Christine Merrill - The Mistletoe Wager

‘That is horrible.’ She looked back and forth between his smile and Cammerville’s obvious amusement, and her lip trembled in sympathy for the little boy he had been.

Harry reached out and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, as though surprised by her strong reaction to something that had been over and done with for almost twenty years. ‘It was not so terrible. It was quite possible that I earned the punishment he gave me. After Father died I was well on the way to having an uncontrollable temper. Grandfather took me in and put me right. He taught me that one does not need to rage to accomplish what one desires. One can do as much by patience as one ever can with temper.’

‘Perhaps you learned too well,’ she murmured. ‘But it was better, if Morley beat you, that you remained away.’

‘And in time I demonstrated my improved character to him, and he allowed me home to visit Rosalind.’ He frowned. ‘Of course it was too late to heal some wounds. I only saw my mother once before she died.’

‘He separated you from your mother?’ Her voice was an anguished bleat, and Cammerville laughed at her tender heart.

Harry blinked, and absently brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. ‘It had to happen eventually, once I went away to school. The miserable old goat brought the whole family up here for Christmas, after I was of age. Of course, he turned around in only a day and rushed them all home again. But I had a very nice dinner with mother and Morley that evening.’ He put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a cautious hug. ‘It was fine, really. And over very long ago. Nothing to be so distressed about.’

‘Oh, Harry.’ Now she was both tearful and slightly disgusted with him. And he was giving her such a puzzled look, as though he knew he had done something wrong but had no idea what it might be. Like a lost little boy.

She stamped her foot, trying to drive the sob back down her throat, and whimpered, ‘Excuse me, Lord Cammervile.’ Then she seized the towel from Harry’s hand and hurried towards the door.

Behind her, she could hear Cammerville’s explosive, ‘Women, eh? They are an eternal mystery. Is it too early for a brandy, do you think?’

And Harry’s response. ‘Let us find Rosalind and see where she is hiding it. I feel strangely in need of cheer.’

Elise hurried into the hall before the tears could overtake her. Of all the times for her husband to open up and reveal his soul it would have to be when they were chatting with one of his more ridiculous friends, in a room full of people. Lord Cammerville must have thought her quite foolish to be near to crying over a story that they thought was nothing more than a common fact of boyhood.

But not to her. Never had she seen her father raise a hand to Carl. Nor had her brother reason to respond in anger to punishment. And the sight of Harry running a hand through his hair like a lost child, telling her how one mistake had cost him his mother…

She gulped back another sob.

‘Here, now, what is the matter?’ Nicholas reached out and seized her by the arms, arresting her flight. ‘Crying in a common hallway? What is the cause?’ He looked happier than she had seen him in months, but his expression changed quickly to concern.

‘I have done something terrible.’

He looked doubtful. ‘Surely not?’

‘I have left my husband.’

‘Not again.’ He drew away from her in alarm.

‘No. Before. When I left him to come to you, Nicholas.’ And she took him by the arms, trying to get him to listen. ‘I teased him, and it hurt. And then I left him when he needed me.’

‘And you have noticed this now?’ Nicholas shook his head in amazement. ‘Very well. And what do you mean to do about it?’

‘I do not know. You are a man. Tell me. What can I say to him that will make it all better?’

‘Say to him?’ Nick responded with his most rakish smile. He put his hands on her shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. ‘Oh, darling, I doubt you need say anything at all to have a man at your feet. You have but to wait until the guests are safely asleep, and open your bedroom door. You will not need words after that.’

There was the sound of masculine throat-clearing, and an inarticulate noise of female distress. And then her husband and his sister walked past them, down the hall.

Harry looked his usual calm, collected self. But Rosalind was nearly overcome with emotion, her eyes darting from Elise, to Nicholas and back, trying to choose whom she should scold first.

When she slowed, Harry took her by the arm and pulled her along, refusing to let her stop. But as they passed he gave Nicholas an arch look that made the man carefully release Elise’s arms, as though he were taking his finger off the trigger of a primed pistol. Then Harry smiled to his sister, and said, ‘The brandy, Rosalind. Remember the brandy. We shall find a glass for you as well. Your father will not approve, but so be it.’

Rosalind’s foul mood continued unabated through dinner, despite the small glass of brandy Harry had given her to calm her nerves. While he’d said it was flattering to have a sister so devoted to one’s happiness as to be reduced to spluttering rage by the scene of one’s wife and her lover in a position that could be considered by some as compromising, he’d assured her it was hardly a reason to ruin Christmas dinner.

His assurances that it did not require action had been met with frustrated cries of, ‘Oh, Harry,’ and elaborate threats on her part to chase down Tremaine and make him pay bitterly for his lack of manners.

A rumour from the cook that the evening’s goose was past its prime and too tough to eat had driven the scene temporarily from her mind, and Harry had made a mental note to reward the kitchen staff generously on Boxing Day for the timely distraction. He had smiled to himself in satisfaction and poured another brandy. For, after seeing the tears in his wife’s eyes over his tragic childhood, he doubted that Tremaine, annoying though he might be, was making as much progress as it appeared.

After a dinner of goose that had been more than tender enough for his taste, Rosalind stood and announced, ‘Tonight, for those who are interested, we shall have dancing in the ballroom. Come and join us once you have finished your port.’

