The Christmas Ball Read online

  The Christmas Ball

  Sherrill Bodine

  Copyright

  Diversion Books

  A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.

  443 Park Avenue South, Suite 1004

  New York, NY 10016

  www.DiversionBooks.com

  Copyright © 1994 by Elaine Sima and Sherrill Bodine

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For more information, email [email protected]

  First Diversion Books edition December 2013

  ISBN: 978-1-62681-205-5

  More from Sherrill Bodine

  A Soldier’s Heart

  The Rake’s Redemption

  Scandal’s Child

  The Duke’s Deceit

  My Lord’s Lady

  Chapter 1

  Lady Athena Cummins drew aside the leather curtain that covered the carriage window, keeping out the chilly draft so that her youngest sister, Lady Persephone, might view the bustling streets of Burnham-on-Crouch. A sparkling layer of ice frosted every bare tree branch and etched designs upon the rooftops. Snow scrunched under the boots of three village children who dashed past, their laughter echoing in the cool, still air, with arms full of fir boughs to decorate their homes for Christmas.

  Athena viewed the rapt expression on Persephone’s face with an aching heart and forced a smile. “Do you feel chilled with the curtain open?”

  “I am chilled to the bone!” Facing them, Minerva, their sixteen-year-old sister, pouted. “Do close the curtain. We do not want to be seen gaping like the veriest commoners. What can be keeping Mama?”

  “She is searching for a feather the exact shade of puce to compliment your costume for the Christmas ball.” Athena, whose back was to the driver, nudged the warming brick over to Persephone’s slipper-shod feet. She worried constantly that the cold made her sister’s legs weaker; and despite the fact that Persephone couldn’t walk, she should have sturdier boots, no matter the cost.

  “Persephone, would you like me to close the curtain?”

  Persephone lifted a pinched little face from the folds of a cashmere shawl Athena had found in the attic and presented to her for this outing. Her peaked cheeks held just a tinge of pink, but her enormous sherry brown eyes sparkled. “No. I do so enjoy watching everyone prepare for Christmas. It is so festive—”

  “Oh, look, there are Squire Randolph and Gregory!” Minerva’s squeal of delight interrupted. Athena had to crane her neck to see out of the window. “And fancy that! His lordship, Gregory’s own lieutenant, is with them!”

  Even out here in Essex the rumor mill had been busy for weeks with tales of Lord Andrew Finchley’s visit to Willowwood for the squire’s masked Christmas ball. Although she very properly pulled her head away from the window, Athena couldn’t take her gaze from him as the trio strode by. His fine black riding boots shone to perfection, and a many-caped coat swung with his gait. She caught only a glimpse of a snowy cravat folded in such a brilliant fall, she felt sure half the young men in the county would be attempting it by morning. The biting wind swept his glossy black hair off his chiseled, arrogant face. Catching a glimpse of cold sapphire eyes, she suddenly believed every tale repeated of his rakish ways in London and the Peninsula.

  For a moment the object of her attention appeared to glance straight at her, a faint smile playing at one corner of his mouth. Just as she had done at age five—when dear, sweet Papa brought home a new Mama for her—and had continued doing ever since, Athena tried to make herself invisible. She shrank back against the crimson squabs and tucked her chin into her woolen scarf.

  Why would such an august personage travel to the wilds of Essex for a mere ball, particularly one as unusual as Squire Randolph’s and just one week before Christmas?

  “Ain’t that the Cumminses’ town carriage? Must pay our respects.” Squire Randolph, having just returned from the local surgeon, had Gregory’s arm supported in his own strong grasp.

  Drew wasn’t sure why he had agreed to come to this off-the-mail-route little town, but he had promised Gregory; and Gregory had saved his life, in a roundabout way. So here he was, having to do the pretty, when he could have been snug at home with any number of highfliers.

