Christmas Joy Page 6

  But it did.

  In keeping with the gaiety of the event, he had been amused when Layton trapped Meghan under the kissing ball. And she had been very sporting about it. Or had she anticipated the “entrapment”? Perhaps she even encouraged it? This idea brought another frown.

  He immediately chastised himself for his greedy dog kind of jealousy. After all, he had no interest in the woman and if his friend Layton did . . . Well, they were grown-up people and Layton was an honorable man. So are we all—all honorable men, he thought, giving Shakespeare’s line a slight twist.

  Justin and his two honorable friends were having a nightcap in the library one evening. The three of them sprawled on two settees in front of the fireplace.

  “Wonderful thing—Joy’s talking again,” Layton observed.

  “It is, indeed,” Justin agreed.

  “So, does that give you more time to pursue the lovely Miss Hamlin?” Travers ask with a grin.

  Layton gave a bark of laughter. “You mean succumb to the pursuit do you not? That young lady seems to know very well what she wants. And so does her mama.”

  “You are looking to marry again, are you not, Justin?” Travers asked. “Or did the marchioness just happen to pepper her guest list with eligible females?”

  “If that is the case,” Layton said, clearly teasing, “what are you doing cutting out our friend here with Miss Thompson?”

  Travers, who never seemed fully aware when his friends were roasting him, said, “Oh, I say. I never meant . . . It just never occurred to me . . . it is just that Dierdre and I—”

  “Ah—‘Dierdre’ is it?” Layton interjected.

  Travers colored up and mumbled, “We agreed on Christian names.” He paused. “She knows an uncommon lot about horses.”

  “Always a priority when one considers a woman’s attributes, would you not agree, Justin?” Layton said with a wink.

  Justin decided to take pity on Travers and responded with, “It helps to have something in common with a woman one hopes to wed—or bed.”

  Travers drew himself up. “Oh, I say.” His tone was both defensive and pompous. “I have no dishonorable intentions regarding Miss Thompson. Quite the contrary.”

  “Really?” Layton was serious now. “Have you offered for her?”

  Travers ran a finger around his neckcloth. “Well . . . not exactly. Have to speak with her father first—and he ain’t due to arrive for a few days yet.”

  “This is good news, indeed,” Justin said. “Her father is not likely to have any objections to you.”

  “You don’t mind, then?” Travers asked earnestly.

  “Why should I mind?” Justin asked. “Miss Thompson has no interest in me, nor I in her. No. I congratulate you on a fine match.”

  “Well, it ain’t done yet,” Travers said cautiously.

  “When it is, the marchioness will rejoice that her efforts have not been wholly fruitless.” Justin raised his glass to his friend.

  “So, those wiles you worked were successful,” Layton observed.

  “Rather unexpectedly,” Travers said, and he added in a sly tone, “and I noticed I am not the only one who has had some success with a lady of late.”

  Layton shrugged. “Ah, Justin has always had uncommonly good luck with females.”

  “I was not referring to Justin. I have seen you cozying up to Mrs. Kenwick.”

  It was Layton’s turn to color up. Justin found himself waiting intently for Layton’s reply. When it came after a pause, it was guarded.

  “Mrs. Kenwick is a very attractive woman. A man would be lucky to engage her interest.”

  “She does not appear to be the sort of person Kenwick said she was,” Travers said.

  “Not at all.” Layton was vehement. “She is witty and has a good sense of humor. A lovely woman. It was criminal for him to keep her hidden away in recent years.”

  “Kenwick did not always have the right of things,” Justin said and changed the subject to a pugilistic contest the gentlemen planned to attend the next day.

  He was uncomfortable discussing Meghan with the others. It occurred to him now that, yes, they knew even then that Kenwick’s views were likely to be distorted, yet none of them had questioned the picture he had presented of his wife. Justin was also uncomfortable with the fact that Layton was so clearly attracted to her. Was the attraction mutual?

  As the Christmas season drew closer and more hectic, Meghan found herself being drawn into the activities far more than she had expected. Moreover, she was participating with far more enthusiasm than she had dreamed. Irene had adopted her as a sounding board and partner as she planned activities for the guests.

