A Seasonal Pursuit (Regency Christmas Brides #1)

Chapter Sixteen

CHAPTER 16

I n future, Webb was not going to advise taking in two Christmas feasts in one day. It was delicious, but so markedly uncomfortable that he had no idea how he would be expected to dance after. He would much rather go for an extensive walk, even in the dark, and perhaps go to sleep. He wasn’t particular about where he went to sleep; indoors on a bed would be lovely, but outside under the stars in the garden would also do.

But if it meant he could sit by Rose at a meal twice in one day, he just might repeat the experience.

It all depended on what happened after this meal was over.

The feast at Fairview was far grander than what they’d had at Downing a few hours ago, but that had been a meal designed to sate the appetites of children as well as adults, so the menu had been restricted. Here, on the other hand, there were quite as many vegetables as there were anything else, and at least seven different cuts of meats. Venison and goose, naturally, but there was also roast beef, capon, duck, pheasant, and pork, all steaming and well seasoned, according to the fragrances wafting through the entire room. From his present vantage point, Webb could also see brussels sprouts, potatoes, carrots, and squash, not to mention the stuffings for each of the fowls. Then there were mincemeat pies, plum puddings, fig pudding, five different kinds of bread, and black butter or any choice of preserves for that bread.

Webb was halfway through his meal and already wishing it were over. They hadn’t even reached the Christmas pudding, and he was certain there would also be syllabubs, gingerbread, and marzipan. He’d already had one glass of mulled wine and was afraid to finish the second, but other guests were not so restrained.

The volume of conversation alone told him that a few of the gentlemen had chosen brandy instead of the mulled wine or claret, and some of the ladies were clearly indulging in more wine than they normally would.

“Tell me, Rose,” Webb muttered, leaning closer to her on his left, “has the general party grown a bit merrier as the meal has gone on?”

She snickered around a bite of potato and nodded at once. “It has,” she concurred after swallowing. “I think Lady Standhope has enhanced her beverages in the hopes that it might be a very merry Christmas evening.”

“And she expects us to dance and perform music afterwards?” Webb shook his head slowly. “I shall need a long walk or a lie down before I can endure either of those things.”

“What do you think I did when we returned from Downing?” Rose hissed back through a smile. “And, if you would care to notice, I am eating very delicate amounts.” She took a particularly small bite of vegetable as though to prove her point.

Webb gave her a sardonic look. “No one will give you a sideways look for having a delicate appetite. I, on the other hand, will be asked if I require the care of a physician.”

Rose shrugged, completely unconcerned. “There are some advantages to being a woman, I will concede.”

Her little smile made him laugh as much as it nearly undid him. She’d been wearing it practically all day, and he wished with all his might that she were still wearing the crown that Molly and Kitty had arranged for her. She’d obediently worn it the entire time she had been at the house, just as the rest of them had worn their bits of greenery, and he was not the only one who had seen it more as a halo than a crown. Bash had referred to her as an angel of Christmas at one point during the meal, though Webb thought the comment might have just been for him, and Emily had pointed out how well she looked with the hellebore flowers in full bloom against the sable darkness of her hair.

His eyes tracked over her hair now, willing the memory of those flowers and ivy to come to life, just for a moment. Then he started slightly, seeing two small white flowers tucked into the delicate chignon she wore now. One might miss them with the decorative pins scattered about, but he saw them, and the closer he looked, the more he was certain they were fresh flowers and not paper ones.

“Are you wearing some of your Christmas roses in your hair?” he asked hoarsely, wishing he’d been able to remove any and all emotion from the question. It could have been a teasing point, but alas…

Rose’s cutlery clattered just a little. “Yes. Don’t tell the girls I plucked these from the crown, I couldn’t bear to break their hearts. I just wanted to keep wearing something of it for the rest of the day. Silly, really, but they were so sweet, and it is Christmas…”

Webb met her eyes, barely able to breathe. “It’s perfect,” he assured her, still not managing a steady voice. “Utterly perfect.”

Her cheeks turned a slight shade of pink, and that small smile of hers quirked just a bit further, driving him absolutely mad. “It does add a little something to the ensemble, does it not?”

Considering Rose looked positively radiant in her gown of white and gold and green, he was not in a position to believe anything needed to be added to make her more beautiful or more perfect at this moment.

And yet, the flowers from his daughter and his niece, tucked into her hair when no one present but him would know the significance…

That was more perfect.

