Christmas Delights Read online

He chided himself for calling it that. What did it matter to him if she was attractive to other men? The baron offered Victoria his arm when dinner was over, escorting her to the drawing room instead of staying behind for private conversation among the gentlemen. He knew the baron did not like cigars, but still, the gesture smacked of overfamiliarity.

  In fact, he monopolized the rest of Victoria’s evening. The two stayed at the piano, inexpertly interpreting holiday carols. Rose cast glances at Lewis from her seat at the far end of the room, imploring him to speak to Courtnay. But he knew he’d have to choose his time carefully. He wasn’t the head of Rose’s family; therefore his approach must be indirect. His cousin hadn’t been compromised in any way. Or so he thought. Had the pair kissed?

  He regarded the imposing figure standing by the fireplace with the earl. They had come in together, smelling of whiskey, speaking about machinery, something that normally would have fascinated him, but tonight he couldn’t find that place in his brain. No, his eyes kept returning to the curve of Victoria’s back as she bent over the keyboard, the sensual indentation of her waist, the flare of her hips. He remembered touching that round bottom, recalled the noises he made, the moistness between her thighs.

  Torture, sheer torture. Eventually, he left the room and went to the stable, hoping to fine-tune the instruments in the conning tower.

  Lewis spent most of the night with the submarine, losing the hours until the first hint of watery gray winter sky peeping over the lake forced him to realize dawn had come. He went back to his rooms then, sleeping until the noon hour.

  When he went downstairs, after Eddy had all but kicked him awake, he found Victoria, Rose, and Penelope all seated in the morning parlor. The baron was nowhere to be seen, and Victoria looked at him with great interest.

  He wondered if she had come looking for him during the night. Eddy hadn’t indicated that was the case, but he wouldn’t necessarily have known. He hoped to God she hadn’t spent it with the baron. His cousin lifted her eyebrows to him, and he wondered if she had been campaigning to enter the affections of Rupert Courtnay’s family, in anticipation of him speaking to the man on her behalf.

  “Do you have one of your horseless carriages here, Lewis?” Rose asked.

  “Why, did you want to close out the year with a drive?” He sat down, crumpling the back of his jacket in the process.

  “Victoria would like to go to Brighton today, if possible.”

  “This is not the season,” he said, confused. “I don’t think the weather will please you.”

  “I wish to take Penelope to see her mother,” Victoria said.

  Her cheeks did not have the rosy hue he had become accustomed to seeing, he now noticed. “Is she ill?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “I want to see Mummy,” Penelope interjected. “Daddy had her sent away.”

  The child did seem genuinely distressed. Where Victoria had lost color, she had gained it. A red flush colored her face and she looked hot, disagreeable. He recalled she’d been ill earlier in the week.

  “This may not be the best time,” he said as gently as he knew how. “You have not been feeling well, Miss Courtnay, and perhaps it is the same for your mother.”

  “That’s not what Lady Barbara said,” the child complained. “She said Mummy ought to be locked away.”

  Victoria closed her eyes. “My cousin overheard part—an unfortunate part—of a conversation. She is insisting on seeing her mother, and with my father gone and unable to provide counsel, I do not know what to do other than go to Brighton and see for myself.”

  “Your father is gone?” Lewis traded glances with Rose.

  “He went to the village and hasn’t returned yet.”

  “You mean since yesterday?”

  She nodded.

  Lewis scrubbed his face with his hands. He hadn’t even had a cup of coffee or tea yet this morning. Err, afternoon. “Could he have gone to Brighton?”

  “I do not know, Mr. Noble.”

  Penelope jumped up from the sofa and collapsed into a kneeling position at his feet. “Please take us? I must see Mummy. I have so much to tell her.”

  “It might make things worse,” he said over the girl’s head, but he could see Victoria didn’t know what to do. As for Rose, she simply wanted to please her prospective suitor’s daughter. She would be of no use.

  “Is knowing the truth ever really a bad thing?” Victoria asked.

