Page 16 of Mr Winterbourne's Christmas
He glanced at his mother a little self-consciously. She’d supported his father’s decision to refuse to allow him to work at the Winterbourne estate, and he wondered how she felt hearing him talking being Adam’s steward.
He needn’t have worried. She didn’t appear even to be listening, saying fretfully to his sister, “Gwen should be down by now. Althea, do go and hurry her along, will you?”
Althea rolled her eyes but she rose from the love seat and went to do her mother’s bidding.
Lady Winterbourne sighed heavily. “Really, it’s too bad.”
“What is?” Lysander asked.
“Oh, everything! First of all, I wantedallof my children to come home for Christmas. But Alexander won’t budge from London, Constance insisted on staying put in Kent, and Hector couldn’t get leave from his regiment.”
Lysander suspected Hector probably just preferred to spend his time with his army friends, but he didn’t contradict her.
“And then,” his mother continued, her tone aggrieved, “just when I’d resigned myself to only you, Althea and Gwen coming, your father decided to stay in town for another few days—for what reason I simplycan’timagine! And now Gwen’s behaving like a spoilt girl—a widow of three years who should know better! I told her to come down in a timely manner to greet our guests, but does she listen? No. Goodness knows what she’s doing up there. Reading novels or something, I suppose.” She sighed again, acting very put upon for a lady drinking ratafia with her feet up.
Lysander murmured something noncommittal and comforting. Thankfully it was too late for her to continue her rant—already the guests had begun to trickle in.
For the next quarter hour, Lysander circulated amongst his mother’s guests, making them welcome and ensuring that those who wanted a refreshment were attended to. Most of the ladies chose the sweet, rather weak punch being served, but his great-aunt Maud asked for neat brandy while his mother and Bella both opted for ratafia.
“You should be drinking lemonade,” a frowning Perry told his sister, which earned him a glance so scornful, Perry immediately subsided with a defeated sigh.
“Oh, look,” Bella said under her breath. “Here comes Mr. Freeman. He’s so handsome! I wish I could just...oh, justmarryhim!” Somehow, she managed to make the wordmarrysound unutterably filthy.
Lysander’s heart thudded as Adam strolled across the drawing room, severely elegant in his black and white evening clothes. He tried to catch Adam’s eye, but before he could do so, Adam was being hailed by one of the other guests: Sir Edmund Hunt. Hunt had been talking to Adam at tea as well, and now that Lysander could see the man’s face, he felt sure he saw a hint of flirtation there, a little too much warmth in his smile, a teasing glint in his eyes.
You’re being ridiculous, a small, sensible voice said inside Lysander’s head, but still he watched Adam covertly as he conversed with Sir Edmund, jealousy eating him up. He was glad when Mrs. Thewlis and her fiancé joined the two men, disturbing their tête-à-tête.
“Mr. Gallo is very handsome too.” Bella murmured beside him. “But I don’t suppose he has two pennies to rub together. He must be marrying Mrs. Thewlis for her fortune, don’t you think? She is so proud-looking, though she is quite attractive, I suppose.”
“Bella, for God’s sake, be quiet!” Perry hissed, his expression agonised.
“Oh, pooh!” Bella scoffed. “What did I say?”
“Things a lady doesn’t say about another lady,” Perry muttered. “And do you have to pant after everything in breeches?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, no one heard me!” she replied, but she subsided after that, falling into a moody silence as she drank her ratafia.
Catching sight of Adam again, Lysander quickly excused himself, setting off to intercept him before anyone else could. Lysander had only gone a few steps though, when a twittering, frail little voice, called his name.
“Yoo-hoo! Lysander, dear!”
He made the mistake of glancing in the direction of the voice. Its owner was his great-aunt Maud, a diminutive, rosy old lady with a lace cap covering her white hair. She sat very erect in a high-backed chair, her little feet not quite touching the ground. Anne Greenhill sat beside her, demure in a puce silk gown with her hair simply dressed. As always, Anne’s face was composed, her hands folded neatly in her lap.
Great-aunt Maud beckoned him over and reluctantly, he turned towards her, pasting on a smile as he girded himself for whatever shockingly scandalous thing she might say. Over the past few years, she’d been getting steadily more and more eccentric.
His aunt’s answering smile grew as he approached, wide and delighted.
“Oh, my dear,” she said, “Just look at you, all grown! Well, you always were the most handsome of all the Winterbourne boys, weren’t you? Hardly surprising, I suppose. Jemima wassucha beauty in her day.”
It was a fairly harmless opening, Lysander thought with cautious gratitude. He opened his mouth to say something gallant in return—but before he could do so she was continuing, leaning forward to wink broadly and add, “I prefer that one myself though.” He followed the direction of her pointing finger to discover that the object of her admiration was Perry. “A big buck like that is what most ladies want between their thighs, you mark my words!”
Lysander’s cheeks were hot enough to set the yule log alight. He glanced at Anne, whose lips were pressed together so hard the edges were white, and whose shoulders were shaking with repressed mirth.
When Anne finally had herself under control, she said brightly, changing the subject, “Mrs. Winterbourne, do tell your nephew about the adventure dear Fiddlesticks had the other day on the roof. We laughed so much, did we not?”
Great-aunt Maud smiled at her fondly and proceeded to tell Lysander all about the recent antics of her Chartreux cat—who had passed away at least a decade before.
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