He did not need Rose to be more perfect. She needed to be less perfect. Far, far less. Otherwise he was going to be in very great danger in a very short time.

He hadn’t been in that sort of danger for years.

God help him, he wanted that danger with her.

He nodded at her playful question, very belatedly, and returned his attention to his meal. “Do you know who you’ll want to dance with this evening? Should the dancing be so structured, of course. It could all be rather haphazard.”

“If everyone is this merry, yes, rather haphazard, indeed.” Rose scoffed a little, taking a dainty sip of her wine. “It would tell me a great deal about the gentlemen, though. I could never marry a drunkard.”

“I don’t think any are here,” Webb pointed out, willing his face to cool as he continued to eat. “Only those who occasionally overindulge. And it is a rare sort who never overindulges.”

“Do you?”

Now why would she be asking him that question? And why the devil would she ask it at this moment?

“No,” he said carefully around a bit of beef. “But my brothers do. Does Richard?”

Rose cocked her head at that. “Do you know, I have no idea? I’ve never seen Richard do so, but I cannot speak for him all the time, can I? I cannot see Alden or Colin doing so either, they are far too practical for that. But Alexander absolutely would, probably any given Thursday…”

Webb let Rose go on, listing as many of her male relations and associates as she liked and her views on whether they drank to excess, as it gave him more time to gather his wits and his thoughts, if not further his completion of his meal. Without this time to do so, he might find himself drinking to excess just to try and feel less desperate about his present state of existence.

This could not be what his sister and mother had envisioned by his attending this party. Not this sudden madness rapidly becoming an obsession. Nobody wanted their relation turned into that sort of creature, and Webb had prided himself on always being sensible even when he was sociable. Especially when he was sociable. He was reasonable, predictable, and reliable.

Always able.

He was not very able now. He was rather unable to understand himself, and that was maddening.

Still, the mulled wine could be clouding his thoughts, so he might find more clarity in the morning along with a decent headache, which might cure everything. There was nothing like a headache to ground one in reality, even if it was miserable.

“Pierce was so delighted to find a shilling in his pudding,” Rose said with a laugh, breaking into Webb’s self-absorbed thoughts. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a child so enthusiastic about a surprise bite.”

Webb smiled at that, remembering his son’s shrieks of delight earlier in the day. “I know. One would think he’d never seen money before. I think I will wait to tell him how much a farthing is worth.”

“Especially with Dominic getting a half a crown,” Rose pointed out with a tilt of her head. “And Molly a sovereign. But at least Kitty and Susan only managed pennies each. Odd how none of the adults managed money…”

“Odd, indeed.” Webb smirked and shrugged a little. “What can I say? The children must be lucky.”

Rose nodded in approval. “Do you know, I believe they are. Your children—and your nieces and nephew—are very lucky. Perhaps the most fortunate children I know.” She sobered a little, her smile rather gentle. “They know how loved they are, they know they can be their silly selves, and they know that any of the adults in their lives will take care of them. I call that incredibly fortunate. Not all families are so indulgent.”

Webb glanced at her more closely, knowing he was staring and others might see, but feeling a prickle of concern starting to tease at his ears and his stomach. “Rose?”

She shook herself a little and smiled more fully, and he saw that it did reach her eyes, much to his relief. “I am not speaking of myself, Webb. Not really. I may have had to pretend for my mother a few times out in Society, but my family is very loving. They show it in different ways than yours—”

“That’s not surprising,” he said with a snort. “We’re an unusual bunch.”

“But,” Rose went on, laughing lightly, “I never wished my family would be different. Well, I might have wished that my sisters would frown more so I would not feel so different, but that is not a fault of theirs. Rather my own, I think.”

“It is not a fault to have a range of emotions,” Webb insisted dryly, resuming his eating with a halfhearted effort. “I am fairly certain that is the way human existence is meant to be, but no one has ever instructed me on the exact details of the subject. If it makes you feel any better, it is likely one or more of your sisters might explode with pent-up emotions in the future.”

Rose choked on her wine, which made Webb snicker in delight. She picked up her napkin and dabbed at her mouth in the most delicate manner possible, her shoulders trembling with unshed laughter.

“You wretch,” she hissed in a tight voice. “Don’t do that!”

“Do what?” he asked mildly, taking a bite of his black-butter-laden bread. “I was simply saying…” He had to pause as sh e continued to laugh, her napkin going back to her mouth. “Now I have to know which sister you are imagining exploding and how that would go,” he added in a much lower voice. “In great detail.”

