Christmas Delights Page 28

  While Penelope might care more about appearance than function, he might as well work to both their benefits. He knew he wouldn’t sleep tonight, but in the end, when he handed Penelope the bird, he wanted to be able to make peace with the fact that he’d lost his Victoria. He didn’t want to spend the next three years mourning her, as he had Alys.

  CHAPTER 20

  It took Lewis a solid twenty-four hours to complete the white stork for Penelope, even with Eddy’s help. By Wednesday evening, dazed with exhaustion, he didn’t argue when Eddy insisted he go to bed. The next morning, when he checked in his shed, the paint had dried on the nonmetallic parts of the bird and it looked ready for delivery.

  Dressed in a warm but scratchy wool suit against the cold, he regarded the bird critically. What would a little girl find to love about the thing? He had captured the delicacy of the stork, the beautiful neck and slender orange-red beak and legs. Would it give her hope as she settled into her new life in Edinburgh?

  “I wonder if I should make another one and give it to Lady Allen-Hill as a wedding present.”

  “That seems exceedingly foolish to me,” said a voice behind him.

  Lewis glanced over his shoulder. He didn’t need to see the man to recognize Hatbrook’s voice, however. “Why?”

  “Talk her out of the engagement,” Hatbrook advised, folding his arms over his broad chest as he leaned against the inner door.

  Lewis turned. What did Hatbrook know of his business? “Why do you say that?”

  “Aunt Mary gave me an earful.” A smile crinkled the corners of Hatbrook’s eyes. “Your Twelve Nights of Christmas were eventful, it sounds like. Either that or she’d dipped deep into the sherry.”

  To think he assumed he could trust an old woman with his secrets. More fool he. “I didn’t think of her as a gossip.”

  Hatbrook grinned and rubbed the back of his neck. “The old girl continually surprises me. What if you gave the lady a child, Lewis, have you thought of that? Do you want the baron raising your offspring?”

  “He might not go through with it.” Lewis smiled.

  “I know Lady Allen-Hill only slightly, and I’d hate to think she’d take the man to bed just to make sure he wouldn’t be critical of her child’s birth date, but it’s something you have to consider. For a man of science, you are surprisingly obtuse at times.”

  “What do you suggest I do? Follow her to London and skulk around her house until I can bribe her maid into telling me if she’s had her courses?”

  Hatbrook tilted his head. “I’d be direct with the lady, but of course she might lie. You need to tell her she has no business getting engaged until she knows if she’s carrying your child.”

  “It’s too late for that,” Lewis protested.

  “As long as the engagement hasn’t been reported in the London papers, there is still time. The only ones who’ve heard about the engagement are a few people at an obscure house party.”

  “The Earl of Bullen’s house party,” Lewis said. “That’s hardly obscure.”

  “I’m throwing you a bone, Lewis. Grasp it. Pack up that damnable bird you made and get yourself to London before it’s too late.” Hatbrook picked up a screwdriver and tossed it into an open drawer.

  “She did it for her young cousin, you know. I wouldn’t marry her, and Courtnay threatened to send the child away to school if she didn’t find a fiancé in something like forty-eight hours.” Lewis put his favorite wrench into his traveling tool kit.

  “Then make sure the child is in your pocket,” Hatbrook said. “Use her.”

  “I don’t want to live under Courtnay’s thumb. I had enough of that with Sir Bartley.” He gritted his teeth as he put the rest of his wrenches into another drawer. Unfortunate that the man would use a child as his pawn. He would not suffer similarly.

  “Be a man. Refuse. Once you’ve married the lady, you can do what you want. Obeying Courtnay isn’t exactly part of your marriage vows.” Hatbrook tossed paint-spotted rags into a refuse barrel.

  “He might take Penelope away.” Lewis stared at the bird again.

  Hatbrook shrugged. “I don’t see the problem. You have lawyers. Make sure you have legal guardianship of the child before you make your refusal to go to Liverpool obvious.”

  “I don’t think legal guardianship is on offer,” Lewis said. “She has parents; they are just a combination of unwilling and inept.”