  Gregory turned with as much animation as Drew had seen since the Pyrenees toward a stately black carriage, its wheels picked out in scarlet. His first impression was that the carriage contained two females, an insipid miss straight out of the schoolroom and a young girl whose lively expression and remarkable eyes showed promise of beauty.

  Only after Gregory leaned down to speak into the window did Drew notice the third occupant. From the way she buried her face between her bonnet and her scarf, he could tell neither her age nor her appearance, just a pair of green eyes, begging to be ignored. If not for the quality of the fur edging her cloak, he would have taken her for a serving girl.

  “Dash it, Persephone, been meaning to pay a morning call.” Gregory’s wide mouth curled up into a smile. For which young lady did his friend feel such an attachment? “Must have you meet Lord Andrew Finchley. Drew and I served together on the Peninsula, you know. These are the Ladies Athena, Minerva, and Persephone Cummins, Lord Finchley.”

  He inclined his head slightly. The quiet third female a sister to this lively pair? Now why should that strike him odd?

  The child, Persephone, craned her head toward the open window. “My lord, we are so pleased you have brought Gregory back to us for Christmas.” Lady Minerva, not to be outdone, nudged her sister back to take her place. “Oh, Lord Finchley, I am so pleased you will be attending the Christmas ball this year.”

  It took all his effort not to smile at the heavy-handed hint that she felt herself deserving of his attention. Still, the oldest sister remained silent and muffled to the gills.

  “ ’Tis hard to believe you’re of an age to attend, Minerva.” Long acquaintance made the familiarity acceptable. The squire reached in to chuck Minerva’s chin while a deep chuckle rumbled up in his barrel chest. “And you, my lady”—the squire’s eyes settled on the mummy in the corner—“will you be gracing the ball this year, Athena?”

  The carriage’s silent occupant shook her head, muttering something so low, the words were lost on the cold wind.

  ” ’Tis a shame.” The squire shook his head. “Mayhap next year. Pray give our regards to Lord and Lady Cummins. We look forward to their attendance at our ball tomorrow.”

  “And I promise faithfully, I’ll be by the day after the ball, Persephone!” Gregory laughed. “Have Cook make me some macaroons.”

  “Word of a Randolph, you shall come?” The child’s voice held a light musical note, and her face lit up, making her cheeks blush a pretty rose. “Word of a Randolph!”

  Suddenly Gregory looked nearly as young as she did. Nineteen was no great age; certainly it was too young to die in the mud and blood of the Peninsula, as many had done.

  To forget that Drew had returned to London and lost himself in women, drink, and cards, firmly putting the horror behind him. All the talk of war and heroics he’d experienced since venturing down to Burnham-on-Crouch was bringing back too many memories. Once his obligation was fulfilled, he would return to London and get back to the good life. And that couldn’t be soon enough if the highlight of the upcoming ball was to be an overstuffed chit practicing her wi
les on him.

  When they had taken their leave, Gregory’s face fell back into the somber lines etched by illness and war. “Has Persephone’s condition improved at all? She was such a taking little thing.”

  “ ’Tis sad for the family.” The squire’s normally jovial face paled. “But there ain’t nothing to be done. The sawbones say she’ll be in that rolling chair for the rest of her life.”

  That pert little thing with the enormous brown eyes, confined to a chair? Curious at last, he inquired, “What happened to her? She appears to be in the pink of health.”

  “Crippled,” the squire uttered baldly. “A terrible fever weakened her limbs. Lord Cummins had Prinny’s own physician to Essex to examine her. But there ain’t no hope. They say the Lady Athena ain’t taking it so well; refuses to let the little miss give up hope.”

  These people meant nothing to him, so what difference could it make? But after two years on the Peninsula, he understood pain and hopelessness. And there had been something of innocence and wonder in the child’s eyes that reminded him of all that he had lost.

  Lost in daydreams, Persephone gasped when her mother climbed into the carriage and a draft of icy air rushed up her woolen skirts.

