Six

 

Jane paused in the doorway of the drawing room to study it all, memorize it as she always loved to do at Christmas, storing the image up for the future. It was as lovely as ever, green wreaths around every picture frame and twined along the fireplace mantel, red and green and gold bows tied on every surface, the smell of cinnamon and apples in the air. The tea table gleaming with silver and the best porcelain, spread with a wealth of sandwiches and jewel-like cakes. All welcoming and festive and special, just like every year at Swan Court.

Yet she couldn't quite let go of another memory—that of the man she met on her walk.

He was very handsome, of course, his overly-long hair, tawny brown touched with gold like summertime, his eyes that strange, mesmerizing topaz. As broad-shouldered and tall as a Viking, sitting his horse as if born to do just that. But more than his looks, there was the way he watched her as she talked, as if he heard her, saw her, wanted to know her. Just as she wanted to know him.

“Are you quite well, Jane dearest?” Kitty asked, hurrying to Jane's side to take her arm. Kitty did indeed look splendid that afternoon, in a tea gown of ecru lace over burgundy silk, pearl pins scattered in her auburn hair, her eyes shining. What a duchess she would make! “You do look rather sad just now.”

“Not sad, darling. Just, well, a bit pensive, I suppose.”

A tiny frown flickered across Kitty's brow. “Yes, I know. Christmas is lovely, but it can do that to one's emotions, can't it? It makes me think of Father, so long ago, and when we were children. But look how beautiful it all is now!”

Jane smiled as she took one more glance at the drawing room, the fire crackling in the grate, the ribbons and berries and tea cakes. Her home, her family. She wished she could show it to the man she met in the lane, he had seemed so wistful, too. “Indeed it is. I can't imagine anything finer. Have all the guests arrived?”

“Most of them, I think,” Kitty said. “The Grantleys and the Bateses, and Lady Winters, of course. And I thought I saw Reginald's carriage coming along the drive after you left for your walk, but I managed to hide.” They both shivered at the thought that soon they would have to face Reginald and Leticia, and Cousin Edward. “I suppose they will have to be spoken to sooner or later.”

“No duke yet?”

Kitty shook her head. “I haven't seen him, nor any carriage fine enough for such a personage. But...” She paused, and for an instant looked almost confused.

Jane was worried. Kitty was never confused. “But what?”

Kitty leaned closer and whispered, “I did see a—well, a man.”

Jane laughed. “I should think so. At least half the guests are sure to be men.”

“Of course they are, silly. But—well. He was—different.”

Jane was intrigued. She had never seen her sister quite so flustered before. “How so?”

“I don't really know. I just saw him for a moment. He was walking past our sitting room while Gertrude and I were playing the pianoforte. But his eyes were so very blue, like ice, and he looked like something in the Greek gallery at the British Museum. Too handsome to be real. And he was watching me so closely. Like he could—could see in my mind.”

Jane suddenly knew exactly what Kitty meant. Had she not felt just the same with the man she met in the lane? But she couldn't tell that to Kitty. He was her own secret now.

She squeezed Kitty's hand. “Oh, darling, how wonderful! And of course he had to stop and stare at you, any man would, you are so elegantly graceful when you play. Maybe he was the duke? Imagine. Love at first sight with a duke. You deserve nothing less.”

Kitty laughed, and Jane could see she was trying to be her usual merry self. But the laugh seemed strangely forced, too high-pitched. “That would be too much even for a novel, Jane. And I don't think he quite looked like a duke.”

“Really? Why? What does a duke look like?”

“I'm not sure! But this man just seemed so—solemn, somehow. Rather like...”

But there was no time to say more, as Allison joined them at that moment. She wrapped her arms around them and smiled happily as she studied her drawing room.

“What do you think, my darlings? Does it look Christmas-ish enough?” she said.

Jane studied the rich array of food laid out like a treasure-box on white linen table covers, the swags of beribboned holly along the red damask drapes. She remembered when they were children, the tiny sitting room of their cottage with just a few bows and boughs she and Kitty put together themselves. The toasted cheese and cider, the apple cake her mother would make. Simple, small, but just as pretty.

Kitty squeezed her hand, as if she read Jane's memories, and Jane turned to smile at her. She knew that, no matter where they were, a tiny cottage or a ducal palace, Christmas was wherever her family was.

William came in, and kissed his wife's cheek. “Perfect, as always, Allie,” he said. “Don't you think so, girls?”

“I am not sure those flowers are just right,” Allison fretted. She reached over to fuss with an arrangement of lilies in a red faience vase, but she was still smiling contentedly. There was a glow about her that afternoon, even more so than the one she usually wore at Christmas, her cheeks as pink as her silk gown. “Ring the bell, won't you, Kitty dear? The guests will be down at any moment, and we should make sure the tea is all ready.”

“Of course, Allie.” As Kitty rushed to ring the bell, Jane made sure the draperies over the glass French doors to the terrace were open to show the darkening, snow-dusted garden beyond. Outside it was all chilly winter, and inside the fires blazed in the grates and the air had the sweet-spicy, evergreen scent of the holiday.

The footmen arrived, carrying the silver pots of hot water and the tray bearing cook's famous plum pudding, glistening with a sugar glaze. They placed them carefully on the waiting tables, amid the tiered trays of sandwiches, small cakes, and scones, and just in time. A burst of laughter echoed like music from beyond the doors, and the first guests entered.

Jane was glad to see it was people she knew, neighbors who often came to Swan Court for dinner and cards, followed by her mother and two of her new bosom bows from Bath. Jane ran over to hug her mother and greet her friends, laughing as they exclaimed over the decorations and chattered about the latest fashions they had seen at the Pump Room.

She glanced over to see Kitty helping Allison pour the tea and offer cakes, but Kitty kept bouncing up onto her toes to watch the doorway. Jane wondered if she was waiting for the duke. How would they know it was the duke, anyway? Would he announce his arrival with his own fanfare of trumpets and liveried footmen? Jane wouldn't put it past such a personage. Yet she saw no one who looked quite so high-in-the-instep among the arriving crowd.

She passed around one of the silver platters of cucumber and salmon sandwiches, and heard a voice behind her cry, “Cousin Jane! My, how you have grown.”

Jane spun around to find Cousin Edward standing right behind her, studying her so avidly that she fell back a step and almost dropped the sandwiches to the carpet.

Cousin Edward was not a hideous man. A bit plump, mayhap, and definitely a very elaborate dresser, but with pleasant brown eyes and hair swept to a fashionable curled point above his brow. Yet on the rare times they met with that branch of the family, who had always believed they should have inherited Swan Court along with Kirkwood Manor, Jane and Kitty both felt very unsettled by them. Especially by Edward, who always liked to stand too close, touch hands too often, smile too unctuously. Once he had been engaged to an heiress, but she had thrown him over to marry a baronet, and now she was single again.

And he and his parents surely still wanted Swan Court.

Jane glanced desperately over her shoulder to see Edward's parents, Reginald and Leticia, standing by the tea table, watching the two of them. Leticia smiled and bowed, but Reginald scowled, as always. Kitty and Allison and their mother were far away, chatting with other guests by the terrace doors, not paying any attention to Jane. Too far to rescue her.

“Cousin Edward,” she said, trying to smile. It made her cheeks hurt. “How lovely to see you again. Cucumber sandwich?”

He took one, and used the excuse of reaching for the tray to step even closer. The cloying smell of his cologne filled her nose and made her dizzy. “Jane. I do so hope you will grant me the first dance at the ball. You have certainly grown more lovely every time I see you. The chance to touch your hand would be all I could wish for.”

Jane shivered. “I—well, I do think...”

“I fear she has promised the first dance to me already,” a deep, velvet-smooth voice said just behind Jane's shoulder. Calm, slightly amused, but undeniably steady and not to be dismissed.

A voice she had been trying to get out of her mind ever since the first time she heard it in the snowy lane. A voice that haunted her.

She spun around, and the tray slipped from her hands for real this time. The man who stood behind her caught it in one smooth movement. It was him, her stranger from the lane. And here, in the firelight and noise and the laughter, he was even more handsome. His hair gleamed almost golden, his eyes narrowed even as he smiled and showed the dimple in his square chin.

“Of course, Your Grace,” Cousin Edward said with a low, obsequious bow. “You must certainly be first on any dance card.”

Your Grace? Jane gaped up at her handsome new acquaintance, and felt her face turn hot, felt her fists clench. He was the duke? The one everyone had looked for so avidly? He looked nothing like a duke should, in his plain dark blue coat and cream waistcoat, no pearl pins or satin shoes, his hair too long, his face too sun-browned.

She felt so intensely foolish. If only she could flee, run away and hide and blush in private.

“Perhaps you remember me, Your Grace?” Cousin Edward said, for once being useful as he gave Jane time to take the tray and turn away to put it on a table, giving her a moment to compose herself.

“We met at Ramsgate last year,” Cousin Edward went on.

The duke frowned faintly as he looked at Edward. “Yes. I do recall the occasion. At an inn there, yes? Now, if you will excuse me, Mr...”

“Kirkwood. Edward Kirkwood. Cousin to the Bradfords.” Edward actually bowed again.

“I promised Miss Gordon I would help her with those sandwiches.” He half-turned and lightly swept up the tray again on one hand, taking Jane's arm with the other and leading her away. A path seemed to open before them in the crowded room, as if by magic, and every gaze followed them, a hush gathering around them. Was it always thus for him? Everyone watching, waiting, ready to respond to any desire or comment at an instant.

She wasn't sure how she felt about that at all. It seemed like royalty.

And here she had chatted with him in the middle of the lane like a milkmaid. What a fool he must think her!

“I did not know you were the Duke of Tremanton,” she whispered.

He glanced down at her, a half-smile quirked at his lips, that dimple flashing. “Would it have made a difference?”

“Of course! I—well, I have been to London, I do know how to behave in Society.” Sort of. She would still rather read than chatter in a ballroom or curtsy again to the queen. “I would never have been so bold.”

“But I grow so weary of being spoken of as a duke,” he said softly. They had reached the tea table, and he laid the tray down among the other delicacies. “All the bowing and agreeableness, no matter what nonsense I talk. It's tiresome indeed.”

“Yes,” Jane murmured. She could certainly imagine that, fear that. Real conversation, real emotion, must be so distant to such an existence. She studied him, Tremanton, as he brushed back a lock of his tawny-tipped hair and gave her another crooked smile. And then he was no longer the duke, but just the man from the lane again, the man with the topaz eyes and beguiling voice, so full of understanding, so intriguing. He was—well, who was he, really?

“What is your name?” she blurted.

He gave a puzzled frown. “My name?”

“Not Tremanton. I mean, your own name.”

“Brendan,” he answered. “My mother was half-Irish, and I think had a romantic streak in her that loved all the old tales. My brother was much luckier, he was just called plain old Charles.”

Brendan. It suited him so well, strong and unusual and ancient. “And she would tell those tales to you?”

He glanced away. “Perhaps she did. I cannot remember. I was a small child when she died.”

“Oh!” Jane sighed, feeling her cheeks turn hot again. What a clumsy girl she was! “Oh, I am so sorry. What a thing for me to say! You must have missed her dreadfully.”

“I did. I do. She was beautiful, and smelled of roses when she would lean over my cot and kiss my cheek. And she had a lovely singing voice. I'm lucky, really, to have a few memories.”

“Lucky?”

“I remember more of her than Charles does. He was only an infant.” The duke—Brendan—gestured to a man who stood across the drawing room, among a group that included Kitty, Gertrude and Bowood, and several others, mostly ladies, all laughing merrily. Lord Charles was indeed handsome, more golden, slimmer, more fashionably dressed than the duke, a sparkling quizzing glass dangling from between his long fingers. He seemed to entrance everyone around him. Yet Jane thought he could not begin to compare to his brother.

Kitty answered whatever Lord Charles said to her, her delicate laughter fluttering like birds across the room, and everyone smiled at her, as they always did with Kitty. She was like sunshine everywhere she went. All the light in the room seemed to gather on her.

Oh, no! Kitty. Jane almost gasped aloud. Kitty was the one meant for the duke, Kitty the one who would be the perfect duchess.

“I—yes,” Jane stammered, looking around desperately for a way to escape. Even though escape from him was the very last thing she wanted. They were closed in by the crowd, the tea table. “Your brother is very handsome. I see he's talking to my sister, the one in the lace gown. She is always the beauty of the family!”

Brendan gave her a bemused glance. “Is she indeed?”

