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“For what purpose?”
She could not be more embarrassed, he thought. He lowered his arms and tipped his head forward, speaking softly. “I care little for my reputation, Miss Templeton. It is already ruined. If you intend to spread gossip—”
“Oh, no, sir. I did not mean to imply I wished to pry into your secrets. Only that if you wish to unburden yourself—”
“My guilt is my burden, yes, I agree. What is yours?” He cocked his head to one side. “Why are you not in London?”
She whipped out her fan and waved it frantically across her face. “There is nothing for me in London. I intend to remain in the country.”
She was lying, and he doubted that was the sole reason for her presence in Dorset. “Then your desire to meet again is purely to build our friendship?”
“Actually, I confess, I thought you looked horribly lonely and I simply want to make you happy.”
“Very altruistic. In that case, I accept your invitation.” He had enjoyed their little duel. She was definitely sprightly, and he was touched by her sensitivity. Why not allow her the opportunity to know him better? “When?”
> Her eyes brightened. “You have no family about here, do you?”
He shook his head.
“Then would you do me the honour of joining my family for Christmas Day?”
The offer truly surprised him. “We barely know each other—”
“Did not our Lord help strangers? I feel it is the Christian thing to do.”
Christmas. He had assumed he would drink and dine alone, pondering his choices in a bitterly cold house. Instead, he’d had the warmth of company and maybe an interesting conversation with Miss Templeton.
“I would be honoured,” he replied sincerely.
She smiled her pretty smile once again. It was starting to work some kind of magical spell upon his usual melancholy disposition.
The date was set, and only the time of his arrival was missing. She suggested after the morning Eucharist service, which he agreed was suitable. He bowed, readying himself for his departure, and to his surprise, she offered her trembling hand. Her gloved fingers almost slipped through his grasp. At the last moment of their brief engagement, he gave her fingers a small squeeze and was rewarded with another deep blush of her cheeks.
Chapter 4
“You invited him to spend Christmas Day with us?” Jenny’s grandmother boomed across the breakfast table.
Jenny rubbed her throbbing temple with her fingertips. She had left Aunt Kitty’s house a little after midnight, having lost a few shillings at the card table and drunk perhaps too many glasses of sherry. The rumble of the carriage wheels had kept her awake, and she had felt somewhat nauseated. The damp air, filled with a bleak fog, had brought on an attack of the shivers. Although the mist remained, the chill had lifted. She was excited about the impending visit of Lieutenant Seton.
“He is quite alone at Dewborne. We cannot be so cruel as to leave him there when we have plentiful food.”
Her grandfather grunted, his beady eyes darting from his wife to his granddaughter. Jenny was convinced that he understood perfectly what was going on. He liked to read still, often the newspaper or the company reports sent by the agent in London. He simply had not the strength to utilise his tongue.
“What of the gossip, Jenny?”
Jenny leaned forward, aiming her words at the horn. “Who will know, Grandma? We need not advertise his presence. He’s arriving after church so will not attend with us. We should simply wish him peace and goodwill, should we not?” Jenny dabbed jam on a slice of bread. “As it is, neither of us want to draw attention to ourselves,” she added.
Susannah pursed her lips, her spoon poised over a bowl of porridge. “Very well,” she said begrudgingly. “He shall be welcomed.”
Jenny’s shoulders dipped with relief.
The preparations for Christmas were reaching their conclusion. The plum puddings had been stewed weeks ago and wrapped in paper to dry, the mistletoe hung above the doors, and the holly and ivy adorned the fireplaces. Jenny had made small gifts of marzipan and gingerbread for the farm tenants, and on Christmas Eve, she delivered them to the estate manager in a basket. The servants received theirs after dinner when everyone gathered to watch the burning of the Yule log, which had been cut down and dried in the woodshed.
They all laughed and took turns to sit upon the log to ensure good luck for the future. Jenny’s grandfather touched it with his good hand, and a crooked smile formed on his droopy face. With the log in the hearth, a small piece of blackened charcoal was retrieved from a drawer—the last remnant of the previous year’s Yule log—and the charcoal was used to light the new log. With a wassail sung and a bowl of punch consumed, the servants left the family to enjoy the last embers of the log. Somebody, probably the housemaid, would retrieve a lump of charcoal from the grate in the morning and put it to one side ready for next year.
Jenny effervesced with nervous energy, and she could not sleep that Christmas Eve. Since she had met Lieutenant Seton, he had occupied her thoughts almost continually, and contrary to what she had told her grandmother, she wished to offer him more than peace and goodwill. The sprigs of mistletoe hanging from the doorways beckoned to her, calling for her to be adventurous and seek out a kiss with the cavalry officer. He would not refuse her?
The parson was exuberant during the morning service, retelling the Nativity in all of its glory. Jenny’s palms itched inside her gloves, and even though the church was freezing—they rested their feet on heated bricks—she was glowing with a different kind of warmth. Returning the short distance to Bereworth Hall, she remained close by the entrance, pacing up and down by the blazing fire. The fog outside refused to abate, and she feared it might put him off his visit.
