Christmas Beau

And now she sat calmly beside him telling him that that was the way he had been. She still did not understand.

But she would. Oh, yes, my lady, he told her silently and bitterly, you will know what it feels like.

Chapter 10

The Marquess of Denbigh turned sideways, rested one arm on the back of the seat behind her, and slid his free hand inside her muff to rest on top of her hand.

"Perhaps," he said. "It is always difficult to know what goes on in another's mind. I thought you were content with our betrothal, Judith, but apparently you wanted something different. Well, you had it-for a while. And you have your children."

She was looking down at her muff. Her hand was warm and still beneath his own.

"Yes," she said.

There was a silence between them again, not so comfortable as before. There was an awareness, a tension between them. Her hand stirred. He looked at her, his face hardening.

"Did you love him?" he asked.

"Yes." She answered him without hesitation.

"Always?" he asked. "To the end?"

"He was my husband," she said, "and the father of my children."

"In other words," he said, "it was loyalty, not love after the honeymoon was over. Did you not know about him, Judith, before you married him?"

He thought she would not answer. She stared downward for a long time. "I was eighteen," she said. "I was still young enough to believe that one person can change another through the power of love. He was very handsome and very charming. And very persuasive. Did you know why he married me?"

He had often wondered, since though she had been beautiful and well-born, she had not been particularly wealthy. He had wondered why Easton had saddled himself with a wife when his subsequent actions had seemed to prove that it was not for love.

"He loved you, I suppose," he said.

"You did not know," she said. "I thought these things quickly became general knowledge in the gentlemen's clubs."

He felt a pulse beat in his throat. Had Easton raped her?

"Tell me," he said.

She turned to look at him and smiled ruefully before looking away down the hill. "It was a wager," she said. "It seemed that there were enough gentlemen willing to wager a great deal of money on the belief that Andrew could not snatch me away from a wealthy viscount and heir to the Marquess of Denbigh."

The pulse was hammering against his temples.

"He told me," she said, "after we had been married for about a year. He thought it a huge joke. He thought the story would amuse me."

There was one thing the marquess wished fervently. He wished that Easton were still alive so that he could kill him.

"I thought you would have known," she said.

"No."

He withdrew his hand from her muff and turned in his seat. He picked up the horses' ribbons and gave them the signal to start down the slope that would bring mem around the east side of the house. He did it all mechanically, without thought. Her words were pounding in his head.

He thought of a shy and beautiful eighteen-year-old, fresh from the schoolroom, fresh from the country, pitted against the practiced charms of a handsome and accomplished flirt and rake. She had been married because of a wager. He had suffered those months and even years of agony because of a wager.

"Your daughter must be awake by now," he said as the sleigh drew to a halt before the front doors. "Bring her downstairs for tea, Judith, will you? My aunts dote on her, if you had not noticed."

"Yes, I had,'' she said.”And I will bring her down. Thank you."

He watched her ascend the stairs to the house and disappear into the warmth of the great hall before taking the sleigh and the horses to the stable block.

Did this change everything? he wondered. Did this mean that she had been as much of a victim as he? But she was still guilty of not having said anything to him. She had still behaved dishonorably, ru

He needed to think, he knew. But he had no time to think. He would be expected indoors for tea. Besides, he did not want to think.

If there was one place in hell hotter than any other, he thought viciously as he strode back to the house, he hoped that it was occupied by Andrew Easton. It was not a Christmas wish or even a Christian one, but he wished it anyway.

The caroling had always been one of Amy's favorite parts of Christmas. This year it was even more special with almost all of the singers being children. They went from house to house, singing lustily and not always quite on key. Several of the children pushed close to her when it came time to sing.

"You got a lovely voice, mum," Joe told her. "The rest of us sounds like rusty nails."

"Speak for yerself," Val yelled at him.

Amy laughed and felt warmed and wanted and very happy. Mr. Cornwell always stood behind her shoulder, sharing the music with her.

At each house they were offered refreshments, always welcome after the cold walk. Where some of the children put all the cakes they took Amy could not fathom. For none had bulging pockets.

"There will be a few stomachaches tomorrow or the next day," Mr. Cornwell said when she mentioned her concern to him. "But it is Christmas."

Some of the smaller children showed signs of weariness before they had finished making their calls. Amy, feeling a slight dragging at her cloak, found little Henry clinging to her.

"Are you tired, sweetheart?" she asked him, and when he nodded she picked him up and carried him. How wonderful, wonderful, she thought as he nestled his head on her shoulder. She knew what the psalmist had meant when he had written of a cup ru

"Here," Mr. Cornwell said, appearing beside her, "let me take him, ma'am. Henry, is it? He is our youngest." He lifted the child gently into his own arms. "We ca

Amy laughed. "And how many angels have you heard, Mr. Cornwell?" she asked.

"In the last little while?" He gri

"Spencer," Amy said, and flushed. She had never called any man by his given name except her brothers. "Then you must call me Amy."

"Amy," he said, smiling. "A little name for a little lady. You live all the time with Mrs. Easton?"

Yes, Amy thought, as Peg ran up beside her and took her hand, my cup ru

It was almost ten o'clock when the carolers finally arrived at Denbigh Park, bringing a draft of cold air with them through the front doors and a great deal of noise and merriment. Cheeks and noses were red and eyes were shining. Stomachs were full. Five of the smallest children clutched the lanterns and hoisted them high when it came time to sing, though they were largely for effect; the hall was well lit. The smallest child of all was asleep against Mr. Cornwell's shoulder.

The marquess and his guests came down from the drawing room to listen to the carols, quite content to have their own singsong to Miss Frieda Ha

Mr. Cornwell had a hand on Amy's shoulder and watched the music she held in her hands.

The carolers made up in volume and enthusiasm what they lacked in musical talent, Judith thought after they had sung "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" as if they were summoning all listeners to the nearest tavern and "Lully Lulla Thou Little Tiny Child" as if they intended their rendition to be heard in Bethlehem.