Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

26 December

L ucius tied his cravat, wishing he’d brought along his valet. But once he had convinced Wilkens to give him the invitation, he’d only wasted a moment to tell his sister where he was going. Nettie had urged him to take leave, knowing how long her brother had held a torch for Lady Winfield.

This morning, he had risen early for a hard gallop to work out some of the tension in his body. His dreams were filled with Christiana, and he had woken both mornings in a sweat. Lucius was sure they had made progress last night. He had seen flashes of the girl he’d fallen in love with. The beautiful hard shell she had used to protect herself was cracking. Finally.

Walking toward the dining room, he wondered what Christiana had planned for the day. At the parlor door stood the butler with his arms crossed, telling Lucius that the countess must be inside with a man. A burst of anger shot through him. Or was it jealousy?

“Who is she with?” he asked Jensen.

“Lord Frederick, sir.”

Lucius couldn’t hold back the sneer.

“Exactly, my lord.”

“What kind of game are you playing? Do you know who my father is?”

Lucius and Jensen both lunged for the door, but the pugilist pushed his way through first. He strode across the room and stopped between Christiana and Lord Frederick.

“I suggest you adjust your tone, my lord. My butler is quite sensitive and doesn’t take well to harsh tones,” said Christiana with a faint smile. “To answer your question, of course I know who the Duke of Scuttleton is. Why else would you be here? Regardless of his standing, he’s not entitled to take what is mine.”

“I want to leave, and I will not go without that horse,” hissed Lord Frederick.

“He never liked playing by the rules even as a boy.” Lucius stood next to Christiana, shaking his head at Lord Frederick. “He believes they are for everyone but him.”

“Shut your bloody mouth, Page.” Spittle flew from Lord Frederick’s mouth, his mottled face turning a deep purple above his white cravat. “My father?—”

“Will be very disappointed when you return empty-handed. I would think he’d be used to it by now.” Lucius didn’t move when Lord Frederick lunged toward him. Jensen threw out an arm to block his progress, and the slight man fell to the ground with the small amount of resistance.

“My lord,” said Christiana, rushing to his side and casting an irritated glance at both men still standing. “Are you hurt?”

“Just his pride,” said Lucius, exchanging a grin with the butler. Maybe the mammoth wasn’t so bad after all. They both had Christiana’s safety at heart.

Lord Frederick stood and brushed off his Clarence-blue coat. “I will have that beast if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Don’t tease.” Lucius was enjoying himself too much so early in the day.

“Lord Page, please,” scolded Christiana. “Lord Frederick, why don’t you have something to eat, and we’ll all gather later this afternoon.”

After the enraged man was gone, she turned to both men. “I appreciate being watched over, but taunting a man is beneath both of you.”

“What did he offer you?” asked Lucius.

“Twice what I paid. It doesn’t matter,” she said with a shrug. “I’ll never sell Vengeance to the duke. He and his son are both cruel to their mounts. I can’t imagine his stable master or trainer being any different if they work for Scuttleton.”

“Vengeance? Interesting name.”

“I thought it fitting, Lord Page.” She turned to Jensen. “Thank you for your help. I’ll be fine for now.”

Jensen bowed and left the parlor.

“Why does Scuttleton want the animal so badly?”

“From what I’ve learned, Vengeance is a descendant of The Godolphin Barb, a horse gifted to Louis XV from the Bay of Tuins. Barb was also mistreated and ended up a cart horse until Lord Godolphin found him and brought him to England in 1738, breeding him to produce excellent racing stock.” She shrugged. “I will not let the abuse happen to his line again.”

She was magnificent when her temper was up. He wanted to throw her over his shoulder and carry her up the stairs…

“Stop thinking whatever it is you are thinking,” she demanded. “I know that smirk.”

***

Christiana spent part of the afternoon with Lord Bentson, delivering Christmas boxes to staff and tenants. The aged man had insisted on accompanying her, and he was as entertaining with the villagers as he was with her guests. When she returned, Lady Elwood was waiting for her, her chin wobbling, brown eyes bright with excitement. “You must tell me what happened this morning. Lord Frederick stormed past me on my way to the breakfast room, muttering about difficult women and horse flesh. I said good day to him, and he yelled—yelled, mind you—that it most certainly was not a good day.”

“Oh my.” Christiana wondered if the man would grow tired of the contest and leave. She could only hope. “I’m sure he’s calmed down. He was only upset because I wouldn’t sell him the racehorse, and he’s forced to stay with us longer.”

“As if he’s a prize himself!” Lady Elwood sniffed. “This is so much more entertaining. What is in store for us today?”

“All will be revealed when we meet in the drawing room.” Christiana hurried to change, knowing the rest of her guests would soon be waiting.

“This color is so becoming on you,” said Constance as she helped her mistress with the mulberry spencer, which matched her bodice, and the overdress of her pale lilac skirt. “Are you sure you’ll be warm enough?”

Christiana wore several layers of petticoats, preparing for the next contest that would be outdoors. She grinned, thinking of the scheme she and the Widows League had devised.

“The guests are having a positive effect on you, my lady.” Constance skillfully twisted Christiana’s hair and pinned it up. “I heard you humming this morning when I came in.”

“I’m…” What was she? Happy? Yes. Content? Not yet.