Harry followed her out of the dining room and down the hall to the ballroom. ‘If you can still manage a ball, darling, you are a magician.’

‘And how so?’ Her gaze was defiant, her smile frozen and resolute.

‘There are no musicians,’ he said reasonably. ‘They did not arrive today-probably because of the bad weather. I am certain we can forgo the dancing and no one will mind.’

‘It is not the first problem I have had with this party of yours,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘And I doubt it will be the last. But if we cancel the dancing then I will have to find a better activity to pass the evening, and I can think of none. Besides, the room has already been decorated and the refreshments prepared. The servants have moved the pianoforte to the ballroom, and I am more than capable of playing something that the guests can dance to.’

‘But if you are playing then you cannot dance yourself,’ he pointed out.

‘It is only polite that I sit out in any case.’ Her voice was cold reason. ‘It is slightly different than I feared, but I was marginally correct. Your numbers are unbalanced, and in favour of the women. Several families have brought daughters, and there are no partners for them. Better that I allow the others to dance in my place.’

‘But no one expects you to forgo the pleasure all evening,’ he said. ‘You do not have to play for the whole time.’

‘Really it is no problem. I enjoy playing. And I will have the opportunity to sit down while doing it.’ The look in her eye said if the party knew what was good for it, they would dance and be glad of it, because she did not wish to be crossed.

Harry put on his most fraternal smile. ‘But you also enjoy dancing, do you not? I can remember the way you stood on my boots and let me waltz you around the drawing room.’

She gave him a pained look. ‘Twenty years ago, perhaps. Then, it was not so important to have a partner.’

He clutched at his heart. ‘I am no partner? You wound me, Rosalind.’

‘You are my brother,’ she said firmly. ‘And if you are the only unpartnered man in the room I suppose it is not improper that we dance. But it would be far more pleasant for me if you stand up as a courtesy to the daughters of your guests than with me out of pity.’ For a moment she did sound a bit pitiable. But then she snapped, ‘If you cannot manage that, then perhaps you should dance with your wife. It is what you want to do, after all. It does no good to pretend otherwise. But for myself? I prefer to remain at the keyboard. Thank you very much.’

Guests had begun to filter into the room behind them, and she sat down and began to play a tune so brisk that they could not resist standing up to dance.

Harry did as she’d bade him and offered his hand to a blushing girl of sixteen. He was gratified to see the look on her face, as though the room could hardly contain her joy at being asked. When they stood out, he had an opportunity to view the others in the room.

His wife was standing up with Tremaine, of course. They made a most handsome couple, as they always had. Their steps were flawless, their smiles knowing. It was painful to see them together, so he smiled even wider and raised a glass of champagne in toast to them.

Rosalind sat at the piano, playing a seemingly endless progression of happy melodies. To look at her was to suspect that the instrument in front of her had done her an injury, and that she wished to punish it with enthusiastic play. Her eyes never wavered from the empty music stand in front of her, even though she was playing it all from memory, and her hands hammered away at the keys with an almost mechanical perfection. She seemed to focus inward, and there was no sign that the sights she saw were happy ones.

And suddenly Harry felt the fear that if something was not done he would see her in the same place next year, and the year after, ageing at the piano stool, the lines in her face growing deeper and her expression more distant as the world laughed and went on without her.

So he smiled his best host’s smile, remarked to all within earshot that it was a capital entertainment, and encouraged them to help themselves to refreshment when the music paused. If they thought him a naïve cuckold, so be it. Perhaps after this holiday they would have no reason to. But, no matter what became of him, he would not allow Rosalind to become the sad old maid who kept his house.

He turned to the girl beside him, pointed to Rosalind, and enquired if she played as well.

‘Not so well, sir. But I have lessons. And my piano master says I am his most proficient pupil.’

‘I would see my sister stand up for a set. But first I must find someone to replace her at the instrument. Can you help me?’

The girl was radiant at the thought.

Very good, then. He was only being a good host by making the offer.

He went to Rosalind. ‘Dear sister, I have a favour to ask of you.’

She sighed, but did not pause in her playing. ‘Another favour? Am I not busy enough for you, Harry?’

He laughed. ‘Too busy, I think. Templeton’s daughter was remarking at what a fine instrument this appears to be, and it seems she is a musician. But obviously not much of a dancer, for she trod upon my toes on several occasions. If she is thus with the other guests it might benefit all to have her play for a time and rest from dancing. If you could give up your seat to her, I would be most grateful.’

Rosalind considered for but a moment. ‘It would be for the best-if she does not seem to mind.’

‘Very good. Have a glass of champagne, and I will see her settled here.

He installed the Templeton girl at the piano, then watched as his sister visited the refreshment table and became occupied with haranguing the servants about the dwindling supply of wine. When he was sure she would take no notice of him, he swallowed his distaste, refreshed his smile with another sip of wine, and strode into the room to find a partner for Rosalind.

‘Tremaine-a word, if you please?’

It was always a pleasure to see the way the man cringed when Harry addressed him directly, as though snivelling and subservience were sufficient apology for all he had done.

‘Harry?’ He took a deep sip from his glass.

‘I need a favour from you.’

‘From me?’ Now the man was totally flummoxed. And then suspicious. His eyes narrowed. ‘What can I do for you?’