Christmas Joy Read online

  “Where are we going?” Grace said suddenly intruding upon his brooding.

  Alexander gave a shake of his head. He would not allow Boswan to ruin this all too fleeting moment alone with his fiancée.

  “It is not far,” he promised. He led her toward the woods and then he halted at a small pine. “Here we are.”

  She glanced upward with a startled expression. “It is a tree.”

  “No,” he corrected. “It is a Yelka.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Alexander allowed a reminiscent smile to touch his lips. Although he lived most of the year in England, he never forgot his mother’s heritage nor the warm memories of his life in Russia. Somehow it seemed important that he share that part of his life with this woman.

  “Yelka. It is a tree to celebrate the New Year. We will have it brought inside on the eve of Christmas and decorate it with fruit and tiny baubles.”

  Her eyes brightened with pleasure. “I have heard of that, although we have never had one at Chalfried.”

  “I hope to combine the best of English and Russian traditions for Christmas.”

  “Are they so different?” she demanded.

  “Well, to begin with, we celebrate Christmas in January not December, although we will choose the English date. And it is believed that it is Babouschka who delivers the gifts to the children.”

  She tilted her head to one side. “Babouschka?”

  He nodded his head, barely aware of the snow that had once again begun to fall. Indeed, he was aware of precious little beyond the sparkle in her eyes.

  “It is told that she failed to give shelter to the Magi on their travels to find the baby Jesus, so now she is bound to wander the countryside in search of the Christ child. She always manages to visit the home of children.”

  A hint of anticipation could be detected on her tiny features. “Do you think she will visit here?”

  “Most certainly,” he assured her.

  “What else?”

  Her obvious interest made Alexander chuckle. He had learned over the past weeks that Grace possessed a questioning mind along with her astonishing musical talent. He had often thought it was a sin that she had been buried in the country with no one to appreciate her rare qualities.

  Of course, he acknowledged, she would no doubt have been swiftly engaged had she been in a position to travel to London. He might never have met her. It was a thought he found strangely distressful.

  With an effort, he thrust aside the unwelcome thought. “It is also a tradition to fast on the day before Christmas, until the first star appears,” he said in answer to her question. “Only then is the table laid and the Kutya served.”

  She mouthed the unfamiliar word with a faint smile. “I do not suppose that is Christmas pudding?”

  “Actually, it is a porridge.”

  She couldn’t prevent her grimace. “For dinner?”

  “It is quite important,” he informed her, recalling his grandmother’s solemn explanation of the evening dinner. “It possesses grain to represent hope and honey with poppy seeds for success and happiness. It also must be eaten from the same dish for unity.”

  “How lovely,” she breathed, her fiery curls dusted by the falling snow. “Is that all?”

  “Oh, no. There is one other very important tradition, but I shall allow that to remain a secret until the festivities,” he impulsively retorted. Let her be surprised when he revealed his grandmother’s favorite part of the evening.

  She narrowed her gaze, but a hint of amusement remained in her emerald eyes.

  “You are being very mysterious.”

  “Yes, I am,” he agreed, waggling his brows in a ridiculous fashion. “Do you like it?”

  She gave a sudden laugh at his absurdity. “Should I?”

  “Of course. Ladies always prefer those brooding, elusive gentlemen that spout tragic poetry. Shall I offer you a verse?”

  She held up her hands in mock horror. “No, thank you.”

  Thoroughly enjoying their banter, Alexander reached out to tug her into his arms. Feeling her next to him, he was quite certain that he could spend the rest of his days holding her close.

  “Come,” he teased. “Allow me to whisper sweet secrets in your ear.” For a moment she stiffened at his brazen grasp; then, much to his delight, she melted against him. It was not until he felt the icy sting of snow upon his neck that he realized she had deviously used his distraction to reach out and grasp a handful of snow from the nearby tree. With a gasp he pulled back to regard her with amusement. “Minx.”

  She appeared smugly pleased with her trick until Alexander reached out to grasp his own handful of snow.

  “No . . .” Her eyes widened. “You wouldn’t.”

  Her concern appeared so genuine that Alexander instantly dropped his frozen weapon.

  “Of course not.”

  With lightning speed she bent downward to gather another handful of snow and lobbed it at his disbelieving expression. Just as swiftly she turned on her heel and began scurrying toward the house. Briefly startled by the assault Alexander gave a loud laugh.

  Why the cunning chit. It was not often he was caught off guard.

  A flare of excitement raced through his body and with a swift grace he was in pursuit. It was, of course, an unfair race. Hampered by her heavy skirts and the icy ground, she had gone only a short distance when he caught her in his arms. Turning her about, he gazed down at her laughing face.

  Just for a moment he felt bewitched. It was unexplainable. With women he had always felt lust or friendship. Not this peculiar combination that made him uncertain whether to kiss her or simply hear the magic of her voice.

  “How beautiful you are when you smile,” he murmured.

  Her breath was released on a sigh as they gazed at each other, indifferent to the cold and even the knowledge that they were visible from the house. It was the sound of footsteps hurrying in their direction that finally forced them apart.

