Once Upon a Christmas Eve(10)
“Although,” she mused, “Godric is awfully fond of my body this way.”
“I don’t think I want to know that,” Sarah muttered.
“Don’t you?” Megs turned sideways to view her tummy in the mirror. “I really look rather like a boiled pudding, don’t I?”
“But an attractive boiled pudding,” Sarah said loyally.
“Oh, thank you.” Megs began the process of taking off the dress. “Now tell me, what will you be wearing to the Christmas Eve ball?”
Sarah shrugged, glancing down at her hands in her lap. “Perhaps the pink brocade or the blue stripe.”
There was a silence until Sarah glanced up curiously.
Both Megs and Daniels were staring at her, though Megs was the only one with a frown. “Really? Those are both years old. What about the new forest green you had made when you came to visit us in London last?”
“I suppose I could wear that,” Sarah conceded. Would Adam like her in the forest green? She’d thought the dark, lush color had set off her pale complexion…
Except she didn’t want his attention anymore, did she?
“Darling.” She glanced up to see Megs looking at her worriedly. “Are you feeling quite the thing? You’ve seemed down these last few days.”
Sarah burst into tears.
She was horrified, absolutely horrified, but try as she might, she could not stop.
Warm arms enclosed her as Megs pulled her down to sit with her on the side of the bed. “Oh, my dear.”
Sarah inhaled shakily and looked up, mortified, but Megs must have sent Daniels away. It was just the two of them in the bedroom.
Her sister-in-law got up and brought back a glass of water and a handkerchief and pressed both into her hands.
Sarah gratefully accepted them from her and sipped the water. “I…I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Don’t you?” Megs asked very softly. “I noticed that ever since Lord d’Arque arrived you follow him with your eyes. Has he done something?”
Sarah choked back a bitter laugh. “No. It was I who did something—I told him that I did not wish to be alone with him anymore.”
“Ah.”
She looked up at Megs’s noncommittal reply.
The other woman was watching her with a small frown. “Did he hurt you?”
“Oh no, quite the opposite,” Sarah said, sounding depressed even to her own ears.
“Then…?”
“He’s a rake.” Sarah waved the damp handkerchief. “You know that. Everyone in all of England knows that. And you’re aware of how I feel about rakes.”
“Ye-es?” Megs said slowly, but she bit her lip. “But—”
Sarah blotted her eyes. “What?”
Megs sighed gustily. “It’s just that you’ve never let a gentleman court you. You don’t dance at balls and you’re so abrupt with gentlemen that most run away with their tails between their legs rather than try any more discourse with you.”
“I don’t…” Sarah’s words trailed away as she thought about what Megs had said. Was that how she truly behaved with men? Sarah felt a twinge of hurt. Megs’s description made her sound like a harpy. She met the other woman’s eyes. “I’m not that bad, am I?”
“No,” Megs hastily assured her. “It’s just that most men are rather cowardly. It seems to me that a gentleman who persists despite your sometimes daunting exterior must be very interested in you, don’t you think?”
“He’s a rake,” Sarah whispered, staring down at the sodden handkerchief in her hands. “I can’t. He can’t even tell me if he wants to marry me or not. How can I let him flirt with me, kiss me, when I don’t know if I can trust him?”
“My brother Griffin was considered a rake by many,” Megs said. “He never considered marriage. Yet once he met Hero she was all he thought about. I truly think he’d rather cut off his right hand than hurt her in any way.”
Sarah glanced at her. “You think I ought to encourage him?”
“Why not?” Megs asked gently. “As Lord d’Arque becomes more familiar with you, perhaps he will decide it is marriage he’s after. Or he may not, in which case you can turn your back to him then. But if you never make that small step of faith, never let a man try to learn your heart, you’ll never find the marriage you want. The marriage you deserve.”
Sarah looked down at her hands. “Perhaps I should simply forget Lord d’Arque altogether and settle for an ordinary man.”
“Tell me, are you at all interested in the gentlemen your mother invited for the Christmas house party?”
