Christmas Betrothals: Mistletoe Magic. Amanda McCabe

Lillian pondered the thought.

      ‘I didn’t realise that he once lived in England.’ The cameo of a younger Lucas Clairmont intriguing her. ‘He seems too … American?’

      Nathaniel chuckled, but there was something in the sound that made her think. She pressed on.

      ‘Have you ever visited him in Virginia?’

      ‘I have.’

      ‘And you enjoyed it?’

      ‘I did!’

      Lillian grated her teeth, wishing that his answers might be enlarged so as to give her an insight into the personality of the man sitting across the room from her.

      ‘Mr Clairmont says his home is near a river. The James, I think he said. Does he have family there?’ She hoped that the interest she could hear in her words was not so obvious to him.

      ‘His wife was from those parts, but she died in a carriage accident. A nasty thing that, because Luc blamed himself, as any gentleman of sensitivity might.’

      Relief bloomed at Luc Clairmont’s innocence in his wife’s demise. After all the darker conjectures in society, Lillian was pleased to find out that the cause of the woman’s death had been an accident, though she had a strange feeling that St Auburn’s words were carefully chosen. In warning or in explanation? She could not tell which.

      ‘So you think him a sensitive man?’

      ‘Indeed I do, but I can see by your frown that you may not?’

      ‘I have heard things …’

      He did not let her finish. ‘Give him a chance,’ he said softly and she almost thought that she hadn’t heard it before he turned away.

      Give him a chance! Of what? She felt again the warmth of Lucas Clairmont’s arm against hers where they had not quite touched at the dinner table. If she had moved closer she might have felt him truly, but she had not been brave enough to try. Not there, not then, not with such hooded enquiry seen in so many eyes.

      Lord, she seldom came to these country weekend parties and knew now again why she did not. She was stuck here at least till the morrow, any means of escape dubious with her aunt in tow.

      John next to her interrupted, making his displeasure known. ‘Surely you can see, Lillian, just how the sort of outburst you gave at dinner is damaging? Far wiser indeed to let these small spats run their course and stay well out of it.’

      ‘Even if I should perceive the criticism unfair?’ she returned. His social mannerisms were becoming more and more annoying tonight with every new piece of advice that he offered her.

      ‘You are a lady of breeding and cultivation. It is not seemly to be defending a man who has neither.’

      ‘Paget was hardly in order.’

      ‘He was not expelled from Eton for stealing either.’

      ‘Stealing?’ The word caught her short.

      ‘Clairmont the youth took a watch from the headmaster’s study and hid it in his blankets. When it was found he admitted the theft and was sent down.’

      Lillian felt her hands grip her side. Why was nothing ever easy as far as Lucas Clairmont was concerned? Why could she not find out something noble and virtuous about him instead of being plagued with a never-ending lack of moral fibre?

      And why would a small boy steal a watch anyway? For money? To know the time? She could fathom neither the reason nor the risk. Why indeed had he not hidden it in a place no one would ever think to look? She took in a breath. No. She must not excuse him and take his side. Not for theft!

      She was pleased when the older guests began to take their leave and was able to gladly follow, John accompanying her upstairs to her room.

      ‘It has been a pleasure to be in your company today, Lillian,’ he said as she opened her door, and she had the distinct impression that he was angling to kiss her again.

      Consequently she sneezed three times, holding her handkerchief across her mouth and sniffing.

      ‘My goodness, perhaps I have caught Aunt Jean’s cold?’

      ‘Will I call the housekeeper and ask her for some medicine?’ The amorous look in his eyes was completely overtaken by concern.

      ‘No, please do not bother. If I just go to sleep early …’ She stopped and sneezed again and he moved back.

      ‘Well, I suppose this is goodnight?’ The words were said awkwardly and with disappointment.

      ‘Thank you for walking me up.’

      ‘It was my pleasure.’

      She stepped inside and closed the door, standing still on the other side and replacing her handkerchief in her pocket. One night down and one more to go! Tomorrow she would make certain that she came up with the women in order to ensure no repeat performance of John’s eagerness in seeing her alone.

       Chapter Nine

      A riding expedition seemed to be the entertainment for the next afternoon and as a keen horsewoman Lillian was looking forward to the freedom of racing across the Kentish countryside, though the eastern sky was draped in black billowing cloud.

      Lucas Clairmont was again distant; he had tipped his hat as he had passed her, making his way to his horse, but he neither stopped in conversation nor offered to help her mount. John on the other hand was all attentive vigilance and her heart sank. Lucas Clairmont was due to return to America at the end of December, and would not return for many a long, long year, if ever. She was running out of time, the month of December almost upon them, and her father’s demands of a Christmas engagement beginning to look more and more worrying.

      Pulling her cloak around her neck to make the fur collar sit up, she ordered the horse on. A sorrel mare, it was neither fancy nor plain and its disposition as far as she could tell was pleasant. A horse much like the man who rode beside her, seeing to her every whim.

      Caroline Shelby’s mount trotted between St Auburn and Luc, her laughter returning on the eddy of wind to the rear of the pack. Three other couples completed the group, the Pagets conspicuous by their absence; Lillian presumed them to have packed their things and left. She sighed, hoping her father would not meet the odious man at his club and hear the story of her defence of Mr Clairmont as only he would probably see it. She seldom made enemies of people and the fact that she had worried her.

      ‘Lady St Auburn has not joined us this morning.’

      John’s tone was puzzled.

      ‘Perhaps she will later,’ Lillian ventured, though she, too, had been surprised by Cassandra’s absence. In fact, if she thought about it, she was also surprised by the closeness of the relationship between the St Auburns and Luc Clairmont. Nathaniel had said that he had been to see him in Virginia. Had Cassandra gone as well? Tonight she would make certain that she asked Cassie of the details and ask her also as to the size of any land Lucas Clairmont owned.

      If only he were … what? she ventured. Rich? Well liked? Connected to the right people? Her musings took on a shallowness that she would have thought abhorrent in others. Yet she could not pursue a man whose very presence aroused such strong condemnation in those about him.

      The strictures and codes that applied to everyday social life were after all there for a reason and the protection that they afforded was comforting. Even John’s own layer of conventionality heartened her, for at least she could control him.

      Luc Clairmont would be raw and ungovernable. The words made her wonder. He would not be repelled by a few false sneezes as John had been last night or distracted along any lines that she might favour. He would not be cajoled or dominated or managed. She remembered his kisses and her own unrestrained reaction to them and breathed in hard.

      No. No. No.

      Safety