“You certainly have,” Darcy said, accepting the hug and the kiss on his cheek. “And how are you, Aunt Camilla?”
“All the better now that you are here,” she said, beaming at him. “Lovely to see you again after so long, dear boy. I’m not sure where Oswald has disappeared to. Really, it’s so hard to make him be sociable. But here are our guests, all dying to meet you: Colonel and Mrs. Rathbone, recently home from India. Mr. and Mrs. Wexler, all the way from America, and their children. The Upthorpe family from Yorkshire, and may I present you to the dowager countess Albury. Countess, this is my nephew, the Honorable Darcy O’Mara.”
Darcy went over to her and kissed her hand. She squinted at him through her lorgnette. “Kilhenny’s son? Yes, you have the look of him about you. I’ve no doubt you’re as big a rogue as he was as a young man.”
“Indubitably,” Darcy said and grinned.
“And this,” continued Lady Hawse-Gorzley, “is Lady Georgiana Rannoch.”
I had been about to eat a bite of scone, but had stood frozen with a mouthful unchewed. Now I tried to swallow it rapidly, which resulted in a fit of coughing.
It was hardly the traditional meeting of sweethearts. We didn’t rush across the room into each other’s arms. In fact, I read mixed emotions in Darcy’s astonished stare. “Good God, Georgie, what on earth are you doing here?” he said.
“Hello, Darcy,” I said, trying to recover my dignity from the coughing fit. “The same as you, apparently. Looking forward to a jolly good Christmas.”
“Ah—you two know each other. How splendid,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said. “But of course you would. You bright young things go to all the same parties in town, I’ve no doubt.”
“Shall I take Cousin Darcy up and show him his room?” Bunty asked, slipping her hand through his arm.
“You most certainly shall not,” her mother replied. “A young lady does not escort a young gentleman to a bedroom, Hortense, even if he is your cousin.”
“We’ll show Darcy his room later, Mother,” Monty said. “But at the moment we are all in dire need of refreshment and I notice scones and cream. Come on, Badger. Dig in, old chap.”
The two young men pulled over a sofa and attacked the scones. Darcy accepted a cup of tea, then came over and perched on the arm of my chair, which I found reassuring. Given his less than exuberant greeting when he saw me, I wasn’t sure how to treat him. I reminded myself that he hadn’t even contacted me properly when he arrived back in England. And a succession of wild thoughts were rushing through my head: that he might have been meeting a girl when my mother had spotted him in London at the Cafe Royal, and was embarrassed to find me here when he’d hoped to find her. Or, a second alternative, that Lady Hawse-Gorzley was no more his aunt than I was, and this was actually some kind of secret meeting of spies into which I had blundered by mistake. This one made more sense, since I suspected he secretly worked as some sort of spy. I gave him a polite little nod and waited for him to make the first move.
“How are you?” he said in a low voice. “What a lovely surprise.”
“I’m well, thank you,” I replied. “And if you’d taken the trouble to talk to me, you might have heard about my plans to come here.”
“But they told me you were spending Christmas in Scotland with the family,” he muttered to me.
“Who told you?”
“I tried to telephone you. Your sister-in-law instructed the butler to tell me,” he said. “‘Her Grace wishes me to tell you that Lady Georgiana will be unavailable over the Christmas celebration. It is to be a family affair.’ Those were the very words, I seem to remember.”
“The absolute cow,” I said. Darcy laughed. “She never mentioned that you’d telephoned. How utterly spiteful of her.”
“She doesn’t approve of me. I lead you astray, remember? So what made you leave the bosom of the family Christmas?”
“Fig’s family was descending en masse. More than body and soul could endure.”
“But what are you doing here of all places? I had no idea that you knew my aunt.”
“Darcy dear, do help yourself to tea,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said.
I could hardly say that I had answered an advertisement in front of the paying guests, so I leaned forward and poured Darcy a cup of tea. Our fingers touched as I handed it to him and I felt a shiver run all the way up my arm.
“And, Georgiana, perhaps after tea you can take the young people into the study and make plans for the things you’d like to do over Christmas. I do so want you young folk to enjoy yourselves.”
“I expect you’d like to go out for a ride in the morning, Darcy,” Bunty said, pulling up her chair closer. “Do you remember what fun we had the last time you were here and we went out riding on the moor?”
“I hardly think we’d be wise to take the horses on the moor in the snow, Bunty,” he said. “We’d never see the bogs.” He looked up with a grin. “By the way, how is your wild girl—Sally, is she? Still going strong?”
“Wild girl?” Mrs. Wexler asked nervously.
“Not really wild, just strange,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said rapidly. “A strange young woman who lives alone on the moor.” She attempted a gay laugh. “Yes, she’s still going strong.”
“And how is the village where nothing ever happens?” Darcy went on gaily. “That’s what you said last time I was here, Bunty.”
“Just as quiet and peaceful as ever,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said again rapidly. “A perfect little backwater. England the way it used to be. And that’s how we love it. Ah, here is my husband, finally.”
And Sir Oswald came in, still wearing his dreadful old tweed jacket, plus fours, old socks and boots. “Damned fellow didn’t muck out the pigs properly,” he said. “Had to do it myself.” And he promptly sat down next to Mrs. Rathbone. “God, I’m famished. Mucking out pigsties certainly brings on an appetite.”
I heard Darcy stifle a chuckle as Mrs. Rathbone moved hastily to the far end of the sofa.
“And those damned police johnnies have finally departed, thank God. Blasted inconvenient of people to go and kill themselves over Christmas. And those wretched convicts, too. Time of peace and goodwill, isn’t that what it’s supposed to be?”
“Killed themselves?” Mrs. Upthorpe asked nervously. “Who killed themselves? Where?”
“Just a couple of unfortunate accidents in the area. Nothing to be alarmed about,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said hastily. “Have another scone, do. And Alice, bring us some more tea. This is getting cold.”
“And the convicts?” Mrs. Wexler interjected.
“A couple of men escaped from Dartmoor Prison, which is several miles from here. They’ll be far away by now. The police have combed the moors.”
“How exciting. Perhaps we’ll be taken hostage,” Cherie Wexler said and got a dig in the side from her mother.
“Well, something exciting has to happen or we’ll all die of boredom,” the girl retorted.
Lady Hawse-Gorzley leaped to her feet. “Georgiana—why don’t you take the young people now and make your plans?”
“We just got here, Mother. We’ve hardly eaten anything yet,” Monty said, his mouth half full of eclair.
“And I’m still hungry,” Junior Wexler said.
“Of course, I don’t mean to rush you,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said. “In that case, why don’t I take the grown- ups and give them a tour of the house. So many fine historical features.”
The Wexlers, Upthorpes and Rathbones rose obediently, but the dowager countess stayed put. “Does the woman think I’ve never seen an historic home before? I used to be a frequent guest at Blenheim and Longleat, and Albury Park was not too shabby either. Gardens by Capability Brown.”
“Lady Albury, I do realize that you’d find the stairs too much for you,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said. “Perhaps you’d like Hortense to take you through to the little library. There is a nice fire and you’d find it more peaceful than being with the youngsters.”
“I like young people. Make me feel alive again,” the countess said. “I shall relish all the latest gossip from London. Go on, off you go.”
The adults departed dutifully, except for Sir Oswald, who was eating away merrily, quite oblivious to the fact that he smelled of pig. Lady Albury moved to the sofa, closer to Darcy and me. “So do tell me all the latest London scandal.”
“I’m afraid I’ve been in Scotland for the past few months,” I said.
