Regency Christmas Wishes(83)

“So I thought,” Jonathan murmured.

“Not quite the thing, perhaps?” Lord Montrose went on. “At least, not mine for the Christmas holiday. It almost makes me wish I’d accepted my second cousin’s invitation. But the prospect of being entertained by their five lively infants dampened my holiday spirits somewhat.”

Jonathan laughed. “Understandable. I was hesitant to visit my wife’s family for the same reason. Still, we’re leaving here in a few days for just such romps.”

“I doubt it,” Lord Montrose said serenely. “My cousin’s also expecting another addition at any hour. Mind, I don’t mind having to boil water, but only to add to my punch.”

The men laughed, though the younger gentleman’s face flushed.

“Astonishing,” Lord Montrose said, raising his quizzing glass and peering at the younger man. “You color at a hint of a medical reference, and yet I didn’t see a trace of embarrassment when those questionable tales were being told tonight.”

“And those references,” Jonathan said, grinning, “all had to do with getting a female into such a situation in the first place.”

“Well, but one’s fun, and the other is . . .”

“Reality,” Lord Montrose said.

“At any rate,” Jonathan told Lord Montrose, “I’m glad it wasn’t only my perception. I mean, about this gathering. I did think it was getting rather warm in here tonight and have been wondering at the wisdom of my bringing my bride to such a gathering.”

“Take heart. It likely was an aberration, not due to the spirit of the holiday but rather due to the spirits of the season,” Lord Montrose said with an admirably straight face.

Jonathan smiled, as expected. But his smile didn’t reach his eyes.



“Tonight, my friends,” their hostess declared when all her guests had assembled again in the salon after dinner a few minutes later, “we’ll have a scavenger hunt! With prizes!”

The company gave out a ragged cheer. Pamela smiled. Last night, she’d won at charades. The night before, she’d won at cards. She shot Jonathan a smug look and sat up straight in her excitement.

He did not return her merry glance, but rather stroked his chin and looked thoughtful.

“Now,” Marianna said as she handed out slips of paper to her lounging guests, “here’s the list. Everyone must find the objects written on their list and return them here before cock’s crow, if not sooner. Now you must all choose a partner. No, no,” she said, shaking a plump beringed finger at Pamela, “not your own life’s partner, if you please. Wives and husbands know each other too well, and so work too well in tandem, giving the married couples an unfair advantage. So we will re-pair the company and have a more interesting hunt.” She told Pamela, “Now, you, my lady, will be partnered by . . .”

“Me,” ancient Baron Oldcastle called out. “I need a supple lass to help me bend and seek.”

“No, me,” Lord Ipcress cried. “The lady’s a winner, and my luck’s been out of late.”

“If you please, youth goes to youth, so it’s me,” handsome Mr. Burroughs insisted.

Other gentlemen put in their claims as Pamela blushed with pride. She’d always been good at games.

“It’s only right to handicap a constant winner,” Marianna said. “So she gets my dear Fuff, because there never was such a fellow for not finding his own nose in front of his face!”

A great many mock groans met this announcement. Lord Fanshawe, or “Fuff” as his friends called him, grinned and waved at his guests. Pamela smiled. The old fellow didn’t make much sense, but she could have gotten a worse partner. Though she liked most of her fellow guests, she had to admit she didn’t like the looks some of the gentlemen shot at her. She now thought that because she’d been so relieved not to find monsters of depravity at Fanshawe Manor, she’d perhaps been too hasty in her praise of her hosts and their company. She tried not to be a prude, but felt that a gentleman oughtn’t to look at a married lady with such naked assessment as she’d been treated to since she’d arrived at the manor. Her elderly host’s admiration, though apparent, was not objectionable.

“And I shall have Rexford,” Marianna announced, “which is very much like old times.” As Pamela blinked, she went on, “Now, as for the rest of you . . .”

Honi soit qui mal y pense, Pamela reminded herself. It wasn’t her hostess’s fault that she so resented her so much she could scarcely exchange a word with her. But however much she knew she had to try to be more flexible now that she was a married lady, and even if her hostess was now somewhat the worse for years, still Pamela couldn’t get over the fact that the woman had been her husband’s lover. She didn’t know if she ever could. The best part was that she didn’t have to. Two more days and she’d be gone from here. It was good to see she had no dragons to fight after all, but she didn’t think she’d ever care to return. And from what she could see, neither would Jonathan. He might consider these people his friends, but she noticed he’d spent all of his time with her.