Christmas Surprises Page 4

  “A rose?” The word came out more as a groan than a question. A rose. He had thought she would never miss that certain signal indicating a message waited for her when he placed it on the old desk. A rose in winter. He had been very proud of that romantic gesture. But she had never seen it on the desk and had never known he had sneaked through the window that night to place it there. How could she have known? What a stupid, childish fool he had been. The chances were very good she had never found his letter, and now it lay resting somewhere above, mouldering away with his dreams. Without thinking, Jonathan answered the question in her words. “It was warm that winter. Sometimes the potted roses keep blooming in the greenhouse.”

  Diana glanced sharply at him. “Your greenhouse, you mean. We don’t have one.”

  He was saved from responding by the sound of a loud rap on the front door knocker below. They sat in silence as they listened to the doors being thrown open and cries of greeting filling the air.

  “Your family,” Diana whispered, throwing him a hesitant glance. Did he know his father had not mentioned his name since he left? From the bleak look on Jonathan’s face she surmised he had some inkling of the situation. “I will go down and tell them you are resting. After a few cups of Mama’s lambswool, your father will be much more amiable.”

  Jonathan offered her a crooked grin. “Maybe you haven’t changed so much, after all. You always were a wicked liar.’’

  “It will at least give you time to straighten your cravat and wash the dust smeared across your cheek,” she replied tartly. “Do as you wish.”

  “You know what I wish, don’t you?” He leaned forward suddenly and caught her shoulder before she could flounce off in a huff.

  Diana felt Jonathan’s breath warm against her cheek and his lips tantalizingly close to her own, and she caught her breath. She had a very good suspicion of what he wanted, but she wasn’t going to let him know that, not like this, not in secrecy anymore. She stood up hastily and brushed out her lavender skirt.

  “Don’t mistake me for someone else, Jonathan. I haven’t changed that much.” She marched off without another word.

  Damn! Jonathan hit his thigh with his fist as Diana hurriedly disappeared down the upstairs hall. She hadn’t guessed. After all these years, she hadn’t guessed where that rose came from. Or perhaps she didn’t want to know. Sadly, he glanced over his shoulder at the door behind which the answer lay. After four years of thinking he had run away from her, she would not be very likely to welcome his suit now, but he was too miserable not to know.

  With the air of a man who has made a decision, Jonathan rose to his feet and, brushing the dust from his trousers, started down the back stairs.

  He knew the keys were kept in the kitchen. As a child, he had been allowed full run of the house, and he didn’t think the routines had changed greatly. If he could just somehow slip down unnoticed and figure out which was the attic key, it wouldn’t be a moment’s work to run up the stairs and find the old desk. He had to know whether she had found his letter.

  He chased away all the doubting thoughts about what difference the knowledge could make. Disowned by his father, disabled and without funds, he certainly couldn’t repeat his offer. In that case, it would be better if the letter were safely in his pocket where it could cause no misunderstanding if someone came upon it at a later date. If it was there.

  That’s what he had to know. At the pain of risking the same blow of rejection he had felt when he received no reply to his letter the first time, he would know of a certainty if she had found it. If she had found it and chosen not to reply, he would at least know where he stood and could act accordingly. He could leave now and not submit himself to the torture of sharing this holiday with people who no longer wished to include him in their lives.

  But Diana had not behaved as if she had cast him aside as she had her childhood. True, she was not as outgoing and lavish with her affections as she had once been, but people change. He, of all people, should know that. Once, all he had wanted was the adventure and thrill of seeing the world and fighting to save his home and country. Now, he had seen his fill of war and wanted only the security of home and family. Unfortunately, it looked very much as if neither war nor family would have him now. He had to have at least the hope of one day regaining the love he had so foolishly neglected.

  One of the twins sat munching an apple on a stool near the pantry where the keys were kept, his hair mussed and his best clothes slightly awry from whatever entertainment Charles had provided. Jonathan could hear the uproar in the kitchen beyond, but none of the servants were in the back hall to observe him. Just Frankie. Or Freddie.