  One morning the two of them sat in Irene’s private sitting room, reviewing plans and writing invitations for a grand Christmas ball at Everleigh. An annual event, it was mere days away.

  “I am so glad you decided to join us this year,” Irene said for what Meghan thought must surely be the twentieth time. “This is so much more fun than doing it all alone as I usually do—though I must say Robert and Justin do do their share.”

  Meghan smiled. “As I have said before, I am very happy to be here. Nell—my cousin Eleanor—said it would be good for me. And she was right.”

  “You are having a good time, then?” Irene sounded anxious.

  Meghan reached across the small table at which they were writing to pat her friend’s hand. “You must not worry about me. I am having a wonderful time.”

  “But I do worry about you. Even before the accident you had withdrawn so. And then you went into such a decline after losing Stephen. . . .”

  “I know. I could not seem to help myself.”

  “One could hardly blame you,” Irene went on. “I just do not know what I would do if I lost one of my babies.”

  “You would do exactly as I have done—rage against the injustice of it even as you muddle through and survive.” She paused and added, “With the help of friends like that marvelous Marchioness of Everleigh!”

  Irene’s eyes were bright with unshed tears of sympathy.

  Meghan went on. “I miss Stephen. I will never not miss him. And I have such regrets about the life Kenwick and I had. But one can only go forward. . . .”

  “You do seem more at ease around the children than you did when you first arrived,” Irene observed.

  “Oh, yes. Children are hard to resist. They are so inherently open and honest.”

  “Painfully so at times. I nearly died the other day when Becky asked Mrs. Seagraves why she had two chins!”

  Meghan laughed. “Luckily, Mrs. Seagraves has a good sense of humor.”

  “And understands children.” Irene straightened her stack of invitations and gave her friend a speculative look. “So, are you going to tell me about you and Mr. Layton?”

  “About me and—” Meghan was genuinely startled by the question. “Why, there is nothing to tell.”

  “He has been very marked in his attentions to you. I heard about his kissing you, you know.”

  “Oh, that.” Meghan waved her hand dismissively. “ ’Twas nothing. Just seasonal nonsense.”

  “I am not so sure. . . .” Irene’s voice rose on a teasing note.

  Meghan laid down her pen and sat straighter. “Now, look. Mr. Layton is a very amiable fellow, easy to talk with—but I am not—I repeat, not looking to remarry. Nor to cultivate a reputation as a willing widow.”

  “You may find yourself changing your mind.”

  Meghan laughed. “About marrying? Or the ‘willing widow’ business?”

  Irene rolled her eyes. “You know very well what I meant. ”

  “Neither is likely.” Meghan turned back to the task at hand and a moment later said, “There. I have finished my list.”

  “Good timing! So have I.”

  Meghan knew very well she had not answered Irene’s question fully. She also knew she had not done so because she was not as sure of her feelings as she wanted Irene to believe. The next day she was f
orced to confront those feelings.

  After breakfast Mr. Layton invited her for a walk in the garden in one section of which a previous marquis had laid out an elaborate maze. In the center of the maze was a small gazebo. Layton guided her to a bench there.

  “I hope you do not plan to leave me here to find my own way back.” Meghan laughed nervously, keenly aware of how alone the two of them were.

  “Never, my lady.” He sat next to her. “I merely wanted a private word with you and this seemed the perfect place for such.”

  “Well, it is private, what with this continuous tall hedge.”

  He took her gloved hand in his own. “Mrs. Kenwick—Meghan—I know that our acquaintance has so far been rather brief. . . .”

  Oh, Lord, Meghan thought, Irene was right! Aloud, she said with a laugh of forced merriment, “Why, Mr. Layton, I am sure we met several years ago. If I remember correctly, I danced with you at my betrothal ball.”

  “But I did not really come to know and admire you as I have these last few days.”

  Striving for a lighter mood, she said, “Renewing old friendships is one of the functions of a house party, I think.” He still held her hand and she did not want to offend him by jerking away.