“Tremanton,” Jane heard William say, and she drew in a deep breath of relief. “I'm so glad you could come. I understand you were looking forward to my new copy of the essays of Bacon.”

“Mr. Bradford, indeed I am—even though you stole it from beneath me at that auction,” Brendan said, turning away from Jane to smile at her brother-in-law. “I was rather furious.”

And he was a reader, too? Jane almost groaned. He was too perfect now.

William laughed. “Our library here is nothing to the one at Tremanton Abbey, of course, but I have hopes of expanding on our small collection. Right now, I fear Jane here is the only one who takes full advantage of the volumes.”

Brendan glanced down at Jane. “You are a great reader, Miss Gordon?”

“It is indeed a pastime of mine, since I am so hopeless at the pianoforte and the embroidery hoop,” Jane said with a laugh.

“Jane is much too modest,” William said with a fond smile. “She is our scholar. A student of antiquity.”

“Indeed?” Brendan's glance sharpened, his smile deepened. And Jane felt like giggling, which was surely far from being a scholar. “I recently read a new translation of Aeschylus, and I haven't had anyone to discuss it with. I should love to hear your thoughts, Miss Gordon, if you've had time to read it, as well?”

Jane had recently read it, and enjoyed comparing it to older translations, and was indeed aching to talk about the changes she had detected with someone. But with him, the duke? The duke Kitty wanted, and who Jane found too fascinating already?

That would be much too dangerous.

“I—yes, perhaps. Though I'm sure you will be very busy while you're here, duke.” She turned away, as if to pour out tea to nonexistent guests. “I do think Allison needs me right now. If you will excuse me?”

She spun around and rushed away, vanishing into the crowd. Allie was conferring with the housekeeper near the doorway, and surely didn't need Jane's poor help at all, so Jane made a dash out of the drawing room toward the library.

She closed the door behind her and leaned back against its sturdy wood, inhaling the sweet, familiar scent of leather, wood, fire smoke, let the wonderful quiet wash over her.

Yet even there, alone in her sanctuary, she could only see a pair of topaz eyes smiling down at her, a velvety voice asking her about Aeschylus.

 

 

Kitty leaned on the snow-dusted marble balustrade of the terrace, and took a deep breath of the clear, cold, clean air. Behind her, just beyond the tall windows, she heard the laughter of the crowd, the clink of teacups and silver spoons, and usually she would be right there in the middle of it all, chatting, giggling, hearing all the gossip.

But then he had come into the room, and suddenly she couldn't quite catch her breath. Henry Phillips. Harry. The vicar. The boy who had once stolen her hoop and run away, laughing at her tears.

Harry. The horrid boy who had become a shockingly gorgeous man. The man she had glimpsed from her sitting room, the one she imagined to be Lord Byron.

He had first stepped into the drawing room just as she was in the midst of telling a joke to Lord Charles, and for an instant she forgot all words. She could only see him, the man she glimpsed earlier outside the sitting room door, the one who looked like a Greek god. She hadn't known in that moment who he was.

Then his mother took his arm, and Allison rushed to greet them—and Kitty knew just who he was. The boy who had once made her cry such tears was her god-man.

And a vicar! The one sort of gentleman who would never look twice at a lady like her, who could never help saying whatever popped into her mind, who stayed up too late dancing and laughing.

A lady who hid how lonely she truly sometimes felt.

“Kitty darling, I'm sure you remember Mrs. Phillips and her son,” Allison said, leading them across the drawing room before Kitty could flee. Oh, how she wished she and Jane were twin-like enough to pass for each other! Kitty could pretend to be Jane, clever, serious, always composed Jane, who would know how to talk to a vicar.

A vicar who just happened to look like Apollo.

At least she had managed to make polite greetings, then excused herself to pour more tea. Then she ran outside to the snow.

“You must be freezing out here, Miss Gordon,” she heard someone say, and she glanced over her shoulder to see the very man who plagued her thoughts silhouetted against the open glass doors. Behind him was all light and sparkle and merriment, but all she could see was him. Tall, lean, dark-haired, dressed so simply and starkly, yet he made everyone else look ridiculous.

Maybe he wasn't Apollo, but Hades, lord of the Underworld, above all he surveyed, apart from it all.

Lud, Kitty thought, but she would be Jane indeed soon, all Greek and Latin. Yet he was indeed strangely fascinating, as a god would be.

“Come to steal my hoop, have you?” she said, with one of her usual light, careless laughs. One she was far from feeling.

He laughed, too, a sound like the tolling of distant, celebratory bells. He came to stand beside her, and stared out over the garden with her. Night was closing in, the sky turning all pale gray and gold, pink at the edges, gilding the distant summerhouse and making the icy trees sparkle. The party seemed so very far away, the two of them enclosed in some magical, sparkling, sunny bubble all their own. It was the strangest sensation. Yet he smelled so delicious, of lemony cologne and starch and tea, and was so warm, she wanted to lean into him.

Kitty also wanted to run away, to go back to her usual world of music and chatter and flirtation, all of it mattering not a whit. She had no idea how to behave with a man like Harry Phillips, a man of substance and intelligence and rare beauty, no idea how not to appear a fool in front of him. Yet she also never wanted to be anywhere else than where she was at that moment.

It was the strangest sensation, as if she was floating up amidst the stars just sparkling into life from between the clouds. And all from standing close to a man. To a vicar.

“I do most humbly apologize,” he said suddenly, after a long moment of stillness, as delicate and crystalline as the icicles on the trees.

“Apologize?” Kitty said, puzzled.

“For the hoop. I was irresistibly tempted, I fear. And it seemed the only way to get your attention. It was most ungallant of me.”

“Well,” Kitty said slowly. He had wanted her attention back then? How extraordinary. How—lovely. “I'm sure you atoned for it at some point in your theological studies.”

“Most ardently, Miss Gordon, I do assure you.”

His smile, the bright, roguish, white gleam of it, made her so wish he was ardent about something else. About—about touching her arm, maybe, the bare skin just below the lace edge of her sleeve. His long, lean, strong fingers drawing her close, his head bending toward hers, the deliciously spicy scent of him, his lips brushing hers, tasting of...

Kitty spun away, glad of the darkness so he couldn't see her flaming face, read the longing in her eyes. She had never been good at ladylike concealment, at perfect manners, as Jane was. Jane was right—she did read too many modern novels! To dream of being kissed by Harry Phillips, of all men...

She shivered and closed her eyes, but the images didn't just vanish.

“You are cold,” he said, suddenly serious. She heard the faint rustle of movement, of wool sliding over linen, and he wrapped his black coat around her shoulders. She was utterly wrapped up in his scent, his heat, as if he was truly embracing her.

“Oh, no,” she protested. She spun back around to face him, to study his face, all elegantly carved angles in the moonlight, the concern in his eyes. She started to take off his coat, to hand it back to him, but the gentle press of his hand on hers held her still. “Now you will be cold, I fear.”

“I like the cool breeze,” he said. “Your sister's drawing room is most charming, but I confess I was rather exhausted by the crowd.”

“So was I,” Kitty admitted. It was most strange—usually a crowd made her feel full of energy. Tonight she had just wanted a moment to think. To think about Harry, and how seeing him again had made her feel. “That was why I came out here for a moment. Just to—to have my own thoughts, I suppose.” And to escape from the sight of him, his smile, and the unsteady way he made her feel. She was meant to be charming the duke, for heaven's sake!

“You, Miss Gordon?” he said, a doubtful tone to his voice. “My mother told me you were the Toast of the Season, the Diamond of every party.”

“I...” Kitty was utterly bewildered. It was true she had lots of dance partners in London, lots of bouquets delivered to the house after balls, lots of invitations to drive in the park. But many ladies had more attention than she had, and none of the gentlemen had seen past her face, her hair, her laughter. She so much wanted to be seen now, but only by Harry. “I do enjoy a party, of course, and making new friends. People are always so, well, so very interesting, aren't they? And I especially like it when I can be of some help to them. I think that's why they talk to me so.”

His head tilted to the side, as if puzzled or intrigued by her words. “In what way?”

Kitty thought of the people she had met in London, their stories and hopes, their pasts and problems, and how fascinating it had all been. And she said as much now to Harry. “But you must think me frivolous for being so curious.”

“Not at all.” He leaned his arms on the balustrade near her, his heat wrapping around her. “It is also one of the reasons I chose my own profession.”

Because of people? Interested, Kitty leaned next to him. “Because of how very strange and contrary people can be?”

Harry laughed. “Yes, I suppose so. Everyone comes to their vicar with the greatest of the life's moments—their marriages, their children's christenings, when they must bury a loved one, when they have some deep disappointment or a sin they must confide. I can listen to them, help them. Even help them to help themselves. I do like being a part of all that, a part of our own slice of life and place. It's funny and sad and glorious, all at once. Because of people.”

Kitty was amazed. What a grand job he did have after all. She had never thought of the vicarage being such a center of life, and not just a place for writing sermons. It was a place to be part of everything around them, and a place to be of help. It sounded marvelous.

“Your mother was really quite wrong,” she said. “I was not a Diamond of the Season, not like Miss Patterson or Lady Felicia Barkley-Hughes. My hair is too red! I danced a lot, but not every dance, and I had a few bouquets, but not a florist's shop worth. But I did love making friends, chatting with them in the ballrooms or walking in the park while they told me their stories. I often wished I could be of more help to them.”

Harry gave her a gentle smile. “Often just listening while a friend talks is the first and best help we can give them. Everyone needs to feel understood, to feel seen.”

“Yes.” Kitty studied him carefully in the moonlight, looking beyond that handsome face, those blue-sky eyes, to see the kindness that lay just beneath, the desire to help people. She wished he could see inside of her, as well, to things even she had not yet discovered. “I do hope so. Jane thought I was so silly, to be always rushing here and there in London, when there were so many more important things to be seen there.”

“Things such as...?”

“Oh, the British Museum, lectures at the Royal Society. Jane is so very clever, you see, where I am just...” She broke off, not sure what she was.

“While you are—what?” he asked, and he sounded genuinely interested. He leaned toward her, his eyes intent on her face. No one had ever looked at her in quite that way before.

Uncomfortable, uncertain, Kitty made herself laugh. Really, a man like this should be with a lady like Jane, someone truly smart, truly serious. What was he doing standing out in the cold with her? Yet she longed for him to remain there, to not leave her. “While I am amusing myself always rolling hoops about the lawn, I suppose, when I should be reading. You ought to talk to Jane, she is so much more intelligent than I could be.”

His smile widened. “But I like it right where I am. Just at this very moment. In fact, I cannot recall ever enjoying a moment more.” He gestured out to the garden beyond. “Look, it's snowing again. Isn't it magical?”

Kitty stared at the flakes drifting toward the earth, fat and glistening white, like fairy's wings. “I used to dread snow at Christmas, for fear no one would come to the party,” she said, entranced by the scene before her. The summerhouse veiled in mist, the silence that only snow could bring wrapped around them. “But I do think this looks like the most perfect holiday ever. Like something in a book, or a painting!”

“Maybe the Boxing Day scene in Lady Amelia's Secret?”

“You've read that one?” Kitty cried, surprised and delighted. Lady Amelia had been the sensation of the Season when she was in London, the story of a governess who met and married an earl at Christmas, after various trials and tribulations. “I did adore it so. When Amelia saw Lord Havermeyer in the snowstorm. But—should a vicar be reading such things?”

He laughed, a sound Kitty realized she wanted to hear again and again. Like music she could never tire of. “I can't live on Fordyce's Sermons alone, now can I?”

“I should hope not. It would make for a shockingly dull life.”

“Kitty! Mr. Phillips,” she heard Allison say, and she turned to see her sister and Mrs. Phillips standing in the open doorway. Allie smiled, as always, but Mrs. Phillips looked most doubtful. As she well should be, to see her son, the new vicar in the parish, alone on a nighttime terrace with a lady like Kitty. “There you are. We are just about to play snapdragon. I know you enjoy that game so much, Kitty.”

Kitty made herself laugh, and carefully handed Harry's coat back to him. She hated to lose its comforting warmth, the magic of that moment. “Of course. It is quite delightful. Shall we go in, then?”

 

 

“I thought we discussed this all before,” Sir Reginald Kirkwood hissed to his son Edward as they made their way to their chambers after tea and snapdragon. Reginald's wife, Leticia, strode ahead, her back stiff in her gold satin gown, the feathers in her turban waving. She, too, had expectations of their son.

Expectations he so seldom met.

