A Christmas Bride Part 3

"I doubt if your grandfather recalls every detail either."

His frown cleared. "You can say that only because you have not met my grandfather yet. He may be reaching the seventieth anniversary of his birth, but his mind is more sharply honed than most men half his age. I am sure he recalls every single detail."

"Then how can you expect to bet.w.a.ttle him?"

"I am not sure we can. Felix is often wrong, but in this I believe he is right. I owe my grandfather the truth, but not until after his birthday celebration on Christmas Eve." He hesitated, then asked, "So will you be a part of this madness?"

She did not hesitate, because, like him, the ones she loved depended on her. "Yes."

Four.

Cheyney Park was everything Serenity had antic.i.p.ated. Beyond its ancient gate in what once had been a curtain wall of a hilltop fortress, the stone front of the house that spread across the hill had been darkened by years of sitting alone on its lonely moor. The steep road leading up to it offered a view of the undulating hills leading off into the distance, but she saw no other sign of houses. A few trees had found a foothold against the winds and storms off the North Sea.

"It is fearfully isolated here," Lord Cheyney said quietly.

Serenity peeked back over her shoulder to find him looking at her as if she were a puzzle he could solve if he only stared at her long enough. It unsettled her that he had discerned her thoughts again, as he had too often in the past day while they continued his interrupted journey to Cheyney Park, when she could not unravel the tangle of twisted memories herself.

He leaned toward her, and she fought not to cringe away. After all, if she were to do a good job persuading others that she was his betrothed, she could not recoil each time he came near. Yet it was difficult to act as if this stranger were her fiancee.

"There," he said, pointing past her.

"What? Where?"

His chuckle warmed her ear before slipping along her neck like the sweetest caress. "Look past that copse. There are several cottages in the dale beyond. Mayhap you will be able to see, through the fog, a sliver of smoke rising from one of the chimneys."

"I see it!" She smiled, trying to ignore her own pleasure at his closeness. That was something she must put an end to at once. This was no more than a pantomime. Not for a moment could she allow herself to forget that he was a viscount, the heir to an earl, and she was a lady's maid. "At least, I think I see it. With the fog it is not easy to tell."

"Those cottages form the edge of the small village that clings to the stream that divides this moor nearly in two. If you follow that stream far enough, I understand it empties into the Tyne before going into the North Sea. That may have been the only connection to the rest of the world in olden times. The locals would send their produce down the stream and-"

"Egad," grumbled Felix from the other seat. "Must you turn everything into a school lesson, Timothy? You know that I care for neither history nor business."

"I am only acquainting her with the facts that she should be familiar with," the viscount replied in the taut tone he had used with his cousin all day. "If she is to be believable as my betrothed, it would be a.s.sumed that she is familiar with the places that I have visited often in the past."

"If conversations of such boring subjects is your idea of how a woman should be wooed, 'tis no wonder-"

"Felix," he stated, his tone becoming even colder, "we have only a few seconds before we arrive at the house. Let me use the time to my best advantage."

"Talking about that silly village is your idea of using this time to your best advantage?" He guffawed.

Serenity was sure her face must be bright red, for it was as hot as the stones in the box at her feet had been when they left the inn this morning. When Lord Cheyney put his hand on her arm, she stiffened, and he drew it back as if the flame on her face had raced all along her.

His voice returned to its pleasant tone as he went on. "In the village, they have mumming for the Christmastide."

"How wonderful!" She could pretend, as he was, that his cousin had not interrupted with his salacious comments. "I have always enjoyed them."

"Always?"

She smiled. "I seem to find it simple to remember things like that. Things that have only the least importance. I can remember that I like sugar in my tea, but not where I last drank it."

"'Tis a beginning."

Felix grumbled, "Always the optimist, are you not, Timothy?" He stretched and peered out the window as the house blocked the view along the moor. "'Tis about time we arrived. I swear, any part of me that was not bruised by your coachee's poor driving since we left London is cramped from sleeping in that hard bed last night."

Lord Cheyney frowned at him before looking back at her. "He is always like this when he is away from Town. Pay him no mind, Serenity."

Her reply was halted when Felix suddenly smiled. He did that each time anyone used this name she had agreed to pretend was hers. He had spent most of breakfast chuckling while Mrs. Bridges served them and asked if Miss Adams would like anything else. If Felix thought to convince his grandfather that this flummery was the truth, then he must learn to hide that farcical grin.

The more she had had a chance to think of this scheme, the more certain she was that it was doomed to failure. She wished she could tell both the men that, but she must hold her tongue. She needed to keep her sister and brother safe and in the school that obviously cost dear, so she must remain a part of this.

When the carriage stopped in front of a door, she was delighted to see that a porte cochere arched over them. The fog was congealing into cold rain. An icy wind was beginning to keen along the house, and it might turn the rain into sleet again.

She s.h.i.+vered while she hoped no other travelers would suffer on a slick road as she and her companions had.

"Cold?" asked Lord Cheyney.

"Not on the outside."