  The boy grinned at the sight of company. “You come to snitch an apple, too? All them smells make me hungry.”

  Jonathan hesitated. He hadn’t counted on anybody seeing him purloin the key. The explanations involved could be exceedingly messy. But he needed it now, before facing the confrontation with his father. He had to know if Diana smiled at him out of pity or if she still harbored some feeling for him. If he could just get in the damned attic ...

  “Me, too,” he answered casually, easing himself around the stool for a glimpse into the pantry. The keys weren’t there! “Why aren’t you with Charles?” he asked desperately, looking for some way to rid himself of any witness.

  “Mama said we had to come in and clean up but I was hungry. I hate coats.” He shrugged at the confining shoulders of his best new suit and he eyed Jonathan with caution. “Cook said she’d cut off my hand with an ax if I touched anything in there,” he informed him helpfully. “Better just get an apple.”

  The obstacles only made Jonathan more determined to have what he wanted. Giving the boy a level look, he said, “Actually, your mother sent me down for a key. They used to be in there. Do you know where they are kept?”

  The boy brightened. “Mama hung them way up on the back of the door so we couldn’t climb the shelves to reach them, but I can still get at them. Which one do you want?”

  “Perhaps I’d better find it myself.” With a dry lift of his eyebrows, he went behind the door to find the key board. Row after row of polished brass keys hung in neat array, if he could only decipher their order. First row, first floor? Top row, top floor? No, there were too many. Frowning, he tried to think like Mrs. Carrington. How would she arrange the keys?

  The sound of voices approaching caused him to panic. How would he ever explain his way out of this one? A child might believe his story of a guest being sent to the kitchen for a key, but no one else would. He was tempted to grab a handful and run with them.

  The boy solved his dilemma. Slipping around the door, he pointed helpfully to a key dangling in the shadows at the very top of the door. “We can’t get that one. It’s the attic key. We wanted to see if there were any ghosts up there, but the stool isn’t tall enough.”

  Jonathan glanced thoughtfully down to his nemesis and savior. “There weren’t any ghosts there last time I looked, but you know that back bedroom with all the boxes and dustcovers? I thought I saw one in there before. Where’s Frankie? Go get him and maybe you can see if it’s still there.”

  The boy’s whole face lit up and he stared at Jonathan with excitement. “Do you really think so? Let’s go see. How did you know I was Freddie? Even Elizabeth sometimes gets us mixed up.”

  The voices were coming closer and Jonathan was growing desperate. “Because you’re the one who does the talking. Frankie just waits for you to come up with ideas. Go on now. I hear Goudge, and he’ll probably frown about that apple.”

  Freddie was off and gone without further argument. Reaching with his one good arm, Jonathan just barely managed to pry the key off its hook. Pocketing it swiftly, he picked up Freddie’s half-eaten apple and wandered out into the hall with it. Nodding at a suspicious Goudge, he ambled toward the back stairs, apple in hand, key in pocket. His heart thundered in his ears. Never in all those years of war had he reached such a pitch of nervous excitement. Soon, he would
know.

  The attic stairs were around the landing from the back stairs. All he had to do was keep on going and no one would be the wiser. Just up one more flight of stairs ...

  The twins sat perched expectantly where he and Diana had just been sitting, blocking access to the attic door. Jonathan groaned inwardly as he heard Charles shout his name somewhere nearby. Someone would no doubt come looking for him shortly and find him grubbing for ghosts with the children. He’d never really had a chance. It had been foolish to think he could sneak around a friend’s house like some damned thief. He would have to place his future in the hands of fate.