  Lady Charity Cummins’s long face, framed by an ocherous bonnet, was the mirror image of Minerva’s, but her hazel eyes were hard and discontented. She surveyed the three girls. “Was that Squire Randolph I saw who stopped to speak with you?”

  “Yes, Mama,” came one dutiful and one muffled reply.

  “Mama, the most exciting thing occurred!” Minerva clapped her mittened hands together. “Gregory introduced us to Lord Finchley! He is ever so handsome and just as dashing as rumor predicted. He seemed particularly pleased when I said I was to attend the ball!”

  Persephone wrinkled her nose. “I think him not so handsome as Gregory. What do you think, Athena?”

  Before she could reply, Minerva laughed. “Everyone knows Athena is on the shelf and has no opinions of handsome gentlemen.” She sneered, “Your precious Gregory cannot be compared to Lord Finchley. He is one of the greatest catches in the ton!”

  “And what do you know of the ton?” Persephone snapped. “You should not even be going to the Christmas ball. You are not seventeen until spring!”

  “Girls!” Mama exploded, her eyebrows lowering to a single line across her forehead. “Stop your bickering at once! Of course Minerva will be attending the masked ball. She has the most beautiful shepherdess costume, and today I purchased a matching feather and ribbons for her hair.”

  “Then why can Athena not attend?” Persephone protested, knowing full well the reaction she would receive.

  As expected, Minerva looked smug and Mama angry, but Athena smiled gently. “And who would stay home with you, goose? Besides, you know I have no costume. Perhaps next year.”

  Minerva might look relieved, but anger coursed through Persephone’s veins. Athena had spoken the same words every year since her seventeenth birthday. She could still hear Mama telling Papa Athena was too young for a Season, too young for the Christmas ball. Then she had fallen ill, and every year after Athena had given the same excuse.

  But this year it would be different! She was thirteen, and she knew how important this ball was. Why, Athena would never get off the shelf if she didn’t get about to meet some eligible men.

  On her twelfth birthday, after sneaking one of Minerva’s books from the circulating library, she had vowed to change things. Her good, kind, beautiful sister should have wonderful adventures and romance, too.

  For one whole year she had plotted and planned. Now, keeping an eye on her oldest sister’s profile all the way home, she could remember the night of the Christmas ball a year ago without getting angry.

  As usual, Athena had come to her at bedtime to massage her legs with warm oils before wrapping them in flannel and tucking her under the covers. She had fallen asleep, but in a little while she woke to a strange sight: Athena, holding her cat, Morgana, to her breast, while she hummed and danced around the bedchamber. The firelight had flashed apricot in her nearly colorless hair, for once flowing freely about her face. Athena had looked beautiful and happy, not shy and withdrawn.

  Persephone wished above all else to have the world see that side of Athena. To that end she had hatched her plot. Come tomorrow night, she would unveil it.

  But when the carriage rolled to a stop before the impressive facade of Charybdis, Persephone had other things on her mind. She protested as she was being handed down. “I don’t wish Stephens to carry me into the small parlor. I want John Coachman to carry me through the kitchen garden in to Cook. I must speak to her about baking macaroons for Gregory.”

  “Suit yourself!” Mama huffed, urging Minerva in from the cold. “I shall send someone to fetch you before tea.”

  Athena cast her a quizzical look. “I will bring your rolling chair myself, Persephone.”

  A sudden ache of love for her sister made her blink back tears. Only Athena guessed how she hated to be carried about by the underfootmen. Only Athena treated her like a real person, with feelings to be considered, and didn’t talk down to her or about her as if she weren’t there.

  John Coachman swung her up in strong arms and whirled her about, as if she were three again and hanging about the stables. She smiled up into his broad, ruddy face. “Do you remember my asking you for a special favor?”

  “Aye.” His lips, cracked from the cold, lifted at the corners. “Aye, little miss, you know you have but to ask and I’ll be doin’ your biddin’.”

