Christmas Betrothals: Mistletoe Magic

The Earl of Marling seconded him. ‘Integrity and honour come from breeding, and the great families are being whittled away by men who have money, but nothing else.’

Looking down at Luc Clairmont’s hand between them, Lillian noticed his knuckles were almost white where he gripped the seat of his chair. Not as nonchalant of it all as his face might show.

Wondering at his manner she was distracted only when a crashing sound made her turn! Lord Paget was drunk and his wife was trying to settle him down again in his seat, the shards from a broken glass spilling from the goblet to the tablecloth and dribbling straight into the lap of John Wilcox-Rice.

Pushing his seat back, John tried to wipe away the damage and Paget in his stupor also reached over to help him, his fingers touching parts that Wilcox-Rice was more than obviously embarrassed by. The tussle that ensued knocked the first man into a second and the tablecloth was partly dragged away from the table, bringing food and wine crashing all around them.

Luc Clairmont was on his feet now as Paget went for Wilcox-Rice.

‘Enough,’ he said simply, pulling the offender back and blocking an ill-timed punch. ‘You are drunk. If you leave with your wife now there will be little damage come morning.’

Paget’s wife looked furious, both at her husband’s poor behaviour and at Luc Clairmont’s interference, but it was Paget who retaliated.

‘Perhaps you should be getting your own house into order, Clairmont, before casting aspersions on to ours. You were, after all, expelled from Eton and many would say that you still haven’t learned your lesson.’

‘Would they now?’ His drawl was cold and measured, the gold of his eyes tonight brittle.

‘Leave him, my dear, for he is not worth it. If St Auburn wishes to make himself a laughing-stock by insisting the American is a gentleman, then let him.’ Lady Paget seemed to be supporting the stupidity of her husband, no thanks being given for the assistance she had received from the man she now railed against.

Anger seized Lillian.

‘I would say, Lady Paget, that your manners are far less exacting than the one you would pillory. From where I sit it seems that Mr Clairmont was only trying to make certain that Lord Paget’s flagrant lack of etiquette did not harm any of the other ladies present. I for one am very glad that he intervened, as your husband’s behaviour was both frightening and unnecessary.’

With a haughty stare she looked about the table, glad when the nods of the others present seemed to support her assessment. Sometimes her position as the queen of manners was an easy crown to wear and a persuasive one. She felt the anger swaying back to the Pagets and away from Luc Clairmont as the wife picked up the heaviness of her skirts and followed her husband, an angry discourse between them distinctly heard.

Lillian did not look around at Lucas Clairmont or question his silence. Nay, she was a woman who knew that if you left people to think too much about a problem then you invariably had a larger one. Consequently she swallowed back ire and began on a topic that she knew would surely interest all the ladies present.

Luc sat next to her and hated the anger that the Pagets’ stupid comments had engendered in him. England was the only place in the world, he thought, where the deeds of the past were never forgotten nor forgiven, and where misdemeanours could crawl back into the conversation almost twenty years on.

For now, though, Lilly was chattering on forever about dresses she had seen in Paris in the summer, and if he had not been so furious he might have admired her attention in remembering the detail of such an unimportant thing.

Not to the women present, however! Each one of them was drinking in her every word and as the servants scooped away shards of china and crystal, replacing the broken with the whole, it was as if there had never been a contretemps. When the dessert of preserved cherries, figs and ginger ice-cream arrived, he noticed that everyone took a generous portion.

Warmth began to spread through him. Lillian Davenport had stood up for him in front of them all, had come to his aid like an avenging angel, her good sense and fine bearing easily persuading everyone of the poor judgement the Pagets had shown.

Indeed, she was lethal, a pale and proper thunderbolt with just the right amount of ire and refinement.

No one could criticise her or slate her decorum and it was with this thought that her offered kiss was even the more remarkable. Lord, did she not realise how easily she could fall, how the inherent nature of man would make any mishap or misconduct accountable in one so loftily placed?

He worried for her, for her goodness and her vulnerability and for the sheer effort that it must take to stay at the very top.

This weekend had been his doing, his own need to see her alone and overriding every other consideration for her welfare. And she had repaid this selfishness with dignity and assurance.

Respect vied with lust and won out. He would do nothing else to bring her reputation into disrepute. That much he promised himself.

He had not come near her since the Pagets had left, the tea taken in the front salon a sedate and formal sort of an affair, with Lucas Clairmont placing himself on the sofa the furthest away from where she sat.

Indeed, after her outburst she thought he might have been a little thankful, but he made no effort at all to converse or even look at her, giving his attention instead to Caroline Shelby and her simpering friend.

Nathaniel St Auburn at her side turned to her to speak. ‘I see you had much to talk about with Mr Clairmont earlier on, Miss Davenport?’ St Auburn’s question was asked in a tone indicating manners rather than inquisitiveness. ‘He was an old school friend of mine at Eton,’ he enlarged when he saw her surprise. 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?