Edward sighed and looked away, fussing with the lace on his sleeve. “If only that last chit had...”

“Well, she didn't, did she? She married someone else,” Reginald snapped. Edward's intended had been a girl of good family and even better dowry, but she had run off with a baronet when she heard Edward’s family would inherit Kirkwood manor, thanks to the old entail, but no extra funds. Reginald had counted on the Swan Court property, but that was willed away from them to the Bradfords.

They could still get it—if Edward married one of the Gordon twins. He was meant to choose one this Christmas and charm her.

“You barely spoke to either of the ladies,” Reginald snapped.

“If only Gertrude had not married,” Edward whined. “She is so much more pretty. All that red hair...”

Reginald's hand itched to slap some sense into his son. Letitia hadn't been the most beautiful debutante of her Season, either, but he married her anyway when he was told to. One made one's fortune however possible. Leticia's fortune had not been enough to last long, however.

“Red hair or not, we need this estate,” Reginald said. “Instead you let them talk to other gentlemen all afternoon. Tomorrow there is to be ice-skating...”

“I hate skating!” Edward cried.

“It doesn't matter,” Reginald answered, stopping at his chamber door where Letitia was waiting, tapping her slipper. “You will woo one of the Gordon chits, no matter what.

 

Seven

 

Christmas Eve Day

 

“I command everyone to find their ice skates!” William called out as his guests trekked out from Swan Court into the cold, clear day toward the frozen pond and the summerhouse beyond. “Or to gather as much greenery from the park as possible to finish decking the halls. The main commandment is to have fun! And then the wassail bowl waits for everyone.”

“And an extra glass to the one who brings back the best mistletoe,” Allison added with a laugh.

Kitty looked across at Gertrude, who she knew was the best skater in the party, and they dashed down the snowy path toward the pond ahead of the others.

“It's the perfect day for spinning, isn't it?” Kitty cried happily. The breeze that wound around the bare treetops was a cold one, smelling of a sweetness that promised more snow, and even the fur trim on her robin-red pelisse and the fur hat on her head couldn't keep it away. But she didn't mind. It was bracing and invigorating after a sleepless night.

She had spent too long tossing and turning, thinking about Harry's smile, Harry's voice. Looking up at the moon shining pale silver through her window, and wishing he was there to look at with her. She was as bad as the governess in Lady Amelia's Secret.

“Oh, Kitty, how I wish I did have half your energy,” Gertrude said with a laugh. “I could barely drag myself out of bed this morning.”

“That is because you are a married lady, Gertrude, and thus privy to all sorts of mysteries,” Kitty teased.

Gertrude laughed harder. “Not so mysterious as all that.”

Kitty glanced back over her shoulder. She didn't see Harry, but she did see the Duke of Tremanton walking with his brother, the teasing Lord Charles. The duke was handsome enough, if a bit rough for someone in his position, and had seemed nice enough when they exchanged a few pleasantries over breakfast. But could she really care for him? Could his image supplant Harry's, as it should do?

“Oh, Gertrude,” she said wistfully. “What is it really like to be married? I mean, you know—it.”

Gertrude gave her a wary glance. “It?”

“You know, the marriage—thing. In general. Not only, well, the bedchamber...” Kitty felt herself turning stammery and blushing, not like her at all. But how else could she ever find out? “Not only behind closed doors, that is to say. I do know something of what happens there. But—any time. Is it lovely to be with someone all the time?”

Gertrude glanced at Bowood, who was strapping on his skates by the pond, laughing with William. Her expression turned soft and tender. “Oh, Kitty, darling. It can be. Really most lovely indeed, when it's the right person. It makes life all like sunshine. Most of the time.”

“And the rest of the time?”

Gertrude shook her head. “Well—he has his work to do, you see, and I have mine. We cannot always be together. So sometimes we part at the breakfast table and don't see one another again until dinner.”

Kitty imagined that was exactly what a ducal life must be like. Dukes had immensely huge tasks to perform every day, so many people depending on them. But was that not true for every man? A vicar, for example, with a whole parish looking to him for help, and a wife who had to see to their needs as well?

Gertrude smiled. “But then we have someone to talk it all over with at the end of the day, someone to help us and care about us. I confess sometimes he makes me angry and quarrelsome, and I just want to—to shout at him!”

Kitty was startled. “You, Gertrude?” Gertrude had always been the gentle one, the sweet one, the peacemaker even when they were children. And Bowood seemed the mildest of gentlemen.

“Yes, of course. He can be so stubborn.” Then she smiled, a radiant grin that lit her whole lovely face. “Then, though, he takes me in his arms and looks at me with his dark eyes, as if I am the only thing in the entire world he can see.”

Kitty nodded, remembering the way Harry looked at her as they talked on the snowy terrace. As no one had looked at her before.

“Tell me, Kitty,” Gertrude whispered, “are you asking me this because you have someone in mind? Someone you are—fond of?”

Was she “fond” of Harry? Kitty hardly even knew which way was up or down with him. She definitely was not ready to talk about it, even with her sisters. “I—well, not entirely. That is, no one in particular. Not yet.”

Gertrude patted her hand and smiled. “There will be very soon. Just look at all the handsome men at this party! Are you sure there isn't one in particular that you have your eye on?”

“Not yet,” Kitty said, feeling terrible for holding such a secret. For switching her fascination to Harry Phillips after all her talk of becoming a duchess.

“Gertie!” Bowood called. “Kitty! The ice looks perfect.”

“Coming, my dear,” Gertrude called, and she and Kitty hurried over to strap on their own skates and join the others on the ice.”

Kitty always loved to skate, loved the freedom of the gliding movements, the rush of the wind past her ears, and she couldn't wait to spin along in circles, free for a moment. But as she finished fastening the straps and stood up to step onto the ice, she heard someone call her name.

“Cousin Kitty! How fortuitous. Shall we launch ourselves onto the ice together?”

Kitty forced a smile onto her lips before she turned to face Cousin Edward. His partridge-plump figure was bundled up to the ears in a fur-lined coat and muffler, his nose bright red. “Of course, Cousin Edward, if you like. But I am sure you are much more accomplished than I am; I am quite out of practice.”

“Oh, we shall do wondrously together, cousin, I am sure! Just hold onto me, and I will help you.”

Kitty could think of few things she would rather do less. There had always been something rather—odd about Cousin Edward, something hiding just below the surface. She and Jane and Gertrude avoided him whenever they could, but Kirkwood Manor was not terribly far away, and they were family after all. Sometimes family parties could not be avoided. But it was Christmas now, surely a time for families to mend fences and come together.

But now Kitty well-remembered why they usually refused to dance with Edward, quite apart from those uncomfortable feelings. His ambition on the dance floor, as now on the ice, far outstripped his ability. He seized her around the waist, drawing her much too close for comfort, and launched them onto the ice.

Kitty stumbled, with no time to find her own balance, and had to cling to Edward. This seemed to encourage him, for he dragged her closer and moved faster and faster. His hand slid much too low for her comfort, hot and clammy even through the wool of her pelisse.

He twirled them around and around, the trees ringing the pond turning to mere brown blurs in her dizzy eyes. She was quite sure she would be ill all over her new clothes—or even better, all over Edward.

“Isn't this grand, Cousin Kitty?” he cried, spinning her like a crooked top. “What a pair we would make!”

As she made another turn, Kitty glimpsed her Uncle Reginald, a smug look on his face as he watched her with Edward, and Aunt Leticia, who nodded. Kitty suddenly feared she knew just what was afoot. This was Edward's way of wooing, and she was the object. She tripped over the hem of her pelisse, falling out of his hands and onto the hard, cold ice with a bruising jolt.

“Please, Miss Gordon, may I be of assistance?” a voice said, full of worry, maybe a little angry even, but calm and soothing. A lifeline in a humiliating moment.

Kitty pushed back her hat from where it had tumbled over her eyes, and looked up to see Harry. He wore no hat, his dark hair windblown, his eyes a dark blue now, a frown of concern on his lips. And, in that moment, she entirely forgave that hoop incident.

“Oh, yes, Mr. Phillips, thank you,” Kitty gasped. She held out her hand, and Harry gently lifted her to her feet, holding her steady as she wavered on her blades. He seemed to have the strength and stubbornness of an oak in that moment, unmovable, standing between her and the rest of the world. She held onto him tightly.

“Oh, I say, Cousin Kitty, how dashed idiotic!” Edward spluttered. Kitty had quite forgotten he was even there. “But I daresay you look well enough now, and ladies will have accidents. No need for your help, Phillips.”

Kitty would certainly beg to differ. Her pretty new pelisse was ruined, her hair a mess, and her backside bruised. What if she couldn't dance at the ball?

Couldn't dance with Harry at the ball.

“I think Miss Gordon should be allowed to rest now, Mr. Kirkwood,” Harry said in a hard voice Kitty had never heard from him before. Holding onto her carefully, he turned her away, the two of them gliding smoothly over the ice toward the spot on the banks where William and Allison were building a bonfire while Kitty and Harry's mothers laid out refreshments on the waiting table. The scent of sweet cider and ginger cakes hung in the air.

“Are you hurt, Miss Gordon?” Harry asked gently. “Should I call for your sister? Or even ride for the doctor?”

Kitty shook her head. “Only my pride is wounded, I think. It's been some time since I skated, I admit, but I don't remember being quite so clumsy before! Edward did insist on spinning...” She broke off, still so embarrassed Harry had seen her thus.

“Then are you well enough to skate a little further, then? Maybe just to the fire and back?”

“Oh, yes, I should like that very much.” She looked back at Edward, who stood with his parents as Uncle Reginald waved his arms wildly, his face red. Harry's mother also watched them, an unreadable yet solemn expression on her face. Kitty was sure a vicar's mother wouldn't like such scenes.

“Does your mother not make merry at the season, Mr. Phillips?” Kitty asked. “Allie says she was once full of laughter.”

Harry gave a wistful smile. “She's been able to speak of little but the charms of Swan Court ever since Mrs. Bradford's kind invitation arrived. I fear she had little enough joy when I was young, with my father's early death. I hope to change that now, to give her some comfort in life.”

“Oh, yes, I do hear that St. Swithin's is a fine living indeed,” Kitty said, thinking of the grand old Norman church, the pretty brick vicarage with its large garden attached. “She will keep house for you, then?”

“Only as long as she must. She talks of the pleasures of Bath, like your own mother.” Holding gently onto her hand, he led her into a long, gliding turn that made her laugh. “She wants to play matchmaker this season.”

Kitty had to laugh, thinking of all she and Jane and Gertrude had talked of for weeks—proper matches. Speaking of which, she suddenly realized she hadn't seen the duke in some time. She would never make a duchess that way.

And yet she felt so careless of all that just at that very moment. She felt wonderfully, strangely—light. Almost as if she floated above the ice, her hand safe in Harry's.

“Christmas does bring thoughts of family, of cozy firesides and singing by the pianoforte and such,” she said. “I'm not surprised your mother might think of such things, as well.”

“She says a vicar must set an example of domestic felicity and morality,” Harry said with a mock-solemn look that made them both laugh.

“Yes, of course he must.” Even though Kitty laughed, she feared his mother was quite right. If Harry wanted to move ahead in his career, to one day be a bishop, he would indeed need a proper wife. Kitty was too frivolous to do that. Surely Jane would be a better choice for him.

Harry suddenly reached for both of her hands, holding them tightly as he spun her in wider and wider circles, making her laugh with helpless, wild glee. All thoughts of being a proper clergy wife vanished in the moment of abandon.

“You see, Miss Gordon? Am I not a fine example of moral rectitude and somberness?” he laughed. “A model of great decorum?”

Kitty laughed even louder, her head spinning giddily., her skates leaving the ice, as graceful as any ballet. She braced her hands on his shoulders and held on tightly, wishing that moment would never end.

Until she glimpsed Harry's mother's face as they twirled past, the dismay written there.

“Oh, Harry. Mr. Phillips,” she gasped. “Do stop! Do put me down now. I am making such a spectacle today!”

He slowly lowered her to her feet, his own laughter fading.

Kitty quickly skated away, flushed and dizzy and flustered, more uncertain than she had ever been in her life.

 

 

Jane made her way further into the forest, hearing a snatch of the Wassail Song as she swung her basket over her arm. It was so deliciously quiet there, the faint echo of laughter from the skaters and the wind whistling through the winter-bare trees blending into its own special winter music. The sky arched overhead, a chalky-blue, and the snow crunched under her boots. She pushed back her bonnet to stare up at the skidding clouds.