  Lewis thought about that. “Sometimes illusion can be splendid.”

  Victoria’s eyes went to the girl at his feet. “I think we are past that point.”

  “You may be right. There is a motorized carriage in the stable. It is an earlier version, open to the weather; just a cart with seats, really.”

  “It isn’t snowing. If we bring furs and hot bricks, it should be fine.”

  He nodded and stood, careful to maneuver around the girl. “I will see if I can start it up. But I’m not willing to take Rose. She is too delicate for the trip under these circumstances.”

  His cousin glared at him but nodded. She might dislike her limitations, but at least she had learned to accept them over the past few years. Or, at least, when marriage wasn’t involved.

  An hour later, he’d managed to construct an awning over the front bench of the carriage with the help of one of his men. He’d gotten the machinery started and was reasonably certain he could take them safely to the outskirts of Brighton. If not, he could rent a horse somewhere along the way and harness it to the carriage. It still had the necessary hardware.

  He saw Victoria and her cousin walking down from the Fort, followed by two servants, their arms heaped high with comfort items for the chilly drive.

  Twenty minutes later, they were off, chugging along the muddy path around the lake, to pick up the road to the village. Thick white smoke trailed behind them, but at least it was a pure color, with no tinge of gray, which might indicate problems. He wished he could be alone with Victoria on a pleasure trip, but her cousin kept up a steady stream of commentary from the rear seat of the cart, pointing out every small specimen of wildlife crossing their path and proving they were far from private.

  “Mood swings,” he muttered.

  “Can you blame her?” Victoria asked softly. “All of the uncertainty she’s faced. And me with no idea what to do with her.”

  “She adores you.”

  She glared at him. “That is not the point. You can adore people who are perfectly terrible. It is all a matter of perspective.”

  “Am I perfectly terrible?” he asked.

  “That is assuming I adore you,” she said, pointing her nose in the air.

  He had never noticed the slope of her nose before, only the flatness of the bridge, the way her nostrils made perfect half-moons around the sides. But from this angle, he saw it had a certain downward geometry. Her profile gave the impression of an inward-facing young woman, rather than the gregarious soul he found her to be. She had spent a lot of time alone. He wondered what her thoughts were, what her dreams and fears might be, apart from what her father wanted from her.

  Had he ever thought to ask? She would not tell him the truth now, with a child-sized conduit straight to her father sitting in the backseat.

  “I do not assume your adoration, only your gratitude for my conveying you to Brighton.”

  She laughed heartily at that, turning her head so that he saw only her public face again, and not the more secret side of her. “A gentleman should be pleased to do any favor for a lady.”

  “But I am promised to the earl,” he said. “I am disappointing my patron.”

  “Oh.” She dismissed the thought. “You are too successful to be so beholden. I have heard all about you from Rose. A man who can command any fee he wishes for his work is not a man in thrall to anyone.”

  He wondered if she really saw him that way. People were now offering him a level of respect he’d never received before, especially from his uncle, Sir Bartley Redcake, who had treated him
almost as a nuisance even while he proceeded to transform the man’s businesses with his innovative, time-saving inventions. He still found it hard to behave as a success. Arrogance did not seem to be part of his nature. But, perhaps more importantly, he did as he pleased most of the time, and three years earlier that had not really been the case. By that alone he knew he’d come a long way.

  He’d also been able to build his own workspace. A house, a couple of servants to keep him fed and dressed, the financial responsibility of Eddy and some other employees, all of them had been easy to afford. He could hold his head high and do what he liked with the majority of his day.

  “As you say,” he told Victoria. Would she respond better to assurance than naked need? If he thought only about the next night, the next gift of sex, would that carry him through?

  By early afternoon, they had reached the outskirts of Brighton. Small cottages dotted the landscape, surrounded by trees and the bare winter plots of summer vegetable gardens.

  Victoria kept an anxious eye on landmarks. “That must be the church, and there is the vicarage with the bronze weather vane.”

