Chapter 27

 

Brighton lay beneath a carpet of white, and street-lamps cast pools of warmth around the Steine as Evangeline’s carriage drove back to Radcliffe House in the early hours of Sunday morning. Greville and Megan were avoiding each other’s eyes, both feeling a little awkward now that the spur of the moment had passed. Neither of them quite knew how to proceed from here, and Megan feared that come the cold light of day he would rue choosing that particular way of proving all the whispers wrong. Evangeline, however, was well pleased with things, although she paid belated lip service to the rules of society by delivering them both a mild lecture on what was and was not an acceptable way of going on.

Rupert was in another world of happiness, because as far as he was concerned the night could not have gone better. The Old Ship’s annual masked ball had finally degenerated into so many sparks and shocks that it resembled a fireworks display, but fortunately for Megan and Greville it was all due to Oliver and the Garsingtons. After giving Oliver a bruised chin and broken tooth, to go with the grazed forehead he had already received from the falling ladder, Sybil sobbed to her outraged family that he must marry her. She said she had succumbed to complete temptation in his arms, and therefore he must be persuaded to do the honorable thing. Lady Garsington had the vapors, and Lord Garsington shrieked to a footman to bring cognac, which when brought he drank himself, such consideration being a male trait in the family.

Oliver hotly denied everything, and accused Sybil of wishful thinking, for which insult Sigismund Garsington promptly gave him a bloody nose as well. By then Oliver looked so like a casualty from Trafalgar that Megan could almost have felt sorry for him—almost, but not quite. Besides, Oliver foolishly insisted on protesting his innocence, even though Sigismund Garsington looked on the point of tearing him limb from limb. To be fair to Oliver, there were a number of people who thought he was probably telling the truth. After all, they all knew that until tonight Sybil had been pursuing Greville; now, all of a sudden, she hinted of being compromised by Oliver? Everyone knew that Oliver had been the first man she had fallen head over heels in love with, and that tonight was the first time she had come face-to-face with him again since he ended matters with her in order to pursue Chloe. Perhaps seeing him again had made Sybil realize she was still in love with him.

Whatever the truth, her claims smacked of female wiles; not that anyone would have dared suggest as much in front of Sigismund, who was—with great difficulty—restrained from issuing a challenge. Sybil’s brother confined himself to warning Oliver that his second would call if a proposal of marriage were not forthcoming by the stroke of midnight on Christmas Eve. He also warned him not to leave Brighton if he knew what was healthy for his hide. With that he grabbed Oliver’s lapels, propelled him backward to the main entrance, and threw him out into the snow, where a sore rear end was added to the catalog.

Greville would dearly have liked to deal out Oliver’s punishment himself, but he had promised Megan he would not do anything, and he was a man of his word. So he had to content himself with watching someone else do the honors, and at least had the comfort of knowing that Sigismund Garsington was a very thorough fellow!

Rupert was delighted to see his rival routed, but then his cup almost overflowed with exultation when Oliver received a very curt congé from Chloe. Oliver begged her to believe in his innocence, but Sir Jocelyn told him that if he ever spoke to his daughter again, Sigismund’s would not be the only second to call!

The ball had eventually come to an end. There had been carol-singing by the light of the Yule logs, then mulled wine had been served, and at last everyone had departed. There was much intrigued murmuring concerning the following night’s planned musical entertainment at Garsington House, and human nature being what it was, many of those who had previously done their utmost to avoid an invitation, now decided to attend after all, the hope being that Sybil might treat them all to another of her shocking displays. Oliver might have been brought to heel, and have to appear in dutiful future-son-in-law attendance. It was society’s general amusement to hazard what musical instrument the Garsingtons might designate for him. The best money was on the cymbals, if only because, as some wag suggested, Sigismund would be able to clash them together over Oliver’s head.

As Evangeline’s carriage drew up at Radcliffe House, and she looked up at the house that had been her home for such a long time, she knew the moment had come to tell Greville and Rupert of her decision. They heard the news with dismay, but did not attempt to change her mind because they knew there was no point. Once Aunt E had decided a certain course of action was the right and sensible thing to do, there was no budging her. She clearly felt that it was time to move on from Radcliffe House, and that was that.

Little was said when they entered the house, which they all, even Megan, now saw with different eyes. This was its last Christmas before being signed away to a royal doom. Nothing would ever be the same again, either for the family or this corner of the Steine. Everyone went to the drawing room to talk a little before retiring, but Megan was still too embarrassed and awkward to join them for long. She excused herself at the first opportunity, but as she reached the staircase, Greville came out of the drawing room behind her.

“Megan?”

She paused with a hand on the garlanded newel post, and then turned reluctantly. “Sir Greville?”

“Are we to be formal again?” he asked as he came toward her.

“I-I think it best.”

“Why?”

She looked into his eyes. “Because you were merely making a point tonight, Sir Greville.”

“I concede that is how it commenced, but—”

“And it is also best, because I am Lady Evangeline’s paid companion whereas you are a titled gentleman of considerable fortune,” she interrupted quietly.

“A titled gentleman of considerable fortune who is well able to decide for himself what is best.”

“Yes, and I am sure that in the morning you will decide very differently from now.”

Suddenly he put his hand over hers on the newel post. “You seem sure of how I will feel, Megan, but what of you? How do you feel?” he asked softly.

The warmth of his touch made the blood pulse more wildly through her veins, but she strove to appear calm. “I feel embarrassed,” she said, trying to slide her hand away.

He would not let her escape. “Embarrassed? Is that all?”

She looked away. “Please, sir ...”

