How the Rogue Stole Christmas Read online

  “I shall do no such thing! I do not wish to leave you!”

  Jordan felt a warmth growing inside his chest that he had not felt in years. “You will go back. It may take hours for Major Eversley and me to give our statements. I will summon someone to accompany you. You must protect your reputation.”

  “Something you have been so careful of in the past,” she said, her hands on her hips.

  But he did not budge from his position. He narrowed his eyes and said, “Am I going to have to threaten to kiss you again?” His teasing was for her ears alone.

  “Would that be a threat to me, or to you, my lord?” she retorted.

  “Minx,” he said, unnerved at her words. “Do you have the pony gig from Altham House?”

  “Yes and, if I must go, I do not need anyone to chaperon me.”

  “How about Old Bart?” Jordan suggested with a smile.

  An answering gleam appeared in her eyes. “He is not with me. How else do you think I got here?”

  He laughed. “I shall see you back at Altham House then. And not a word of this to Lady Altham. I know the major will want to explain all to her himself.”

  Lady Margery reluctantly obeyed him, glancing once over her velvet-clad shoulder to see if he had changed his mind.

  When she was gone, Jordan returned to his business with Major Eversley and Mr. Walsh.

  Much later, when Duggins, Lemon, and Phlogg had been carried off to the roundhouse, Jordan and Major Eversley climbed wearily into the viscount’s carriage. The coachman set the vehicle in motion.

  “Quite a morning’s work, eh, Jordan?” the major said, settling back against the squabs of Jordan’s coach. Bits of stuffing could be seen protruding from where the kittens had sharpened their claws on the journey to Altham House, but the major did not comment on them.

  “You have quite a story to tell Lady Altham, Major.”

  Major Eversley’s brow wrinkled. “Won’t you call me Ernest after all these years?”

  Jordan smiled. “Of course.”

  “And speaking of stories, my friend, I should like to hear about you and Lady Margery.”

  Jordan gave an impatient shrug. “What is there to say?”

  Major Eversley regarded him thoughtfully. “I think she cares for you.”

  For a moment the viscount did not answer. Then, he spoke in a low voice. “It will not do. She is an innocent. I would make her unhappy as I did Delilah.” He swallowed hard. “Trust me; Lady Margery has been through enough.”

  The major stretched his legs out in front of him. “Ah, now we come to the crux of the matter. Your delusions where Delilah is concerned.”

  Jordan stiffened. He looked the major in the eye. “Delusions? Delilah is dead. That is no delusion.”

  “No, it’s not,” Major Eversley agreed. “But your thinking her death was somehow your fault is.”

  “I could not make her happy,” Jordan argued. “She claimed I did not spend enough time with her, did not amuse her enough, compelling her to seek out new friends. Those newfound ‘friends’ led her to opium,” the viscount stated in a flat voice.

  “What could you have done to make her happy, Jordan?”

  The viscount shook his head. “Devil take it if I know. Delilah was constantly restless, even before we married. Her parents were quite wealthy, but they ignored her, sending her for a Season in London with only an elderly companion. Delilah’s never-ending energy and quest for amusement made her the belle of the Season, despite the fact that she was untitled.”

  Major Eversley listened as Jordan looked down the years to his courtship and subsequent marriage to Delilah. “I could hardly believe my good luck when she accepted my attentions. We had a frenzied courtship filled with laughter and stolen moments.

  “Then we married. After an extended wedding trip, Delilah’s restlessness returned and even increased. We argued. I could never give her enough of the attention she craved. That was when she fell in with an unsavory crowd.”

  Jordan looked up at him, his eyes haunted, full of pain. “God knows I tried to stop her, but nothing I did helped. I simply could not control her actions. Besides, I thought she would soon tire of the new set of people as she did everything else. When my father suffered a serious fall from his horse, I went to the country to be at his side. Delilah remained in Town.”

  Jordan’s voice turned bitter. “I suppose I felt a sense of duty, or a hope that my father’s accident might bring the two of us closer. Instead, Father recovered to become as cold as ever. To this day, he blames me for bringing scandal to the family when Delilah died.