Sarah winced. Mama had the best of intentions, but her ploy appeared to be obvious to everyone. “They’re all nice men, of course—”
“Of course.”
“And I should find one of them interesting…”
“But?”
“I don’t,” Sarah confessed with a sigh. “I simply don’t.”
Megs smiled, looking beautiful and wise. “Then follow your heart.”
Chapter Nine
So, after breaking their fast, Prince Brad and the frog proceeded to a receiving room crowded with every sort of royal female imaginable.
Brad took one swift look, turned to the courtier, and had half the ladies dismissed.
“Why?” inquired the frog.
“Too plain,” Brad drawled.
The frog looked at him thoughtfully. “You really are very shallow.”…
—From The Frog Princess
That afternoon Adam sat by his grandmother’s bed and had a terrible suspicion. They were drinking tea together. Grand-mère sat up in bed wearing a lace-trimmed wrap, her cheeks pink as she delicately ate a bite of mince pie.
Grand-mère loved mince pie.
He narrowed his eyes. “How are you feeling?”
She set aside her plate, slumping a little, and turned sad eyes on him. “A little better, I confess.”
“Well enough to leave?”
“Oh.” She plucked at the coverlet and said in a quavering old woman’s voice, “If you think that wise. Although Christmas is the day after tomorrow and it does seem foolish to go now.”
He sighed. “Grand-mère.”
She raised her brows innocently.
“Miss St. John has made it plain that she does not enjoy my company.”
She straightened abruptly. “Whatever did you do to the gel?”
He spread his hands wide. “Nothing.”
“Well, perhaps that is the problem.” She glared at him. “A woman likes to know she is desired.”
“I fear we are past that.” Adam felt weary all of a sudden. “Miss St. John will not talk to me.”
“You may think talk is your most formidable weapon, dear grandson, but I very much doubt it is,” she stated. “Seduce the gel. It’s not as if you lack experience.” She picked up her plate of pie again. “What is it for if you don’t use it when needed?”
She eyed him wrathfully over a bite of the mince pie.
“Are you suggesting that I corrupt respectable ladies now?”
“Not ladies, merely Miss St. John. Adam…” She placed her empty plate carefully on the table next to the bed before taking his hands in her own. Her fingers felt fragile beneath his, her skin thin and so delicate. “I loved your mother, silly, foolish girl though she was, but you are the sunshine in my days. I am in my ninth decade. When I lie on my deathbed—” He shook his head, denying the mere thought, but she glared at him and squeezed his hands. “When I lie on my deathbed, I want to know that you will not be alone after I am gone.”
He closed his eyes. “Grand-mère, you needn’t worry about me. I’m hardly alone.”
“Are you not?” He opened his eyes to see her glaring fiercely at him. “I am your grandmother. I have the right to worry about you—do not try to deny me this. You are alone, my grandson. You may have so-called friends you drink with, ladies you dally with, acquaintances you greet when you see them on the street, but you have no one save myself that you are truly close to. Find someone. Please. For me.”
Adam brought their clasped hands to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “I will try.”
But he rather thought that he was doomed to fail with Sarah.
That night Sarah sat in the sitting room after dinner sipping tea and trying very, very hard not to look at Adam.
It was nearly impossible.
She’d told him herself that she couldn’t be with him, and yet…
And yet.
Well, that was the problem, wasn’t it? She simply couldn’t stop thinking about him. Megs said she should try again with him, but to herself Sarah could confess that she was frightened.
She didn’t want to be hurt again.
The question was, which was more powerful—her attraction to Adam or her fear? She found herself lighter when in Adam’s company. His humor and his quick wit drew her, but it was the somber intellect he buried underneath his banter that snared her.
She rather thought she could spend a lifetime discovering all his many aspects and never grow weary.
In the center of the sitting room several voices rose, among them Jane’s.
“A game! A game! Let us play a game.”
Sir Hilary called from his seat in a winged chair, “Shall we play charades?”