A Wallflower Christmas (Wallflowers #5)(27)

At first Lillian had not worried about the interactions between Lady Kittridge and her husband. Women were always throwing themselves at Westcliff, who was one of the most powerful men in England. But then a correspondence had begun. And soon afterward he had gone to visit her, ostensibly to advise her on some financial matters. Finally Lillian had begun to experience the pangs of jealousy and insecurity.

“I…I’ve never been able to quite make myself believe that Marcus is truly mine,” she admitted humbly to Daisy. “He is the only person, aside from you, who’s ever truly loved me. It still seems a miracle that he should have wanted me enough to marry me. But now I think…I fear…he might be tiring of me.”

Daisy’s eyes turned huge. “Are you saying you think that he…and Lady Kittridge …”

Lillian’s eyes turned hot and blurry. “They seem to have an affinity,” she said.

“Lillian, that is madness,” Daisy whispered. “Westcliff adores you. You’re the mother of his child.”

“I’m not saying that I think he’s unfaithful,” Lillian whispered back. “He’s too honorable for that. But I don’t want him to want to.”

“Has the frequency of his…well, husbandly attentions…lessened?”

Lillian colored a little as she considered the question. “No, not at all.”

“Well, that’s good. In some of the novels I’ve read, the unfaithful spouse pays less attention to his wife after he begins an affair.”

“What else do the novels say?”

“Well, sometimes a cheating husband may wear a new scent, or start tying his cravat in a different way.”

A worried frown gathered on Lillian’s forehead. “I never notice his cravat. I’ll have to start looking at it more closely.”

“And he develops an untoward interest in his wife’s schedule.”

“Well, that doesn’t helpWestcliff has an untoward interest in everyone’s schedule.”

“What about new tricks?”

“What kind of tricks?”

Daisy kept her voice low. “In the bedroom.”

“Oh, God. Is that a sign of infidelity?” Lillian gave her a stricken glance. “How do the bloody novelists know these things?”

“Talk to him,” Daisy urged softly. “Tell him your fears. I’m sure Westcliff would never do anything to hurt you, dear.”

“No, never deliberately,” Lillian agreed, her smile turning brittle. She glanced at a nearby window, out at the cool black night. “It’s getting colder. I hope we’ll have snow for Christmas, don’t you?”

CHAPTER 9

Although Hannah and Natalie had tacitly decided to put their tiff of the previous evening behind them, the relations between them were still cool the next day. Therefore, Hannah was relieved not to be included when Natalie and Lady Blandford went with a group of ladies on a festive carriage ride through the countryside. Other women had elected to stay at Stony Cross Park, conversing over tea and handiwork, while a sizable contingent of gentlemen had left for the day to attend an ale festival in Alton.

Left to her own devices, Hannah explored the manor at her leisure, lingering in the art gallery to view scores of priceless paintings. She also visited the orangery, relishing the air spiced with citrus and bay. It was a wonderfully warm room, with iron grillwork vents admitting heat from stoves on a lower floor. She was on her way to the ballroom when she was approached by a small boy whom she recognized as one of the children she had read to.

The boy appeared apprehensive and uncertain, hurrying through the hallway in an erratic line. He was clutching some kind of wooden toy in his hand.

“Hello. Are you lost?” Hannah asked, squatting to bring herself to face level with him.

“No, miss.”

“What is your name?”

“Arthur, miss.”

“You don’t seem very happy, Arthur. Is there anything the matter?”

He nodded. “I was playing with something I shouldn’t, and now it’s stuck and I’ll get thrashed for it.”

“What is it?” she asked sympathetically. “Where were you playing?”

“I’ll show you.” Eagerly he seized her hand and pulled her along with him.

Hannah went willingly. “Where are we going?”

“The Christmas tree.”

“Oh, good. I was just heading there.”

Arthur led her to the ballroom, which, fortunately for both their sakes, was empty. The Christmas tree was quite large, glittering with decorations and treats on the bottom half, but still unadorned on the upper half.

“Something has stuck in the tree?” Hannah asked, perplexed.

“Yes, miss, right there.” He pointed to a branch well over their heads.

“I don’t see any…Oh, good Lord, what is that?”

Something dark and furry hung from the branch, something that resembled a nest. Or a dead rodent.

“It’s Mr. Bowman’s hair.”

Hannah’s eyes widened. “His toupee? But why…how …”

“Well,” Arthur explained reasonably, “I saw him taking a nap on the settee in the library, and his hair was dangling off him, and I thought it might be fun to play with. So I’ve been shooting it with my toy catapult, but then it went too high, up into the Christmas tree, and I can’t reach it. I was going to put it back on Mr. Bowman before he woke, I truly was!” He looked at her hopefully. “Can you get it down?”