  “What I am trying to say in my inept way is that I should like to see our acquaintance grow beyond mere friendship.”

  “I see . . . ,” she said slowly, not seeing, really.

  “Can you offer any hope for me?” His hazel eyes earnestly studied her face.

  “I . . . I . . . I am not sure. . . .” She looked away, unable to bear that intense scrutiny any longer. Finally, she freed her hand and clasped her hands in her lap. “What is it, exactly, that you are asking of me? I must warn you, I shall be truly insulted if it is a ‘slip on the shoulder.’ ”

  “Meghan! No! Never!” His tone was sincere shock. “I . . . I . . . well, I had in mind to propose marriage one day—though I had not expected to spring that idea on you now.”

  She was silent for several moments. What could she say? How should she respond?

  “Mrs. Kenwick? Meghan?” He put his hand to her chin to turn her gently to face him.

  “I . . . I am honored, Mr. Layton. ”Truly, I am. However, I do not intend to marry again—ever.”

  “I . . . I apologize. I had not realized the strength of your feelings for Kenwick. I assumed since you are out of mourning . . . ”

  “No, you do not understand.” She floundered. She had no intention of discussing her marriage with Layton as she had with Irene. On the other hand, she did not want him to view her as one of those pining widows who gloried in the attention perpetual grief brought them. “I . . . I have long since become reconciled to Kenwick’s death.”

  “Your son?” he asked softly.

  “I am—lately—learning to accept that, as well, though, that is harder. You see, I should never have agreed to his going that day. I shall never forgive myself.”

  “Surely you cannot be blaming yourself?”

  “To some degree, yes.”

  “If anyone were to blame for that accident, ’twas your husband—certainly not you, miles way in London.”

  “Wha . . . What do you mean, Kenwick was to blame?” she asked, shocked at this idea.

  “Oh, Lord. I never meant to burst out with that.”

  Her tone was sharp. “But you did. And I want to know—now, if you please—precisely what you meant.”

  “Oh, Lord,” he repeated. He looked away and then back to hold her gaze. His expression was bleak. “You are not a sailor, are you?” She shook her head and he went on. “When the storm came up, we were hit by one of those sudden, unpredictable wind shifts and the main sail jibed—”

  She frowned in consternation.

  “It caught the wind and flapped out of control,” he explained. “When that happens, everyone has to react quickly to keep the boat upright. Kenwick and his boy were at the tiller and we think he overcompensated. The boom swung around and caught Justin, knocking him flat. When the boat tipped, Kenwick and the child were washed overboard. I really thought we were all goners—knew Justin was. We looked and looked—maybe two hours—for Kenwick and the boy, but never saw a sign of them.”

  Again she lapsed into silence, overset by the horror he described. She closed her eyes against the vision, but it was still there—the wind, the rushing water, the chaos, and the fear her child must have experienced.

  Layton took her hands in his. “I am sorry, Meghan. I know this is painful for you. Perhaps if Kenwick had reacted sooner—or less forcefully . . . But who knows with a freak accident?”

  Suddenly she understood what he had not said. “Kenwick was intoxicated, wasn’t he?”

  Layton looked uncomfortable. “Well, he was perhaps a bit bosky, but he was not drunk by any means.”

  “Just enough to impair his reactions,” she said bitterly. Trying to absorb this information, she could not keep the edge of anger from her voice. “Why was I not told this before? You—you, Lord Travers, and Lord Justin—you should have told me!”

  “Justin—that is, we—thought it might upset you. We . . . We did not want to add to your grief.”

  This mollified her a bit, but she would consider it more thoroughly later. “I am not some fragile flower that wants protection.”

  “Yes. We—I—know that now, but none of us was well acquainted with Kenwick’s wife, then.”

  Kenwick’s wife—that silly mouse of a creature, she thought. They were both silent now, each seemingly lost in thought. Finally, Layton gave her hands a final pat and released them.

  “I wish, my dear, that you would reconsider my offer and let me hope for a more agreeable response at some future date.”

