Read His Mistletoe Bride Online
Authors: Vanessa Kelly
His Mistletoe Bride (31 page)
Lucas cast his gaze toward the heavens, obviously seeking patience. “You're not intending to keep him, are you?”
She and the dog gazed up at him, both doing their best to look pitiful. “I would like very much to keep him. I never had a dog.”
He sighed. “I'm not sure he really counts as a dog, but I have a feeling you won't give me much choice in the matter.”
“I would never try to force him or anything else on you,” she said with dignity.
“Really? You must tell me all about that sometime. All right, hand him over. He's sopping wet and he's already made a mess of your pelisse.”
“The stains will come out,” she said, happy to hand him over. Her arms were beginning to ache, and all the strains of the day weighed heavily on her.
Lucas tucked the dog under his arm, and the little fellow settled quite comfortably. In fact, he looked ready to drop off to sleep. As they headed back to the main trail, Phoebe did her best to show no sign that a man had just pointed a gun in her face. That task was proving remarkably difficult, since her instincts were prodding her to reveal the truth to her husband.
“I thought I heard voices back there, just before I saw you,” Lucas said. “Were you talking to someone?”
Panic seized her, and she almost stumbled. His free hand shot out to grasp her elbow. “Careful, Phoebe. You don't want to take a tumble.” He gazed at her, frowning. “Was someone else there?”
“N . . . no, of course not. I was simply talking to the dog. He was very upset and I kept trying to soothe him. You would not fathom how badly he was tangled in the brambles, Lucas. It is a wonder I was able to free him at all.”
Her voice ended on a suspicious quaver. Keeping such a terrible secret, especially from her husband, made her cringe with shame. But she had promised Mr. Weston, and she would keep that promise. She could not bear the thought of Sam losing his remaining parent, and she needed to protect the villagers involved in the ring. And protect Lucas, too, who would go charging full bore after the smugglers if she told him the truth. The idea of what might transpire then made her ill.
“Phoebe, what's the matter?”
“Nothing,” she said brightly. “How are the children? Did they find a proper Yule log?”
She could feel his eyes burning into her. Pinning on a smile, she forced herself to meet his gaze. That did nothing to bolster her courage, since he studied her with a suspicious frown. He looked ready to say somethingâand that made her heart clutchâbut then he seemed to give a mental shrug.
“Yes, they have. A right proper one, as Griffin would say. Speaking of the children, I noticed that a few of the boys were wrapped up in familiar-looking scarves, and if I'm not mistaken at least three of the girls were wearing your shawls, including the one lined with Norwich silk that Annabel gave to you as a wedding present. Did the children make an unauthorized visit to our dressing rooms?” her husband asked sardonically.
This time she did wince. “I had to give them warm clothing, Lucas. They would have been too cold otherwise. You do not really mind, do you?”
“Would you care if I did mind?”
Guilt lanced through her. “Lucas, Iâ”
He gave her a brief hug. “It's all right. I only felt a small pang of regret that you picked my best scarves to use. Popham, however, may never recover from the shock.”
Phoebe sighed. “I will find a way to make it up to him.”
“I'm sure you will. Now let's get you home and out of that wet clothing. I don't want you catching a chill.”
As they emerged from beneath the canopy of oaks onto the broad expanse of the manor's lawn, Phoebe resisted the temptation to cast a glance over her shoulder. For now, at least, the forest would keep her secrets.
Chapter 28
Phoebe sneaked a glance at her husband's profile, half cast in shadow by the fading daylight filtering through the carriage window. The distance from Mistletoe Manor to Belfield Abbey measured a scant ten miles, but for most of the journey an awkward silence prevailed between them. There had been several such awkward silences since yesterday, the product of her guilty conscience and her inability to lie to her husband. For the hundredth time, she cursed the chain of events that had thrown her into contact with the smugglers.
She had managed to avoid a private discussion with Lucas for most of yesterday by taking refuge in the children's company. But by the time they met for dinner, she could barely look him in the eye. Her guilt seemed to cleave her tongue to the roof of her mouth, and she had eventually fled to the doubtful security of her bedroom, ready to crawl out of her skin with shame. Lucas had come to her bedroom later and pointedly asked if something was bothering her. Praying that she was not making a mistake, she answered in the negative. She had then forestalled any more questions by going up on tiptoe, wrapping her arms about him, and planting an enthusiastic kiss on his skeptical-looking mouth. He had initially seemed a bit startled, but soon got into the spirit. In a trice, he had divested her of her clothing and there had been no more talk for the rest of the night.
But his demeanor the next morning was cool, a sure sign he suspected something was amiss. As she had gone about her morning tasks, organizing and helping the servants to decorate the house with the greens they had collected, she had wracked her brain for a solution to her problems, with the smugglers and with Lucas. As for the first problem, she had concluded Mr. Knaggs was her best hope. With his help, she would confront Mr. Weston and attempt to persuade him to give up his dangerous activities. If he would not, she would have little choice but to tell Lucas. Mayhem would likely ensue, but she could not allow Mr. Weston to continue to put his son's and other lives in danger.
