Chapter 15

R upert smiled as he stepped out the front door of the castle. The sky was a bright, cheerful blue that made for a beautiful contrast with the fresh, white drifts of snow. Lord and Lady Helmsley had announced that they had a special surprise for their guests, who had donned their cloaks and hats and were assembling out front.

It wasn’t hard to spot the surprise. A cherry-red sleigh drawn by a pair of dappled greys stood waiting on the circular drive. Ropes of holly had been hung all around the rim, and little sprigs of it were even plaited into the horses’ manes. Rupert could not imagine a more cheerful Christmas sight.

Lady Helmsley clapped her hands. “I thought, given the fine weather, that it would be a nice day to gather some greenery with which to decorate the castle.”

Lord Helmsley stepped forward to stand beside his wife. “Meanwhile, given that we have such a good amount of snow on the ground, I thought it a fine opportunity to bring out the sleigh.”

“So, we decided to do both,” Lady Helmsley said, smiling fondly up at her husband. “There’s plenty of greenery in the little grove of trees just over that rise.”

“And if anyone would like to take a jaunt about the park,” Lord Helmsley added, “the sleigh is at your disposal.”

The assembled guests murmured with pleasure. Rupert found himself grinning. What a charming way to spend the morning! He warranted that Lord and Lady Helmsley would have a hot toddy and a roaring fire ready and waiting for their guests once they went inside.

He was keeping an eye on Oliver Baxter, as always, and he’d been surprised to see that Rosalind Baxter was also out and about today. He still didn’t know if she’d really been ill or if that had been a precaution. If it had been a safety measure, he could understand why she had abandoned it. There had been no signs of danger for four days. The poor lady couldn’t stay in her room forever.

Indeed, Mrs. Baxter looked glad to be out of doors. She was the first guest to stride toward the sleigh. She stroked the neck of one of the greys. “What a handsome fellow!”

Rupert smiled as the horse nuzzled her. Mrs. Baxter had the reputation of being quite the horsewoman.

She turned to her husband, face glowing in spite of their recent scare. “I’ve always wanted to go for a sleigh ride. Shall we try it?”

Oliver Baxter responded by rolling his eyes. “Must we?”

Rosalind’s face fell. “It will be good fun. I daresay we could both use a little holiday cheer.”

“It is a waste of time,” Oliver said tightly.

Rosalind lifted her head. Her chin was quivering, but she held herself with quiet dignity. “That’s all right. You go on and do whatever you like. I’m sure I can find a few people to accompany me.”

“It’s too late now,” he muttered. “If I don’t go, everyone will harp on me for abandoning my wife.” He gestured brusquely to the sleigh. “Go on. Get in.”

Rosalind climbed into the sleigh—with no assistance from her husband, Rupert noted—no longer looking very enthusiastic about the prospect. This, of course, was Rupert’s signal. If the Baxters were going for a drive, Rupert needed to go with them to watch out for any funny business.

Clarissa Weatherby appeared to have had the same thought, bolstering his conviction that she was in cahoots with Sir Henry. She was already climbing into the back seat of the sleigh, saying, “You don’t mind if I join you, do you, Mrs. Baxter?”

The problem was, this instigated a stampede as the half-dozen fellows who’d been dangling after Clarissa ever since she revealed she came with twenty thousand pounds all surged forward. The men began arguing about which one of them should accompany her.

Ignoring them, Rupert shouldered his way through the throng. “’Scuse me—coming through—sorry, old boy, was that your foot? I do beg your pardon.”

That was right around the time Percival Ponsonby noticed that Rupert was stealthily climbing up into the sleigh next to Clarissa. “Hey there! Who says you get to ride with Miss Weatherby, Dupree?”

“Perhaps we should let Miss Weatherby choose her traveling companion,” Rupert improvised. Which, in retrospect, seemed like one of his lousier ideas, which was really saying something. Clarissa famously hated him. Why on earth would she choose him over these other strapping fellows?

But Clarissa surprised him. “I would quite like for Mr. Dupree to accompany me. But please, do not distress yourselves, gentlemen. We’ll just go once around the park. Rest assured, everyone will receive a turn.”

Rupert knew full well that the primary attraction was Clarissa herself, not the sleigh. She had on a cloak and matching bonnet in a lovely shade of magenta, and she looked as pretty as a primrose against the clear blue sky. But her suitors accepted her pronouncement without too much ill grace, and before you could say Jack Robinson, they were off.

Rupert had never ridden in a sleigh before. It was every bit as delightful as he would have imagined. Whereas a carriage jostled you about even on the best roads, the sleigh runners slid smoothly across the blanket of snow. The sun was shining, the slight crunch of the snow beneath the runners mixed delightfully with the sound of the sleighbells, and the wind in his hair was invigorating.

Invigorating, but also cold. He glanced at Clarissa, who had a dreamy smile on her face. The expression suited her tremendously. For a moment, his heart squeezed. Clarissa Dupree . He couldn’t help but wish things had turned out differently two years ago, that he was on this sleigh ride not as part of his duties for the Crown, but with his beloved wife. He felt certain he had never known that degree of happiness.

Clarissa shivered, and Rupert recalled the reason he had glanced at her. That pretty purply-pink cloak she had on was one of those modish things they made for women that were more for looks than actually keeping a body warm. The morning was brisk, and the sleigh really did create an astonishing amount of wind.

She was probably freezing.

He felt beneath the seat, looking for a carriage blanket. Not finding one, he pulled his fur-lined cloak—the same one they had shared in the mail coach—from around his shoulders.

