Christine Merrill - The Mistletoe Wager

Tremaine frowned in return. ‘Can she not see what is obvious to the rest of us?’

‘I think she wishes him to be more demonstrative.’

‘Which will be damned difficult, you will pardon the expression, with her hanging upon my arm. If he has never made any attempt to dislodge her from it, I fail to see what I could do to change things.’

She patted him on the arm in question. ‘You have hit on the problem exactly. She wishes him to do something about you.’

Tremaine ran a hand over his brow. ‘And I would rather he did not. Is there anything else?’

‘She wishes he would talk to her so that she could better understand him.’

He furrowed his brow. ‘They have passed the last five years in silence? That cannot be. I would swear that I have heard him utter words in her presence. Is it a difficulty of language? For I have found Elise’s comprehension of English to be almost flawless.’

Rosalind closed her eyes for a moment, attempting to gather strength. ‘She wishes him to speak about important matters.’

‘Matters of state, perhaps? How odd. She has shown no interest in them when speaking to me.’

Rosalind burst forth in impatience. ‘This has nothing to do with English lessons or a sudden interest in politics, Tremaine. Elise wishes Harry to speak openly about matters that are important to her.’

‘Oh.’ He slumped in defeat. ‘Then it is quite hopeless. For he would have no idea what that would be. The minds of women are a depth that we gentlemen have not been able to plumb, I’m afraid.’

‘Don’t be an idiot,’ she snapped. ‘There is nothing so terribly difficult to understand about women, if you make an effort. We two are conversing well enough, aren’t we? You do not require the assistance of a guide to understand me?’

He paused for a moment and answered politely, ‘Of course not. But you are more direct in your communication than Elise.’

She smiled graciously, preparing to blush and accept the compliment.

Then he said, ‘Almost masculine.’ He paused again. ‘And why do you persist in calling me just Tremaine, and not Mister? If you prefer, you may call me Nicholas.’

‘I do not.’ She stood up and moved away from him. ‘Nor do I think your behaviour proves you worthy of an honorific. Tremaine will do. And you may continue to call me Miss Morley. And now that we have got that out of the way, are we in agreement about the matter of Elise and Harry? Will you help me?’

‘Since it is likely to be the only way you will allow me any peace? Yes, I will help you, Miss Morley. Now, go about your business and let me return to my nap.’

Harry sighed in satisfaction as he climbed the stairs towards his bed. The day had gone well enough, he supposed. The house had buzzed with activity. Wherever he went he had found people playing at cards or games, eating, drinking and merrymaking, with Rosalind presiding over all with an air of hospitable exasperation. The only faces that had seemed to be absent from the mix were those of Tremaine and his wife.

The thought troubled him, for he suspected that they might be together, wherever they were, enjoying each other’s company. And it would be too obvious of him to pound upon his wife’s door and admit that he wished to know if she was alone.

He almost sighed in relief as he saw her in the window seat at the top of the stairs. She was just where she might have been if there had been no trouble between them, sitting in her favourite place and looking out onto the snow falling into the moonlit park below.

He stepped up beside her, speaking quietly so as not to disturb her mood. ‘Beautiful, is it not?’

‘Yes.’ She sighed. But it was a happy, contented sigh, and it made him smile.

‘I expect it will make tomorrow’s trip into the trees a difficult one.’

‘You still mean to go?’ She looked at him in obvious surprise.

‘Of course. It will be the morning of Christmas Eve. We went out into the woods together often enough that I have come to think of it as a family tradition. Would you like to accompany me?’

She looked excited at the prospect, and then dropped her gaze and shook her head. ‘I doubt that would be a good idea.’

He laughed. ‘It is not as if we are planning an assignation. Only a sign of friendship. If we cannot be lovers we can at least be friends, can’t we?’

‘Friends?’ The word sounded hollow and empty coming from her. She was making no attempt to show the world that she was happy with their situation.

It gave him hope, and he continued. ‘Yes. We can have a truce. If you wish Tremaine to be your lover, then why can I not occupy the position he has vacated and be your trusted friend?’

‘You wish to be my friend?’ Now she looked truly puzzled.