  Lewis nodded and drove into the field next to the cottage where Clarissa Courtnay lived. When the engine was off, he asked, “Should I go in first and see if the situation is suitable for Penelope?”

  “Certainly not,” Victoria said. “We must all know the truth.”

  “Victoria,” Lewis said in a soft voice, “I cannot agree with you.”

  Her lips tightened and she glanced into the rear, where Penelope was curled up on the bench, asleep. “Very well.”

  Lewis hopped down and walked up the shell-strewn path to the front door of the cottage. He used the knocker and was rewarded a few minutes later by the appearance of a sober-looking woman dressed in an old-fashioned black dress with a wide skirt.

  “My name is Lewis Noble. I have brought Mrs. Courtnay’s daughter and niece for a visit if she is receiving,” he told the woman.

  She registered no surprise, as he might have expected, but the hour was such that visitors might be likely to call. “I will ask her to come into the sitting room.”

  He tried to smile, but the emotion died before it reached his lips. She was so stoic. Did she need that level of control to live in the midst of madness?

  When he reached the cart, he found Penelope awake and in the front seat with Victoria.

  “Can I see Mother now?” the child asked.

  “Yes.” He shrugged at Victoria.

  “Did she come to the door?” she asked.

  “No, there was a servant.” He held out his hand and Victoria took it. The press of one glove against another held little intimacy, and he wished he could cup her cheek, kiss her brow, in support of what was likely to be a difficult meeting. Either her aunt would be mad or not, and that meant either disappointing Penelope or causing Victoria to lose faith in her father and uncle.

  She looked tense as she helped her cousin exit the carriage in turn. Lewis pulled a tarp from the back and spread it over the seats so they would remain dry, then followed them to the front door. The servant gestured them in without further speech, and they were directed to a plain sitting room, far too large for the limited furnishings. Victoria and Penelope sat in straight-backed wooden chairs that had been only roughly finished.

  The family had plenty of money, so why the poor surroundings? Had no one checked on the situation? Lewis began to think for the first time that Victoria had been right to demand to come. He stood next to the unlit fireplace and wondered where the household sat during the day. While the temperature was above freezing, it had surely been that low overnight and was scarcely temperate now. He left his gloves on, and only unwound his muffler. The servant had not offered to take any of their coats.

  Impatient, he began to search for a coal scuttle. Penelope shivered and Victoria wrapped her arm around the girl.

  “I thought we would come inside to warm up,” she said. “But it isn’t much warmer.”

  “We’re out of the rain at least,” Lewis said. “This household might need some reordering.”

  Victoria nodded. “I am not pleased. At least it is clean, though.”

  After a few more moments of waiting, the servant returned, followed by a very thin woman with watery blue eyes and Penelope’s wide mouth.

  The girl sat up straight when she saw her mother, but Lewis was surprised to see she didn’t run into her arms, or even attempt to do so. Instinctively, she knew that was a bad idea.

  Clarissa Courtnay did not speak, merely regarded her daughter and niece impassively. He wondered if she’d been dosed with opiates.

  Victoria forced a smile and rose. “Aunt Clarissa.” She stepped forward and gave her aunt a hug.

  The woman did not pull away, but she didn’t respond either.

  “I brought Penelope for a visit.” Victoria chattered on about their reason for being in the area, Penelope’s cold, the other children visiting the nursery, the masquerade ball.

  Penelope talked a little about the fairy tale Victoria had been telling her but stayed huddled on her chair. The servant stood in the corner, ever watchful but offering nothing.

  After a few minutes, the women had seated themselves. Victoria continued to chatter brightly, but her gaze roamed the room.

  “I know you hate me,” Clarissa Courtnay said suddenly.

  Penelope’s mouth drooped as Victoria protested.

  “Of course not, Aunt Clarissa. We’ve missed you and love you dearly,” Victoria said.

  “I know it,” Mrs. Courtnay insisted.

