambitious young man who would not value her. However, it had eventually become clear that Matthew truly loved Daisy. That had gone a long way toward softening Lillian’s feelings about him. They had come to a truce, she and Matthew, in their shared affection for Daisy.

Throwing her arms around Daisy’s slim, small form, Lillian hugged her tightly and drew back to view her. Daisy had never looked so well, her dark brown hair pinned up in intricate braids, her gingerbread-colored eyes glowing with happiness. “Now the holiday can finally begin,” Lillian said with satisfaction, and looked up at Matthew Swift, who had come to stand beside them after greeting Annabelle and Evie. “Merry Christmas, Matthew.”

“Merry Christmas, my lady,” he replied, bending readily to kiss her proffered cheek. He was a tall, well-formed young man, his Irish heritage apparent in his coloring, fair skinned with black hair and sky-blue eyes. Matthew had the perfect nature for dealing with hot-tempered Bowmans, diplomatic and dependable with a ready sense of humor.

“Is it really ten ladies dancing?” Lillian asked him, and Swift grinned.

“My lady, I’ve never been able to remember any part of that song.”

“You know,” Annabelle said contemplatively, “I’ve always understood why the swans are swimming and the geese are a-laying. But why in heaven’s name are the lords a-leaping?”

“They’re chasing after the ladies,” Swift said reasonably.

“Actually I believe the song was referring to Morris dancers, who used to entertain between courses at long medieval feasts,” Daisy informed them.

“And it was a leaping sort of dance?” Lillian asked, intrigued.

“Yes, with longswords, after the manner of primitive fertility rites.”

“A well-read woman is a dangerous creature,” Swift commented with a grin, leaning down to press his lips against Daisy’s dark hair.

Pleased by his obvious affection toward her sister, Lillian said feelingly, “Thank heaven you’re here, Matthew. Father’s been an absolute tyrant, and you’re the only one who can calm him down. He and Rafe are at loggerheads, as usual. And from the way they glare at each other, I’m surprised they don’t both burst into flames.”

Swift frowned. “I’m going to talk to your father about this ridiculous matchmaking business.”

“It does seem to be turning into an annual event,” Daisy said. “After putting the two of us together last year, now he wants to force Rafe to marry someone. What does Mother say about it?”

“Very little,” Lillian replied. “It’s difficult to speak when one is salivating excessively. Mother would love above all else to have an aristocratic daughter-in-law to show off.”

“What do we think of Lady Natalie?” Daisy asked.

“She’s a very nice girl,” Lillian said. “You’ll like her, Daisy. But I could cheerfully murder Father for making marriage a condition of Rafe’s involvement in Bowman’s.”

“He shouldn’t have to marry anyone,” Swift commented, a frown working across his brow. “We need someone to establish the new manufactoriesand I don’t know of anyone other than your brother who understands the business well enough to accomplish it. The devil knows I can’t do itI’ve got my hands full with Bristol.”

“Yes, well, Father’s made marrying Lady Natalie a non-negotiable requirement,” Lillian said with a scowl. “Mostly because Father lives for the chance to make any of his children do something they don’t want to do, the interfering old”

“If he’ll listen to anyone,” Daisy interrupted, “it’s Matthew.”

“I’ll go look for him now,” Matthew said. “I haven’t yet seen him.” He smiled at the group of former wallflowers and added only half in jest, “I worry about leaving the four of you together. You’re not planning any mad schemes, are you?”

“Of course not!” Daisy gave him a little push toward the ballroom entrance. “I promise we’ll be perfectly sedate. Go and find Father, and if he has burst into flames, please put him out quickly.”

“Of course.” But before he left, Matthew drew his wife aside and whispered, “Why do they have holes in their dresses?”

“I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation,” she whispered back, and pressed a fleeting kiss on his jaw.

Returning to the others, Daisy hugged Evie and Annabelle. “I’ve brought loads of gifts for everyone,” she said. “Bristol is a marvelous place for shopping. But it was rather difficult to find presents for the husbands. They all seem to have everything a man could want.”

“Including wonderful wives,” Annabelle said, smiling.

“Does Mr. Hunt have a toothpick case?” Daisy asked her. “I bought an engraved silver one for him. But if he already happens to own one, I do have alternate presents.”

“I don’t think he does,” Annabelle said. “I’ll ask him when he arrives.”

“He didn’t come down with you?”

Annabelle’s smile turned wistful. “No, and I hate being parted from him. But the demand for locomotive production has become so great, Mr. Hunt is always buried in work. He is interviewing people to help carry the load, but in the meantime …” She sighed and shrugged helplessly. “I expect he’ll come after the week’s end, if he can free himself.”

“What of St. Vincent?” Daisy asked Evie. “Is he here yet?”

Evie shook her head, the light sliding over her red hair and striking ruby glints. “His father is ill, and St. Vincent thought it necessary to visit him. Although the duke’s doctors said his condition wasn’t serious, at his age one never knows. St. Vincent plans to stay with him at least three or four days, and then come directly to Hampshire.” Although she tried to sound matter-of-fact, there was a shadow of melancholy in her voice. Of all the former wallflowers and their mates, Evie’s connection with St. Vincent had been the least likely, and the most difficult to fathom. They were not publicly demonstrative, but one had the sense that their private life was intimate beyond ordinary measures.

“Oh, who needs husbands?” Annabelle said brightly, sliding an arm around Evie’s shoulders. “Clearly we have more than enough to keep us very busy until they arrive.”