“Marina,” Rose answered at once, a hand going to her throat as she tried to calm herself. “She is the most effervescent of my sisters. She looks the most like me, though her hair is paler and closer to a dirty-golden color. She would be the one to go first.” She made a sound between a laugh and a snort, closing her eyes for a moment. “This is terrible, Webb.”

Again, he shrugged, this time rather pointedly. “I’m enjoying it. Exploding sisters ought to be something discussed with more frequency. Emily explodes all the time, but she’s not as constantly cheery as your sisters, from the sound of things. I blame Fred and Bash. I am sure they’ve provoked her enough to give her quite the range of emotions.”

“But never you?” Rose inquired with a mild raise of her brow.

Shaking his head with solemn firmness, Webb forced his expression into one of pure innocence. “I was the most responsible elder brother. Always respectful, always caring, always ensuring her protection. I told you yesterday, I kept her from falling down the stairs due to her blasted skirts several times.”

Rose clamped down on her lips, her mouth trying to stretch into a grin at the same time. “Quite the hero, aren’t you?”

If she hadn’t said it with the utmost sarcasm and dryness, he might have been flattered and become a trifle overcome again. As it was, he was far more entertained and delighted that she was bantering with him. That she seemed to enjoy bantering with him as much as he did her. That they had this beautiful, strange, entertaining connection between them that was so rooted in a shared sense of humor .

It was just as enjoyable as her moments of genuine compliments and flattering honesty, if he were to admit the truth.

“I do try,” Webb allowed with an indulgent nod.

The desserts came out then, and he almost groaned at the impending discomfort. The jellies, syllabubs, fruit tarts, and pastries all looked positively divine, but how in the world was he meant to function after this?

“You look more pained than a gentleman dancing a fourth quadrille in a row,” Rose told him with a laugh.

“I may need four quadrilles in a row to maintain any sort of physique after eating this,” he said, making a face. “Lord knows when I’ll be able to physically manage a single quadrille, nevertheless…needs must.” He exhaled dramatically as he looked at the dish of syllabub placed before him.

Rose giggled as she picked up her spoon, readying to eat her own. “You mustn’t offend our hostess.”

“It is true,” he concurred. “I must not.” With a grin he usually reserved for impish antics with his siblings, he quirked his brows and took a heaping bite of syllabub, sighing with pleasure at its taste.

The entire table enjoyed the desserts, as evidenced by the plethora of sounds of appreciation resounding throughout the room. One look at Lady Standhope told Webb that she took each and every one as a personal victory, if not personal compliment. Given the sheer volume of people in attendance at this house party, Webb could not blame her.

Then again, would anyone actually admit if they were not enjoying her food?

It was not too long before they were all invited to leave the dining room and move into the music room, which had been arranged in such a way that dancing could take place, but also that people could sit in chairs for a concert. Webb doubted that dancing would happen while people were singing, but the chairs would certainly be most welcome for those who were not going to dance at all. He did note that the music room was adjacent to the terrace, which had stairs down to the garden and the grounds, so perhaps a walk would be something he could do. He would certainly enjoy the cool night air after the feasts of the day, and he was feeling an exceptional amount of gratitude for the people and the goodness in his life.

Such feelings would be better suited to solitude and the openness of the outdoors. The stars in the sky and the leaves of hedges being the only witnesses. The only conversation that of the breeze against one’s hair and cheeks.

He needed such an escape.

Lady Standhope rang a small bell at the front of the music room, startling Webb out of his focus on the terrace. “Ladies and gentlemen, I think we are all a bit befuddled by the meal, so perhaps we might enjoy a few songs from our guests before we begin any dancing. Unless someone is feeling particularly light.”

A round of good-natured laughter came from the group, and Webb smiled at it.

“Could we have a waltz, Lady Standhope?” one of the young ladies asked brightly. “Before any performances, I mean. I desperately want to waltz at the moment.”

There was more laughter, louder this time, even from Lady Standhope. Webb wondered if the young lady was slightly under the influence of the evening’s wine to admit such a bold thing.

“Oh, why not?” Lady Standhope set her bell on the pianoforte and beamed. “Mrs. Fellowes, would you play a waltz for us?”

Mrs. Fellowes agreed at once and went to the instrument. Several guests moved to the area set aside for dancing, but Webb remained where he was, content to observe and listen for the time being.