  She looked into his eyes and gave him a sad smile. “I am sorry. I cannot entertain such an idea. My life is really quite, quite satisfactory as it is.”

  He studied her expression for a long moment, then said, “So be it. You do not strike me as the sort who would keep a man dangling with no, no, no and then a yes.”

  “I should hope not.”

  “May we continue as friends at least?”

  “Of course. I have enjoyed your company far too much to want to give it up.”

  He leaned toward her and kissed her cheek. “You are a fine lady, Meghan Kenwick. And I think one day someone will break through that resolve of yours. Would that it could have been I who did so.”

  Gentleman that he was, Layton did not broach the subject again. Meghan found their friendship took on a new dimension of camaraderie with their understanding. Still, she felt some residual anger over not having learned the full truth of the accident until now. She found it discomforting to have to reexamine previous notions of an unsafe boat and inept sailors.

  Privately she took herself to task for leaping to conclusions at the time—and for her own subterfuge of late. First, she had not been wholly honest with Irene and now she had repeated that faux pas with Mr. Layton. For the truth—which she barely admitted to herself—was that her life was not as satisfactory as she wanted him to believe. She recognized the longing, the need, that was at the core of her disquietude. However, a bit of disquiet was a small price to pay to be free of pain.

  Justin noticed that Meghan and Layton dealt with each other with greater ease. Obviously, Layton had managed to push the relationship beyond the first stages of getting to know another. He found to his mild surprise that he rather envied his friend.

  This feeling intensified as Layton drew her more and more into their circle. In the drawing room one evening, he and Layton were engaged in one-upping each other with Shakespearean wit. They were off in a corner of the room with Travers, Miss Thompson, Miss Hamlin, Lady Helen, two other gentlemen, and Mrs. Kenwick. Other conversations whirled elsewhere in the room.

  Justin had traded a couple of barbs with Layton already. When he saw that Miss Hamlin looked confused, Justin thought it time to put an end to the game.

  “I confess I am not following this dis
cussion. I mean, I just never read such things,” Miss Hamlin said, then added, “but I truly admire gentlemen who do.”

  Travers groaned. “Do not—I pray you—encourage them, Miss Hamlin. They will prose on for hours.”

  “I am sure you slander these fine gentlemen,” Lady Helen said.

  “Yes.” Justin, who could not resist teasing Travers, raised an eyebrow in challenge to Layton. “ ‘Slander, whose edge is sharper than the sword . . .’ ”

  Layton picked up, “ ‘Whose tongue outvenoms all the worms of Nile . . .’ ”

  “ ‘Whose breath rides on the posting winds and doth belie all corners of the world.’ ” It was Meghan’s voice.

  Justin and Layton both turned in surprise to see her cast the group a smile that was at once sheepish and smug.

  “Oh, no-o!” Travers said in an exaggeration of great pain. “Not another one!”

  “Aha!” Justin said approvingly. “There’s language in her conversation as well as ‘in her eye, her cheek, her lip.’ ”

  She blushed. “Now it is the gentleman that ‘doth protest too much.’ ”

  Justin would have enjoyed even more of such verbal sparring, but he could see that Miss Thompson had as little interest in it as Travers. Miss Hamlin appeared to resent being left out, and others showed varying degrees of disinterest.

  “Come,” he said. “To the music room. I believe Irene has arranged to have several of the ladies play for us.”

  “I do hope I may rely upon you to turn my pages for me,” Miss Hamlin said, giving him a coy look.

  “Of course,” he said politely.

  Six

  The Everleigh Christmas ball was to be an elegant production of major proportions. Besides the resident house guests, invitations had gone out to a vast number of local people—anyone who was anyone for miles around. Few had returned regrets.

  For this grand affair—the first ball she had attended since coming out of mourning—Meghan wore a simple but elegant gown of deep green velveteen. Its only trimming was very narrow strips of soft gray fur at the neck and hem. Kid gloves of the same soft gray color and a single strand of pearls with matching ear bobs completed the outfit.