Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

27 December

C hristiana woke to a splendid day. The sun shone brightly, the layer of snow glistening across the lawn, tiny icicles clinging to the branches, sending a shimmery spray into the air with each light breeze. Every day with Lucius seemed to lift a bit more of the burden from her shoulders, lightening her load and her mood. Now, her first inclination was not always negative or doubting another’s sincerity. Perhaps with time, her once optimistic self would return permanently. If…

Her stomach rumbled, and she scooped an extra egg onto her plate. Lord and Lady Elwood sat across from her, and Lord Bentson sat on her right. Lord Frederick was either sleeping late or having his breakfast in his room, which suited the rest of the guests who were tired of his incessant whining.

“Shall we dress for the outdoors again, Lady Winfield?” asked Lord Bentson.

“Since the weather is being cooperative, yes.” Christiana returned to her seat next to the elderly man. “Shall I tell you what the contest will be?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Please.”

“Of course,” they all said at once.

“Archery.”

“Excellent. I’m quite proficient with a bow,” said Lucius from the doorway.

Christiana’s heart jumped at the sound of his voice. She waited while he filled a plate and joined them. Her mind went back to the night before. Kisses at midnight were becoming part of her nightly ritual. How would she feel when he left? Would she miss their rendezvous? Return to the cynical woman she’d become?

“That color brings out the blush of your cheeks,” he said softly as he walked by.

“Thank you, Lord Page,” she murmured, the wings in her stomach taking flight as she looked down at her pale-rose day dress. Delicate white lace trimmed the muslin collar and cuffs. “Did you go out this morning?”

He nodded. “I like starting the day with a ride. Gets my blood moving, lets my brain wake up slowly with the rising sun.”

“You make a frigid hour on horseback sound poetic,” said Lady Elwood with a laugh. “I hope the archery contest is nearby.”

“She looked like a giant onion peeling off all those layers,” added her husband.

“Elwood, mind your tongue!” his wife scolded, her round face turning pink.

Christiana bit her lip, trying not to grin at the married couple’s teasing. “No, it will be on the back lawn. If you prefer, ma’am, you could watch from inside.”

“Wonderful,” agreed Lady Elwood. “My husband is known for his skill in the hunt. A target should be no trouble at all, eh, my lord?” She popped her elbow in the man’s side.

“This is the day I gain a point.” Lord Elwood clapped his hands and stood, his dark-brown eyes shining with anticipation. “I shall send for my own bow right away.”

***

The group gathered on the lawn, their breath shimmering in the frosty air. It was a quiet afternoon, their boots crunching on the snow as they walked toward the target. The green boughs around them bent with a layer of white. The men wore heavy greatcoats, and Christiana had on her long, deep-blue spencer rather than the cumbersome cloak of yesterday. Her fur muff had been replaced with leather gloves.

Lord Frederick was sullen, as usual, complaining he was better at fencing. “You are setting me up to fail,” he accused Christiana.

“How could she possibly know you were coming in your father’s stead? And even if she did, how would she know your strengths and weaknesses?” asked Lord Page, a frown marring his handsome face. “Stop making excuses for your incompetence.”

Christiana glanced over her shoulder to see Lady Elwood waving enthusiastically from the window. She was becoming fast friends with the older woman. It wasn’t only the maternal side of the viscountess that drew Christiana, but the woman’s forthright attitude. She had no difficulty stating her mind, and Christiana found she trusted Lady Elwood. Something which rarely happened so quickly.

The men chose their bows, nocking arrows to the string and testing the resistance. Lord Elwood beamed, as if he already knew the outcome. This wasn’t Christiana’s favorite activity, but she had passable skill. By the way Lord Frederick was holding his bow, she knew she could beat him.

“I shall begin,” she said, taking her place on the mark and sucking a chilly breath. She nocked her arrow and pulled back, feeling the balance before letting loose.

Whoosh ! Not center, but along the edge. Better than she had hoped for. The men clapped, and she took a bow. “Lord Page? Would you like to go next?”

He nodded, focusing his emerald-green eyes on the target. Whoosh . His arrow landed in the center circle but close to her own. Lucius peered over his shoulder and winked at her. Was he losing on purpose? No, she decided, he was too competitive and wanted to defeat the duke’s son.

“Good shot,” said Lord Bentson, squinting his eyes at the target.

“Lord Frederick?” She noted the man was still pouting as he trudged to the mark, like a little boy being dragged for a bath. When his arrow landed far from the center, she understood his reluctance. Was the man good at anything but complaining?

“I hate this game,” he mumbled, shoulders drooping. “I call for a drinking game.”

“I’ll go next,” announced Lord Elwood. His grin fell away as he nocked his arrow, concentrated on the wafer, and let loose. Whoosh . Almost dead center. “That’s the way it’s done!”

“Very impressive, sir,” said Lucius. “This may indeed be your day. Lord Bentson, I believe it’s your turn.”

The elderly man gave a nod and walked to the mark. “It’s been a while since I’ve done this, but in my day…” His bent fingers nocked the arrow, and he lifted the bow, aiming at the target. Whoosh . The arrow hit dead center, quivering against Lord Elwood’s.

Silence reigned while every mouth fell open except for Bentson.

“My lord, well done!” said Lord Page, finding his voice first.

“It’s a fluke. I say we go another round,” huffed Lord Elwood. “I won’t be beaten by an old man.”

Lord Bentson chuckled. “I’m game if the rest of you are.”

Christiana shook her head. “You may continue if you like,” she told the group, “but the point goes to Lord Bentson.” Men were such vain creatures, she’d decided. Even her Lucius. Her Lucius. How had that niggled its way into her brain?