  Alexander lifted his head to view Rosalind quickly moving toward them. He hid a rueful grimace at the obvious signs of distress. Although the last thing in the world he wished was to have this moment with Grace interrupted, he realized that Rosalind was clearly upset.

  “Oh . . . Alexander,” Rosalind breathed, her lovely face stained with tears.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Falwell.”

  She hesitantly glanced toward the blushing Grace. “I am sorry to intrude.”

  “Is there something that you need?” he prodded.

  She twisted her hands together until Alexander feared that they might become entangled.

  “I did hope that I could have a few moments with you.”

  Alexander hesitated. Damnation. Grace was already regarding him with a faint frown. He wanted to command Rosalind to leave and return that smile to Grace’s face. But even as the pleasant notion entered his mind he was thrusting it aside.

  Rosalind was not a strong woman. And she depended upon him. It would be unfair to turn his back simply because he discovered he preferred the companionship of Miss Honeywell.

  “Of course,” he forced himself to say. Then he raised Grace’s hand and pressed his lips to her gloved fingers. “We will speak later.”

  For a moment a question seemed to flicker deep in her emerald eyes. A question Alexander was forbidden to answer. Then with a reluctant nod she turned and slowly made her way back toward the house. Alexander’s hand instinctively lifted, only to drop when he realized what he was doing.

  What could he say to her?

  “I am sorry, Alexander,” Rosalind said softly.

  Reluctantly Alexander turned to face the distraught woman. “What has occurred?”

  She lifted a hand to her lips to muffle the soft sob. “Thomas discovered the letter you gave me.”

  Alexander bit back a resigned sigh. On how many occasions had he warned Rosalind to burn the letters he gave to her? It was far too dangerous to leave them lying about.

  “How
do you know?”

  “I came into my chambers and he held it in his hands.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  Her white face flushed with painful color. “That it must have been left in the chamber by some forgetful maid.”

  Alexander curbed his flare of impatience. Rosalind was not made to live a life full of lies, he reminded himself She was too transparent, too easily rattled for deception. It was remarkable that they had managed to conceal the truth for so long.

  “Did he believe you?”

  Rosalind fumbled for a handkerchief to dab at her nose. “He made a show of believing, but he could not hide the suspicion in his eyes.”

  Alexander gave a slow shake of his head. “Ah, Rosalind, I have warned you to be careful. Those letters should be destroyed as soon as you receive them.”

  “How can I?” she cried, her eyes glittering with tears. She appeared as lovely as an angel. “They are so precious to me. Oh, what am I to do?”

  Most men would no doubt have swept her into their arms and assured her that everything would be well. Rosalind had an air of fragile indecision that appealed to the opposite sex. But Alexander resisted his instinctive reaction to comfort her. Rosalind could not run to him forever.

  With great care he reached out to take her hands in his own, gazing down at her frightened eyes.

  “Tell Thomas the truth,” he said firmly. “It is the only way.”

  “No . . .” Rosalind wrenched her hands free, her face a deathly white. “No, I cannot.”

  With a cry, she turned and hurried toward the nearby trees. Alexander heaved an exasperated sigh.

  Women.

  A gentleman would have more luck pondering the nature of the universe than the workings of the female mind.

  Eight

  Grace regarded her reflection with a hint of surprise. The gown was lovely. Pale lemon with a pattern of tiny pearls along the hem, it floated about her slender form with a lustrous sheen. About her neck she placed the pearl necklace she had received from her grandmother.

  Certainly the gown was not sophisticated or particularly daring, but after a year of nothing but black and plain gray, it appeared startlingly brilliant.

  And why not? she told herself, trying to still the pesky sense of unease in the bottom of her stomach. It was the eve of Christmas, and the day promised to be filled with festivities. Her choice had nothing at all to do with a raven-haired blue-eyed gentleman.

  The reassurance fell flat as an image of Alexander rose to her mind. He really was a most uncommon gentleman, she grudgingly conceded. He never made her feel awkward or plain, as other gentlemen had done. Indeed, when they were together she felt as if she must be the most fascinating woman in all of England.

  A talent that no doubt made any number of females swoon, she warned herself sternly. She might have allowed herself to forget all those reasons why she had meant to be furious with him, but she would be a fool to allow herself to dream that his flirtations were any more than an act.

  Of course, there was no reason she could not enjoy the next few days, she silently argued. It had been years since she had been surrounded by guests with enticing gossip of London and stories of their travels abroad. Once Alexander was gone, her life would return to it’s dull routine, with little relief beyond her visit to Leicestershire.

  In the midst of arranging a fiery curl that lay against her cheek, Grace was startled when the door to the chamber was pushed open. With a lift of her brow she turned to watch her mother cross toward her.

  “My dear, how lovely you look,” Arlene complimented.

  Grace glanced down at her dress. “You do not believe that it is too soon to wear such a gown?”

  “Certainly not. We have been in mourning long enough. And it is nice to see you in bright colors.” A rather sly expression settled on the older woman’s countenance. “Although I do not believe it is the bright color that has brought that glow to your eyes.”

