Page 30 of Mr Winterbourne's Christmas
Chapter 11 - Adam
Adam wasn’t sure howhe got through the rest of dinner. Servants circled with silver platters and decanters, doling out food and wine he didn’t want. His table companions spoke, and he smiled and nodded, giving every indication of listening, though he couldn’t have said afterwards what it was they were talking about.
All he could think about was Lysander. His expression when his father had said, “I could not be prouder of him.” As though he had been waiting a lifetime to hear those words—and perhaps he had.
He remembered too Lysander’s face when they’d first ridden into the village—the happiness as he took in the familiar surroundings, then the dismay when he realised that the promised works had not been carried out.
Lysander really did love this place. He would want to set those wrongs to right—and now he could do so.
Adam knew Lysander missed his family too, and his friends. He’d spent the past year and a half holed up in a quiet corner of Buckinghamshire, seeing no one but Adam and his occasional visitors. Observing him here, at Winterbourne Abbey, Adam had been reminded of how sociable Lysander was. How well-liked.
He didn’t even need Adam as a lover. It turned out he had other prospects. Lord Perry Cavendish, for example. Someone Lysander hadn’t even known preferred men till today. What if he’d known before now? Would Adam have been able to so easily sweep him off to Edgeley Park then? Probably not. Which begged a question: why would he want to return to Edgeley Park when he could stay here and have everything he’d ever wanted?
“I’m afraid we’re depriving you gentlemen of your port and manly conversation tonight,” Lady Winterbourne announced, interrupting Adam’s thoughts. He looked up. This was the part of the evening when she usually led the ladies to the drawing room for tea, but now she stood at the head of the table beside the earl. “We thought we’d have a little dancing this evening instead,” she continued. “Miss Greenhill has the headache and has had to retire I’m afraid, but Mrs. Griffiths has agreed to play for us, and the servants have moved the furniture back already. We won’t have acres of room, but enough for a set or two.”
Adam groaned inwardly at the thought of dancing but pasted a smile on his face and rose from his seat, obediently following the other guests out of the dining room.
As soon as they reached the drawing room, Mrs. Griffiths sat down at the pianoforte and began to play a ditty while Lady Winterbourne set about organising a set for a country dance.
“Lysander, you can partner Althea,” Lady Winterbourne decreed. “And Simon can dance with Mrs. Gould.” She looked around for Sir Edmund, smiling broadly when she found him. “Sir Edmund will dance with Gwen, of course. And who else do we have? Dear Arabella, pray sit down, youobviouslycan’t dance, my dear—you can barely stand! Mrs. Thewlis, would you care to join the set?”
Mrs. Thewlis sank onto a sofa, sending a wintry smile in Lady Winterbourne’s direction. “Thank you, no.” She beckoned Gallo to her with an imperious gesture. “Dancing is so tiring.”
Lady Winterbourne somehow managed to give the impression of rolling her eyes at that without actually doing so or being in any way offensive, which Adam thought was a neat trick.
“Very well,” she said cheerfully, turning to Adam. “Then, Mr. Freeman, it seems you will have the honour of dancing with me.” She winked at him roguishly and held out her hands, and in that moment all he could think was how much she reminded him of Lysander, with her warm, sunny nature. It made Adam feel oddly affectionate towards her.
“I’m a terrible dancer,” he confessed as he walked towards her, though he took her proffered hands.
“It’s all right,” she said, twinkling up at him. “I’m marvellous.”
It wasn’t too bad in the end. Lysander had taught him a little dancing this past year—for the sake of neighbourly relations, he said, since occasionally Adam needed to attend small assemblies. Lysander had insisted that as a bare minimum Adam should be able to adequately perform the simplest country dances. It had been worth it for the lessons, which always reminded Adam of the day he’d met Lysander, when he and Lysander had danced—and kissed—for the first time under the stars on a deserted balcony.
Their more recent lessons might have been less romantic, but they had also been more successful. Adam found himself performing the steps without even having to think about what he was doing, and when the set finally ended, Lady Winterbourne cheerfully released him. With Mrs. Griffiths playing the pianoforte, Mrs. Thewlis refusing to dance, and both Lady Arabella and Miss Greenhill having retired to bed with their respective maladies, there were, unusually, more gentlemen than ladies available to dance. The music had barely stopped when Mr. Griffiths was stepping forward to claim Lady Winterbourne for the next set.
Adam took the opportunity to slip away. He craved a few minutes of quiet to consider the implications of the earl’s announcement—and to experience in private the pain he sensed awaited him. He wanted the darkness. The cold night air on his skin. To be away from people and voices and music.
He wanted to be alone.
A door at the rear of the drawing room gave onto a narrow stone terrace that overlooked the gardens below. Someone had opened the door a fraction to let in some air—it stood very slightly ajar and needed only the gentlest push to let Adam slip out onto to the terrace.
It was an enchanting winter’s night with an inky sky and bone-bright stars. The snow that had fallen earlier had hardened in the freezing cold. It lay on the ground, a bright, sparkling canopy, and silvered the box hedges and topiary domes in the gardens below.
Adam took in a deep breath, the cold air clearing his head and freezing his lungs.