Lord Bentson bowed. “Thank you, my lady.”

“I must admit I’m surprised. What other secrets are you hiding?” She studied the old man’s face, seeing him in a new light. He was growing on her, becoming more than an acquaintance.

“You may find out one day.” He gave her a wink, nocked another arrow, and sent it flying to join his first arrow, dead center. “Fluke indeed,” he mumbled.

***

Lady Elwood patted her husband’s hand. “You won at piquet tonight, my dear. You are still my champion.”

Her husband grunted and held up his glass. “To my wife, who always finds the brightness on a gloomy day.”

They all raised their glasses. “To our hostess, who has provided a most unique and entertaining house party,” added Lord Bentson. “Your mother would be proud.”

Christiana paused in taking a sip of her wine. “Did you know my mother well?” she asked. “Besides the correspondence concerning the vase.”

The older man nodded. “That’s a story for another time.”

“It’s too early to retire,” said Lord Elwood. “Anyone up for a game of billiards? Page, are you feeling lucky?”

Christiana recognized the challenge in his voice. Exactly the tone needed to prod Lucius into playing. But when they all rose to watch the game, Lord Bentson remained seated.

“I thought I’d sit here and enjoy my brandy and the fire,” he said apologetically to his hostess. “The old bones tire more easily as the years fly by.”

“Then I shall sit with you,” she declared, pouring herself another glass of wine and taking the wingback chair next to him.

After the other guests had left, she could not contain her curiosity any longer. “So, tell me the story of how you knew my mother.”

Bentson smiled. “We met during her first Season. She was a beauty.” His eyes grew distant, as if he found himself back in a ballroom decades ago. “She was standing by a wall, hoping not to be noticed. I believe she had spilled some punch on her dress and was trying to hide it until she could leave or find her shawl.”

“Mama was always a bit clumsy. She often said she wore more food than she ate,” Christiana agreed. “An exaggeration of course. She never minded making fun of herself.”

“There wasn’t an arrogant bone in her body,” murmured Lord Benston, still staring into the fire. “She wasn’t clumsy on the dance floor. I wish the waltz had been introduced back then.”

“You enjoy dancing?”

He nodded. “Once upon a time with the right partner. And I believed she was.”

“You… you were in love with my mother?” The conversation had taken an unexpected turn. “What happened?”

“I was young and foolish, craving adventure. Love was secondary to working for the Crown, playing spy, courting danger.” The old man shook his head. “By the time I was ready to settle down, your mother was married. According to the on-dits, it had been a love match.”

Christiana nodded, smiling. “They were very happy. And you?”

“My wife was a lovely woman. A good mother, kind, excellent at managing a household.” He studied the brandy, his knobby fingers gripping the crystal glass. “I was lucky. I was content. But still, I always wondered…”

“About Mama?” Her mind raced to remember any mention of this man before the letters began asking to purchase the vase. Had her mother cared for him once? Or had she continued to carry a torch for him, even though she was happy with Papa, also wondering what might have been?

“When I heard your father died, I wrote to her under the guise of offering my condolences and wanting to buy the Ming vase.” He chortled. “I needed to know if she hated me for leaving, not asking her to marry me, or if she had been truly happy. I was an arrogant young man to think she would wait.”

“Did you find out?” Her heart went out to this man. She understood unrequited love all too well.

“No, she did not hate me. Yes, she had been truly happy.”

“But she wouldn’t sell you the vase. Why?” The piece of porcelain had been in the curio cabinet for as long as she could remember. It must have been one of Mama’s favorites.

“It became a ruse for our letters. An excuse to touch one another’s lives again. It wasn’t the antique I wanted so badly as it was her attention.” He took a drink of the brandy, then let out a loud sigh. “I found the piece during a mission early in my career, before she was married. I sent it to her with a note, comparing the priceless object to her beauty.”

“You’re a romantic.” She was surprised to learn Mama had kept a gift from another man throughout her marriage. “Do you want the vase as a reminder of my mother?”

He nodded, his hazel eyes glistening. “Ridiculous, I know. But having that piece in my own library, where I can touch it each day, knowing she had done the same, would give me comfort in my last years.”

Christiana went on her knees before the elderly man and took his gnarled hand in hers. “Lord Bentson, I had no idea the sentimental value attached to the vase.”

“It’s why I hope to win the next contest.” He removed his hand from hers and patted her cheek. “It gives me solace that you know our secret, and it didn’t turn you away from me.”

“It doesn’t matter who wins,” she disagreed. “With this knowledge, you have become a link to my past. Another voice who can share my love for her and my sorrow for her loss.”

“Lady Winfield, walking away from your mother was the biggest mistake of my life. When one finds the love of his lifetime, he should snatch it and hold tight, never let it go.” He gave her a sad smile. “Promise you won’t make the same mistake I did.”

Voices echoed in the hall. Christiana stood, smoothing her skirts as she returned to her chair, thinking on Lord Bentson’s words. Her guests spilled into the room.

“Lord Page beat me again,” announced Lord Elwood. “But I massacred Lord Frederick.”

“Where is he?” asked Christiana, not seeing the duke’s son with the others.

“He’s nursing his pride with a bottle of whisky in his chamber,” answered Lady Elwood. “That boy is monstrous spoiled.”

“Good riddance,” said Lucius, tossing a knee-weakening smile at Christiana.

“The score now stands Bentson two, Lady Winfield one, and Lord Page one.” Lady Elwood narrowed her eyes at Lord Bentson. “You have become the man to beat, my lord.”

“We’ll have to see what’s in store for us tomorrow,” said the older earl. “I know from experience how luck can desert a man as quickly as it favors him.”