He ignored Felix, who was groping on the floor for something he had lost. As he moved his leg aside to let his cousin search, he asked, "Memories, Serenity?"

"I am not sure, but I know there are some things I would rather not remember."

"Yes, I am sure you are right about that." Again he seemed to understand what she meant without an explanation. He was very insightful. If his grandfather shared that trait, they were lost before they began.

Before the viscount could say more, a boy ran forward to throw the door open. He peeked in, then dipped his head. "Welcome to Cheyney Park, my lord."

"Is that you, Curt?" Lord Cheyney asked as he stepped out.

No, not Lord Cheyney. She must think of him as Timothy.

"Yes, my lord." The boy straightened with a grin.

"You must be twice as tall as you were the last time I was here." He ruffled the lad's hair.

When Timothy turned to hand her out, she asked, "How long has it been since you were last here?"

"About six months." He chuckled. "Long enough for this lad to sprout up."

Smiling, Serenity-she must always think of herself that way, so she would respond to the name without hesitation-started to answer.

Instead, Felix said, "It seems ludicrous to be sitting here in this damp carriage on this damp day when there are fires on the hearths within."

"Pay him no mind," Timothy replied as he took her hand and helped her out. "He shall find fault with the whole of this visit. Cheyney Park has been home to him as well, but he will claim no address but Town now." He gestured toward the house. "The others you will meet here shall be much more cheerful, I suspect."

"Yes, I hope so." Her heart thudded against her chest as he continued to hold her hand. His long fingers were rough from riding or work, but they held hers as gently as if her hand had been made of the most fragile soap bubble.

"Are you all right?" he asked, consternation stealing his smile.

"Yes."

"You sound quite breathless. If you think the walk up the steps will be too much for you-"

"I shall be fine." As soon as you release my hand, she wanted to add. Did all men affect her like this? She wished she knew. Certainly Felix Wayne did not, because she tried to avoid any chance that he might get too close. She was not sure why. If they had met before, she could not recall it. And why should he? She was a lady's maid. He was the grandson of an earl.

Remembering Lord-Timothy's comment about his cousin's habits, which suggested he had led a life as licentious as his comments, she wondered if her lady and Felix had been lovers. That would explain why she was uneasy in his company. Yet that made no sense, for surely he would recognize her.

"Then allow me, Serenity." Timothy drew her hand into his arm.

The lad stared at them as Timothy led her up a pair of steps toward the door. She could not chide the boy, for she knew how poorly she and Timothy matched. He wore a dark coat and breeches that were in prime twig. Her gown, which had been of coa.r.s.e cloth to begin with, bore the scars of the many repairs Mrs. Bridges had done yesterday.

"Pay him no mind," Timothy murmured.

"Can you ascertain my thoughts even when I don't speak them?" she asked as quietly.

"No, I am only guessing, for I know what I would be thinking if our situations were reversed." He smiled as the door opened. "I would be asking myself how I had come to be in such an absurd a.s.sembly of circ.u.mstances."

"As I am."

"It takes no great skill to perceive what a perceptive woman like you would be thinking. I am glad you are not want-witted, Serenity, for you shall need every bit of wits you ever possessed from this point forward."

Her reply vanished as sound erupted out toward them. When she stepped into a foyer, it was as crowded as a village green on a fair day. People rushed up and down ladders and called orders in so many voices that no one could possibly comprehend a single one. Aromas of freshly cut pine were so strong it was nearly intoxicating. Despite Felix's words, the foyer was as damp and chilly as the carriage.

Through the commotion, a short man called, "My lord, welcome back to Cheyney Park. As you can see, you have arrived just in time for the hanging of the greenery in the foyer."

Timothy took off his hat and handed it to a footman. "If I had guessed, Branson, I would have waited another day."

"Or gotten here earlier, more likely." The man pushed his way through the crowd, sidestepping a footman carrying an armload of green branches to another man standing on a ladder and lacing them along the lower edge of the gallery that edged two sides of the foyer. He wore an immaculate coat of unblemished black. In spite of the chaos in the foyer, the dark-haired man had a sense of dignity and tranquillity that labeled him as the butler.

Again, she fought back her frustration at being able to recognize that Branson was Cheyney Park's majordomo. If she knew that, why couldn't she remember something as simple as her own name?

"'Tis not like you to miss a moment of the excitement before Christmas," Branson continued.

"You know me too well," Timothy said.

"No one could have mistaken your excitement, my lord, with the approaching holidays when you were a child."

Serenity pushed her disquiet from her head and listened to the jesting exchange with interest. That the butler was comfortable enough to tease Timothy told her much. In the past day, she had come to believe that Timothy Crawford was a man of uncommon concern for others. It had been that solicitude that led him into this mess of creating a fantasy fiancee.

When he turned to take the cloak that he had lent her, she noted how the servants working to hang the greenery turned and stared as the boy had outside. She wanted to put her hands over the hasty st.i.tching that held the rents in her gown closed. Even if she had enough hands, she must not forget that a lady would keep her poise under the most extreme circ.u.mstances.