As to her second problem, she could only hope addressing the first problem would resolve the issues with Lucas. She could not keep lying to him forever. That was no way to build trust in a marriage, especially when the male partner in that marriage had once suffered betrayal at the hands of a faithless woman.
“What troubles you, love?”
Phoebe jerked, startled by Lucas's deep voice cutting the heavy silence. He had canted his body to stretch his long legs across the floor of the carriage as he studied her with a thoughtful tilt to his head.
“Why . . . why would you ask that?”
“You just sighed. Rather tragically, I thought, as if the whole world were against you.”
Phoebe swallowed. She had best find a timely solution to the whole mess or she would probably blurt out the truth, if for no other reason than she did not possess the internal fortitude to keep lying to her husband. That was a good thing, but right now it felt dreadfully inconvenient.
“I am a bit tired,” she hedged. True enough. After Lucas had made love to her, she had been unable to sleep. It counted as something of a miracle she had been able to rise so early this morning, all things considered. “There is much to accomplish before Christmas Day. I want everything to be perfect when we open the manor to the villagers, the tenant farmers, and their families.”
He snorted. “It will take more than a few days to make Mistletoe Manor anybody's idea of perfection. But I'll remind you again that I don't want you wearing yourself out. I'm sure whatever you do for the locals will be just fine.”
“I want it to be more than
just fine
, Lucas,” she said earnestly. “I want this to be a truly wonderful Christmas no one will forget.”
just fine
, Lucas,” she said earnestly. “I want this to be a truly wonderful Christmas no one will forget.”
“I'm damned sure my purse will remember.”
She had no idea how to respond to that salvo, so she kept silent. She had hoped Lucas would graciously accept the wisdom of opening the house to all comers on Christmas Day, as her grandfather used to do, and as his ancestors had done for generations.
Perhaps not.
She gave him a placating smile, which he did not return. Instead, he eyed her with a narrow gaze. “Phoebe, you do realize you can tell me anything, don't you?” he asked abruptly. “I will always listen carefully to whatever you have to say to me.”
She mentally winced. It was not the listening part she worried about, it was what he would do after he heard.
She forced herself to answer calmly. “Of course I do. And I promise that whenever I have something to tell you, I will.”
The stiffening of his shoulders signaled how little he liked her reply, but it was the best she could do for now. “Are we almost to the abbey?” she blurted out before he could say anything else.
A muscle in his jaw pulsed, but he allowed the deflection. “If you look out the window, you can see it on the rise of the hill.”
She breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that for all his commanding ways her husband had the grace not to push her. His patience, unfortunately, made her own actions seem all the worse. Clamping down hard on her guilt, she leaned across him to peek out the window. He gently wrapped an arm around her waist to support her against the jostling of the carriage, his other hand brushing a stray lock of hair back from her neck. Her heart throbbed as she silently acknowledged that Lucas would always take care of her, no matter what.
She cast him a grateful smile, then looked out the window. The sight that met her eyes drew a gasp from her lips. “What a magnificent building,” she breathed. “Like something out of a fairy tale.”
“Isn't it just,” he replied sardonically.
Of course
. Belfield Abbey was Silverton's domain, and Lucas could not help but compare it to Mistletoe Manor. And not very favorably, she knew.
. Belfield Abbey was Silverton's domain, and Lucas could not help but compare it to Mistletoe Manor. And not very favorably, she knew.
She eyed him. “You are not going to make a scene, are you?” she asked in a wary voice.
He snorted. “After the way we almost demolished Annabel's dining room last Easter, I think Aunt Georgie would murder us both if Silverton and I got into another argument.”
“Thank God,” she said, perhaps a tad too enthusiastically.
He laughed, and the tension between them eased. “I promise to be as meek as a church mouse, my love.”
Phoebe was too busy looking at the massive edifice that loomed at the end of the drive to respond to his teasing. Indeed, she thought it looked more like a castle than her idea of an abbey, with its peaked roofs, high turrets, and scores of windows gleaming with the reflected fire of the setting sun. Lucas had told her portions of Belfield Abbey had been built under the early Tudor kings, and that the estate had been held by a marquess of Silverton for over two hundred years. That fact did not impress her nearly as much as the majesty of the building itself, with its graceful towers, and chimneys reaching up into the darkening sky.
Their carriage bowled smoothly up a tree-lined drive that wove through spacious parkland, finally drawing to a halt under an imposing portico. A liveried footman stepped forward to let down the carriage steps, and a moment later Lucas handed her out onto a well-maintained sweep in front of marble steps. He quickly ushered her through the high front doors into a hall at least twice the size of the one at Mistletoe Manor. Every bit of wood, marble, brass, and silver had been polished to a high gleam.
She glanced at her husband. His jaw had squared with tension and his eyes had cooled to resemble flint. Cousin Stephen's domain spoke of wealth, elegance, and a power that made Mistletoe Manor seem small and rather shabby in comparison.