  A blush that would have made a schoolgirl proud rose to her cheeks.

  Drat.

  What was the matter with her?

  “It is the eve of Christmas,” she said with a shrug.

  Her attempt to distract her mother was sadly wasted. “And it has nothing to do with Mr. Dalford?”

  Unbelievably, her blush deepened. “Why should it have anything to do with Alexander?”

  Arlene’s smile was smug. “You two have spent a great deal of time together.”

  “We have had little option after he forced us to pretend that we are engaged.”

  “But it has not been so ghastly, has it? We were allowed to return to Chalfried.”

  Really, what was her mother thinking?

  “As guests only,” Grace felt compelled to point out. “After the New Year Alexander is bound to return to London and we will once again be back at the cottage.”

  Arlene merely smiled in a complacent fashion. “I do not believe so. Mr. Dalford is a very kind gentleman. Far more kind than I dared hope.”

  A gathering frown marred Grace’s wide brow. “Yes.”

  “You could do far worse than have him for a fiancé.”

  So this is where her mother was leading, Grace acknowledged with a pang of unease. Perhaps it was only to be expected. Grace had never attracted many suitors, and those who had shown an interest had either been doddering fools or local tradesmen who hoped to acquire a hint of aristocracy to their family. Certainly there had never been a gentleman such as Alexander. What mother would not eagerly begin weaving hopes in her mind?

  It was important that Grace squash such lofty notions with all possible speed. She had no desire for her mother’s heart to be broken when Alexander left and she was firmly placed upon the shelf.

  “Oh, Mother, I hope that you have not allowed this foolishness to sway your common sense,” she said softly. “Alexander could have his choice of the most beautiful and wealthy maidens in all of England and no doubt Russia. He is not about to throw himself away on an ill-tempered spinster without a quid to her name.”

  Predictably, her mother bristled with annoyance at the harsh truth. She had never wished to accept that Grace was anything but perfect.

  “You happen to be a lovely, very talented young miss,” she protested with a sniff. “It is entirely my fault for not being able to send you to London for a Season that you are not already wed to a duke or at least an earl.”

  Grace gave a sudden laugh at the notion of herself in London. It was one thing to childishly dream of entering a crowded ballroom and causing every gentleman to swoon in delight. It was quite another to realize that she was far more likely to enter the ballroom and tumble over her own feet.

  “Fiddlesticks. I should have made a perfect cake of myself, and the dukes and earls would have fled in terror. Besides, if I ever do wed, it will be for love.”

  Like a hound on the scent, Arlene refused to be distracted. “Perhaps Mr. Dalford will fall in love with you and all our troubles will be solved.”

  Grace gave a resigned shake of her head. “Mother.”

  “Very well.” Realizing she had pressed as far as she dared, Arlene gave a shrug. “I will say no more.”

  “That I very much doubt,” Grace retorted dryly, moving forward to grasp her mother’s arm. “Come, it is time for the celebrations.”

  As a favorite of both the czar and the prince regent, Alexander had enjoyed the most lavish entertainments that society could offer. There had been extravagant masked balls, treasure hunts that had led him from London to Paris to Vienna, moonlit dinners upon the Thames, and private evenings with the most beautiful courtesans in the world. But in all of his vast experiences he could not recall enjoying a day more than he had today.

  With a sense of contentment he glanced about the vast salon. Throughout the day this room had been filled with countless children who had enthusiastically helped to decorate the standing tree with the fruit and various baubles they had tied onto strings. They had been equally delighted with the pi
les of tiny cakes and bags of coins he had helped to distribute. In the background Grace had provided festive music upon the pianoforte, her face astonishingly beautiful as she smiled with obvious satisfaction.

  The joyish atmosphere lingered into dinner, where they had shared the Kuyta and toasted the future.

  All in all it had proven to be a most successful day.

  With a determined step Alexander moved to where Grace was tidying her music upon the pianoforte. His heart gave an odd quiver at the sight of her tiny countenance still flushed with the excitement of the day. Halting beside her, he waited for her to turn and face him.

  “Did you enjoy your day?” he asked softly.

  “Very much.” She offered him a warm smile. “It was very festive. The children will not soon forget your generosity.”

  He gave a wave of his slender hand. “It was a trifle.”

  “Hardly a trifle. Your tree alone will be the talk of the village for years to come.”

  Alexander glanced toward the tree that was barely visible beneath the flurry of decorations. “Perhaps not a thing of beauty, but it was great fun.”

  “You are very different from your cousin.”

  He turned back to meet her searching gaze. “How so?”

  She paused as if carefully considering her words. “Edward was very somber and very aware of his position in the neighborhood. He would never have opened his home in such a fashion. Certainly not to his tenants.”

  Alexander recalled enough of his cousin to be certain Grace was not exaggerating. Although not a cruel gentleman, Edward had always been rather humorless and disliked what he considered frivolous pursuits. He would no doubt have staunchly disapproved of the loud and rather messy party.

  “It would not have been a success without you.”