  “At any rate, when I returned to Town, I was shocked at Delilah’s appearance. She was bone thin, and there was a desperate air about her. We had a horrible row. She called me a beast when I demanded she cease associating with such a rubbishy set of persons. I was hurt, completely rejected, and so spent more and more time at White’s Club, drinking and gaming, trying to forget what a nightmare my marriage had become. Delilah went on as she had before, defying my wishes, even my pleading.”

  “And then,” the major prompted quietly.

  Jordan drew a deep breath. “One night a footman found me playing a game of hazard at White’s.” Jordan’s voice shook with emotion as he spoke the words. “Delilah had overindulged in opium. She was dead.”

  Silence reigned in the carriage. The major fidgeted with the sleeve of his coat. He did not want Jordan to think he saw the tear that trickled down one side of the younger man’s strong face.

  Once he was sure the viscount had himself in hand, the major said, “I know you came to the army when you were, what, about three-and-twenty, Jordan? How old were you when this business happened with Delilah?”

  “Around Harry’s age.”

  “I see. But I suppose you were much more mature than Harry?”

  Jordan gave a mirthless laugh. “No. I was rather like him. A puppy finding my feet in the world.”

  The military man leaned forward and stared directly into Jordan’s eyes. “Yet, you expect that you could have handled a young wife whose moods you once told me swung from gaiety to melancholy at a mere shift in the wind. You think you could have changed her. You could have shaped Delilah into a caring, responsible wife who would never dream of putting opium into her body. That you alone could have made this girl happy. Delilah didn’t have to do anything in the process. The burden sat squarely on your shoulders.”

  The viscount’s gaze was riveted on his friend.

  Softly, the major said, “How powerful you must think you are, Jordan.”

  “What are you saying?” the viscount asked angrily. “I had no power over her! If I had, she would still be alive today!”

  Major Eversley nodded. “Exactly.” The word hung in the cold air of the coach.

  The older man leaned back in his seat and said quietly, “Delilah was the only one with the power to control her actions. Not you, not anyone else. Sadly, she suffered from some inner disorder; we’ll never know what, but you did what a young man could to help her. The thing we do know is that if anyone must be held accountable for Delilah’s tragic death, and, mind you, I’m not sure anyone should be, it must be Delilah alone.”

  Jordan felt dizzy. Myriad emotions threatened to overcome him. He drummed his stick against the coach roof. When the vehicle came to a stop, he jumped down to the snowy ground and paced back and forth for a time before slamming his fist into the nearest tree.

  The major got out of the coach to wait patiently nearby.

  Jordan stood still for several minutes, inhaling deep breaths of the cold air. He turned to face Major Eversley. “Poor Delilah, my beautiful, impulsive wife.” His voice was racked with pain.

  The major stepped forward and clamped his hand down hard on the viscount’s shoulder, “poor Jordan, denying himself happiness, as a punishment for something he wasn’t responsible for.”

  Jordan turned the words over in his mind. At long last, he looked at the major and nodded.

  �
�Come on,” Major Eversley said gruffly, his eyes suspiciously bright. “I’ve got some explaining to do to Gussie, God help me.”

  Jordan managed a chuckle as the two men climbed back into the coach.

  “And you look like you could use some rest,” the major added.

  “Yes, I think I can rest now. Thank you, Ernest.”

  * * * *

  “Lady Altham, you wanted to see me?” Margery asked, entering her ladyship’s bedchamber. The dowager countess sat at her toilet table, undergoing the ministrations of her maid, Colette.

  “Yes, my dear, I do. And don’t you look a treat tonight,” Lady Altham declared, surveying Margery’s silvery satin gown with approval. “The color of that dress sets off your eyes and gives your complexion a fresh glow.”

  Lady Altham heaved a weary sigh. “Ah, youth. Were I but a few years younger... but then one must age gracefully. Did you know the ancient Chinese used to eat crushed jade because they thought it would make them look younger? Can you imagine anything worse for one’s health?” Lady Altham asked while Colette spread white lead paint across her ladyship’s ample bosom.