  “It’s time for a rest,” said the servant, stepping forward. She held out her hand to her charge, and Mrs. Courtnay stood obediently.

  Penelope rose from her chair so suddenly that it teetered on three legs. She flew at her mother, grabbing her around the waist. “When are you coming home? I want to go home!”

  Mrs. Courtnay stared off into the distance as her daughter sobbed against her bodice. He saw Victoria blink hard, a sheen of tears in her eyes.

  “The lady says I must remain here,” Mrs. Courtnay said.

  “What lady?” asked Victoria.

  The woman seemed not to hear her. “I’m to be here to greet the king when he returns.”

  “There hasn’t been a king for over fifty years,” Victoria said. She clasped her hands together in front of her. Lewis could see the tension in her rounded shoulders, the way her arms were held stiffly against her body.

  “Well, now,” said the servant, “Mrs. Courtnay is ready for a lie-down. I will return to escort you out.”

  Lewis helped Victoria pull the sobbing Penelope away from her mother, who never lifted a hand one way or another. Victoria held Penelope tightly as the two women exited the room.

  “You’re shivering,” he said. He quickly took off his greatcoat and wrapped it around her shoulders, then tucked the outer edges around Penelope.

  The trio stood silently for a moment.

  Victoria broke the silence eventually. “I have never known Aunt Clarissa not to offer tea. Not ever. She was always so polite.”

  “I think she’s taking medicine,” Lewis said.

  She nodded. “I saw her pupils. I hate to think how bad she is without it, if she can say such things while so heavily medicated.”

  “She doesn’t know what she is saying,” Lewis said.

  “I’m never going home,” Penelope said, breathing heavily between each word. “Mother is never going to be well.”

  “We do not know that,” Victoria said. “But it is best to be realistic. At least she is calm, and clean.”

  Though not particularly well cared for. “Do you think there are fires in other parts of the house?”

  “I would assume the kitchen is warm, at least. This room is not very welcoming. There might be another parlor.”

  Judging from the circumference of the outer walls, Lewis doubted it. Mrs. Courtnay might spend much of her day locked in her bedchamber, for instance. “We’ll check the chi
mneys when we go,” he said. “Make sure there is smoke coming out of some of them. I half-expected to meet your father here, since he has been away.”

  Victoria sighed. “I have no idea where he went. He doesn’t like to say.”

  A mistress? Likely. Lewis wondered again if the man was any kind of suitable match for Rose, though her choices were limited. He remembered hearing how the Dickondell men had surrounded her like bees around a flower when she had first moved into the area a few years ago, but they had scarcely noticed her at the house party. Clearly she had been declared unsuitable for them, and now that two of them had snagged the earl’s sisters they were above Rose’s touch. Her ill health was all too evident.

  Penelope had calmed by the time the servant returned ten minutes later. Victoria’s expression hardened when she saw the woman.

  “Do you have enough money to run this household sufficiently?” she demanded.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Then why is my aunt so thin? Why is there no fire? Why didn’t you ask my aunt if she wanted to serve tea?”

  The servant’s expression remained utterly impassive. “You will not wish to discuss this in front of the child.”

  “I’ll take Penelope,” Lewis said. He helped Victoria unravel the child from around her waist and walked her back toward the kitchen. While it was a stunning breach of etiquette, she needed to warm up before they left.

  While the fireplace was cold in the kitchen as well, the stove was hot and the room was at least twenty degrees warmer. He took a cloth and poured steaming water from the kettle into a cup.

  “Put your hands around that,” he told Penelope. “Drink it when it cools.”

  “Thank you,” she said, sitting in the chair closest to the stove.

  He poked around a bit, and decided the kitchen was well enough stocked for him to take a bit of bread and cheese for the child. He cut off slices of both and warmed them in the oven until the cheese was melted, then served her.

  Penelope ate slowly, her solemn expression telling him without words how utterly bereft she was. When her food and water were gone, she put one hand to her forehead, the picture of childish despair.

  “Will she ever be better?”