  Hatbrook hung two hammers on the pegboard. “Speak to Rose. She can work on Courtnay. She’s marrying the man, after all.”

  “I expect you’ll be happy to see her gone north,” Lewis said, remembering the old anger Hatbrook had against Rose for gossiping about Alys’s premarital lovemaking.

  “Not especially. She’s matured. One of those rare people who learn a lesson and change for the better. Unlike her sister Matilda.” Hatbrook shook his head as he wiped the worktable clean of metal shavings, then tossed that rag into the barrel.

  Lewis grinned. The man kept a tidy property. “Now there is a beacon for misadventure.” He glanced at the bird, which seemed to be staring at him critically. “Some minor adjustments to the face, I think. It doesn’t look peaceful enough to give to a child.”

  “Do something about the eyes,” Hatbrook said. “But don’t tarry too long. Once the announcement hits the papers, you’re sunk.”

  Lewis opened a paint can and found a clean brush. “I have to hope they are too busy settling back in after a long trip away to have managed it.”

  “I’d have said that I hoped she was regretting her decision to marry the baron, myself.”

  “That too, but she’ll make the best of it, for Penelope’s sake. Besides, I don’t want Victoria to be unhappy. That would be a cruel wish to have for the woman I love.” He dipped his brush into the white paint.

  Hatbrook’s smile faded. “That is true.” He held out his hand.

  Surprised, Lewis lifted his grimy hand to Hatbrook’s and the men shook.

  “I’m glad you’ve moved on,” Hatbrook said in a low voice, wincing as he said the words.

  At that moment, Lewis realized that Hatbrook had known of the torch he’d carried for Alys all these years. “I have been difficult to be around, haven’t I?” he said.

  Hatbrook’s eyes rose to the heavens for a moment before returning to him. “We wish you all the best. Fix that bird’s gaze and send it home.”

  “Yes.” Lewis regarded the bird again. “As swiftly as possible.”

  Lewis called at Rupert Courtnay’s London mansion on Friday afternoon and asked to see Penelope. The footman who answered the door looked askance at the large, sheet-wrapped bundle under his arm, not to mention the fact that he’d asked for a child, but allowed him in after he’d presented his card.

  Lewis had waited an extra day in Heathfield, allowing the bird time to dry while he caught up on his sleep. Every dream he’d had was of Victoria: their past, their unlikely future. The staff had done their best to remove the paint and metal shavings from his attire. He’d been so enthusiastic about his project that he hadn’t changed into work clothing when he’d started on the bird, who he had nicknamed Welly, since he’d come into their lives at the destroyed wishing well. The suit he’d worn when he started the project would never be the same again, and his most sober waistcoat had been ruined, so he was back in an unfortunate green and ruby tartan today. It was either that or wait another day to visit so he could return home and retrieve more clothing. But he knew that would cause him distraction on any number of fronts, and every day he delayed was another day Victoria or the baron, or Rupert Courtnay, could write an engagement notice for the papers.

  When he was shown into a small sitting room, he unwrapped Welly, concerned that the paint might have smudged, but the white stork looked fine, kindly even, after all the work Lewis had done to perfect his face. Eddy had helped resculpt the eye sockets as well, which added to the bird’s appeal. The boy might have had a future as an artist if he wasn’t so mechanically minded. Lewis rewr
apped the bird and pulled a red ribbon from his pocket. He tied a bow around the neck to make his offering more festive. When he was done, he stepped back and regarded it. The bird was still a cloth-covered lump with a sloppy bow around its neck, but at least it appeared he was trying.

  After five minutes, a maid opened the door and Penelope ran in, followed, as he had hoped, by Victoria. Penelope’s white dress was smudged at the hem, possibly from kneeling too close to a fireplace, but Victoria looked slim, cool, and perfect in lavender silk. Her dark hair was coiled into an elaborate coif, making her appear even more remote, like a woman ready to be immortalized in oil. Her gray eyes regarded him expectantly, though she said nothing.

