Unlaced At Christmas: The Christmas Duchess / Russian Winter Nights / A Shocking Proposition. Elizabeth Rolls

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      ‘I will play you for it,’ the duke said. ‘We could match coins.’

      ‘Do I get to keep the coin if I win?’ the boy asked.

      ‘Not if you wish to keep the bed, as well,’ the duke said.

      ‘Very well.’ The boy nodded. ‘Then give me the coin and you can have the bed. But do not tell my mother about it. She would not approve.’

      * * *

      With the arrival of the duke, dinner became another source of stress. When Generva had awoken, she’d planned for nothing more than a simple meal. It was still a day from Christmas Eve, not yet even part of the twelve-day celebration that the duke’s household probably made of Christmas. With the departure of Tom Kanner, her own house was practically in mourning.

      Suddenly, she found herself entertaining the peerage. She had never played hostess to a man of such rank. Indeed, the most exciting invitation she had received was for a single dinner in the house of the local baron, and that had been as an honour to her husband. They had been seated nowhere near the head of the table. The food had been grand enough, though, and tonight she would have to struggle to emulate it.

      With a sigh, she ordered Mrs Jordan to cook the roast that had been set aside for Christmas dinner, as many side dishes as could be found in the pantry, and for her to take more than usual care not to burn the potatoes. She could open the bottle of wine that she had been saving as a gift for the happy couple. Her favourite apple tart was really quite simple, but would look better if the crust was dressed with an arrangement of sugar leaves and apples. And there would be the last of her husband’s port for after.

      With the supper menu settled, she went upstairs to the bedrooms to roust her erstwhile children so that they might know what was expected of them.

      First she rapped sharply on Gwen’s door and informed her through the panel that there would be no more sulking or tears. If she did not open immediately, the door would be broken down and she would be hauled out by the hair. Once the girl had grudgingly given her permission to enter, Generva informed her of the events of the afternoon, the recent change of fortune and the duke’s generous offer.

      Her daughter’s response was as she feared it would be. ‘Absolutely not!’

      Generva took a deep breath, and proceeded with caution. ‘But, darling, you must at least come out of your room and thank the man for his kindness. Think of the honour he pays you in making this offer at all.’

      ‘I would rather not think of it,’ her daughter said, wiping at her tear-swollen eyes. ‘I do not want a thing from Tom Kanner or his family. I especially do not want to see anyone associated with him ever again.’

      In that she could hardly be blamed. It still did not give her the right to be discourteous. ‘I understand you are hurt. But you must realise that the cancellation of the wedding will leave us both in a difficult position.’

      ‘Because I am now cast-off goods, known as a fool in front of the entire church?’ Gwen’s voice was growing shrill. ‘That is no fault of mine.’

      ‘Of course not, dear.’ Generva bit her lip to remember the need for patience. ‘But if you meet him, you will see that the Duke of Montford is quite different from Tom.’

      ‘Because he is old enough to be my father.’

      Almost exactly old enough, which was something Generva preferred not to think about. ‘That does not mean he is ancient. If you meet him, you will find him kind and sensible in ways that a younger man is not. He has an excellent temper, and is very handsome for a man of his years.

      She glanced past her daughter at her own reflection in the mirror above the dresser. What did it say about the state of her looks that the most handsome man she had seen in ages immediately assumed that she was a housekeeper? It did not matter, really. She was long past the point where vanity ruled her feelings. Nor was there any reason to put on airs in hopes of attracting a new husband.

      All the same, it rankled. She tugged at the cap on her head, making an effort to tuck the curls around it in a more becoming way.

      ‘If you think he is such a prize, then perhaps you should be the one to marry him.’ Gwendolyn threw herself back on to the bed again, as though preparing for another bout of weeping.

      ‘He did not offer to marry me,’ Generva said, struggling and failing to hide the bitterness in her voice. ‘And I am not the one who needs a husband. I had one. Since no one is likely to appear at the back door with a proposal, I have learned to manage without.’ She immediately regretted the outburst. It had been a difficult week for all of them, but it had been worst for Gwen. She needed a mother who would be kind to her. Generva had failed, utterly.

      But perhaps a little cruelty had been needed. The sharpness in her tone was as effective as a slap to her daughter’s face. The girl sat up, staring at her in alarm, and wiped the tears from her eyes as if to get a clearer view of her own mother.

      Generva took another breath and was back in control again. ‘I have no intention of forcing you into a marriage you do not want. But you must come down to dinner and meet the man to thank him for his concern. Perhaps you will feel different at the end of the evening. Perhaps not. But you must not shed another tear over a man who has proved unworthy. Now wash your face and put on your best dress. Tonight you will dine with the Duke of Montford.’

      From there, she went to Benjamin’s room, relieved to see that the duke was absent from it. But her son remained, and she dragged him to the basin and scrubbed the boy within an inch of his life before forcing him into his best suit.

      ‘I do not see why we must wash, Mama,’ he said. ‘The duke has seen me dirty already.’

      She gritted her teeth and ran a comb through the boy’s tangle of straw-coloured hair. ‘And now he shall see you clean, for the sake of your mother’s pride, if for no other reason. The man is a peer, not a greengrocer. I cannot have your dirty neck spoiling his appetite for supper.’

      ‘He has said I may call him old Tom.’

      Generva flinched. ‘Well, I say you may not. You will call him Your Grace, and bow when you meet him, just as you would when meeting the vicar.’

      ‘I do not like the vicar,’ Benjamin announced.

      ‘Well, do you like the duke?’

      The boy thought for a moment. ‘I think so.’

      ‘Then bow,’ she said, giving another tug on his hair.

      From outside the bedroom door, she was convinced she heard a deep, masculine chuckle.

      * * *

      A short time later, they were gathered round the table, the meat steaming on a platter in front of them. The scene was a perfect picture of domestic bliss. Or it would have been, had not Gwen been sagging in her chair like a drowned Ophelia, her face wan, her eyes red rimmed and her shoulders drooping.

      It was all Generva could do to keep from kicking her under the table.

      The duke seemed to take no notice of the girl’s unwelcoming posture and smiled from the head of the table. ‘May I offer the СКАЧАТЬ