  “I cannot,” Margery said, biting her tongue. Tonight, for the Christmas Ball, Lady Altham wore a simple amber-colored velvet gown, which would have been an improvement over her more girlish dresses, had it not been for the gown’s tiny bodice which struggled to contain her ladyship’s generous charms.

  “That pearl necklace of yours, though, will not do. Colette, fetch my jewel box.”

  “I could not. . .” Margery stammered as the French maid complied with the dowager’s request.

  Lady Altham rifled through the contents of the box until she found what she wanted. “Here is a pretty little diamond set that will be perfect with that gown. Go ahead, gel, and put it on.”

  Margery gazed at the sparkling gems and could not resist wearing them for the evening. “Thank you, my lady.”

  “Stuff. ’Tis I who should be thanking you,” Lady Altham said, dismissing Colette with a wave of her hand. When the door had closed behind the Frenchwoman, the dowager countess said, “In fact, Margery, you may keep the diamond set as a thank-you from me.”

  Margery opened her mouth to voice a refusal, but Lady Altham held up a hand.

  “I’m sure I eventually would have lost the very roof over my head had not you and Lord Reckford and dear Ernest come to my aid.” The older woman raised a handkerchief to one eye. “I’ve never known such treachery. And do you know, Margery, the servants must have all hated Mr. Lemon. I went down to the kitchens earlier to make sure everything was running smoothly without him, and Mrs. Rose and the others were positively giddy.”

  Margery went to Lady Altham and gave her a hug. “My lady, I was happy to help uncover Mr. Lemon’s perfidy. And while I appreciate your kind gesture, I cannot possibly keep the diamonds. You have done enough just by inviting me to spend the holiday here.”

  Lady Altham’s face cleared. “Has Reckford come to the point yet?”

  Margery stepped back, flustered that her ladyship thought Lord Reckford might offer her marriage, but was saved from a reply by a scratching on the door. Penny stood on the threshold. “I’m ever so sorry to disturb you, my ladies, but it’s Miss Norwood.”

  “Georgina?” Margery said, her hand going to her throat.

  “Yes, my lady. She’s taken sick.”

  “What ails the girl?” Lady Altham asked.

  “’Er face broke out in a rash where she’d spread that nasty smellin’ stuff Colette gave ’er to take away ’er freckles.”

  “Good heavens!” Margery said.

  “Miss Bessamy is with ’er now, tryn’ to get ’er to eat some supper what was sent up on a tray. But Miss Norwood is feelin’ mighty blue-deviled. She won’t be able to go to the ball.”

  Margery turned to Lady Altham. “My lady, will you make my excuses to the others? I shall take my dinner in Georgina’s room. Perhaps that will encourage her to eat. I can keep her company for a while and come downstairs in time for the ball.”

  The dowager countess nodded. “Of course, dear. Run along, and I’ll have an extra tray sent up. Only be sure to join us later. I have instructed the musicians to play several waltzes this evening. I’m not as prudish as Mildred Foweley, you know.”

  Margery gave her promise and hurried down the corridor to Georgina’s room. Although she was concerned for the girl, her thoughts strayed to Lord Reckford. She had not seen him since he returned from the candle shop.

  Mr. Griswold had told Miss Bessamy, who in turn told her, that the viscount had worn himself out and was resting. Bessie said she and Mr. Griswold had enjoyed several mugs full of her special milk while he told her the details about Mr. Lemon’s disgrace. Bessie had shaken a finger at Margery, scolding her for putting herself in danger, but then ended up praising her bravery.

  Later, Margery had learned that Lord Reckford was closeted in the house steward’s office, helping Major Eversley and Lady Altham sort out the estate ledgers.

  Margery reached Georgina’s door and took a minute to calm herself. She would give Georgina her full attention .Then she would go to the ball, and there, just perhaps, she would be able to discern the truth about whether Lord Reckford could ever return her love.

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  Margery entered the ballroom two hours later to find the party crowded and merry. Waiting for the feeling of dread she usually felt at such occasions, Margery paused just inside the doorway. None came, she realized with a small feeling of triumph. Since she and Lord Reckford had spoken about her marriage with Simon, she no longer felt so afraid of what people thought.

