A Christmas Bride Part 4

"No, sir." He stared down at Serenity's face, which was bleached with pain. In the shadow of the shallow brim of the bonnet he had obtained for her from Mrs. Bridges, he could see the angry color of the cut along her forehead. "Serenity was the victim of a carriage accident."

His grandfather's face became as ashen as Serenity's. "How did that happen? Jenkins controls a carriage with rare skill."

"Not Jenkins, Grandfather. Serenity's carriage went off the road and-"

"She was not traveling from London with you?"

Again Timothy wanted to spout his prayers backward, but he must act as calm as his supposed fiancee's name. He hated having to compound his lies with more out-and-outers. Yet this had gone too far to turn back now. "We had planned to meet just north of York. We chanced to find her carriage overturned off a slippery section of the road."

"Her companions?"

"Dead." Felix stepped forward, surprising Timothy, because his cousin usually did not wait this long to become a part of any conversation between Timothy and their mutual grandfather. "That she is alive is a miracle."

Grandfather scowled. "This young woman was in a carriage accident, and the two of you brought her here to jaw over formalities that could have waited until she was feeling better? Timothy, I expected better of you."

Felix grumbled, and Timothy did not have to look at his cousin to know he was scowling. This was one thing that Timothy did find vexing about his cousin. If Grandfather complimented-or even chided-Timothy, Felix acted affronted that he was not included. Timothy could not guess why his cousin wanted to be dressed down for being a widgeon.

"Serenity has been eager to put the anxiety of her first meeting with you behind her with all due speed," he said. That, at least, was the truth. Her fingers had dug into his arm more on every riser.

When she shifted in his arms and moaned softly, Grandfather said, "See to her comfort, Timothy, and then return here. I have several matters I wish to discuss with you alone."

"Yes, Grandfather." As he turned toward the door, he caught a glimpse of Felix's face in the reflection of a mirror set by the windows. His cousin was glowering.

He was tempted to tell Felix that his cousin was welcome to stay here and speak with Grandfather alone. His own conversation with Grandfather was one that Timothy did not antic.i.p.ate with pleasure.

Five.

Serenity opened her eyes, but the world was still in motion. She looked up at the ceiling. It was not the painted one of the earl's parlor. What ...?

"Take care!" came a warning that echoed close to her ear.

She gasped when she realized she was being carried along a pa.s.sage. Carried by Timothy! "Sweet heavens! What happened?"

"You nearly toppled on your pert nose in front of my grandfather." He chuckled. "If I had not caught you, you would have made an indelible first impression in the middle of his rug. How are you feeling?"

"Good enough to walk on my own, I daresay."

"Do you daresay?" His smile grew tight. "I daresay I would rather not test that on the runner in this hall." When she opened her mouth to reply, he cut her off with, "Here we are."

She hunched and drew in her feet as he paused by a door, but he b.u.mped neither her head nor her toes when he pushed it open. When he kicked it closed behind them, she asked, "Do you think that was wise?"

"What?"

"Closing the door. We are supposed to be only betrothed, Timothy, not wed."

"I shall open the door again once you are settled comfortably. With your skittishness, you must have safeguarded your lady's virtue well." Instantly he added, "Forgive me, Serenity, for my thoughtless words. I should not remind you of your loss."

"'Tis no loss, for I cannot recall anything about the lady I served."

"That may be to your benefit now as you make yourself at home in your rooms."

Serenity looked around the chamber that was beautifully decorated, completely unlike the plain room at the inn. Windows arched toward the distant ceiling. They were swathed in navy velvet that brushed the carpet, which was only a shade lighter. White furniture seemed to be floating on that sea of blue. Chairs were scattered about next to small tables where books were stacked. A dressing table was set beside a trio of windows where the drapes had been pulled back to allow in the faint sun's glow through the swirling clumps of snow.

When he carried her across the Persian rug set atop the carpet by the door, she bit her lip to silence her dismay. She might be a lady's maid, but even a lady's maid knew that a gentleman should not be carrying her toward a bed in a deserted bedchamber.

"Timothy, I can manage to get to a chair on my own now."

"Your words sound more certain of that than your voice. You still have a gray tint to your face. Allow me to do the right thing." He laughed without mirth. "For once through this whole debacle."

His self-deprecation dismayed her. She had most likely made the situation worse. How could she make it better? He would not want her sympathy, because that would exacerbate his remorse at lying to his grandfather.

Forcing a smile, she asked, "You like playing the hero, don't you?"

"It seems I have no choice." He set her on the pale coverlet atop the oak tester bed. "You keep offering me the opportunity by threatening to swoon at the most inopportune moments."

She let the pillows enfold her. "I will try to recall that I should threaten to swoon only at the most opportune moments."

With a chuckle, he leaned one hand against the headboard. "How did you curb that tongue of yours when you were in service?"

"I don't know."