She thought of the duke, of suddenly seeing him in the drawing room and realizing her intriguing stranger from the road was actually the Duke of Tremanton. A man as far above her as those clouds. A man her sister had claimed, sight unseen.

A man who made her want to blush and giggle just to think about him.

She spun around in a wide circle, taking in the grove of trees around her—and froze when she glimpsed the face she had just been daydreaming about, not ten feet away from her, perched on a large tree stump.

She swung back dizzily to face him. He wore no hat, and his over-long, golden-tipped hair blew in the wind. His long, stark black greatcoat made him look like a wraith in the woods, a figure of the Viking past, but his smile was almost—shy.

“Brendan—I mean, duke,” she stammered.

“I was just doing as your brother-in-law instructed—looking for greenery to deck the halls.” He jumped off the stump, and pointed up to a spreading loop of dark green and holly, tangled high in the tree. “I thought that holly branch looked like a fine choice.”

“It would indeed be very beautiful in the drawing room,” Jane said, pretending to study it carefully as she actually watched him from the corner of her eye. He watched her in return, a wary expression on his face. “But didn't you want to skate? It's not often the pond is frozen enough.”

He suddenly grinned, and it was like the sun had appeared in the winter gloom. “Horribly uncoordinated, I'm afraid. I've always left the games to my brother. But you are not skating, either?”

Jane leaned closer and said quietly, “I must make a confession.”

His brow arched. “Confession? How intriguing.”

“I saw our Cousin Edward coming toward Kitty and me, and I cravenly ran away and left her to face him. I had a strong suspicion he was going to ask one of us to skate with him.”

“Poor Cousin Edward. Is he too vile, then?”

Jane laughed. “Not vile, exactly. But a bit, well, grabby, if one dances with him, or meets him alone in a corridor. Or on the ice. He was betrothed before, you see, but she threw him over, and Kitty and I fear his family might be urging him to get Swan Court through one of us again. They never did quite get over losing its income to go with Kirkwood Manor.”

“Ah, family,” Brendan said. “Whatever would we do without them?”

“Live in perfect peace, I suspect.” Jane tilted her head back to study the holly branches. “I do think you are quite right, that holly would be perfect for the drawing room, and would definitely get us that extra wassail my brother promised.”

“ ‘The holly bears a prickle, as sharp as any thorn',” Brendan sang, a deep, resonant baritone. “How to fetch it from up there?”

Something wild seemed to seize Jane just then, something she hadn't felt in years. Maybe it was the snow, the merrymaking, being alone in the woods with Brendan—it brought out an old spark of deviltry in her.

“I'll climb for it,” she said. She untied her bonnet and put it in her basket, placing them both on the tree stump.

Brendan frowned in concern. “Miss Gordon—Jane. Are you quite sure you should...”

“Oh, yes! Kitty and I used to climb trees all the time when we were girls. I'm sure I still have the knack.” She found a sturdy foothold in the bark of the tree and set her boot in it, reaching for a thick, low-hanging branch. She pulled herself upward, seeking another foothold and another.

She felt a boost under her foot, and glanced down to see that Brendan held her steady from his great height. He nodded at her, and she knew she was safe with him at her side. That he believed in her. They exchanged conspiratorial smiles.

She pulled herself higher, supported by Brendan's strength, until she reached the knotty twist of the holly branch. With the small scissors tucked into her pelisse pocket, she cut it free and let it drop to the snowy ground before scrambling down again. But she forgot that going up was easier than going down, and her boot slipped, making her heart leap.

Brendan caught her around her waist, and twirled her free in a wide circle. They laughed, giddy with the small success.

“The first glass of wassail is ours, I'm sure!” he said gleefully, lighter and more full of laughter than she had ever heard him. “How did you ever learn to climb like that if you are always buried in books?”

“I don't only read, you know! And what about yourself? I think you were telling a wee fib saying that your brother is the only one good at games.” She tapped at his strong shoulder, still flexed and tight with muscle, as he held her so easily above the ground.

He laughed, and lowered her to her feet. “Someone has to ride out over the estate every day.”

“And someone used to have to collect our Christmas greenery, when we had no money in the cottage with Mama and Allie and me,” Jane said. “We collected holly and evergreen, made kissing boughs with mistletoe, knitted and embroidered gifts, found places to hide them in that tiny house. It was marvelous! And then at nights we had games and stories, and songs...”

Brendan tucked a large loop of the holly into her basket, a wistful smile on his rugged face. “I wish Charles and I would have thought of collecting our greenery ourselves. We could have brightened up the nursery a bit.”

Jane hated the sad note that had crept into his voice. “Surely there must have been some decorations in Tremanton Abbey?”

Brendan shook his head. “As you know, my mother died when I was very young, and my father couldn't be bothered with anything so frivolous as Christmas after he lost her. He was usually not even at home in December. Charlie and I would go out sledding, maybe, and the servants would make us a special pudding.”

“How awful!” Jane blurted. “Christmas should be all warm and cozy and lovely, especially for children. Even when we were so poor after my father died, we had each other, and games and music and sweets. And so much time to spend together.”

He smiled at her, and touched her hand gently. It was so warm, so sweet, and much too fleeting. “It does sound just how Christmas ought to be.”

“Well—now you can be part of it all. You have the greenery, and tonight we shall have music and wassail, and the ball is coming up.” She caught a glimpse of more holly over his shoulder, the berries glowing scarlet against the snow. “And that piece over there looks like the perfect addition...”

As she moved to fetch it, her boot caught on a tree root, and she tumbled toward the frozen ground with a startled cry. Brendan caught her, lifting her against his strong shoulder, and she was enveloped in warmth and safety, and the delicious scent of him.

Of the duke. And her sister was meant to be a duchess.

Jane heard a burst of laughter from somewhere beyond the trees, and she suddenly realized they were not really alone even in the woods. There was no enchanted moment when she could have Brendan all for herself.

“I—I must go,” she gasped, breaking free of his grasp. She caught up her basket and dashed toward the pond, the safety of the crowd.

“Jane—Miss Gordon,” he called after her, sounding bewildered. “When may we speak of the Aeschylus, as you promised?”

“Soon,” she called back, wishing she could talk to him about books. That they could do so, so many things together. But she feared that would never be.

 

 

“And where did you vanish off to for so long, Jane?” Kitty asked, studying herself in the dressing table mirror as their maid finished pinning up her hair for dinner. She toyed with the wreath of white silk rosebuds that would twine through her curls, matching her new gown of white silk and silver-spangled tulle.

Jane glanced up from the book on her lap. Jane, of course, had been ready for ages, in her simple pale green muslin gown and the loose knot of hair at the nape of her neck. Kitty couldn't help but notice that she hadn't turned a page in some time.

But then, Kitty had been distracted herself. She kept thinking of that frozen pond, her hands in Harry's as he spun her about, around and around until they were out of this world and into one of their very own.

“Oh, I was just off looking for greenery,” Jane said, yet something sounded—was it guilty? Jane was always as transparent as a summertime brook, and as quiet. “You know how clumsy I am at skating. I'm sorry if I abandoned you to Cousin Edward.”

Kitty laughed to think of poor Edward, but then her bruised backside gave a twinge and she didn't feel so sorry for him. “He was no bother at all, really. It was quite a lovely day, wasn't it?”

Jane smiled wistfully. “Lovely indeed.”

Kitty put down the wreath. “Jane—do you think I might be good at something? Well, at something other than being just a silly fribble? At doing something serious?”

Jane frowned, and put her book aside. “Kitty darling, has something happened?”

“Something like what?”

“I'm not sure. You just seem so distracted this evening, and such worries are not like you. Of course you are capable of doing something serious! You are capable of doing anything you might want.”

“Girls, are you ready yet?' Allison called, knocking at the door. She pushed it open, and Kitty saw that she looked more radiant and beautiful than ever in a gown of violet velvet and navy-blue satin bows, a sapphire bandeau in her hair. “It's almost time for dinner! And I do have plans for after. Games, you know. Charades, perhaps, some hide-and-seek. I will need your help. Especially you, Kitty, you are so good at getting everyone to join in.”

Good at being unserious, she meant. But Kitty just smiled, and said “Of course! It sounds marvelous, Allie.” And who knew? Maybe the games would distract her from her confused thoughts, her doubts.

But would a vicar's wife play charades? Or drink wassail? Could she ever possibly be suited to a life with Harry at all?

 

Eight

 

Christmas Eve Night

 

Jane took a nibble of her lamb in mint sauce, and tried to smile at what her dinner-partner-to-her-left was saying. It was a merry scene indeed, and she couldn't remember the last time the dining room at Swan Court looked so grand. The light from dozens of candles sparkled on cut crystal and heavy silver, while the greenery gathered from their forest outing splashed dark green against the crisp white damask tablecloth, the pale yellow of the draperies drawn over the windows, the striped yellow and white cushions of the gilded chairs. Platters of pyramids of hothouse fruit lined the table, and laughter filled the wine-and-cinnamon scented air.

It was all that Christmas should be. Yet Jane couldn't quite forget Kitty's face as they dressed for dinner. Something about it, something Jane couldn't quite decipher, a sad wistfulness maybe, was most disquieting. Kitty was always so full of energy and laughter, always concocting some scheme, some plan for mischief. Yet she had seemed so quiet, so far away, after the afternoon's skating. Usually Jane and Kitty, as different as they were, knew each other's thoughts. What could be amiss?

A plan—a duchess plan. Of course. Jane could have hit herself with a Christmas cracker for forgetting even for a moment. Kitty planned to be a duchess; she deserved to be a duchess. And Jane had taken the duke away for the whole afternoon.

She glanced down the long, sparkling table to where Brendan sat next to Allie at the foot, the place of honor. The young lady beside him, the daughter of some neighbor who was just back from a fancy finishing school and as golden as an elfin queen, was laughing up at him prettily, her hand on the dark wool of his sleeve like a bejeweled butterfly. The lady across from him was chatting to him, as well, but she was a married woman dressed in the height of fashion in her feathered turban and low-cut satin gown, and her smiles were far more—suggestive.

Allie smiled at them all, her eyes watchfully narrowed as she gestured to the footman to refill the wine glasses. She leaned closer to ask Brendan if he cared for more of the fine claret, and he seemed to turn to her with an expression of some relief.

Jane glanced the other way, toward Kitty who sat near William, next to Mr. Phillips, the vicar. Kitty's head was bent close to him as he spoke to her quietly, and she nodded. Jane hoped he was not sermonizing to her (not that Mr. Phillips seemed at all the sermonizing type), and that Kitty would be kind to him.

She turned away from the whole scene, a foolish feeling knotted in her stomach. In the quiet of the woods, it had been so easy to forget who Brendan really was. He was just Brendan there, with his kind smile, his beautiful eyes, so easy to talk to, so easy to laugh with. How could she have forgotten for a moment he was a duke? He could have any lady at the party, any lady in England. He could have Kitty. Why would he want a bluestocking like Jane?

“...not the plan,” she thought she heard the man to her right mutter, though surely not. Plans, especially wretched duchess plans, were too much in her mind of late.

Plans that always seemed to go awry.

She turned, and realized the man was Brendan's brother, Lord Charles. She did hope he couldn't read her silly thoughts!

“I beg your pardon, Lord Charles?” she said. “I cannot quite hear.”

He laughed, and it sounded rather like Brendan's low, deep laughter, only more free, lighter. Perhaps he was the Kitty to Brendan's Jane in their family? “Not at all, Miss Gordon, it is indeed delightfully raucous in here. I was merely thinking aloud.”

Jane smiled. “I often do that myself. Kitty gets quite exasperated when I try to work out of philosophical conundrum aloud.”

Lord Charles shook his head. “Siblings. Whatever would we do without them in our lives?”

Jane remembered what Brendan told her about their chilly childhood, the way they had clung together, and her heart ached for both of them. “I would truly be lost without my sister, despite our differences. Are you and your brother also very close, then?”

“I would say so. He was quite my only champion when we were boys. He seems a quiet sort, Miss Gordon, but he will never stand for any injustice or insult to those he cares about. But I fear he does live so much in his head, he worries so much about the heavy responsibilities our father left him at Tremanton Abbey. To tell you the truth, Miss Gordon, I was very much hoping this party would cheer him up a bit.”

Jane peeked over at Brendan, with his admiring ladies. “It does seem to be working.”

Charles looked at them, too, and frowned. “It would be so nice, Miss Gordon, if he could find a wife here.”