“Here,” he said, spreading it across her lap as well as his, then pulling it up and tucking it beneath his arms.

She started. “Oh, no. I couldn’t possibly.” In spite of her protestations, he couldn’t help but notice the way she snuggled into the cloak.

“It’s all right. I’m not any less warm this way.”

“It’s not proper,” she murmured.

He pitched his voice low so the Baxters would not overhear. “True, but there’s no one out here to see, and we’ll restore ourselves to rights before we come up to the house. Besides, how often do we have the chance to go on a real sleigh ride? It’s important that nothing mar your enjoyment.”

She gave him a crooked smile. If Rupert hadn’t known full well that she hated him, he would have said the expression was fond. “All right, you’ve convinced me. Thank you.”

“You’re most welcome,” he said, ignoring the little squeeze his heart gave when she looked at him like that. Buck up, Dupree , he reminded himself. Clarissa didn’t want anything to do with him.

Just because she was everything he’d ever wanted in a wife was neither here nor there.

“Have you ever ridden in a sleigh before?” he asked.

“I haven’t.” He could hear the excitement in her voice.

“I haven’t, either. Isn’t it marvelous?”

“It really is.” She chuckled, glancing at the snow-frosted vista that surrounded them. “I consider myself to be somewhat jaded. But who could find themselves anything less than enchanted with a sleigh ride?”

At that moment, Oliver Baxter unintentionally answered her question. “What a miserable experience. My face is frozen. And these blasted horses won’t stop fighting me.”

“I think you might be holding the reins a bit too tightly,” his wife offered quietly. “The horses know their job. If you will but give them the freedom to do it—”

“Why must you always do this?” he snapped. “To hear you tell it, you would think I didn’t even know how to drive. Is it too much to ask that you try not to publicly humiliate me for once in your life?”

He caught Clarissa scowling. Rupert gave her a commiserating look. At least this was one failing he didn’t have. Of course, it wasn’t the best feeling when you learned that you weren’t any good at something, but the truth had a way of coming out. Far less embarrassing all around to admit it wasn’t your forte, have a laugh about it, and move on. By all accounts, Rosalind Baxter was an excellent whip. Why hadn’t her husband handed her the reins in the first place?

Rosalind responded to her husband’s tirade by ducking her chin in silence. One of the horses chose that moment to toss his head, tugging against his short lead. Baxter responded by drawing the reins in even tighter. The horse snorted and laid its ears back.

“Oh, fine,” Baxter said. “If you think you’re so clever, let’s see you do it. Unless you’d like to try your hand at it, Mr. Dupree?”

“Oh, no,” Rupert said cheerfully. “I’ve heard what a marvelous whip Mrs. Baxter is. I’m sure she’ll do far better with the ribbons than I ever could.”

“ Fine .” Baxter thrust the reins at his wife—not the safest maneuver, with the horses going at a steady trot—then slumped against the door of the sled, crossing his arms.

Fortunately, Rosalind managed to get hold of the ribbons. Sliding her hands a good six inches back from where her husband’s had been, she called to the greys in a soothing tone. They immediately pricked their ears and fell neatly into step.

Oliver Baxter scowled out over the countryside.

Well, just because he was a miserable sort of fellow didn’t mean that Rupert wasn’t going to make the best of a delightful morning excursion.

He nudged Clarissa with his elbow and pointed to a snug, snow-dusted cottage peeking out between a few trees. “That’s the hunting cabin. Closed up right now as Lord H. is between gamekeepers at the moment. And over there is the chapel.”

Clarissa leaned forward, peering across Rupert toward the small stone building, and her shoulder pressed against his. Not that he minded. Quite the opposite, in fact. But he was surprised she didn’t flinch at the contact and jerk away from him.

“I thought the parish church was in town,” she said.

“It is,” Rupert said, trying to sound like his usual carefree self and not as if his heart was tripping over itself. “It’s a private family chapel. Only used for special occasions and whatnot.”

“It’s lovely,” Clarissa said softly.

It was true. The small stone building was frosted in fresh-fallen snow, and someone had draped ropes of holly beneath the arched windows. “It really is, isn’t it?”

Was it his imagination, or had Clarissa scooted closer to him in the sleigh? He could feel the warmth of her thigh pressed against his.

He wanted to put his arm around her. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. Of course, he couldn’t do that, so he gripped a fistful of his cloak to make sure his arms didn’t go getting any ideas.

All too soon, they had completed their circuit, and Helmsley Castle came back into view. Rupert smiled as he helped Clarissa, then Rosalind, from the sleigh. “Shall we gather some greenery, then?”

“I would like that,” Rosalind said. “It’s nice to be out of doors after having been cooped up for so many days.”

Her husband groaned. “Haven’t we wasted enough time with this nonsense?”

Clarissa looped her arm through Rosalind’s. Her smile looked forced, and when she spoke, her voice had a cheerful yet brittle quality. “Do not trouble yourself, sir. I would like nothing better than to gather some greenery with your wife.”

Baxter cast his eyes heavenward. “No, no. If she goes, I have to go, too. Otherwise, everyone will think me the worst sort of curmudgeon.”

He trudged off toward the woods, stamping his feet.

Rupert handed his cloak to a footman, as the day had grown sunny enough that it was too warm for such a heavy garment without the wind created by the sleigh. He then grabbed a pair of baskets from the stack Lord and Lady Helmsley had set out and a couple of pairs of shears and handed them to the ladies. He offered one arm to Clarissa, and the other to Rosalind.

As they set out three abreast, he whispered, “The worst sort of curmudgeon. How would anyone form that impression?”

The ladies were both tittering as they headed toward the grove.