"Branson," Timothy said, glancing at her, "I trust my grandfather has been informed of our arrival."

"Yes, my lord." The butler kept his gaze steady and aimed at Timothy.

"My cousin is lost amidst this hullabaloo. If you chance to see Felix, let him know that Miss Adams and I are on our way to speak with Grandfather."

"Of course." A hint of a smile tugged at the butler's lips. "Do you wish me to look heartily for him or hardly look?"

Timothy chuckled. "Today it must be the former, Branson."

"As you wish, my lord." He turned and gestured to a couple of the lads who were watching the greens being hung along the banister.

Leading her through the press of people, Timothy continued to laugh under his breath. He said, as they gained the first step of the staircase that curved up toward the right, "You may see it as unseemly to jest so with a member of my grandfather's staff, but-"

"You need not explain, my ... Timothy," she corrected herself hastily when his brows started to lower.

Another laugh came from behind them-Felix Wayne's arrogant laugh. "That has a decidedly possessive ring to it, Miss Adams." His lips drew back in a grimace as he spoke her name. "Mayhap that jealous nature will be the very thing that brings an end to your betrothal."

"'Tis not the time to speak of such things." Timothy's hand over hers tightened like the muscles along his jaw.

Looking from one man to the other, she wondered how Timothy tolerated his cousin's pomposity. There must be some reason, but she could not fathom what it might be. Telling herself not to make this more complicated than it already was, she took a deep breath when they reached the top of the stairs.

"Grandfather is probably in his office enjoying a pipe at this hour," Timothy said.

Serenity nodded, although questions pelted her lips as the icy rain did the Palladian window that was set above the front door. It had been hidden by the porte cochere, but would offer anyone who stood by it an excellent view of the road leading up to the house and the moor beyond the curtain wall. If she had half a lick of sense, she would rush back down these stairs and along that road to ... Where could she go when she had no idea where she should be?

When they paused before a heavy oak door, she took a steadying breath. The charade was about to begin, and she must not make a single error, although, she realized, she already had. Lost in her musings, she had not taken note of the turns they had taken along the corridor that led away from the stairs. The house had looked convoluted from the outside. She could not imagine how much more twisted and interconnected the pa.s.sages would be within its walls.

"Come in."

Serenity barely heard the words through the thick door, and they were repeated in an impatient tone as Timothy was opening the door. Her eyes widened as she saw the large room, which did not appear to be an office, but instead a gracious parlor. No desk or bookshelves suggested this was a place where work was done. Rather, settees and chairs were grouped in front of the white marble hearth and near the trio of windows that created a bay. Thick carpets covered the floor, crisscrossing each other in a haphazard pattern that somehow led directly to the center of the room.

A man sat on a chair facing the fireplace. Smoke wafted around his head, sending the scent of sweet tobacco toward them. She took a deep breath of it and was amazed at the sense of comfort it brought. She must have known someone who used this same tobacco. Later, she would ask Timothy what type of tobacco mixture his grandfather used. If it was a rare combination of tobacco leaves, it might provide a clue to her lost past.

A tug on her arm warned her that she had been standing and staring for too long. She struggled to breathe-in and out, slow and deep-as Timothy led her toward the white-haired man who was regarding them with eyes as earth brown as both his grandsons'. A cane was set next to where his feet were propped up on a stool, but there was no weakness in his motions as he drew the pipe from his lips and set aside the book he must have been reading.

He stared at her until she wanted to step behind Timothy to hide from those uncompromising eyes. Unlike the others in the foyer downstairs, he did not try to hide his curiosity at her unsuitable appearance.

"I had not expected you for another hour," the white-haired man said.

"We rushed to beat this next storm to Cheyney Park." Timothy smiled as he drew her forward another step. "Grandfather, allow me to introduce Miss Serenity Adams. Serenity, my grandfather, Harold Crawford, Earl of Brookindale."

The earl pushed himself to his feet, looking very spry for a man of his advanced years. He smiled. "I have been awaiting this meeting with much antic.i.p.ation, Miss Adams."

"My lord," she said, dipping into a deep curtsy. She feared she had made a horrible mistake when the room spun like a child's toy.

A hand captured her elbow, keeping her from collapsing to the floor. When an arm went around her waist, she fought to keep from screaming. A jagged breath cut through her, and she doubted if she could have cried out. The ache threw itself down her left leg even as it exploded in her head.

She leaned her face against a firm chest. Timothy's, she knew, but was shocked when a memory told her that she had rested her cheek against him before. He must have carried her from the wrecked carriage to his. If he had not chanced to stop ... She grasped the front of his waistcoat before the whirl of the room made her ill. She must not think about what would have happened if he had not found her.

Timothy cursed under his breath when Serenity's legs sagged against him. He had told her to have her wits ready for this introduction, but apparently he had forgotten to have his own prepared as well. Putting his arm beneath her knees, he scooped her easily into his arms.

Grandfather grasped his cane and took a pair of steps toward him. "I trust she does not swoon at every introduction."