Well, the manor
was
still shabby, but it was hardly fair to compare the two estates. But the look on Lucas's face indicated he was doing exactly that.
was
still shabby, but it was hardly fair to compare the two estates. But the look on Lucas's face indicated he was doing exactly that.
She sighed. The infamous Esme Newton was obviously the root of the problem between Lucas and Cousin Stephen, but there were clearly other points of resentment, at least for her husband.
Meredith appeared from the back of the hall, festive in a cherry red gown trimmed in white velvet ribbons. With her tall, elegant figure and her glossy black hair piled on her head, she was stunning.
“I'm so happy to see you both,” she exclaimed. She held out her arms and took Phoebe in a warm, enthusiastic embrace.
“You look simply lovely,” she murmured in Phoebe's ear. “Marriage obviously agrees with you.”
At a loss to devise an appropriate reply, Phoebe settled for giving her cousin a fierce hug. Meredith returned it, then drew back and ran a swift, perceptive glance over Phoebe. A tiny frown appeared between her brows, but when she turned to Lucas her face showed nothing but kindness and cheer.
“And you are looking very dashing, Lucas. How goes the battle at the manor?”
He took her hand and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “I'll let you know once I'm winning.”
Meredith laughed. “You must tell me all about it later. The others are in the drawing room, but I know you will wish to go to your rooms and freshen up. Dinner is in an hour. Lucas, you needn't look at me like that. Of course it's ridiculously early, but you know the General. He insists that there's no point being in the country if you can't keep early hours.”
Lucas had been regarding her with an ironic eye. “Gay to dissipation as always, I see. You must forgive me for forgetting my flannel waistcoat and arthritis liniment. Perhaps I can borrow Silverton's.”
“You could if he had any,” she retorted. “But truly, it won't be as bad as all that. We do have some entertainment planned, including a visit from the Waits.” Her eyes twinkled. “And don't forget the poetry recitation. The General has been practicing all morning.”
Lucas gave an exaggerated groan. “God. It gets worse every year.”
“I have no idea what either of you are talking about,” Phoebe interjected. “Who are the Waits? And why is Uncle Arthur reciting poetry?”
“My love, you are about to be inducted into the Stanton family Christmas traditions,” Lucas said. “Guaranteed to strike terror in the hearts of stout men.” He leaned down, pretending to whisper. “It's not too late to escape. Say the word and I'll have the carriage brought round at once.”
Meredith swatted him on the arm. “You beast! Stop your nonsense or you'll frighten the poor girl. Now, let me show you to your rooms. If you're late, then you
will
put the General in a mood, and then we'll all want to run away.”
will
put the General in a mood, and then we'll all want to run away.”
Lucas grasped Phoebe's hand and they followed Meredith up the central staircase to the first floor. They strolled through a grand corridor lined with marble busts on graceful pedestals, and enormous portraits that reached almost from the ceiling down to the floor. Everything at Belfield Abbey seemed to be larger than life, and Phoebe could not help being awed by its magnificence. But it made her feel rather small and insignificant, and she could not help feeling a twinge of longing for Mistletoe Manor. The manor might be drafty and run-down, but in the short time she had lived there she had come to love it. Somehow it suited her, and it felt like home.
“Here is your suite of rooms. I do hope you like them,” Meredith said. She opened a pair of doors and stepped aside, waving them in before her.
Phoebe smiled as she glanced around. After the rather alarming magnificence of the rest of the house, she could not help but be delighted. The suite was spacious but not overly large, and was decorated in cheerful shades of yellow and pale green. The furniture looked overstuffed and comfortable, covered in a pretty cotton fabric patterned with cream and yellow stripes. Crystal bowls of gorgeous red roses adorned the polished tabletops, and a roaring fire in the large marble chimneypiece warmed the room.
She turned to Meredith. “It's very beautiful. Where did you find roses at this time of year?”
Meredith's eyes gleamed with happy pride. “They're from our succession-houses, which are the best in the country as Silverton is very fond of telling me.”
Phoebe sensed Lucas stiffen beside her. The manor had succession-houses, too, but they had fallen into disrepair. He had told her it would take a great deal of money to restore them.
“Then I shall be sure to ask Cousin Stephen all about them,” she said politely.
“You will make him very happy if you do. Now, I beg you both to hurry. Lucas, your dressing room is through there.” She pointed to a door to the right of the fireplace.
After Meredith took herself off, Lucas excused himself to change. Worried, Phoebe watched him go. Though he was trying not to show it, he was battling to keep his rising resentment in check. Perhaps it had been a mistake to come to the abbey after all, but now she had to make the best of it, and hope the two men would have the good sense to act like reasonable adults.
With a quiet knock on the door, Maggie let herself in. Phoebe quickly washed and dressed, then sat for Maggie to dress her hair. While the maid was putting the finishing touches to her coiffure, Lucas prowled into the room, devastatingly handsome in the black and white evening attire that set off his lean, muscular build to perfection. Phoebe almost wished they could remain right where they were, snuggled up in the sinfully luxurious four-poster bed that dominated the room. A mere few days ago she had still been a virgin, but she could easily imagine becoming utterly addicted to her husband's lovemaking.
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