Chapter Twenty-Eight
Winter in Yorkshire began early and could be bitter, but the day was pleasantly mild as Strathairn rode his horse across the paddocks to the stables. Strange, but he didn’t miss the excitement of Whitehall, although Parnham tried to tempt him back. Their intelligence network had discovered that while Forney lay ill after his rescue from the sinking boat, he was already plotting to return to England and tried to engender interest from his old colleagues.
Most had lost their taste for it and considered Bonaparte a spent force. All but Moreau turned him down flat. When the count regained his health, he traveled to England. He landed in East Sussex where he remained for some months on a Frenchman’s farm. After, taking the Frenchman into custody, with some persuasion, they learned how the plan was formulated. Countess Forney and Moreau first arrived in London to set their plan in motion while Forney remained out of sight. Moreau traveled north to stir up the people, and Countess Forney set about abducting Guy’s baby. Forney came up to London to witness the Prince of Wales’s assassination at Moreau’s hand and to watch Strathairn suffer defeat on that day before Forney shot him.
Strathairn felt more at ease and his troubling dreams of the war seemed to have vanished. He did not attempt to delve too deeply into the reason. It was enough that he slept well and woke looking forward to the day. All he needed now to make his life complete was for Sibella to be here with him. And he must woo her. So, he began to write to her, telling her about his day, the horses, the beautiful place in which he lived, how Vaughn’s romance was progressing or the lack of it, and the puppies’ antics. He talked about Linden Hall, how it sorely needed a lady to care for it.
Men were not domestic creatures, and he hated such a beautiful house to go unloved. He kept his letters light in tone, filling them with humorous situations and descriptions. He resisted waxing lyrical about how much he loved her, nor tried to draw a declaration from her. And he did not say he was coming to see her. Why he wasn’t sure, but perhaps he feared that she would hastily reply and end their association. Time, he thought was on his side. She had loved him, he’d been sure of it. Did she still?
And her letters were much in the same vein as his. About her garden, her mother settling into the dower house, news about Maria and Harry. And how much more relaxed Chaloner seemed, which she put down to Lavinia liking to have Brandreth Park finally under her control.
Strathairn rode across the cobbles of the stable block and found Edward patting a horse and talking to his younger brother. He dismounted and threw the reins to a stable hand. “Edward! How good to see you.”
Edward shook his hand. “I must address you correctly, my lord marquess! Chaloner witnessed your investiture by the Privy Council.”
“Let’s not make a fuss over nothing,” Strathairn said with a grin. He hadn’t expected to care, but found he did. The work he’d performed over the years had in some way been ennobled, and his contribution to his country valued. Work, considered objectionable by most gentlemen of the ton, which had seared his very soul. He only wished his father could have witnessed the formal ceremony in the Lords and heard Prinny’s fulsome praise.
“I’ve been visiting a friend in Edinburgh,” Edward explained. “How are you both? Still getting on?”
“We’ve become a trifle dull.” Strathairn winked at Vaughn, “And welcome your company.” He resisted mentioning Vaughn’s flourishing relationship with the apothecary’s daughter in the village, although he wrote Sibella about it, because Vaughn told him she knew. He doubted Chaloner would agree to them marrying.
The companionship of the two Brandreths caused him a pang of yearning. If Chaloner had not warned him off marrying Sibella, he might have given in to the impulse last year. But he’d conceded that at that time. Chaloner had been right. He would not have made Sibella happy. But he was confident he could now, and was keen to convince her he longed for hearth and home with her at his side. He seethed with impatience to advise her of it. “Time for a drink, I believe. You will stay of course.”
Edward chatted about that which he’d found inferior in Scottish society compared to the English as they walked along the gravel drive to the front of the hall where his butler waited dwarfed by the entry. “Lord Edward will be staying, Rhodes. Please inform the housekeeper.”
Edward’s carriage stood on the circle, and Strathairn gave orders to have it driven to the stable mews.
“So, what news is there from home?” Strathairn asked, as he led them inside.