Jane was shocked at his words, and tried to compose her expression. Brendan—marrying? Of course a duke would have to, and to a suitable lady, but could she bear to watch a betrothal happen right in front of her? “A wife, Lord Charles?”

“Someone to help lighten his load, to make Tremanton Abbey a true ducal seat again.” He glanced again at his brother. “He is too solemn by half. He reads far too much, I think.”

“Yes,” Jane said quietly, poking at the peas on her plate. Reading too much was not for dukes—or duchesses. “I can see where such a grand title must be a burden that should be shared.”

“Of course. But I understand you are quite the reader yourself, Miss Gordon! I hope I have not insulted you by my words, an education is so admirable in anyone. I often wish I was not such a bacon-brain myself. Have you come across any good volumes lately? Perhaps I could surprise my brother with an erudite recommendation.”

Jane laughed, for who couldn’t help liking  the affable Lord Charles and his affection for his brother, and they chatted about books and the libraries at Tremanton and Swan Court until the last of the courses were cleared.

Allison rose to her feet, and as the ladies made to follow, Allie said with a laugh, “And you, gentlemen, must come, too! No brooding over your port tonight, for it is Christmas Eve and we must have our games.”

Everyone laughed with the novelty of it, and quickly followed Allison and William into the drawing room. Over dinner, it had been transformed into even more of a Christmas bower, with the extra greenery gathered that afternoon arranged in tall vases and ribbons and streamers looping from the ceiling. Gifts for every guest were stacked in colorfully wrapped pyramids on long tables, and large silver bowls held the promised wassail.

“Now, later we shall have our wassail, and games of charades and tableaux, and perhaps Kitty will even play a few carols for us, if we promise to sing along,” Allison announced. “But first, so that everyone can see a bit of Swan Court, I say we play a round of hide-and-seek, just as when we were children.”

A delighted gasp went up among the crowd. “I haven't played that since the nursery,” one lady giggled. “How delightful!”

“Then it is certainly high time we remembered how,” Lord Charles said, obviously getting quickly into the spirit of things. “Topping idea, Mrs. Bradford! Now, who shall be the seeker?”

“You may be the first seeker, of course, Lord Charles,” William said, sliding his arm around his wife's waist. “Along with Mr. Evanston over there. The only rules are—leave the poor servants alone, I don't want to have to hire anyone new at this time of year because they were frightened by a bunch of raucous Christmas revelers bursting into their chambers. The rest of us shall hide wherever we can find, even in the the gardens, if you can brave the cold. The prize is a silver cup for your wassail.”

“Oh, jolly good!” Lord Charles chortled, clapping his hands. Brendan gave him an indulgent smile, but Jane thought he looked almost as wary as she felt. Such games always made her feel nervous and shy.

But Jane did know just where to go. She took a moment to snatch a book from one of the tables, just in case there was nothing still up there to keep her occupied until the game finished, and ran up the stairs.

At the second landing, most of the laughing, shrieking guests turned toward the bedchambers, and Jane kept going upward, hurrying past the carpeted, wide treads that gave way to a narrower, winding set of stairs, lined with smaller paintings.

At the top, she could turn left toward the servants' quarters, but she went right into the old schoolroom at the end of the corridor. She and Kitty seldom went in there now, yet it had once been her refuge, a place of books and music and lessons, and she doubted anyone would venture up there for any games.

Jane pushed open the door, and carefully closed it behind her so no one in the servants' quarters would hear her. She found a candle on one of the desks and lit it, sending a small golden glow of light over the tables and straight-backed chairs, the old toy cupboards, the board where once the governess had written their lessons, the shelves of books. It smelled wonderfully familiar, of chalk and dusty volumes, the faint remnant of old flowers.

She pushed open the dark blue draperies at the window and curled up on the cushioned window-seat, drawing her legs up beneath her for warmth. She opened the book and settled it on her knees, where the candlelight would fall across the pages. It was so deliciously silent there, yet she couldn't quite settle down to her reading. She kept thinking about Brendan, and all his admirers at dinner.

She glanced out the window, at the glow of the moon on the snow, the bare branches sketched against the starlight, the glow of the old marble summerhouse beyond the pond. It was all so magically beautiful.

As she watched, a couple suddenly appeared on the lawn below, dancing over the frosty ground, twirling and spinning. Their laughter floated up even to Jane's high window, and they seemed so very happy it made her smile.

Though even as she laughed at their delight, she did wonder if the lady must not be freezing in her light gown of silk and spangled tulle. Then she suddenly realized she recognized that gown—it was Kitty's.

She sat up straight and peered closer. Yes, it was definitely Kitty, laughing and twirling in the snow, her spangled gown sparkling. But the man was too dark in his coat, half in shadows, and she couldn't recognize him at all. Was this what had Kitty so distracted before dinner?

There was a sudden creak of the floorboards outside the door, and Jane whirled around to stare at the portal as it slowly swung open. Her refuge was about to be invaded, and her heart pounded with fear. Oh, how she hoped it was not Cousin Edward! The only thing she hated more than hiding was seeking—or being found by people she definitely did not want to see.

Yet as the figure moved into her small circle of light, she saw it was not Edward. It was Brendan.

And she was not sure which was worse. Brendan was definitely far more dangerous for her heart. But if he was there—who was it with Kitty?

“Oh,” she gasped.

He gave her a sheepish smile, and ran his hand through his tousled hair, leaving it standing even more adorably on end. “I'm sorry to invade your lovely spot, Miss Gordon. A maid told me about this secret little room, and I was desperate for a quiet place to wait out the ridiculous game. It did look so dark and quiet from the outside.”

Jane smiled at him in return, relaxing just a bit. This was Brendan before her, not the duke. “You're right. It is dark and quiet. I didn't think anyone would venture up here, thinking it's only the servants' quarters. It's always been my little refuge.”

“So you don't mind if I share it for a while? If you would rather be alone...”

“No, not at all.” Jane slid over on the cushion and made a space for him to sit beside her. He sat at a proper distance, on the far end of the bench, but he was still so near she could feel the heat of him. Smell his delicious, spicy scent touched with wine from dinner. “I'm afraid it is rather dull in here, though.”

He sighed happily. “Dull sounds quite marvelous.”

Jane laughed. “Not fond of hide-and-seek, then?”

“Not at all. Too much suspense by half. I leave all that to Charles.”

“And I leave it to Kitty.” Jane frowned as she thought of what she had seen, Kitty dashing across the garden with a shadowy figure. She glanced out the window, but they had vanished. “I do much prefer to wait in here for the madness to pass.”

He looked around them, at the desks and the cupboards, the shelves of books. “This is your own library, maybe?”

“My old schoolroom. I often come here when things become rather...”

“Noisy?”

“Exactly so. I always did enjoy the hours we spent here as children, nothing to do but read and recite French and look at globes. Not that I don't enjoy a holiday game, too. Charades can be fascinating, and Kitty's music is wonderful.”

“Did you play such games when you were children, and lived in your little cottage?”

“Sometimes, yes. There weren't very many places to hide there, though.” She laughed to remember Kitty crouching in the tiny cupboard under the stairs and then leaping out to shout “boo!” That was the extent of their hide-and-seek then. “Did you and your brother devise such games for yourselves when you were children?”

“Not often. Charles sometimes persuaded me to some mischief, I confess. It was fun at the time, but when my father would find out...” He laughed ruefully. “Not so much fun then.”

Jane hugged her knees closer. “So, if you could make any kind of Christmas at all for yourself, what would it be?”

He grew quiet for a moment, a thoughtful frown on his face, that dimple hidden. “I never really thought about it. Much like what you have here at Swan Court, I suppose.”

Jane laughed. “Crowds jostling everywhere, pestering you to play their rowdy games?”

Brendan laughed with her, and there was that dimple, enticing her to press her lips to it ever so gently. To erase the sadness of his old Christmases forever. “Perhaps not entirely. But the greenery and the music, a dinner table filled with friends and family. Warmth and light. Yes, I definitely think that is what Christmas should be. Every child should feel safe and loved at Christmas, with stockings filled with fruits and sweets and new dolls and hoops.”

Jane pictured it all, friends gathered around her own fireside, children with Brendan's tawny-touched hair exclaiming at their gifts. What a father he would make. “I would like that very much, too. A real home...”

He studied her in the candlelight, watchful, unreadable. It made her want to blush, to turn away, but she could not look from him. “Yes. A real home. I'm not sure I ever really envisioned such a place.”

“Is Tremanton Abbey not a real home? Or—could it not be made into one?”

“I suppose it could be. Any place could be, under the right circumstances, the right people. But for so long, as long as I can remember, it's just been cold. Empty. It would need a great deal of light and laughter to warm it as Swan Court is now.” His hand slid, ever so slowly, across the cushion to touch hers. His fingers were warm, slightly rough as if his work was not only at a desk but out among his people. She curled her fingers around his, wishing she could hold onto him like that forever. “What do you imagine when you think of a home, Jane?”

Jane stared down at their hands, so lightly touching, and she realized—that was like home. “I can scarcely remember. You are right, something like Swan Court, like what my sister and William have made. But my very own, a place I could make comfortable and pretty.”

He gave her a gentle smile. “With a large library?”

Jane laughed. “Of course. The very largest. Is there a library at Tremanton?”

“There is, but sadly neglected, I fear. My father was not much of a reader, and sold off too many volumes. It requires someone very knowledgeable to bring it all into the modern day. The whole house needs a—a gentle touch.”

His hand tightened on hers, and she held it in return. Slowly, so slowly she found she could not breathe, his head tilted toward hers and his lips touched hers at last.

The touch of those lips was soft at first, warm and gentle, so alluringly sweet. He tasted of wine and mint, and something deeper and darker that was only him, something that made her dizzy and delirious.

When she wrapped her arms around him to draw him closer, he answered her sudden hunger with his own, deepening the kiss, touching the tip of his tongue to hers. Their lips parted, tasted, devoured—and it sent Jane tumbling down into a new, raw, primitive need she could never have imagined. Nothing else meant anything but Brendan, and that one perfect moment of madness.

Until a sudden clatter in the corridor, a sound that splashed over her like a cold rain, reminded her that they were not the only ones in all the world. That she was kissing a man, a duke, in a quiet, dark room, and worse—she wanted to do so much more. She wanted that madness Gertrude had said could happen between a man and wife behind closed doors.

But she was not Brendan's wife, nor could she be. He needed a duchess.

She broke away from him, and leaped up from the window seat. He stared up at her, shock on his face. Shock she had broken away suddenly, or shock at what had happened? Regret? She could never bear his regret.

“I—I'm sorry, I must go,” she gasped, and spun around to run for the door.

“Jane, no!” he called, but she slipped out of the schoolroom and ran down the stairs, as fast as she had ever moved in her life.

Lord Charles grabbed her arm as she came into the drawing room, and crowed, “You are now the seeker, Miss Gordon! How terrible you are at hiding.”

Jane tried not to sob. She was terrible indeed.

 

 

Kitty tiptoed across the small sitting room at the back of the house, holding her silk and tulle skirts so they wouldn't make even a rustle. The little chamber was lit by moonlight from the uncurtained windows that led onto the terrace, giving her a pathway around the chairs and settees and writing tables. She could hear muffled giggles outside the door, but no one came inside. She did so hate playing the seeker. Hopefully no one would find her there, in Allison's own private sanctuary where she ran the household.

Kitty made her way toward the glass doors at the far end of the chamber, drawn by that ethereal glow of starlight in the clear winter sky, reflecting on the snowy ground. It was all so lovely, a world beyond the familiar noise of a party.

But she tripped over a small footstool before she could reach the windows, an obstacle that sprang up out of seemingly nowhere and sent her tumbling toward the needlepoint carpet. A rush a cold panic seized at her stomach. Then—a hand caught her before she could hit the floor, drawing her up safely.

“Kitty?” a man's deep voice gasped.

“Harry?” she gasped in return. “I mean—Mr. Phillips? Whatever are you doing?”

“Hiding, of course. I thought I would just sit behind this chair and wait for everyone to clear the corridor before I slipped away.”

Kitty studied him in the moonlight, astonished that he only seemed to be growing better looking the more she looked at him. The more she talked with him. In that winter glow, he looked almost angelic—except for a mischievous glow in his blue eyes. “Clear? Do you not enjoy the game, then?”

He gave her a roguish smile. “I do confess, I've never played it before. I was a bit confused by it all. Is it a favorite game of yours, then?”