  She looked about her, a feeling of warmth and elation growing inside. The ballroom was an enchanted forest. Not only had garlands of holly and ivy been strung from every conceivable place, but pots and pots of small trees were scattered about the room, lighted candles illuminating their branches. Red velvet bows decorated pine boughs, and a large wassail bowl rested on a linen-covered table, which was also draped with evergreen garlands.

  The ladies and gentlemen present added to the magical quality of the scene, with their flashing jewels, costly velvets and silks, and their festive mood. Footmen circled the room with glasses of champagne.

  Margery edged further into the room and was promptly bussed on the cheek by Uncle Iggy.

  The elderly peer gave a satisfied laugh. “I’ve been standing in this one spot all evening,” he shouted, pointing above her head at the mistletoe. “Lost count how many pretty gels I’ve caught.”

  Margery smiled and curtsied to him, then made her escape. Perhaps she was not completely comfortable in Society.

  The music came to a stop, and Lady Altham walked to the center of the dance floor. She garnered everyone’s attention. “Dear friends and neighbors. I wish all of you a most happy Christmas. To add to our enjoyment of this joyous season, I shall ask the musicians to play several waltzes throughout the evening.”

  Excited whispering went around the room.

  Lady Altham smiled. “For this first waltz, I should like to be very forward and choose my own partner.”

  Westerville nudged his way to the front of the circle of people surrounding the dance floor where the dowager countess stood.

  Lady Altham’s gaze rested on him briefly, then she looked away. “If my dearest of friends, Major Eversley, would lead me out, I should be most pleased.”

  Standing near the wassail bowl, the military man heard Lady Altham’s request and put his glass down. He strode to her side, a glad smile on his face. Bowing low, he said for all to hear, “I am greatly honored, my lady.”

  The music began, and the major swept Lady Altham into his arms. Other couples quickly paired off. Mr. Westerville seemed to take Lady Altham’s desertion in good humor, and he bowed before a gloomy-looking Lily Carruthers. Margery wondered if the widow had been hoping Lord Reckford would partner her. The viscount was not in sight.

  Margery saw Lord Harry head for S
abrina Foweley, but the young miss’s hand was solicited by Alfie Cranston. Looking downcast, Lord Harry brightened when he saw Margery. “We do not have to dance, Lord Harry,” Margery told him.

  “Of course we do,” he said, leading her out. He seemed a bit uncomfortable placing his arm at her waist, but she smiled at him encouragingly, and soon they were twirling about the dance floor.

  “What news have you of Georgina—I mean to say, Miss Norwood?” Lord Harry asked.

  Margery thought of the bored and miserable girl upstairs, her cheeks and nose sporting a bumpy red rash. She had barely eaten any dinner, so downcast was she at her condition. Georgina had said, “Colette assured me she would give me something to cover my freckles, and she kept her word. One can’t see the freckles now for the rash!”

  Margery had insisted on cleansing Georgina’s face of Colette’s newest concoction, which the Frenchwoman had said would take the rash away. “Let us not aggravate your skin any further.” Margery had chatted, trying to raise the girl’s spirits, but it was clear Georgina had been cast into the mopes by her predicament. Margery had left her reading a novel of which she was sure Mrs. Norwood would never approve.

  Now, Margery said to Lord Harry, “Georgina will not be joining us this evening. She has a slight rash on her face from a compound Colette gave her to remove her freckles.”

  “What! Remove her freckles? That silly peagoose! There’s nothing wrong with her freckles. And I’ve been counting on her being here, er, I mean...” the young lord stumbled.

  “It will be a dull affair without Georgina,” Margery finished for him.

  Lord Harry frowned. “Yes, by Jingo, it will be.”

  Margery tilted her head at him. “What about Miss Sabrina Foweley?”

  “Oh, her. She’s in Alfie Cranston’s pocket, though I daresay all they ever speak of is the coming Season and whom they might meet there.” Lord Harry looked thoughtful. “I’ve the impression that no one lower than a duke will be good enough for Miss Foweley, and no lady lower than a duchess will be good enough for Mr. Cranston.”