Timothy swallowed his curse as the desolate expression stole the light from Serenity's eyes. Blast! He could not let her lighthearted jests tease him into hurting her by constantly reminding her how much had been taken from her in that accident. Not only her employers, who must have thought highly of her to have her riding in the coach with them, but she had lost her very self.

"I am sorry," he said softly. "Again. I fear, no matter how I try to watch my words, I will continue to say the mistaken thing."

"You need not be sorry." She put her hand over his on the bed. "I appreciate all your kindnesses, Timothy. You have been a tip-top gentleman about the whole of this. I know you hate lying to your grandfather as you are."

"It shows that much?"

She nodded.

"If he is as perceptive as you, this scheme shall be for naught."

Pushing herself up, she said, "I promised to help you, and I shall."

He knew he should answer, but he could not find a single word as he looked down into those silvery eyes he had never guessed he would see beyond his fantasies. His gaze slid along her slender nose to the warm curve of her mouth. It was a mouth that invited his kiss. And why not? This was the very woman he had created from his imagination. How many nights had he and Felix spent sitting in his book-room and making up details about Serenity Adams and the outings Timothy had enjoyed with her on their way to a betrothal? Egad, how would he recall the lot? Mayhap Grandfather had kept the letters. If so, he would have Branson obtain them for him.

"Let me help," he said when she fumbled with the ribbons on her bonnet.

"Thank you."

He bent to look at the tight knot. Prying it apart, he said, "You have made a complete jumble of this."

Her laugh stroked the side of his face with its warmth. As he drew aside the ribbons, she reached to lift off her bonnet. He halted her when his fingers edged slowly up her cheeks to lift it away. Her eyes widened at his presumptuous touch, and her hands settled on his. He smiled when she did not push him away. As the bonnet fell away to roll down the pillows to the coverlet, he let his fingers sift up through her sable hair. Her lips parted in the unspoken offer that had haunted his dreams, an offer that sent craving through him.

A throat cleared behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see a middle-aged woman standing in the door of what he knew was the dressing room. He was torn between laughing and cursing at his grandfather's wisdom. Mrs. Scott would be the best watchdog for any young woman in this house, for she had much experience keeping the maids and the footmen from entanglements that would create a to-do in Cheyney Park.

As he reached past Serenity to pick up her bonnet, he knew Mrs. Scott had not arrived a moment too soon. He might be out of his head to have considered kissing Serenity, but it was the only thought in his head now.

"Lord Cheyney," Mrs. Scott said in her no-nonsense voice.

"Mrs. Scott." He nodded toward her, the temptation to laugh growing stronger. She could not rid herself of the habit of treating him as if he still were a child. If she could be privy to the thoughts in his head right now, she would know there was nothing childish left about him.

She bustled into the room and over to the bed. She did not quite elbow him aside, but he suspected she would have if he had not stepped back.

"You must be Serenity Adams," Mrs. Scott said as she took the bonnet from him.

Serenity glanced from Timothy's twitching lips to the pursed ones of this imposing woman. Although Mrs. Scott was shorter than Timothy and wore a dress the same color as her gray hair, she seemed to take control of the chamber with her calm demeanor.

"Yes, ma'am," she replied. No one had to tell Serenity that Mrs. Scott was the housekeeper, for she had the air of a woman firmly in charge.

"Lord Brookindale asked me to see if you had everything you need, Miss Adams." She scowled at Timothy. "He said nothing about your needs, my lord."

Serenity was sure her cheeks were as fiery red as a wintry sunset. When Timothy laughed, she wondered if her mind had been injured in the carriage accident as well as her forehead. No one here reacted as she expected them to.

"I see," Timothy said, "you remain as outspoken as ever, Mrs. Scott."

"One learns to be outspoken here if one wants to be heard over the hubbub." The housekeeper lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "They both are due to arrive within a week."

"Both?"

"Your aunt from the Continent and that woman your cousin Felix seems to have developed some affection for." Her nose wrinkled as if the house were about to be invaded by some sort of plague.

Timothy's smile wavered as he glanced at Serenity. "You might as well know the truth right from the onset. Mrs. Scott speaks of my aunt Ilse, who married into the household of some minor Prussian state that I am sure you have never heard of. None of us had until she announced her plans to marry Prince Rupert."

"And the other?" Serenity asked. She wanted to know as much as she could about this household and its residents and guests so she did not ruin his plan.

"The other is Melanda Hayes, who is, without question, one of the most vexing people in England." He winked at Mrs. Scott. "Or mayhap in the whole world."

"You have traveled farther than I have, my lord," she said in the same precise tone. "I will have to leave that judgment to you while you leave Miss Adams to me. The earl wants her to rest after her ordeal."

"So rest she shall." Timothy chuckled. "How are you, Mrs. Scott? You look well."

"Other than the knee ..." She set the bonnet on the dressing table and smiled. "Life would not be interesting if it were perfect."

"And the plans are going well?"