  The moment he’d seen her, his palms started to tingle, dampen. His collar felt too tight and the fire must have been freshly fed with coal because it felt like a firing kiln in the room. Sweat broke out at the small of his back. He checked the door behind her, wondering if Courtnay would arrive, too, but thankfully no one else entered. And there were no other afternoon callers, at least not in this room. Perhaps the family wasn’t officially at home yet. Or were merely stopping for a few days before returning to Liverpool.

  Why was no one speaking? His throat felt tight. He desperately wished for a tea tray, but nothing had been offered yet. He attempted to squeeze out a few words. “I am glad to see you looking so well. I never said good-bye in Pevensey.”

  “Why wouldn’t we look well?” Victoria asked.

  “Yes, of course. Such a happy time for you,” Lewis managed. Didn’t she regret how things had ended at all? “Is the baron here?”

  “He hasn’t left the Fort yet, as far as I know. I thought you had come asking for Penelope, not John.”

  Had her hands, already clasped together, twisted very slightly? How still she was, the imaginative, impulsive young lady he knew turned into this cool goddess. Something had gone wrong with the baron; he just knew it. She was holding herself in check, as if in fear of pain.

  Penelope took his hand, forcing his attention to her. “It is lovely to see you again, Mr. Noble.”

  He grinned at her, his tension dissolving at her artless greeting. “So formal, Miss Courtnay? And here I thought we had become friends when you tended me after I nearly drowned.”

  She nodded happily. “I thought so, too.”

  “Then you must think of me as Lewis, even if we don’t see each other very often anymore.”

  Her forehead creased, as if she didn’t quite understand.

  “I brought you a present,” he told her.

  “A present? It’s not my birthday,” the girl said.

  “I know, but it’s sort of a memory, from the wishing well. I thought you might like it.”

  Victoria’s chin went up. Her gaze went to his. They shared a long moment of silent communication. He could almost hear her question, her silent well done. Nodding slightly, he took the child’s hand and walked her to the table in between two chairs, where he’d set his creation.

  Penelope tilted her head, regarding the ribbon intently as Victoria moved behind her. “It’s rather a large present. I find large presents are the best. They are often toys.”

  “What is the best gift you’ve ever received?” he asked.

  She clapped her hands together. “A dollhouse. From Cousin Victoria and Uncle Rupert, three years ago. I played with it for hours and hours. I’m too grown-up now, of course.”

  “You can use it to practice your decorating and sewing skills,” Victoria said. “There are plenty of uses for a dollhouse.”

  Penelope wrinkled her nose. “I want to see the new toy.”

  Lewis cleared his throat. “It’s not exactly a toy. More of a friend.”

  “If it was a pet, I’m sure it would have moved by now,” she said.

  “Perhaps it is stuffed,” Victoria suggested.

  Lewis shook his head. “Unwrap it, Penelope. Eddy and I made our best effort for you.”

  “Eddy worked on it?” Penelope smiled as she gently untied the ribbon, then wrapped it around her wrist and held it up to Victoria so she could tie a bow. “There, now I’m a present, too.”

  Victoria ruffled her hair. “Must you make such a ceremony of the unwrapping? I want to see what’s inside.”

  Lewis held back his grin. Victoria was an impatient woman, always.

  Penelope gently unwrapped the top of the sheet, gasping as the face of the bird was revealed. Her hands moved faster, unraveling the linen, until the white stork stood exposed.

  Lewis had sculpted, with Eddy’s help, the head from wood. The feathers were all metal, though, cut and painted to look like the real thing. “The beast’s balance is imperfect,” he warned. “You’ll need to be gentle.”

  “Is it an automaton?” Victoria asked.

  He’d wanted a different reaction from her than this temperate question. “No. I didn’t want to take the time. It would have delayed the delivery, and I didn’t know how long you would be in London.”

  “She’s beautiful,” Penelope breathed, touching a feather.

  “Be careful; they are probably sharp,” Victoria warned.

  “It’s not a toy,” Lewis agreed. “But a friendly art piece.”

  “I love her,” Penelope said. “Can’t I hug her, just a little?”