Edward grinned. “That is one of the reasons I am here. Chaloner has invited you to spend Christmas with us.”
*
When she thought she spied snow clouds hovering on the horizon on Christmas Eve, Sibella gave an anguished gasp. It was too early for snow, surely. If it should snow, would John be able to reach them tomorrow? Her emotions rose and fell like a gusty breeze after Edward told her John had accepted their invitation. She kept busy organizing every detail while conferring constantly with Lavinia, who was even more nervous than she was to have full control of organizing a family Christmas, and very grateful for her help.
The entire Brandreth clan gathered in the salon where the Christmas log blazed in the fireplace. Promised a pantomime tomorrow, Nurse ushered the noisy, excited children who had eaten too much marchpane and gingerbread away to bed.
Maria played While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks by Night on the pianoforte while Harry turned the pages. Cordelia and Roland accompanied her on harp and cello, while Aida and Peter sang along. Sibella admired the room swaddled in greenery and brightened with red holly. A tall yew tree stood in one corner decorated with candles, gifts, dried fruit and nuts, a custom her mother had taken up after hearing of it from Queen Charlotte. Sibella ticked over the list in her mind. In the kitchen, the plum puddings were prepared, a turkey, goose, and a ham dressed in readiness along with various other meats. Piles of fresh vegetables plucked from the kitchen garden. Wine, champagne, and ratafia brought from the cellar. The servants’ boxes were ready for tomorrow while foxhunting was planned for Boxing Day, unless a bout of unseasonable weather put paid to it.
Earlier, carolers arrived to sing at their door. After a chorus of Deck the Halls and Here We Come a-Wassailing, they were fortified with mulled wine and mince pies.
In the warm salon, the Christmas hymn ended. With a lot of laughter, Harry kissed Maria beneath the mistletoe dangling from the chandelier, and Chaloner captured the protesting Lavinia to do the same.
The knocker rang out again. Sibella expected a tenant offering a tithe. Her breath hitched when Belton announced the Marquess of Strathairn. John walked in with his valet following, his arms laden with boxes.
“Just a few things from the home farm, some cheeses, apple brandy, and so on. Hobson, take them to the kitchen.” He smiled at everyone. “Merry Christmas.”
Oddly breathless, she hung back as the family crowded around him. He was handsome in his dark gray coat, pearl-colored silk waistcoat, and dark trousers, but somehow different.
Might it be her imagination or was there a more settled look about him, a new maturity in his face. Whatever it was, the sight of him made her breathless. He bent over her hand and she went still at finding such passion in his eyes.
“Lady Sibella.” John eyed the mistletoe above their heads. A smile curled his lips. He dipped his head and kissed her. Everyone gasped and broke into applause.
“If you’ll excuse us for a moment,” Strathairn said. “I should like a moment alone with Lady Sibella.”
“Oh, yes. Perhaps the conservatory?” Sibella led him among the plants where they could be alone. When she turned to face him, he took her hands in his. Shocked, she realized the brave man was nervous. “You must marry me now that I’ve kissed you in front of your family,” he said, with an endearing grin.
“That’s not a very romantic proposal.” She was shaky herself. “It’s more of a demand.”
He swallowed. “I love you, Sibella. I want to share my life with you. Will you accept if I go down on bended knee?”
“Oh no.” She laughed and drew him close. “You will dirty your fine clothes.”
He needed little encouragement, wrapping his arms tight around her, his breath hot against her ear. “Will you?” he whispered against her hair.
“We must talk,” she protested weakly, her body turning warm and heavy as his lips trailed across her cheek.
“We have a lifetime to talk, do we not?” he whispered against her mouth.
His hands explored the hollows of her back. She put her arms around his neck and gave in to the kiss, relishing his touch as she breathed in the smell of clean male. The kiss ended and left them both breathless as she clutched his coat. “I will marry you, John. As soon as the banns are read,” she said, her voice unsteady.
“No need for that. I’ve had the license for a while,” he said, his husky voice and loving gaze making her sigh. “A bit creased in one corner, but I’m confident it will suffice.”