CHAPTER 8

It was Hannah’s particular torture to have been cast as chaperone, and therefore be forced to sit beside Natalie during the musical soiree that evening, while Rafe Bowman took Natalie’s other side. The entwined harmonies of two sopranos, a baritone, and a tenor were accompanied by piano, flute, and violins. Many of the older children had been allowed to sit in rows at the back of the room. Dressed in their best clothes, the children sat straight and did their best not to fidget, whisper, or wiggle.

Hannah thought wryly that the children were behaving far better than their parents. There was a great deal of gossiping going on among the adults, especially in the lulls between each musical presentation.

She observed that Rafe Bowman was treating Natalie with impeccable courtesy. They seemed charmed by each other. They discussed the differences between New York and London, discovered they had similar tastes in books and music, and they both passionately loved riding. Bowman’s manner with Natalie was so engaging that if Hannah had never encountered him before, she would have said he was the perfect gentleman.

But she knew better.

And Hannah perceived that she was one of many in the room who took an interest in the interactions between Bowman and Natalie. There were the Blandfords, of course, and the Bowman parents, and even Lord Westcliff occasionally glanced at the pair with subtle speculation, a slight smile on his lips. But the person who paid the most attention was Lord Travers, his expression stoic and his blue eyes troubled. It made Hannah’s heart ache a little to realize that here was a man who cared very much about Natalie, and with very little encouragement would love her passionately. And yet all indications pointed to the fact that she would probably choose Bowman instead.

Natalie, you’re not nearly as wise as you think you are, she thought wistfully. Take the man who would make sacrifices for you, who would love you for who you are and not for what he would gain by marrying you.

The worst part of Hannah’s evening came after the entertainment had concluded, when the large crowd was dispersing and various groups were arranging to meet in one location or another. Natalie pulled Hannah to the side, her blue eyes gleaming with excitement. “In a few minutes, I’m going to sneak away with Mr. Bowman,” she whispered. “We’re going to meet privately on the lower terrace. So make yourself scarce, and if anyone asks where I am, give them some excuse and”

“No,” Hannah said softly, her eyes turning round. “If you’re seen with him, it will cause a scandal.”

Natalie laughed. “What does it matter? I’m probably going to marry him anyway.”

Hannah gave a stubborn shake of her head. Her experiences with Bowman had left no doubt in her mind that he would take full advantage of Natalie. And it would be Hannah’s fault for allowing it to happen. “You may meet him on the lower terrace, but I’m going with you.”

Natalie’s grin faded. “Now you’ve decided to be a vigilant chaperone? No. I’m putting my foot down, Hannah. I’ve always been kind to you, and you know you’re in my debt. So go off somewhere and do not make a fuss.”

“I’m going to protect you from him,” Hannah said grimly. “Because if Mr. Bowman compromises you, you will no longer have any choice. You’ll have to marry him.”

“Well, I’m certainly not going to consider a betrothal without finding out how he kisses.” Natalie’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t cross me, Hannah. Leave us alone.”

But Hannah persevered. Eventually she found herself standing unhappily at the side of the lower terrace while Natalie and Rafe Bowman conversed. Bowman seemed unperturbed by Hannah’s presence. But Natalie was furious, her voice lightly caustic as she observed aloud that “One can never talk about anything interesting when a chaperone is present,” or “Some people can never be gotten rid of.”

Having never been the focus of such brattiness from Natalie before, Hannah was bewildered and hurt. If Hannah was in Natalie’s debt because the girl had always been kind to her, the reverse was also true: Hannah could have made Natalie’s life far less pleasant as well.

“Don’t you find it irksome, Mr. Bowman,” Natalie said pointedly, “when people insist on going where they’re not wanted?”

Hannah stiffened. Enough was enough. Although she had been charged with the responsibility of looking after Natalie and chaperoning her, she was not going to allow herself to be subjected to abuse.

Before Bowman could say anything, Hannah spoke coolly. “I will leave you with the privacy you so clearly desire, Natalie. I have no doubt Mr. Bowman will make the most of it. Good night.”

She left the lower terrace, flushed with outrage and chagrin. Since she could not join any of the gatherings upstairs without raising questions concerning Natalie’s whereabouts, her only options were to go to bed, or find some place to sit alone. But she was not in the least sleepy, not with the anger simmering in her veins. Perhaps she could find a book to keep her occupied.

She went to the library, peeking discreetly around the door-jamb to see who might be inside. A group of children had gathered in there, most of them sitting on the floor while an elderly bewhiskered man sat in an upholstered chair. He held a small gold-stamped book in his hands, squinting at it through a pair of spectacles.

“Read it, Grandfather,” cried one child, while another entreated, “Do go on! You can’t leave us there.”

The old man heaved a sigh. “When did they start making the words so small? And why is the light in here so poor?”

Hannah smiled sympathetically and entered the room. “May I be of help, sir?”

“Ah, yes.” With a grateful glance, he rose from the chair and extended the book to her. It was a work by Mr. Charles Dickens, titled A Christmas Carol. Published two years earlier, the story of redemption had been an instant sensation, and had been said to rekindle the cynical public’s joy in Christmas and all its traditions. “Would you mind reading for a bit?” the old man asked. “It tires my eyes so. And I should like to sit beside the fire and finish my toddy.”

“I would love to, sir.” Taking the book, Hannah looked askance at the children. “Shall I?”

They all cried out at once. “Oh, yes!”

“Don’t lose the page, miss!”

“The first of the three spirits has come,” one of the boys told her.

Settling into the chair, Hannah found the correct page, and began.