A soft hissing sound came from his right and he turned in surprise. Rose stood there, the picture of absolute loveliness, her cheeks tinged with an enchanting shade of pink.

“Yes?” he greeted with a teasing air, trying to hide his curiosity.

She tilted her head towards the dancing, lips twisting a little. “To claim participation, should anyone ask.”

Webb blinked at her, his smile frozen on his face. “Are you asking me to waltz?”

“No,” Rose said with a laugh. “I am suggesting that you ask me to waltz so we might both safely say we were active participants in the activities of Christmas Day. You know there are some who will ask us both. Lying is a sin, after all.”

He didn’t care if lying were a new breed of flower, the color of the sky, or the name of the next great inventor. All he knew was that Rose wanted to waltz with him, and any excuse to do so was the best one he’d ever heard in his entire life. Stuffed with excellent food or not, he was going to waltz with her even if it were the slowest and most immobile waltz known to man. He’d have waltzed with her on one leg, if necessary.

She probably would not have made the suggestion to waltz if he had only one leg, but he’d have done it anyway.

“A sin,” Webb repeated dazedly, thinking more of a sin would have been to refuse her than anything else. “Yes, of course.” He held out his hand and she took it without hesitation, allowing him to lead her to the other couples.

It had never occurred to him to curse the wearing of gloves, but that was all his mind was doing at the present. Cursing their texture, the thickness of their fabric, and their very existence, as it kept him from feeling Rose’s palm against his own. It would keep him from doing so the entire dance, and nothing had ever chafed quite like his own gloves against his hands at this very moment.

With a swallow that seemed to contain his entire life in its lump, Webb steered Rose into the already waltzing couples, locking his eyes with hers once they were securely in the formation.

He lost sense of everything else once he’d done so. How was it possible to view the entire essence of a person simply through their eyes? How could he see the beauty of sharing Christmas Day with her, the amusement of introducing her to his siblings, the very first moment they’d met, all at once? How could her eyes never be quite the same shade from one moment to the next, but always be exquisite? How was she capable of making every moment of his day seem to matter more than the one before?

More to the point, how was he even moving in this dance while he was so connected with her? He felt his pulse in his hands, his head, his chest, his ears, and for whatever reason, his knees, and it was keeping perfect time with the music and the pace of the waltz itself. He had no idea what her pulse was doing; his own was overwhelming everything, and he knew instinctively that it would not do the same for any other woman.

There was just Rose.

Only Rose.

Her smile was particularly beguiling at the moment, something between a laugh and a sigh, her lips appearing full and rosy. If he kissed her now, would she taste of wine? Of syllabub? Fruit? Would there be some honey to her kiss that brought him to his knees and ended his life as he knew it?

He dragged his eyes away from her mouth, knowing such focus would not only be noticed, but potentially disrupt the dance between them, which would almost certainly kill him.

Rose’s eyes were darker now, bordering on a shade of violet, and his stomach clenched so hard, his breath was ripped from him.

What was she feeling? What was she thinking? Could she possibly be aware of how much she consumed his thoughts? How much he hated the idea of pairing her with anyone at this house party? Or in the entire world?

How torn he felt about her aunt Edith, giving him both the opportunity to meet Rose and the cause to lose her?

He did not even have her, but as her friend…

Her friend…

He did not want to be her friend anymore. Of course, he loved their friendship and valued it, but he wanted to add to it. Add so much more and let the beauty of that unfold before them.

Such a realization did nothing for his state of breathing nor the pace of his pulse, which skittered off the pace of the dance for a few beats.

Her fingers twitched in his hold. What did that mean? What had she felt? What did she think about this dance with him?

What did she think about him?

Then the waltz was over, and Webb was releasing his hold on her waist, keeping her hand in his a moment more.

“Thank you,” Rose murmured, her voice not quite as steady as her steps had been.

Blessed day, he’d never loved a tremble in words more in his life.

“Of course,” he rasped, unable to do more. He swallowed again. “Will you dance more later? With your list?”

Rose kept her eyes on his, then shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so. I am done for the night.”

Webb wanted to beam at the admission, but his mouth refused to cooperate, thankfully. He nodded and led her to a seat, but did not sit himself.

“Are you not going to listen to the music?” she asked.

“No,” he said shortly, finally managing a smile. “I find I am in need of a walk in the night air. Excuse me.” He nodded, kissed her glove, and turned on his heel for the terrace, craving the cool night air and the calm that would—hopefully—accompany it.