Mrs. Scott glanced at the bed.

"I have taken Miss Adams into my confidence about many of the details of the plans for Grandfather's party." Timothy's smile wavered again, and Serenity guessed he would tell her the whole of it as soon as he could, so he did not have to be false with the housekeeper. "You can speak plainly in front of her about any of it."

"But not now!" She wagged a finger at him. "My lord, the earl wishes Miss Adams to rest now."

"I understand." He brushed Serenity's face with the back of his fingertips. "Rest well, sweetheart."

Her heart thudded against her chest. Because of his touch? Because of his words? She must have hit her head even harder than she had guessed if she would give credence to either. This was a game only.

"Yes," she whispered, "I shall rest." Mayhap, when she woke, she would have herself back under control, so she would not react so strongly to what was only playacting.

Shutting her eyes, she watched from under her lashes as Timothy turned away from the bed. He walked away only a few steps, motioning for Mrs. Scott to come over to where he stood. Only by straining could she hear their low voices.

"Miss Adams will need to replace her wardrobe that was destroyed in the carriage accident," he said.

A wardrobe! Her eyes popped open. She had not realized how much this deception would cost Timothy. It was only a few weeks until Christmas. To spend all that money on a wardrobe for her that she could not use when she regained her memories and went back into service seemed ludicrous.

"Of course." Mrs. Scott smiled at her. "If you will give me the name and address of your modiste, Miss Adams, I shall have a message sent for her to come here."

Serenity bit her lower lip. A seamstress? She had no idea of the name of any.

"My dear Serenity," Timothy said so quickly that she doubted if Mrs. Scott had noticed her hesitation, "I recall you telling me that you had admired a bosom-bow's dress and had learned of Madame DuLac's skill with a needle. Mrs. Scott, I shall give you the address. I believe Miss Adams should rest now."

"Those were your grandfather's orders." Mrs. Scott's eyes twinkled. "If you will be so kind to recall that, my lord."

"I doubt you would allow me to forget." Timothy grinned again. "I shall leave Miss Adams to your capable care while I retrieve Madame's address."

Serenity let her shoulders relax back into the pillows as he walked out of the room, which seemed so empty without him. Don't be absurd! With the fire dancing on the hearth as the wind teased the windows, this was probably the finest room she had ever been in.

Mrs. Scott walked over to the bed and smiled. "May I say that, despite the mishaps you suffered on your way here, you look well?"

"Thank you." Cheyney Park must have the most efficient system of gossip in all of England. Serenity was unsure if anyone had mentioned the carriage accident. How long had she been senseless?

She looked at a gilded clock on the mantel and relaxed again. It must have been for only a few minutes that she had lost consciousness. Wrapping her arms around herself, she thought of how perfect it had been to be cradled in Timothy's strong arms. The beat of his heart beneath her ear had been sweet music, urging her heart to match its rhythm. It had been wondrous.

"We have been looking forward to your visit, Miss Adams." The housekeeper's voice ripped her away from her reverie of forbidden dreams.

"You have?" She hoped Mrs. Scott had not said something else she had missed.

"I don't usually talk out of turn, but the earl is always happy to see his grandson, the viscount, and more so than ever this time when Lord Cheyney has brought you to meet his grandfather."

"I hope I can meet his expectations." That was the most honest thing she had said since she woke in the inn.

"Don't mind the earl's bl.u.s.ter, Miss Adams. He is deeply devoted to those of his family he respects. The others ..." She shrugged and began to undo Serenity's left shoe. Setting it on the floor, she reached for the other one.

Wanting to ask who the others were, because she was hungry for any information that might help her keep from revealing the truth of this deception, Serenity simply smiled. A lady would not gossip with a servant. Again that was something she knew with a certainty that was inexplicable when so much of her past was gone. Mayhap she had been a prattlebox, and her employer had chastised her with a similar comment. Odd, though, for she did not seem to be a prattlebox.

It did appear that, given the opportunity, Mrs. Scott was. Or mayhap it was nothing more than that she was trying to offer a welcome to the woman she believed would be the next chatelaine of Cheyney Park. As she drew the covers all around Serenity, the housekeeper said, "I shall send Nan to help you, Miss Adams. She is young, but not without experience as an abigail. The earl hired her last year when ..." She glanced at the clock on the mantel. "Dear me, look at the time. I told Cook I would be up here for only a few minutes. Is there anything else you need just now?"

"Lord Brookindale's prescription for me to rest sounds wisest just now," Serenity replied, trying to keep her smile in place. All she wanted to do was close her eyes and fall asleep. Then she could forget the whole of this. "I want to recover quickly from this accident, so I can watch the house being decorated for the holidays."

"The holidays!" Mrs. Scott rolled her eyes. "I dread them every year. It is busy enough with Christmas and New Year's Day and Twelfth Night, but the earl's birthday makes things even more hectic."

"Especially this year when he reaches the seventieth anniversary of his birth."