  She turned to Victoria, who nodded. When Penelope put her arms gently around the bird and touched her cheek to the side of its beak, Victoria turned to him.

  He wanted to see her smile. She made his soul levitate when she looked at him with laughter in her eyes. He stepped closer and she drew away from Penelope, who had started whispering to the bird.

  Victoria put her index finger on his chin, her thumb just beneath. Her fingers were cold, her gaze remote. Almost close enough for a kiss, she blew out a breath instead of pulling his mouth toward her. Her mouth against his would be perfection, but he needed her smiles even more, especially now. He waited, staring down at her, a captive to her touch, wondering what she might do next.

  “Why have you come?” she asked, any hint of a polite social smile disappearing.

  She didn’t release him. Her fingers stroked fluidly along his jaw as he spoke, reminding him of the way she moved with him when they made love. “To bring the bird, of course. You did ask me more than once to make it.”

  Her fingers tightened slightly, denting his skin. “You did a lot of work to please a little girl who is no connection to you. Work you’d refused.”

  He put his hand on her face, tracing her left cheekbone. His fingers tingled and he wondered if she felt the same bond with him still. “I needed to show you that I understood. If you could sacrifice yourself to marriage to protect her, I could unbend enough to make her the bird you said would help her cope.”

  Before Victoria could respond, Penelope lifted the bird, holding the ungainly creature just under the wings. “I want to show it to Nanny.” She didn’t look at them, so engrossed was she in the bird.

  “Be very careful going up the stairs,” Victoria said, dropping her fingers from his face.

  His jaw felt cold and she turned her head so that his fingers fell away from her, too. He wondered if she’d ever allow him to touch her again.

  Penelope nodded happily and carried the bird out of the room.

  “Thank you,” Victoria said, turning back to him. “She is pleased. I hope she remembers the feeling she had at the wishing well every time she looks at it.”

  “I’m sorry it isn’t an automaton, but there wasn’t time.”

  “It might have frightened her if it was.” Her hand went to the nape of her neck, as if she was testing her coiffure for a stray pin. “I’ll expect your invoice.”

  What was she thinking? How was he going to turn this goddess back into a flesh-and-blood woman? He needed a strategy. Perhaps all he could do, now that it was all but too late, was be honest.

  He went to the door that Penelope had just walked through and turned the lock. Her fingers bent at the sound, and when she pulled her hand aw
ay, pins clattered to the floor and a thick ringlet slithered along her neck and curled around the neckline of her dress.

  He smiled. The goddess transformed.

  “There is no charge. You know, it took losing you for me to realize I loved you.” He watched as a hint of color came into her cheeks. “I wish I had understood that as soon as you knew you loved me.”

  She inhaled so sharply that he could hear the squeak of her breath when he knelt at her feet. He picked up a pin and she reached for it, but instead, he poked one end into her palm and slid it up her wrist until it touched the lacy sleeve of her dress.

  “I can’t breathe,” she whispered.

  Slowly, he ran the pin along her inner arm. So close he could feel her breath on his hair, he stood back up, her breath moving down his temple, to his cheek, to his throat. The pin rested at the tip of her arm socket. He moved it across her shoulder as she shuddered, then up her neck, and rested it finally on the slight indentation in the center of her plump lower lip. “You still want me, and I’m not going to let another man take what’s mine.”

  “I’ve agreed to marry him.”

  “I don’t care.” He took the loose ringlet in between his fingers and curled it around his hand until her chin was forced up and her face was only an inch from his. “You gave yourself to me. You can’t take yourself back.”

  “I didn’t want to.” She swallowed, her gaze intent on his. “You threw my love away.”

  “I didn’t know I wanted it.” He pressed his lips together and blinked hard. He couldn’t lose her again.

  Her eyes glistened. “I don’t think John wants me either. He received a letter. I think there is someone else. A mistress? A fiancée? I don’t know.”

  “You should be both to me. Forget him,” Lewis said, tightening his grip on her curl until her lips rested on the corner of his mouth. “He’s not relevant. Only me. We’re done with this mess, done with your father dictating your future or mine.”