Kitty sighed, and sat down in one of the velvet armchairs near the windows. “I usually get rather bored by it, I'm afraid. All that sitting still and being quiet. It was different when we were children and lived in that small cottage, the game didn't take long at all, I could jump out and startle Jane and then we went off to eat sweets. It's different in a large party. So I thought I would come in here, where one can at least look outside and daydream, and Allie does keep her new novels over there.”

“I thought it seemed like a cozy place to wait, as well.” Harry sat down on the chaise next to her chair, stretching out his long legs in front of him. “Is this your sister's personal sitting room, then? Perhaps I should not have invaded her space.”

“Oh, Allie won't mind at all! It is indeed her sitting room, but it's not a secret place. Jane and I used to have dancing lessons in here sometimes, when the schoolroom was too cold. We would roll up the rug, and Allie would play that harp in the corner. We did sometimes knock into things, I confess, but luckily none of the furniture in here is valuable.”

Harry laughed. “I have a hard time imagining you were at all awkward in your dance lessons.”

“I was quite dreadful when we first started,” Kitty admitted ruefully. “I was much too exuberant, always getting ahead of the music, galloping around. But I did enjoy it so, and I daresay I've rather improved over the years. Do you enjoy dancing?” Kitty suddenly realized she had just asked a vicar if he liked to dance. How silly of her. “Oh. Perhaps it is not seemly?”

He laughed again, louder, deeper. “We are allowed onto a dance floor once or twice a year, I think. I do enjoy a turn around the room, and haven't yet been reprimanded by the bishop.”

Kitty giggled. “That is good to hear, since the Kirkwood Ball is nearly upon us. So, what is your favorite dance?”

“It is a difficult choice, but I think I am rather good at My Lord Byron's Maggot.”

“Oh, I love that one! All the twirling and clapping.” Kitty leaped up and held out her hand to lure Harry across the room, as the dance steps dictated. He laughed and followed, the two of them spinning around and clapping hands.

The spun and spun, until Kitty couldn't stop laughing. She heard a sudden laugh outside the door, louder even than her own, and Harry held his finger to her lips, making her shiver.

“I don't want to stop, do you?” she whispered.

“I would never want to stop dancing with you,” he whispered back.

She took his hand and led him toward the glass door that opened onto the end of the terrace. With her other hand, she pushed it open as quietly as she could, and drew him out into the chilly, diamond-clear night.

The air smelled of clean, sharp snow, the stars sparkling like diamonds in a clear sky, as Kitty hummed the Maggot tune and spun around.

“Won't you freeze?” Harry said, laughter still rich in his voice. How she wanted to make him laugh and laugh, forever!

“Of course not! We just have to keep dancing.” They tumbled down the shallow marble steps of the terrace onto the frosty grass of the lawn, still dancing, just as she said. Until the icy wind swept over her bare shoulders.

“Oh,” she suddenly gasped. “I daresay I am a bit chilled.”

He twirled her to a stop, a concerned frown replacing his grin. “We should go back inside...”

“No indeed! Then we'll just have to hide quietly again.” She glanced around, and saw the summerhouse in the distance. It glowed white and welcoming in the moonlight, a small, octagonal space with a domed roof, crowned with a statue of Diana with her bow.

“Come with me,” she said. She held onto his hand, leading him across the lawn and up the slope of the hill into the summerhouse. It was a favorite place for picnics and lazy afternoons in the summer, but seldom used in the winter. The settees and ironwork chairs were shrouded with canvas covers, looking ghostly in the starlight from the domed skylight. She found a few candles on a table and lit them, casting an almost eerie glow in the stone space.

“What is this place?” Harry asked, gazing around him as if he, too, was enchanted by the world they found themselves in.

“It's one of my very favorite spots here at Swan Court. We don't usually use it in the winter, of course, just for picnics in the summer. Now I can't imagine why, the snow makes it so very magical.”

She studied him as he studied the room, and she realized that he was the one who made it truly magical. She covered her confusion, her desire and fear, by humming the tune again, and dancing toward one of the curved windows that looked out onto the garden and the house. Swan Court was lit from top to bottom, golden as a treasure chest among the sparkle of the icy night.

“It's so beautiful, isn't it?” she whispered.

“Yes. So very beautiful,” he answered hoarsely.

Kitty spun around to face him, shocked to find that he looked at her. She could only stare back, captured by his rare beauty, the raw need in his eyes that matched her own.

“You look like you belong in just such a winter-palace,” he said. “A fairy queen.”

“Me? A fairy queen?” she whispered, dazzled. She knew she was not that—she was too exuberant, too earthy. Yet his words made her shiver with longing.

“Yes, with your eyes glowing like they are now. And yet...”

“Yet?”

“Yet you, Kitty, are real.” He moved toward her slowly, as if he feared she might run, but running was the last thing she wanted. He held out his hand, and she slid hers into it, their palms kissing through their gloves. So warm, so safe, so wonderful. “You are the most real thing I have ever known.”

“Oh, Harry,” she whispered. “I wish—I wish...”

But she couldn't say anything else, couldn't even think. She only knew the touch of his hand, the way he looked at her in that magical light. She went up on tiptoe just as his head tipped down toward hers, and their lips met, hungrily, desperately. As if every moment of her life had led her to this one perfect touch.

“Kitty,” he whispered, his kiss trailing over her cheek, her neck, as if he was as hungry for her as she was for him. As if he, too, had been living only for this. “Kitty, I must—I can't...”

She wrapped her arms around him even tighter, suddenly afraid of what he might say, afraid that this precious, unlooked-for jewel of a moment might slip away before she could truly grasp it.

“Please, Harry. No, not now, don't talk. I just want to—I must...”

She pressed her lips to his again, just once more, something she could hold onto when he was gone from her life again and the magic faded. Then she tore herself out of his arms and ran, afraid if she did not leave then she never, ever would.

 

Nine

 

“I think it all came off very well, don't you?” Allison said, smiling into her dressing table mirror as she brushed her hair.

Behind her, William lay propped up on pillows to flip the pages of his book, his dressing gown falling open to reveal his handsomely muscled chest. Even after years of marriage, Allie couldn't resist that glimpse. “Of course, my darling. Everyone always loves your Christmas parties.”

“I was afraid the guests might get a bit, well, boisterous,” she said, putting her jewels away in their case. “Considering we have a duke in attendance, we should be circumspect.”

William laughed. “The only one who seemed rather taken aback by the games was Mrs. Phillips.”

Allison bit her lip. “Perhaps just a bit. She didn't used to be so high in the instep. Maybe it's having a vicar for a son?”

“But Mr. Phillips did not seem to mind a bit.”

“No, he didn't did he?” Allison remembered how Harry Phillips had been so enthusiastic about snapdragon, snatching more flaming raisins than anyone else, and how he disappeared with alacrity during the hide-and-seek. She also remembered how he had eyes for no one but Kitty at dinner.

“And the duke appeared to enjoy it all. A rather quiet chap, isn't he? The most unassuming duke I ever saw, I should say.”

“Hmm.” Allison nodded as she thought of the Duke of Tremanton. A very handsome man, to be sure, and not arrogant or stuffy in the least. Though he paid hardly any mind to Kitty. It was all such a puzzle. “His brother seems noisy enough for both of them. But I certainly do like Tremanton. So gentlemanly, so able to put everyone quite at ease. Do you think Kitty might indeed achieve her duchess dreams this year?”

William laid down his book, his expression turning quite serious. “I'm not sure, Allie. I've really had no chance to observe them together, have you?”

“Not very much. I had hoped if I sat him next to her at dinner, they might become more acquainted, but she seemed happy to sit by Mr. Phillips instead. He has certainly been polite to her, but...” She broke off and shook her head. She wanted her sister to have a marriage, like her own, not one built on politeness.

“But what, darling?”

“I think his attention seems elsewhere.”

“Where was it, then?”

“I am not sure,” Allison murmured. She had thought she saw a glimmer of—something in his eyes when he looked down the table at Jane. But perhaps she was imagining things. She decided to keep her ideas quiet for now. “Perhaps there was simply no spark.”

“Would you be terribly disappointed not to have a Her Grace for a sister?”

Allison laughed. Maybe, just maybe, the Her Grace would be a different, most unexpected sister. “I only want the girls to be happy. Though I should be most happy to have them live with me forever, I know they are grown women now and should have their own establishments. It has to be with someone they truly love.”

“Love and happiness such as we have?”

“Exactly so, my dearest.” Allison went to the bed and climbed onto the pillows next to him, kissing him lingeringly. Longingly. How happy they had been! “They deserve nothing less than perfect amity.”

William laid his hand gently on the barely perceptible swell of her stomach beneath her linen nightrail. “Well, if we are not to be brother and sister-in-law to a duke, perhaps one day we shall be the parents of a duchess?”

Allison laughed merrily, and rested her head on his shoulder. “Now that really is thinking too far ahead! It will be years and years before you must walk our daughter down the church aisle to her own duke! And how do you know it is a girl?”

He wrapped his arms tightly around her. “Of course it is a girl. One with lovely red hair.”

“Oh, no. She will be a blonde, I say, like her father.” She kissed his cheek, that delicious curl of golden hair over his brow.

“Have you told anyone yet? Your mother?”

Allison shook her head. “I will tell her and the girls after the ball. They will be so excited! For now, it is our own Christmas secret.”

He kissed her softly, longingly, sweetly. “Our own most special Christmas secret.”

 

Ten

 

The Night of the Kirkwood Ball

 

“So, how goes the duchess plan?”

Brendan glanced in the mirror as he finished tying his cravat with what he hoped was a fashionable sort of knot, to see his brother lounging by the fire across the dressing room. It was almost time for the ball, but as usual Charles did not seem concerned. He hadn't even changed into his evening dress.

Yet Brendan found that, for once, he cared very much. More than he had ever cared about any social event, about anything, before. It felt almost as if his whole future could begin that night.

Not that he would say that to his brother. He could not spoil it, cheapen it, with words, before it even began. Yet he could not erase the image of Jane from his mind, her sweet smile in the moonlight as they hid in the schoolroom, the way she tasted under his lips.

A duchess plan indeed. If he could only persuade the duchess herself.

“It—goes,” he said shortly. He frowned as he examined the knot of immaculately starched linen at his throat. He usually made do with something much simpler, much quicker, but a duke was meant to care about fashion. As did most ladies. Not that Jane seemed all that concerned, with her simple, elegant gowns, her loose knot of hair. What would she look like draped in the Tremanton emeralds?

“Is this cravat too much?” he asked.

“It is the very pink of fashion, brother, and you are avoiding my question. Have you chosen a duchess?”

Brendan pondered that question. Had he chosen one? No, it seemed one had been chosen for him, by fate. “There is a lady I do admire. Admire greatly. But I am not so certain she is impressed by me.”

Charles snorted, and sat up straighter. “How could any lady not be? You are young, handsome, and a duke. Who is she? No, let me guess.” He tapped at his chin. “Miss Kitty Gordon, perhaps?”

Brendan turned to look at Charles in surprise. “Miss Kitty Gordon? Why would you say that?”

“She is the prettiest young lady here, except for Lady Bowood, who is sadly married. And she certainly has a dash and vitality that Society would admire.”

“So you don't find any other ladies as lovely here? Not even Miss Kitty's own twin?”

“Her twin? You mean Miss Jane Gordon?” Charles sat back again, a thoughtful frown on his face. “She is certainly pretty enough, but rather quiet at dinner, I thought. They say she likes books above all things. I don't think that...” He broke off, and suddenly jumped to his feet. “You mean you are going to propose to Miss Jane?”

“I do indeed plan to propose to her,” Brendan said, reaching for his black velvet evening coat. Shockingly for a duke, he traveled with no valet, but the Swan Court footmen had brushed it nicely. “She is lovely and sweet, as well as sensible and intelligent. She would suit me, and the Tremanton estate, very well. If I can only persuade her to accept me.”

Charles opened his mouth, as if to protest that any lady would surely want to be a duchess, but then he obviously thought better of it. He slowly crossed the small room to put his hands on Brendan's shoulders and stare seriously into his eyes.

“You love her?” he said.

“Yes. I love her,” Brendan answered, more certain than he had ever been of anything in his life. He loved Jane Gordon. If only he could make her love him in return.

“Then I wish you every possible luck, joy, and happiness,” Charles said, quietly, solemnly. “Heaven certainly knows this family needs some of that. Now, go out there and procure me a sister. It is Christmas, after all. Anything can happen.”