  “That would be ever so wonderful. I hope Cook feels the same.”

  “Feels the same about what?” Cook placed her fists at her ample waist and glared at her husband. “Don’t you be carryin’ mud into my kitchen, John Harris! Here, I have a nice cozy chair pulled before the fire for Miss Persephone.”

  She allowed Cook to help her out of her bonnet and coat and to pull her slippers from her frosty feet. With gentle hands Cook lifted Persephone’s useless legs onto a stool and covered them with a warm rug while John poked up the fire to a roaring blaze.

  “There now. What can I be gettin’ you?”

  “Gregory’s coming the day after tomorrow. He particularly asked for your macaroons.” Persephone saw a pleased smile suffuse Cook’s genial face. She turned away to brew a pot of tea, but not before a telltale blush crept into her cheeks.

  “Do you think I am like Athena or Minerva?” Persephone’s abrupt change of subject made Cook’s mouth fall open as her husband pointedly turned his attention to the fire.

  Cook looked to the ceiling for inspiration. “Lady Athena is the image of her dear mama, God rest her soul. You have the look of the Cummins family. But both you and Lady Athena have the same good heart, although she never be the minx you are, young lady!” Cook’s scold made Persephone smile. “I believe there is another side to Athena none of us has ever seen. Would you not like to discover it?”

  Cook’s eyes narrowed while John Coachman turned a suspicious gaze upon her.

  “Would you not like to see Athena go to the Christmas ball this year?”

  “That mother of yours won’t be allowin’ that to happen!” Cook declared with a huff. “Even if she be a vicar’s daughter and her name’s Charity.”

  “Aye, without a tuppence of charity she is,” John Coachman chimed in. “Your father, good man that he be, all buried away in that library writin’ a history of the ancient world, don’t have no notion of the way of things. What be you askin’ us, little miss?”

  With a glance toward the door, she motioned them closer. They must finish their plotting quickly before Athena appeared. “Cook, have you not wondered why I asked you to secretly procure me so much fine muslin?”

  Cook met her husband’s shrewd eyes and shrugged. “You’re such a good needlewoman, I thought you be ma
king gifts for Christmas.”

  “That is precisely what I have done. But this gift is only for Athena. And you must both help me with the rest. If we all do our parts, Athena shall not miss the Christmas ball this year.”

  Chapter 2

  The day of the Christmas ball dawned cold and crisp. By afternoon the sun sparkled diamonds off the frosty windowpanes. Persephone sat ensconced before the fire in her father’s library, as she usually did each day for two hours after tea. This was the only room in the house that did not have fir boughs decorating the mantel for Christmas. And it was the only room in the house where Mama’s or Minerva’s frantic demands did not ring out to spoil her concentration.

  “Dear Papa, would you mind ever so much if I took your volume on Greek statuary to my room to study tonight?”

  Lord Cummins carefully removed his spectacles from his nose and gazed at her with eyes remarkably similar to her own. “My dearest daughter, I am delighted at your thirst for knowledge. You have been studying this tome for weeks now—what do you find so interesting?”

  He sprang to his feet, removing the book from the shelf above his desk. But before he could give it to her to keep, the door burst open.

  Her mother stood there quivering with anger. “My lord, the servants may be terrified to disturb you in your library, but I am not. A light repast is now being served, as supper at the ball will not be until the unmasking at midnight. Pray join us at once, for then you must dress. We have only an hour in which to don our costumes and be on our way.”

  “I believe I will take a tray in my room. May I, Papa?”

  “Of course, dearest. I will carry you up myself, and then, dear wife, I will be down to join you.”

  Being swept up by her father’s strong arms made her feel much younger than her thirteen years. Usually she didn’t like to be pampered, but on occasion, especially tonight, it was nice to get her way without questions. She hugged the statuary book to her chest as Papa carried her from the rolling chair downstairs to the one in her bedchamber.