  Downstairs, Diana surveyed the scene of excited greetings, winter wraps, and the brisk scent of cold air in the front hall with less than complete happiness. The Drummonds had arrived from London with fashionable hats, fur-lined coats and muffs, a carriage full of trunks, and an air of sophistication that the country-bound Carrington household seldom attained. Marie, the little girl who once romped the fields on ponies with Elizabeth, was now a young lady with rosy cheeks framed by stylish auburn curls and a fur-lined bonnet as she hugged her young friend. Mrs. Drummond hadn’t changed from her plump, shy self, but she seemed a trifle nervous as she shed her velvet pelisse. Glancing at the formidable frown on Mr. Drummond’s brow, Diana had some idea of the tense scene that lay ahead.

  “Diana! Don’t you look lovely! Come here and let me see you.” Mrs. Drummond held out her arms in greeting as Diana came into view on the stairs. “We saw Charles out on the drive a few minutes ago. Doesn’t he look dashing? Isn’t it grand to have him home at last?”

  All her nervousness came pouring out in this voluble greeting, and Diana understood at once. Charles must already have told them Jonathan was here. She glanced anxiously toward the elder Drummond as she came forward to embrace his wife.

  “It is such a relief. I could not have asked for a better Christmas gift,” she murmured. “Jonathan is upstairs resting,” she added with a hint of defiance. “It seems he was wounded and Charles would not come home without him.” This she said loudly enough for Jonathan’s father to hear.

  He ignored the mention of his son as he allowed the near-sighted butler to help him with his cloak. Mrs. Carrington sent her daughter an anxious glance at this breach of a forbidden subject, but she continued helping old Goudge with the gathering of hats and gloves and scarves and muffs.

  Mrs. Drummond clutched eagerly at this mention of her son. Taking Diana’s elbow, she led her toward the drawing room, the two whispering young girls following close behind. “How is he? He has not been seriously injured, has he? Oh, tell me, Diana, for I am in a frightful state. I did not think ever to see him again.”

  “His injuries are not grave, but a serious blow to his pride, I suspect. He will be down shortly, I am certain, and you will see for yourself. Come, let me pour you a cup of hot tea, and you can tell us how marvelously Marie fared in her first Season.”

  “We should have come out together.” Elizabeth pouted as they settled near the fire. “We had it all planned. I was to be the Snow Queen and she was to be the Rose. Now it is all spoiled.”

  “Oh, no, it is not!” Marie protested. “I shall be able to tell you which gentlemen are the best catches, and we can start out by favoring only the most eligible young men. It will be great fun, you will see.”

  Pouring the tea for Mrs. Drummond, Diana could see her mother offering Mr. Drummond his brandy, and she hid a smile of relief. Perhaps the brandy would warm the frozen features of his face. If she were a miracle worker, her Christmas gift to Jonathan would be his father’s forgiveness.

  Charles and the twins had apparently hastily repaired their best attire for they joined the company now all polished and immaculate. The twins had their brown cowlicks slicked back and their short coats on. Charles had donned a formal hammer-tailed coat of chocolate brown over a gold waistcoat and fawn trousers. With his cravat starched and neatly tied and his blond hair gleaming in the candlelight, he made a striking picture, and all heads turned in his direction.

  “I should like to welcome you more politely than with snowballs,” he said genially, holding out his hand to Jonathan’s father.

  For the first time, he must act as man of the house, and Diana thought he played the part exceedingly well. It seemed very odd to think of her older brother as a man and not the young scoundrel who came in foxed at night and crawled through windows when his father locked him out. But he acted the host with a maturity that had not been there when he left home, and she felt a glow of pride.

  “You’ll have your hands full stepping into your father’s place, I’ll warrant,” Mr. Drummond said gruffly, accepting the offered hand. “I’ll lend a hand wherever you need it.”

  “I appreciate that, sir. Would you like Frankie or Freddie?”

  Charles said it with such a straight face that the older man looked momentarily bewildered, but when the girls giggled and Mrs. Carrington gave her son a quick rap on the arm, he caught the joke and nodded. “Those young scamps will make you think twice about starting your own nursery. I can remember when you and ...” His voice trailed off as he realized his error in almost mentioning his son, and he returned morosely to his glass of brandy.