Brendan laughed. “Even you falling in love, Charlie?”

His brother shuddered. “Anything but that.”

 

 

Harry studied the coats laid out before him, ready for a choice for the Kirkwood Ball, and he realized—he knew far too little about fashion. Even when he had been a young jackanapes at Oxford, he had never been exactly a tulip of fashion. It never seemed at all important then, and especially not in his career now.

Yet, tonight, it did seem important. Vital, in fact, that he manage to look his best. To seem witty and handsome and perfect, the sort of gentleman a beautiful lady might even desire for her husband.

In fact—the most beautiful lady he had ever imagined in his life. The funniest, and most alive and colorful and glorious, lady.

So, he thought with a laugh. The dark green coat, or the dark blue. Better than his usual black.

He picked up the green and shrugged it on over his cream silk waistcoat and the plainly-tied cravat. The cravat could not be helped, for he had no idea what the most stylish knot could be now and no way to accomplish it. Kitty would be able to tell him such things in the future. Kitty could be in charge of all his wardrobe, all of his household, do whatever she liked there, for all their years to come. If only he was fortunate enough to win her tonight.

Harry glanced in the mirror, and smoothed down the waves of his dark hair. He was probably as presentable as he would ever be. Was it enough for Kitty? Could he truly offer her enough? She deserved a royal throne. She deserved all the riches the world could offer. But he could only give her a comfortable home, along with his heart, and a life filled with love and partnership and laughter. A life of working together, at every step, to achieve whatever they might desire. He could give her so much love.

Was it enough, then? He prayed it was, for he feared he could no longer imagine life without her in it. The world would be bleak indeed without Kitty's laughter.

“I shall just have to trust in fortune,” he muttered. And to every word of love poetry he had ever learned at university. They seemed to work wonders on ladies back then.

He smoothed his coat, straightened his cravat, and left his chamber. It was time to win his lady fair.

In the corridor, he could hear the laughter and chatter of the party making their way toward the ball. The air smelled of evergreen and cinnamon and wine, the smells of Christmas. He found his mother waiting at the top of the stairs. She had left off her usual somber dresses, and wore a new gown of burgundy velvet and ecru lace, her smile shining even brighter than the garnet earrings that swung against her neck. He had not seen her wear those in years. In fact, he had not seen her smile so brightly in years, either. Christmas was already working its magic.

“Mama,” he said, kissing her cheek. “How beautiful you look.”

“Such fustian,” she protested, but she laughed as she took his arm. “I confess I am looking forward to the music, and watching the dancing. It's been too long since I attended such a ball, and Mrs. Gordon has promised to tell me more about life in Bath. It sounds too charming.”

“I am sure your own dance card will be filled in a trice, and you won't have time to watch,” he said, leading her down the stairs.

“And every young lady will be waiting eagerly for your invitation to dance, Henry,” she answered. She smoothed his lapel, a wistful smile on her lips. “I don't suppose there might be one in particular...”

He smiled at her, too, and squeezed her hand. “You might be happy to learn, Mama, that there is indeed one lady I hope to impress this evening.”

“Henry!” she cried in delight. “Never say—could it be...”

Harry remembered what she had wanted when they first set out for Swan Court, that the quiet, studious Jane Gordon might suit him. Hopefully she would be just as happy with a different Gordon daughter-in-law. “I must find out how the lady herself feels first. But you will be the next to hear of any news, I promise.”

“Oh, Henry, my dearest son.” She gently touched his cheek with her gloved palm, her eyes shimmering. “I have only ever wished for your happiness, for your future security.”

“Then pray for me now, Mama. For if she feels even a quarter of what I do, I am sure I will be the happiest man in the world.” And if she did not...

Well, then unhappiness would be the least of it.

 

Eleven

 

Earlier That Day

 

Kitty had walked by herself home from church on Christmas morning, quite unlike usual, for after sitting quietly in her pew she often longed for a good chatter with her friends. But that morning she longed for a moment to let her thoughts turn over in her mind, the only noise the crunch of snow under her boots and the chatter of the others ahead of her on the road.

She tucked her gloved hands deeper into her muff and let the images of last night turn over and over in her mind. The summerhouse, the dance—the kiss.

She did not know at all what she should do. She'd never imagined she could feel about anyone as she did about Harry Phillips. How she longed to talk it all over with Jane! Nothing in her life had ever happened without Jane. But Jane was already asleep in her own bed by the time Kitty tiptoed in after the kiss in the summerhouse, and she herself had quickly fallen into exhausted slumber and dizzying dreams, even though she'd been sure she would never be able to sleep again.

It was Jane who would make a good vicar's wife, surely. Her quiet, calm, studious ways would stand her in good stead when faced with the duties of a whole parish. What did Kitty know about being responsible? Harry said his job was all about knowing people, being interested in their lives and wanting to help them. That she did know. People were always fascinating, and being in a position to help them when needed and celebrate with them in happy times would be wonderful. Especially if Harry was waiting by their fireside every evening to share it all with her.

She peeked ahead at Harry from under the brim of her green velvet bonnet. He was talking to Gertrude and Bowood, the three of them laughing at some joke, his face glowing in the faintly golden sunlight. Yes—she could very easily imagine days and years with Harry by her side. Yet what about everything else? What about duty and expectations and respectability?

And then again, he hadn't even proposed to her. Maybe all her worries and dreams were just that—dreams. At least her silly ducal dreams were also gone. Dukes were just people, as well. And Harry was the most fascinating “just people” she had ever known.

“May I walk with you a while, Miss Gordon?” she heard someone say, and she glanced over to see that Harry's mother was coming toward her. Kitty had been so wrapped up in her own thoughts she hadn't even heard her.

Flustered, she stammered out, “Of course, Mrs. Phillips. I should be happy for the company.”

“I also always enjoy a moment of quiet reflection after a church service, but the lovely music today has made me quite excited for the holiday, I confess,” Mrs. Phillips said with a smile. When she let her worries drop away, she looked very much like her son, Kitty realized. And how her life as a widowed mother must have worried her! But now she had a son to be most proud of.

“I feel the same way. I do love the music, it always seems to carry me into a different world entirely,” Kitty said. “St. Agnes has such an excellent choir for a small church. We usually take the carriage to St. Swithin's, of course, and I am sure we will especially do so when Mr. Phillips is vicar there. But on Christmas it's sometimes nice to walk.”

“So right, of course, especially on such a beautiful day. The perfect start to Christmas.” Mrs. Phillips adjusted the brim of her veiled hat, looking suddenly more serious. “St. Swithin's is a very large parish, certainly, with many challenges to face, but I am sure my Henry is more than equal to them.”

“I am sure he is, Mrs. Phillips. He seems to be a truly fine gentleman, and we are all looking forward to his work in the parish.”

“He will do excellent work, and I have always known he is destined for an important future. He's always been so—so very intent, and serious, and dutiful. Even as a child.”

Kitty remembered laughing uproariously as Harry spun her around in Lord Byron's Maggot. “Indeed he is.”

“There are so very many things vital to a life such as his,” Mrs. Phillips said sternly. “A fine, well-run home, with a wife to succor him in his important work, that is of the greatest importance.”

“Yes,” Kitty murmured, suddenly feeling awkward by that wild dance, by the kiss, by her feelings. By everything.

“So important,” Mrs. Phillips repeated. “A lady must be fully prepared for the great task she is embarking on when marrying such a man, wouldn't you agree? A lady of intellect, perhaps one such as your sister, would understand as well.”

“Certainly,” Kitty said, for once at quite a shortage of words.

They turned through the gates of Swan Court, and caught up to the rest of the group just as they were jostling together into the house, eager for tea and the warmth of the fireside before they had to prepare for the ball.

“Oh, look,” Mrs. Phillips exclaimed. “Isn't that the prettiest little summerhouse there by the pond? I had not noticed it before.”

 

 

Jane twisted and turned in front of her mirror, trying to smooth the skirt of her new rose-colored ballgown, spangled with gold-edged lace. She fluffed at the short sleeves, tugged at the drape of lace at the heart-shaped neckline. She usually did not take so long to ready for an evening's event; that was Kitty's area of expertise. But tonight was very different.

Tonight she so wanted to look good. No, better than good, pretty. If that was possible. Grown-up. Sophisticated. Maybe even, ever so slightly, duchess-like.

What did duchesses look like? Jane frowned as she straightened the ribbon bandeau holding back her curled hair. She didn't know any duchesses personally, though she had seen a few from afar in London. Surrounded by crowds at dances, up in the highest golden boxes at the opera. They all seemed so old, so jewel-encrusted, so aloof.

Surely that could not be the only way to be a duchess? But could she herself ever look like a duchess?

If only she could talk to someone about it. Allison, or their mother, or Gertrude, as she was now part of the mysterious world of marriage. Most especially, she wished she could talk to Kitty. They had shared everything since they were born. Even before.

Yet she would feel like such a fool, if naught came of it all and Brendan never even thought of her as duchess material. And Kitty had seemed so intent on making such a grand match for herself. Jane always thought that such talk was rather a joke on Kitty's part, even though her sister would certainly make a much more spectacular duchess than Jane. What if it had not all been a joke?

Jane heard a door slam shut along the corridor, and realized the hour was growing late. She straightened the strand of pearls at her throat, and reached for her gloves. The ball was sure to begin soon. Tomorrow was Boxing Day, and then the party would end and everyone would leave. Another Kirkwood Ball over.

What would happen before then?

Kitty pushed open the door and rushed into the room, her sapphire-blue gown shining like the night sky, her curls piled high and caught up with pearl combs. Her cheeks glowed bright pink, and she opened drawer after drawer in the dressing table, looking for gloves or a fan she had mislaid, as usual.

“Thank heavens, I did think the maid would never finish fixing my hem!” Kitty cried. She held up one glove in triumph, but it seemed the other remained missing.

“Kitty...” Jane said softly, longingly.

“Yes, yes,” Kitty said impatiently, seemingly wrapped in her own worries. “I have to find them, I have to be responsible tonight, respectable. I must...” But then she glanced up, and seemed to notice Jane's terrible uncertainty. “Oh, my dearest, what is it?”

“Are you—that is, do you think you might...” Jane steeled herself. “Still think of the duke? Is that why you must seem responsible tonight?”

For an instant, Kitty's face creased in puzzlement, but then she smiled. “The duke? Oh, la, no! He was not at all what I was expecting. Too quiet by half.”

Jane's shoulders wilted in relief. “Oh, yes. I see.”

Kitty's smile softened. “I confess there is someone else I do rather—well, think about. I just hope, even if things are not yet quite right, that we might have a dance tonight. Might even end under the kissing bough! If others can be brought to see me differently, that is.”

“Why would it not be right, darling? Surely whoever it is would be the most fortunate of men to have your affection!”

Kitty shook her head. “It is not so very simple, Jane.”

“Not simple?” Jane was bewildered. It was true, any man would be lucky to have Kitty. Any family happy to have her as a daughter. “Is he not—not free, then?”

“Oh, no, Jane dearest, nothing like that! I am just so unsure right now.” She rushed over to kiss Jane's cheek. “Don't worry about me. All will be revealed tonight, I'm sure. It is Christmas, after all!”

Jane smiled back, and hugged her sister tightly. “Yes, so it is.”

The lost glove found under a chair, they linked arms and made their way downstairs toward the alluring sound of laughter and music.

The drawing room had been transformed into a ballroom that would surely rival those of one of the grand London houses. Fires blazed and crackled in the stone grates at either end of the room, and the greenery gathered by the guests festooned every mantel, picture frame, and window cornice.

Interspersed by the arrangements of red and white hothouse roses in gleaming silver vases, it was a melange of emerald green, ruby red, and bright-white satin ribbons that made the perfect backdrop for the rich colors of the ladies' holiday gowns of velvet and satin in pink, aqua, green, white, and gold. Jewels flashed and winked in the light of hundreds of candles, which cast an enchanted amber glow over the whole scene.

An orchestra played on a dais behind a twining curtain of ivy and holly, playing arrangements of Christmas carols before the dancing began. Footmen circulated through the crowd with trays of glasses of champagne, while at the front of the room a long table draped in green damask held silver bowls of wassail, lemon squash, and some mysterious punch of William's devising that most of the ladies avoided.

Kitty's hand squeezed Jane's, and Jane squeezed back. “It looks like a fairyland,” Jane whispered. She went up on her tiptoes, searching for Brendan even as she tried to deny she searched for him. He was nowhere to be see, though Lord Charles was laughing with a lady in the corner.