“Does it have anything to do with the handsome Lord Page?” Her maid locked eyes with Christiana in the mirror as she put the finishing touches on her mistress’s hair.

“It might.” It did. Her mood had everything to do with him. She felt like a young girl again, but with that came the insecurities of her youth. How could he possibly want her after what she had done to him? It made no sense. Perhaps this was a plot to avenge his pride.

Don’t be ridiculous.

She joined the rest of her guests in the entrance hall, having sent them word to dress warmly. Lord Bentson was laughing with Lord and Lady Elwood, Lord Frederick sulked near the door, and Lord Page was outside, speaking with her butler.

Constance followed her with her fur-lined cape. “Are we ready?” Christiana asked the group. They nodded or murmured they were. “Excellent. Shall we?” She led the way outside to a closed sleigh.

The Elwoods climbed in, followed by Lord Bentson and Lord Frederick. She looked to Lucius, who shook his head. “There is nothing you could do—well, almost nothing—to convince me to be trapped inside a conveyance with that imbecile. I will follow on horseback.”

She envied him, especially when she realized she’d have to sit next to Lord Frederick. “Very well.” As Lucius helped her up the steps, Christiana saw Lord Bentson scoot closer to Lord Frederick and pat the empty seat beside him with a wink.

“You dear man,” she murmured as she eased onto the velvet squab. “I could give you a point just for your chivalry.”

“Not to worry, my dear. An old man like myself has learned to sense certain things.” His thick gray brows wiggled up and down. “Your gratitude could always include an extra point.”

She laughed. As the pair of black coach horses sped across the snow-covered ground, she listened to the Elwoods speak of their children and grandchildren. Christiana realized Lord Elwood was much more congenial than she’d thought. He obviously doted on his wife—something she never would have guessed from their previous meetings. He laughed heartily at something she said, and Christiana wondered if they had been a love match or if their affection had grown over the years.

Bells jingled to the rhythm of the horses’ trotting pace. The landscape sped by, glossy white fields, great oaks without their leaves, the bare branches seeming to reach for some unseen object. Pine trees added color to the bare woods. She saw a hare dash out from its burrow and duck back inside. The sleigh came to a stop. The group stood before five large sections of tree trunks, each with a rope secured to it.

“The winner of the contest will be the one who moves his slice of tree trunk the farthest,” she announced. “They are all approximately the same shape and weight, so no one is at a disadvantage.”

“A contest of strength?” asked Lucius, his eyes gleaming as if he’d already won.

“I didn’t say that.” Christiana assumed the men would think so.

“You expect me to pull a piece of wood by hand ?” Lord Frederick asked.

“However you think best,” said Christiana.

“I will not.”

“Do you forfeit?” asked Lucius, nodding and smiling at the same time.

“ No! ”

“You could use your card and pass on this challenge,” reminded Christiana.

“I believe I will,” said Lord Bentson. “Use the card, not forfeit.”

“I understand,” agreed Christiana.

Lord Elwood picked up the rope first and moved it fifty feet before stopping to catch his breath. “Do I get another try?”

“As long as you hold the rope, you may continue,” explained Christiana. “We have until dark.”

Lord Frederick grunted and moaned, pulling on his trunk and moving it a foot. “This is ridiculous. I call foul.”

“On who?” asked an amused Lord Page. He walked over to the panting man, stood next to him, and pointed to the distant house. “Pretend your father is at the house. He has your allowance, and if you don’t get there quickly, he will give it to Jensen, the butler.”

“You think you’re so clever. Let’s see how far you can pull the bloody log.” Lord Frederick sat down on his piece of wood.

Christiana saw Lord Elwood had pulled his log another fifty feet and was panting heavily. She didn’t want anyone to have an apoplexy.

“Elwood, dear, either rest or stop there,” called his wife. “Do you want me to help?”

Lord Elwood rolled his eyes but stopped. “I’ll be fine, my sweet. Just need to catch my breath.”

Lord Page picked up his rope and began pulling the slice of trunk. Even through his greatcoat, Christiana could see the muscular form straining as he passed Lord Elwood in one try. This got Lord Frederick up, and he managed ten more feet before whining about the cold and ruining his gloves.

Within an hour, the flask of buttered rum was passed around. Lady Elwood, Lord Bentson, and Christiana serenaded the log pullers with “I Saw Three Ships Come Sailing In” and “The First Noel” to keep spirits up. When all three men had declared they were done, Lucius had gone the farthest.

“I believe I claim the next point,” he said, rubbing his hands.

“ So unexpected,” mumbled Lord Frederick.

Christiana shook her head. “I have not taken my turn.”

The entire group looked at her as if she’d grown horns. She was looking forward to this. “Shall we return to the house? I’m famished.”

Everyone agreed. “But Lady Winfield, you just said you hadn’t taken your turn,” reminded Lord Bentson.

Christiana spoke to the driver, who backed the sleigh up to the last round of wood. She picked up the rope, sat on the iron ledge at the back of the sleigh, and called to her guests. “I’m ready.”

“Wh-what are you doing?” cried Lord Frederick. “That’s cheating!”

Lord Bentson slapped his knee. “’Pon my soul,” he said, laughing. “She didn’t cheat, just outsmarted us.”