  An awkward silence fell, into which Jonathan had the misfortune to step. All eyes turned to observe his presence. He had made some attempt to brush back his unruly dark hair, but that only made the scar along his brow more evident. His navy frock coat fit his broad shoulders to perfection, but his cravat had a rakish angle created by his inability to use his right hand. The civilized cut of his silver-gray waistcoat and pantaloons did nothing to disguise the striking darkness of his visage or the bleakness of that whitely bandaged hand. Gray eyes searched the room for reaction and rested momentarily on Diana’s anxious gaze.

  “Do I interrupt?” he inquired with brave frivolity.

  “No, do come in, Jonathan, and have a seat,” said Mrs. Carrington. “I was about to send Charles for the lambswool to take the chill out of everyone’s bones. Charles?” She quirked an eyebrow at her eldest son, who, responding with alacrity to this command, left the room.

  “Yes, have a seat,” Diana urged him. “Cook has prepared a light supper before we go off to church, and it will be ready shortly. Mama, the twins might stay up until then, may they not? The carolers will be here soon, and I think they’re old enough to behave.” Diana shot her younger brothers a meaningful look, and they returned it with bright grins.

  The normal, everyday activities of the Carrington family removed Jonathan from the center of attention, and he settled quietly into a large chair in the corner of the room where he was nearly engulfed in shadows. His attempt at disappearing from the company did not go unnoticed. Irritated with this unfeeling behavior while his mother nearly shredded her handkerchief into fragments, Diana rose to perch like some malicious angel upon the arm of his chair when no one else seemed prepared to chastise him for his rudeness.

  “How good of you to join us, darling. Wouldn’t you care to step over here by the fire and warm yourself? I should think you would have learned to appreciate a good fire by now.”

  Since the word darling had once been an epithet they had thrown at each other when warned against calling each other impolite names, Jonathan didn’t misunderstand Diana’s message now. And since the yule log had not yet been lighted, she was veritably hitting him over the head with his misconduct. Instead of resenting her interference, he threw his avenging angel a grateful look for easing the awkwardness of his situation.

  “You are quite right, my darling,” he answered suavely, catching her off guard with a sudden smile. “I am behaving like a graceless savage. I shall have to practice returning to civilized ways. Did Charles find the tinder from last year’s fire?”

  No one missed this exchange between the couple in the corner except Charles, who had gone to find the punch. Both families were aware of the couple’s method of exchanging insults, but the manner in which Jonathan used the ph
rase this time brought a sudden color to Diana’s cheeks and with it, the first hint that something besides friendship had developed between these two. Marie and Elizabeth watched with awe and delight as Jonathan rose and, bowing politely, appropriated Diana’s arm to lead her across the room to his mother. To distract Mr. Drummond’s attention from this performance, Mrs. Carrington nervously went into a monologue about the supper she had prepared. The twins, left to themselves, began to eye the kissing bough.

  “Mother, you are looking fine, as usual. Shall I light the fire for you? I’m sure Charles won’t mind if I relieve him of one of his many duties this evening.”

  Enraptured by having her son home again, Mrs. Drummond ignored her husband’s furious expression and gazed up at her only boy with adoration. “It is good to have you back, Jonathan. Your letters have been the delight of my life since you’ve been gone.”

  Jonathan gave a familiarly rakish grin and glanced down at Diana, who surprisingly still clung to his arm. “Do you hear that? I haven’t lost my touch. I think I shall take up writing letters for a living.”

  “All you have to do is find someone who will buy them,” Diana replied solemnly. Then releasing his arm, she lifted the basket containing the remaining pieces of last year’s log. “Shall you do the honors, sir?”

  “Sir” was much more promising than “darling,” and Jonathan graciously accepted. He was well aware he was goading his father into a greater fury, but he couldn’t help himself. It was good to be accepted without question into this warm if however unruly family. He resented having to win the affection of his own father.