“My name is Greville, Megan, and after the kiss we shared tonight, I rather think it appropriate if you address me by it, don’t you?”

Her gaze fled to his again. “I can’t! I am only Lady Evangeline’s employee—”

He broke in. “I know, but I found something wonderful beneath the mistletoe tonight. Do you imagine that such kisses are easy to come by? If you do, you are wrong.”

“What are you saying?”

He smiled. “Simply that I do not wish to feel any differently in the morning,” he replied, and stepped close enough to put an arm around her waist and pull her to him. His lips caressed hers for a long moment—long enough for him to know by the reeling of his senses that what had happened at the hall had not been a transient thing—and then he released her. “Good, night, and the sweetest of dreams, Megan,” he said huskily, before returning to the drawing room. Heart pounding, she fled up the stairs.

* * * *

The sweetest of dreams did indeed come Megan’s way that night, dreams of lying in Greville’s arms, his lips to hers; his body to hers...There was no propriety in what she dreamt, no inhibitions or rules, nothing to hold back the tide of desire that overwhelmed them both. In her sleep they shared the passion that convention expected only the married to enjoy, and when she awoke the next morning she knew that her feelings for Sir Greville Seton had passed all boundaries. She loved him, and there was no going back. But was there to be any going forward? Did he really still feel the same this morning as he did last night? She would only know that when she faced him at breakfast—if she had the courage to go downstairs.

She got out of bed, and opened the curtains and shutters to gaze out on a white world. Mrs. Fosdyke’s bunion had been truly vindicated. The overnight clouds had completely vanished, the sun was shining, and because it was Sunday the remains of Great East Street were devoid of workmen. Today was December 21, the midwinter solstice, but with so much light and snow it did not seem possible that it could be the shortest day of the year. The sounds of Christmas drifted from the front of the house, children’s laughter as they played in the snow on the Steine, street calls announcing hand-gilded candles and seasonal wreaths, and the inevitable carol playing of the German band outside the Pavilion. It was a perfect day for Evangeline’s excursion in the royal sleigh.

The door opened and closed, and ghostly footsteps came to stand next to her. “Yuletide is at hand, mistress.”

“And I am only in my nightdress!” Megan replied hastily, and dashed to put on her wrap. “Please knock if you wish to come in, for I might have been completely undressed,” she said as she returned to the window.

“Forgive me, lady, for I did not think.”

“You certainly didn’t.”

“How went the ball?” he asked.

“Oh, well enough.”

“Is that all thou hast to say? Shame on thee, mistress, for I saw thee at the foot of the stairs with Sir Greville,” he chided.

She lowered her eyes awkwardly. “Did you?”

“Aye, and I heard what was said.”

“Oh.”

The specter was silent for a moment. “And that is still all thou hast to say? Forgive this old shade, mistress, but would not a joyous smile be more appropriate this morning?”

“I am afraid to hope too much, Master Witherspoon.” She explained why Greville had kissed her in front of the entire ball.

“And thy fear is that he will have reconsidered?”

“Yes.”

“Thou shouldst not anticipate such a calamity, sweet lady, for if I am any judge, his heart throbs for thee even as thine throbs for him.”

She managed a smile. “I hope you’re right, Master Witherspoon.”

There was another short silence, and then he spoke again. “I have a boon to beg of thee, mistress.”

“A boon? What sort of boon?” Megan inquired.

“I wish thee to coax the Lady Evangeline to visit St. Nicholas’s. I fear she hath become a little lax over such things and that she usually attends another church entirely, but pray ask her all the same, mistress.”

Megan was puzzled. “Why?”

“For the good of her soul, sweet lady, for the good of her soul.”

Somehow Megan did not think Evangeline’s soul had much to do with it. Rollo’s interest in the church could only have to do with Belle Bevington, she decided, and then remembered that he had said he could only go where Evangeline went. “It’s you who needs to go to the church, isn’t it, sir?”

Silence. She smiled. “An eloquent response. I will do what I can for you, but I am only Lady Evangeline’s employee, and cannot make her go anywhere. And morning service will be the very last thing on her mind this morning. She will be all royal sleigh, I promise you.”

“Ah, yes, the royal sleigh,” the specter replied with a sigh. “I vow yon cursed contraption has become a grail to her! Nothing would suffice but Master Fosdyke be dispatched to the Marine Pavilion as soon as the sun was up.” He sighed again. “Well, I have bided my time this one hundred and forty years, mistress, so I suppose a few more days will not prove my undoing. But if her ladyship could be persuaded to go to yon church before Christmas Day itself is over, I would be most obliged.”

She detected a certain note in his voice. “You really mean that, don’t you? It has to be done before the end of Christmas Day.”

He hesitated, as if wanting to answer, but then decided against it. “I durst not to say anything more, mistress, for I have transgressed by asking this much.” His steps crossed to the door, which opened and closed again, and Megan was alone once more. One hundred and forty years? She counted back mentally. That would be 1666, she thought, and recalled that all she knew of that year was that in September the great fire of London had occurred.

She remained by the window, her thoughts returning to Greville, but then she saw Evangeline picking her way through the snow toward the summerhouse. She wore a warm rose-colored cloak, and when she turned to glance back for a moment, Megan saw that she had on a royal blue gown beneath. On reaching the summerhouse, she brushed the snow from the bench then sat down and tossed back her hood. Her face looked thoughtful and withdrawn—oddly so, Megan thought, unable to help lingering by the window. Was something wrong? As she watched, Evangeline reached up to undo the gold chain around her neck, and opened the locket to gaze at what lay within. She raised it tenderly to her lips, at which point Megan drew back quickly from the window; such moments were not to be intruded upon.