‘If I can be nothing else. Let us go out tomorrow, as we have done in the past. We will take Tremaine with us, so that he can share in the fun. If he is what you want, then I wish to see him well settled in my place before I let you go. Tomorrow I will pass the torch.’

‘You will?’ If she wanted her freedom, his offer should give her a sense of relief. But there was nothing in her tone to indicate it.

‘Yes. I had not planned on your visit, but now that you are here it is a good thing. We cannot settle what is between us with you in London and me in the country. If you wish an end to things, then it is better if we deal with them face to face, without acrimony. Only then will you truly be free.’ He let the words sink in. ‘You do wish to be free of me, do you not?’

‘Yes…’

There was definitely doubt in her voice. He clung to that split second of hesitation as the happiest sound he had heard in months.

‘Very well, then. If there is nothing I can do that will make Tremaine lose the bet, on Twelfth Night I will honour my word and begin divorce proceedings. For above all I wish you to be happy. Merry Christmas, Elise.’

‘Thank you.’

She whispered it, and sounded so very sad that it was all he could do to keep from putting his arms around her and drawing her close, whispering back that he would never let her go.

‘Let us go to bed, then, for it will be an early morning.’

She stood and walked with him, towards their rooms.

Would it be so wrong to take her hand and pull her along after him to his door? Although her manner said that she might not be totally opposed to the idea, neither was there proof that she would be totally in favour of it. It would be best if he waited until he had a better idea of what she truly wanted.

He put his hands behind his back and cleared his throat. ‘About our disagreement of yesterday, over the arrangement of the rooms. After we had gone to bed, I realised how it must look to you. And I apologise if you took it as an effort to control your behaviour. You have made it clear enough to me that it is no longer any business of mine what occurs in your bedroom. If there is a reason that you might wish to lock the connecting door, I will allow you your privacy.’

‘For what reason would I wish privacy?’ She sounded confused by the idea. Perhaps even after two months Tremaine was an idle threat to their marriage. She shrugged as though nothing could occur to her, and gave a tired laugh. ‘In any case, what good would it do to lock the door against you? You have the key.’

He held his hands open in front of him. ‘I have all the keys, Elise. I could open the door of any room in which you slept. You must have realised that when you came home. But do you really think me such a villain that I mean to storm into your room without your permission and force myself upon you?’

She caught her breath and her eyes darkened. For a moment his threat held definite appeal.

Then he cleared his throat and continued, ‘Am I really the sort who would take you until you admitted that there was no place in the world that you belonged but in my arms and in my bed?’

She froze for a moment, and then glared at him. ‘No, Harry, you are not. On more careful consideration, I think that I have nothing to worry about. Goodnight.’

And, perhaps it was his imagination, but the way she carried herself could best be described as stomping off to her room. When the door shut, he suspected that the slam could be heard all over the house.

The next morning Harry was up well before dawn, had taken breakfast and dressed in clothes suitable for the weather before going to roust Tremaine. He could not help but smile as he pounded smartly on the door to the poor man’s bedroom. He could hear rustling, stumbling noises, and a low curse before the door in front of him creaked open.

Tremaine stood before him, bleary-eyed and still in his nightshirt. ‘Eh?’

‘Time to get up, old man.’

Tremaine squinted into the hall and croaked, ‘Is there a problem?’

‘No problem at all. Did I forget to tell you last night? So sorry. But you must be a part of today’s proceedings. Elise is expecting you.’

‘Then come for me in daylight.’

‘No, no. What we are about must be done at dawn. And on the morn of Christmas Eve. There is no better time. Pull on some clothes, man. Warm ones. Your true love is awaiting you in the hall.’

At the mention of Elise Tremaine’s eyes seemed to widen a bit. Then he stared back at Harry, as though trying to gauge his intentions. At last he sighed with resignation, and muttered something that sounded rather like, ‘Damn Rosalind.’ Then he said, ‘A moment.’ And then he shut the door.

‘A moment’ proved to be the better part of a half an hour. Tremaine appeared at the door again, no happier, but reasonably well dressed for Harry’s purposes, in a fine coat of light wool and soft, low shoes. He stepped into the hall and shut the door behind him. It was only then that he noticed the axe in Harry’s hands. ‘What the devil-?’