Page 55 of All I Want for Christmas… Is You
He turned, at last, and walked away.
* * *
“Those two clearly love eachother. In all my days I have never seen a more heartfelt glance shared between two people.”
“Cecile, my dear, there is nothing I can do to prevent him from leaving now,” Andrew told his wife, as he crawled into the bed beside her. “We’ve conspired in every possible manner, and that is that!”
His wife’s pale brows drew together. “You don’t suppose he’ll change his mind?” she asked hopefully.
Dressed to the chin in his night rail and cap, Andrew cozied up to his wife in the most scandalous fashion, playfully nibbling at her lobe.
“Andrew, my love,” she protested. “This is quite serious. If you won’t listen then I shall... I shall—” She giggled and gave a little shriek when he lapped at her neck like a dog. “I shall send you back to your own bed!” she warned, laughing. “Listen to me. Don’t do that!”
Andrew gave her a long-suffering look, and she tried not to giggle.
“Wemustdo something,” she said firmly, slapping his hand when he twisted one of her little curls around his finger.
He sighed. “I am listening,” he said, resigned. Then very seriously, he looked at her and said, “Cecile, I have gone so far as to allow my only sister into a known rake’s room—upon your request, I might add. Gad! When the children came to you with their cockamamie plan, I stood by and allowed it. And then when Emma came away from there so shaken, I stilled my hand—and my tongue—when I felt like murdering the blind fool. Now I don’t know what happened in there, and I’m certain I don’t wish to know, but as far as I am concerned, we have tried our best and have managed only to fill a blasted cradle with straw.”
“But—”
He placed a finger to her lips, shushing her once and for all. “We have gone beyond the call of duty—far, far beyond! It is over.” He cupped her chin and raised her face to his, gazing at her adoringly. “I am quite moved that you care so deeply for my sister… but I do believe it is past time for the duke to go.”
Cecile sighed and shook her head. “I suppose you are right... though I did so hope. It would have been such a merry Christmas, indeed, if it had worked out the way we had planned.” She sighed. “Emma was so lovely this morn, and I thought... I thought perhaps they might talk it over.” She sighed again. “It’s all so very, very tragic!”
“But it is over,” he repeated firmly.
Cecile pouted. “Did you not see the way he looked at her tonight? If only they had more time…”
It was Andrew’s turn to sigh. “It was an uncomfortable moment at best. Nevertheless, Willyngham has informed me that he shall be departing Newgale at first light, and to that end we have returned his carriage to order. This time,” he told her inflexibly, “none of us will interfere. We must let him go. Cecile.”
Cecile gave one last sigh. “Very well,” she relented, and then she turned to nuzzle her husband’s neck. “You are quite scandalous,” she purred, “coming in to me dressed like this. Look at you! Can you imagine poor Emma having to see the duke dressed this way?”
“Gad,” he said, “but don’t remind me! Or I may have to go and kill the blackguard, after all.”
CHAPTER7
In the morning, the carriage was set to leave as Peters promised. His wheels had been returned. The driver had given a belly full of holiday victuals. Even the snow had let up, leaving clear skies for the day’s journey. But once again Lucien sat inside his carriage, contemplating the unthinkable.
Why couldn’t he go?
He sat there just a moment longer, and then alit from the carriage, straightened his coat, and marched up the front steps and rapped firmly upon the door, intending to talk to Emma.
He simply had to know.
“Miss Emma!” her maid Jane exclaimed, patting Emma’s arm none too gently. Her voice was much too bright for Emma’s liking. “Wake up!” she demanded. “’Tis Christmas Eve!”
“Noooo,” Emma wailed. “Go away.” The past few days had taken an emotional toll and she felt a bit dispirited as well. They could do without her at breakfast this morning, Christmas Eve or not.
“Oh, but Miss Emma.” Jane persisted. “Youmustget up!”
Emma groaned, and lifting the coverlet up over her ears. “I don’t want to, Jane.”
“But Miss Emma! The duke is calling for you!” Jane said, tugging the covers down once more.
Emma bolted upright in the bed.
He stood at the bottom of the stairwell, shifting uncomfortably under the watchful gazes of Andrew Peters and his inquisitive wife. All three children peeked out from the stair rails above, flattened upon their bellies in their holiday bests, as though he could not see them. Their little faces, framed by red ribbons and bowties, peered down at him. All three, no doubt, waiting to see their efforts come to fruition. God’s truth, he thought he would go mad with the wait.