“One where anything at all could happen,” Kitty answered. She didn't sound like her usual excited, laughing self, though—she sounded rather uncertain, whispery. Jane squeezed her hand tighter. “It doesn't matter what anyone says, Jane. It only matters what's in our own hearts. What we know to be true. Never forget that.”

Jane looked at Kitty in surprise. Kitty had said she was no longer interested in dukes, but had someone else in her mind. Someone unsuitable, someone that people said was wrong for her?

Jane longed to ask her what was really happening, but at that moment the orchestra launched into an opening waltz, and Harry Phillips appeared before them, darkly handsome in a green coat. He bowed to Kitty, and Kitty's cheeks glowed a bright pink—and Jane suddenly understood. It was Harry that Kitty cared for now.

She bit her lip to hold back a delighted smile.

“Miss Kitty Gordon,' he said, bowing lower until Kitty laughed. “May I have the honor of this dance?”

Kitty grinned. “Yes, of course.” She linked her arm through his, and he led her into the midst of the couples taking their places in the dance. How lovely they looked together, Jane thought, letting her smile come through. How—how right. Who would have ever thought of Kitty and a vicar?

Jane wanted to clap her hands, to twirl around, so consumed with happiness was she for her sister. Kitty deserved nothing but the greatest of joy, always. No matter what happened to Jane and her own romantic feelings, she knew this Christmas would be one she would always remember with delight.

But the burst of joy was cut rather short. A low, rough cough echoed behind her, and she spun around to find Cousin Edward standing close to her. Too close.

His face was rather red above his elaborately swirled and knotted cravat as he bowed to her, and Jane glimpsed Reginald and Leticia watching them from the doorway.

“Cousin Jane,” he said, his voice as flat as an automaton at Astley's Circus. “How lovely you look this evening. Like a—a...” He glanced toward one of the silver vases. “A rose. Yes, a rose.”

“How kind of you, Cousin Edward,” Jane answered dutifully.

“So. May I have this dance?”

“I...” Jane really, really did not want to dance with Edward. The last time she did so, he quite stomped her new slippers into oblivion, and he only wanted to talk about hunting.

“I do believe Miss Gordon kindly promised this dance to me,” a deep, smooth, supremely confident, smiling-but-unarguable voice, said.

Jane spun away from Edward, gratitude and excitement and pure, golden happiness flowing over her. Brendan stood on her other side, an amiable smile on his lips and a cool glint in his eyes as he watched Edward. Edward fell back a step.

“I do hope you recall our earlier conversation, Miss Gordon,” Brendan said.

“Oh, yes, certainly,” Jane said quickly. “Do forgive me, Cousin Edward.”

“Of course, of course. Your Grace,” Edward stammered, backing further away. Edward had been such a bully when they were children; but luckily, bullies were easily cowed by someone called Your Grace.

Brendan offered his arm, and Jane slid her fingers through his elbow with a smile. How steady he felt, how warm and delightful, and perfect.

“My knight in shining armor,” she whispered as he led her into the dance. People made way for them in that way they always seemed to around Brendan, but he took no notice. He just smiled down at her. “Cousin Edward quite made mincemeat of my slippers the last time I danced with him.”

“Ah, families,” Brendan answered with a grin. “Whatever would we be without the blighters?”

Jane laughed, and spun with him in a slow circle as the music began. “I fear he and his parents came to Swan Court this Christmas with the design of Edward marrying Kitty or me. His fiancee threw him over, you see, and they have always coveted Swan Court to add to their estate.”

He raised his brow as his hand tightened on hers. “And how do you feel about such a project?”

Jane pulled a face. “I would a thousand times rather be a perpetual spinster than marry someone I could never care for.”

Brendan laughed. “I do agree. I would rather be a bachelor for a hundred years than wed without esteem. But my brother has no desire to be the heir, so he thinks we need a duchess plan immediately.”

Jane almost tripped in the dance steps. “A duchess plan? How very funny. Kitty said we need a plan, as well.”

Brendan smiled, a quirk of his lips that looked oddly both wary and hopeful. “And what do you think of wedding plans?”

Jane felt her cheeks turn warm, and she concentrated on a complicated twirling step to avoid his gaze. “I think they are lovely, when the two people involved in the plan truly care for each other.”

“I think so, too.” He spun her around, into a quiet nook out of the flow of the dance. But his hand still held hers, and her heart pounded. “Miss Gordon—Jane. I admit I used to think marriage was a thing to be dreaded.”

Jane's heart seemed to skip a beat at those words. “Dreaded?”

His smile widened. “My father loved my mother, but when she died so young he became cold and hard. Cruel, even. And so many of my friends have made marriages for duty that have brought no happiness to their days. I always knew I would have to marry one day for the estate, yet it was not a thing I relished looking forward to.”

“Neither have I. My life here at Swan Court is so lovely, so exactly what I like. But you must not feel that way, Brendan! You are too—too kind, too smart, too...”

“Too...” His hand closed tighter around hers.

Jane rushed on. “Too wonderful to ever be alone!”

He laughed, and his whole beautiful face seemed to glow like all those Christmas candles. “As are you, Jane. Darling, beautiful Jane. I never thought I would meet someone like you, never feel the way I do.”

Jane didn't dare to even breathe. Was she dreaming, or was this real? Could it be real? “How—how is that, Brendan?”

“As if I could do anything, with you beside me. As if I've been living in perpetual shadow, and now the sun has broken forward and all is light.” He raised her hand to his lips for a lingering kiss. “Please, Jane—oh, I am doing this all wrong. I was going to wait, to write out all I must say in hopes of persuading you. It is a large task to be a duchess, and I wanted to make sure you cared enough for me to take it on.” He laughed, making her laugh, too. “But I can't wait. Please, Jane, please, will you do me the greatest of honors and be my wife?”

Jane stared up at him, overflowing with giddiness, happiness, and a bit of fear. “Am I dreaming?” she whispered.

Brendan shook his head. “I have the same feeling. Surely this is some glorious dream. But I can't desire to ever wake from it. Not until I hear your answer.”

“Oh, Brendan.” Jane stared down at their joined hands. “I care about you so much. More than care about you. But could I really be the duchess you deserve?”

“You will be the finest duchess in the land. You are smart, you have a kind heart, you will have the estate organized in a trice. And I will be right there with you at every step, both of us learning the tasks together. Partners in everything.”

Jane looked up into his wonderful face, the glow of his topaz eyes, and what she read there gave her such courage and strength. Such joy. She had never thought to find those things within herself, but with Brendan she had everything.

He was everything.

“Yes,” she gasped. “Yes, Brendan, my darling. I will marry you.”

His smile was wide and relieved, filled with the same bursting happiness she felt herself. “Oh, Jane. I do love you so much. You've given me the finest Christmas gift of all.”

Jane laughed, and threw her arms around him. “Then it's a fortunate thing we find ourselves in just the right spot, then.” She pointed up at the kissing bough just above their heads.

Brendan smiled, and his lips met hers in the sweetest, most wonderful kiss she could ever have imagined. The best Christmas gift, indeed.

 

 

A ball was usually Kitty's very favorite thing in life, and this Kirkwood Christmas Ball was surely the loveliest she had ever seen. The greenery and holly, the ribbons and roses, the music, the gleam of satin and velvet and damask, was all glorious. She had her own beautiful new gown, potential dance partners, yet it felt rather—flat as she stepped into the room with Jane.

Because she could not catch a glimpse of Harry.

What if he regretted those glorious moments in the summerhouse? That time had seemed so magical to her, all made of moonlight and snowflakes and all the dreams she had ever dared rolled into one. Maybe his mother was right, and he needed a proper wife who knew how to help him in his work. A demure, retiring, selfless wife.

Maybe he thought that, too, and now considered better about a hussy like herself, who went alone into nighttime summerhouses with men.

But she would only want to do that with one man, Kitty told herself sternly, and she knew it was true. Harry was the only man she wanted to kiss. She was impulsive and gregarious, but not so silly as all that. Mama and Allie had taught her better, and Allie and William's marriage showed her the happiness a proper match could bring. Harry was the only man who could make her reckless.

So where was he now?

She glimpsed his mother sitting in one of the gilded chairs by the doors to the terrace, chatting with her own mother, no doubt about the joys of Bath. Allison and William greeted latecomers near the entrance, and Jane was still by Kitty's side.

And then—there he suddenly was, right before her, taking her hand and leading her toward the crowded dance floor. There were so many people there, the laughter and talk just as loud as ever, the music beautiful, but it all faded when she looked at him.

Instead of leading her to the center of the forming dance, he spun her toward the terrace doors and straight out of one of them, making her laugh.

“Harry,” she whispered. “Why are we hiding out here?”

His smile was wonderfully mischievous, gleaming in the night-darkness. “So I can have you to myself for a moment, of course. It seems we always meet out in the snow, doesn't it? I knew we would find ourselves out here again, if I could only be patient. Yet I must admit, I'm not feeling at all patient right now.”

“I thought patience was a great virtue for a vicar?” Kitty teased, even though she did not feel like teasing at all. Somehow, this moment felt like the most important she had ever faced.

His smile turned gentle. “Usually I would certainly agree. Yet I am not always a vicar. But tonight, I think...”

“Tonight—what?” Kitty whispered.

“Tonight feels very different.” He offered her his arm, and she took it to let him lead her away from the light of the open door to the balustrade. She thought of the first night they stood there together, how she felt when she looked at him, how those feelings had only grown and grown. He took off his coat now and wrapped it around her, just as he had then.

She took a deep breath, and summoned all her courage. “Harry, are you having a—a doubt of some sort? Can I help in any way?”

“Oh, Kitty. Beautiful Kitty. You are the only one who can help.” He suddenly turned sharply to face her, and she saw his expression in the moonlight, so filled with hope and doubt and uncertainty and joy, just as she was.

Her heart seemed to leap up. Could this moment really be happening? “Harry...”

He laughed, and took her hands tightly in his. “Please, Kitty, let me say this, before I quite forget every word I ever knew and just—just stand here gaping at you like a lackwit.”

Kitty feared she was the one gaping like a bacon-brain. His eyes glowed so very blue in the shadows. She nodded, unable to tear her gaze from his beautiful face.

“Kitty, I know we haven't really known each other very long. Or at least, not truly known, since I confess I did steal your hoop when we were children.”

“Yes, you were horrid,” Kitty whispered.

He laughed, and bent his head to kiss her hand. His lips were so warm through the thin silk. “I do apologize, most deeply and sincerely. And now I want to beg you to let me share everything with you, from now on.”

Kitty didn't dare to breathe. “Harry, are you—is this...”

“Please, Kitty. Will you, could you, marry me?”

Kitty felt like her throat tightened on any words, and she could only stare up at him still, hoping, hoping she had not imagined this.

“I know I have no title to offer you, no great estate,” he said quickly. “But my living is a good one, with a fine vicarage you could arrange however you like, and a parish that would more than welcome such a lovely, sociable hostess. And one day there could be more for us. I would work hard at anything, do anything, to make you happy.”

Kitty pressed her finger to his lips. “Oh, Harry, no. No. The only thing I need for perfect happiness is you. Whether a country parson or an archbishop, you will always be perfect to me. You are the most wonderful man I could ever have imagined.”

Hope dawned over her face, a smile touching his lips. “Then, you will marry me?”

Kitty laughed. “Of course I will! Yes.”

He caught her up in his arms and twirled her around, both of them giddy and dizzy with happiness. “Oh, Kitty! My wonderful Kitty, how I love you.”

“And I love you,” she could admit at last. “I think I have ever since you stole my hoop. But, oh, Harry...”

He slowly lowered her to her feet, looking worried. “What is it, my darling?”

“I know your mother is not at all sure. Can I really fit in as a vicar's wife? What if I am terrible at it?”

He framed her face in his hands, and looked deeply into her eyes as he answered, “Kitty Gordon, I often thought I was the very last person who should be a vicar. I liked a good conversation too much, a dance, a brandy. But then I found that being interested in people is the most important part of the job, and you have that in dozens. We shall just have to make our parish our own, won't we? Do it our way.”

Kitty slowly smiled, seeing the future open before them. “Oh, yes. We shall be the best, most effervescent vicarage couple ever!”

“As long as we are together, we can do anything.”

“Together always.”

He kissed her, just as the snow fell around them in a shimmering curtain of silvery Christmas magic, and all was well at Swan Court.