Louise Allen - A Mistletoe Masquerade

Personally Rowan considered that a flaming affaire with one's husband's valet went somewhat beyond indiscretion, but before she could say so Mr Philpott added, 'And Lady Hartley says he has grown so cold and aloof it would send any lady mad to be locked up with him.'

Rowan struggled to be fair. Not only was it wrong to falsely accuse someone, but it was no good taking half-baked rumours back to Lord Maylin; that would do Penny no good.

'Anyone might become so after such a tragedy and the dreadful stories that were put around,' she suggested.

'Well, yes, but-' In his excitement Philpott took an over-large mouthful of hot soup, and there was a pause while he became boggle-eyed with the effort of swallowing it safely. 'Lady Hartley says he was not like that before he was married, but became so after the marriage.'

'Oh.' There was much to digest, and they could not sit huddled together whispering. Rowan turned, smiling, to the round-faced man on her other side and asked him to pass the butter.

'Paul Jenkins-man to Captain Dunkley. Miss-?'

'Lawrence. Miss Maylin's woman.'

'Well, now!' He cut some bread and passed the platter. 'There's a thing. A young lady set to rise well above her position in life, from what one hears. Next time we meet no doubt you'll be at the other end of the table, Miss Lawrence.'

Lord! Had everyone heard about the match Lady Rolesby was trying to arrange for her grandson? There was an awful inevitability about it, as though if enough people accepted it as fact then nothing would stop Penny being married off to a man who, at the very best, was an embittered, scandal-haunted semi-recluse. She wished she could get a glimpse of Lord Danescroft: she was beginning to imagine him as glowering, beetle-browed and middle-aged.

'It is by no means certain,' she said firmly. 'I can tell you-in strictest confidence, of course-that no proposal has been made. Nor has he approached her father.' Mr Jenkins merely looked more intrigued. 'Personally,' she added, beginning to wish she could have a normal dinner table conversation at a normal volume, 'I doubt she would be suitable for him. She's a nice enough young lady, but sadly scatterbrained, and nervous of children.'

Poor Penny. Her ears must be burning with all this speculation and slander. It did make Rowan wonder, as her soup plate was removed and the butler began to carve a joint, just how much the servants gossiped about all of those above stairs. She had never thought of it before, and now her cheeks grew warm at the thought of some of the indiscreet things she had let drop in front of staff.

The joint was accompanied by a good variety of side dishes and a very respectable claret. She really must ask Alice how typical that was. No wonder Papa's cellar bills were so large.

She managed the rest of the meal without glancing down the table towards Mr Lucas, or lapsing into gossip about his master. With a clatter of chair-legs on the flagged floor the most senior servants began to rise and

the rest of the table followed suit. Rowan realised just in time that she was supposed to bring her table napkin and her glass with her.

In the Steward's Room his boy was waiting beside a freshly laid table set with desserts. Really, she mused, moving towards her place, she had sat down to worse dinners in some very grand houses indeed.

'That colour suits you Miss Lawrence.' That gently amused voice again!

'What colour is that, Mr Lucas?' she enquired.

'The colour in your cheeks. Have you been flirting with your two swains?'

'Flirting? Me? I think not, Mr Lucas. I suggest you look in the mirror over there if you are searching for a flirt.' His soft chuckle as she swept past him had her gritting her teeth.

'Is he bothering you, Miss Lawrence?' It was Mr Philpott, his lanky frame contorted with embarrassment. Poor young man. He probably thought she needed protecting, but was terrified at the idea of a confrontation with Lucas. Who was, if one looked at him properly, really rather a formidable figure.

He glanced up from his plate and found her staring. Coolly Rowan continued her assessment. Yes, formidably muscled under that smart suiting, broad-shouldered and with a dangerous edge to him. She lifted one eyebrow scornfully and turned to smile at the anxious youth. 'Bothering me? Not at all, Mr Philpott. I am quite capable of dealing with men like him.'

Of course she was. Probably. She might have a better idea if she had ever met a man like him before.

The meal progressed-an unsettling and distorted reflection of what was occurring upstairs. Rowan tried to work out the timing. The butler was down here, which meant that the covers must have been drawn and the ladies had retired to the drawing room, leaving the men to their port and the attentions of the footmen.

She was just trying to work out what the equivalent would be here-tea in the housekeeper's rooms?- when the Steward's boy scurried in with the information that Miss Trent's woman was required immediately as she was retiring.

'Headache again,' her dresser muttered unsympathetically, finishing her dessert with more haste than elegance before jumping to her feet and hurrying out. 'I'll have hiccups for the rest of the evening now.'

It did not surprise Rowan when the next summons was for her. At least Penny had given her enough time to finish her meal.

She found her friend roused to uncharacteristic irritation. 'So unsubtle!' she exclaimed before Rowan had the door half shut. 'I have never felt so self-conscious in my life. They placed me next to him at dinner-can you imagine? I just had to run away as soon as I could. They were all whispering about me over the teacups.'

'Pointed, indeed.' Rowan pressed Penny onto the stool in front of the dressing table and began to unpin her hair. 'What is he like?'

'Beautiful,' Penny startled her by proclaiming. 'I had no idea, only seeing him at a distance. But he is tall and dark, and has the most sensitive features.'

'Well, then,' she began, banishing her image of a beetle-browed monster. 'That's something…'

'It makes it worse! No wonder everyone was smiling behind their hands. We must have looked ridiculous together: he so handsome next to drab little me. And,' she moaned as Rowan reached for the hairbrush, 'I was positively prattling with nerves. What must he think of me?'

'That you are quite unsuitable, one hopes,' Rowan said. 'It is what you want, isn't it? What did you prattle about?'

'Oh, the garden at home, and the landscape, and painting, and how I found the watercolour I did of my kitten when I was nine in an old sketchbook last week.' Penny gazed at her undistinguished reflection. 'None of the things a future countess should talk about.'

'Excellent. I will reinforce that by telling everyone that you are positively bird-witted and never stop talking of utterly inconsequential things.' Penny smiled wanly. 'What do you want to do now? Sit by the fire and read?'

It was a tempting prospect. For a woman who thought nothing of dancing the night away, Rowan could not imagine why she felt so tired. And her feet ached.

'I think I'd like to have a wash and go to bed early. My head is spinning,' said Penny.

Oh, well, she could read in her own room. Rowan tugged the bell-pull and a harassed-looking chambermaid appeared eventually. 'Yes, miss?'

'Hot water, if you please. And have some sent up to my room and set by the fire.'

'Mrs Tarrant says that we're that stretched that visiting staff 'll have to do for themselves, miss.'

'Thank you. That will do.' Rowan frowned at the closing door. She supposed lighting a fire could not be that hard. There had been wood and coals by the side of the hearth in the chilly little turret room, and she would have a candle, so there would be no need to strike a spark.