Chapter Fifteen #2
“I am, indeed, poppet.” His grin was positively sparkling, and there was a decided twinkle in his eye. “In fact, I came over to inquire as to whether Scarborough wishes to have dancing this evening. It wouldn’t take much effort on all our parts to move the furniture and roll back the rugs.”
“Aw, how darling you are,” Cate said with another rush of tears into her eyes. “I remember you and Mama enjoyed dancing during Christmastide.”
“Your mother especially like it when the candles were lit and the illumination glinted on the decorations.” Then his glance fell to the windows where Barr had ordered some of the mistletoe hung before an ornate mirror between them. “I miss her.”
Cate sobered. She wiped at her tears. I do, too.”
The duke stood. “Then, by all means, let us have dancing. I believe one of the maids can play the pianoforte with passing skill. Afterward, perhaps we’ll sing some carols to usher in Christmas.
” As he swallowed the remainder of his champagne, Barr pushed to his feet.
“Travers, Ronald, the rest of you, come assist me in moving the furniture as well as the rugs. Miss Pickwick and her father wish for dancing tonight.”
A buzz of excitement went through the assemblage in the room.
Everyone sprang into action, for it was obvious they all doted upon the duke and were anxious to please him.
In short order, the furniture was rearranged into a circle around the floor.
The two Aubusson rugs were rolled and then shoved aside.
Somehow, Barr managed to unearth a piano and had it moved into the drawing room by two footmen.
One of the maids was encouraged to play whatever tunes came to her mind, and since she’d apparently had no formal training, it was amazing to listen to her raw talent.
The first song she played was a fast-paced tavern piece designed for lively country reels. Everyone in the room entered into the spirit of the tune, and much laughter was had as the reel got underway.
Never had Cate seen her father so happy, and he quickly became the central figure of the festivities with his sparkling eyes and reddened cheeks as he led the line of men in the dance.
As for Barr, how could she not watch him?
He was certainly an elegant form amidst his staff, and when the reel ended, he swept Mrs. Fitch—the housekeeper—over to the mistletoe, positioned her beneath it, and then bussed her cheek.
Everyone cheered and hooted with laughter as a deep blush spread over the poor woman’s face.
“Who’s next?” the duke called out, and to no one’s surprise, two of the maids rushed forward for their own buss upon their cheeks.
Mrs. Travers soon followed, and the giggle that escaped her after the duke kissed her cheek was adorable. However, the valet called Barr out with good natured teasing, which had the company laughing all the more.
Her father called on her to be next, and even when Cate protested with embarrassment, Barr said it was a good idea. He then tugged on her hand until she was placed squarely beneath the kissing bough that someone had decorated with a red velvet ribbon.
“This isn’t proper, and you know it,” she told the duke in a whispered voice, but he didn’t let go of her hand. Please don’t make this into a spectacle.
“It is Christmas Eve, my dear. There is no such thing as proper during a celebration.” Yet he winked and maneuvered her to exactly where he wanted her as his staff and her father looked on. “Though if you want proper, I can thoroughly claim your lips.”
“Oh, good heavens, not here,” she said in a barely audible voice.
“Very well, then. More’s the pity.” With a curled finger beneath her chin, he tilted her head backward, peered into her eyes as if he were searching for a truth—or confirmation—to a question he hadn’t asked, then he quickly bussed her cheek like he’d done to every other woman in the room. “Happy Christmas, Cate.”
“Happy Christmas, Scarborough.”
The onlookers erupted into hoots and clapping, while heat burned through Cate’s face.
“Enough of the kissing,” her father said in his booming voice. “Let us have a waltz.” He gestured with a hand. “Everyone, join in. We’ll switch partners so every woman and every man has a chance to dance.”
She shook her head. “You are quite something tonight,” Cate told her father as she wandered over to his side. “What’s gotten into you? Where has my quiet, studious father gone?”
“Oh, it’s a holiday, poppet. I’m remembering your mother, so it’s making me happy.” He held out his hand. “Do me the honor of partnering with me first.”
“Of course. Who else would I wish to dance with?” And she slipped her fingers into his palm. It was much like her childhood when her parents would host holiday gatherings and gaiety would fill every inch of the house.
“Well, for one, Ronald the footman has been making eyes at you,” her father said with a large grin as he swept her into his arms. “And for another, Scarborough is ready to eat his heart out for not thinking to reserve your time in this dance ahead of me.”
“I don’t believe that for a second.” But a wave of happiness filled her being, and when the maid began to play the melody of a waltz that was popular a few years ago, her father guided her into the first steps while everyone else scrambled to join the makeshift dance floor.
“Then you must be blind, my girl. Unless I miss my guess?” He chuckled as they made the first turn, and he lowered his voice. “The duke is halfway in love with you even if he doesn’t know it yet.”
“Do stop, Papa. None of that is true.” Yet her heartbeat accelerated all the same.
“It would seem that during the course of translating that Egyptian book, you have managed to snag the duke’s interest in you for far more than a couple of trysts.”
Heat went through her cheeks again. “Hush now. That’s gammon.”
“I don’t know. You are quite an interesting woman.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him to stop talking about the duke, but then her father trod on her hem when he encouraged her to twirl.
She lost her balance, and with a cry, Cate fell to the floor, but on the way down, the back of her head knocked against the corner of the ornamental screen in front of the cheerful flames in the grate.
Pain screamed through her head, so much so that she swore she saw stars in her eyes before darkness encroached on the edges.
As she slumped onto the floor, she was vaguely aware that the activity in the room had come to a sudden halt.
Gasps and murmurs echoed in the room, and the sound of quick footsteps rang in her head.
“Cate!” Then Barr was there, kneeling beside her, gently hauling her into his lap. “Good God, there’s blood,” he said to someone nearby. “We need supplies immediately.”
She glanced up into his face, oddly comforted by the fact that he was there. The strength of his arms around her encouraged her to relax into his hold. “It’s the curse,” she managed to murmur, but when she tried to say more, her lips moved yet not sound came forth.
“Catherine, Cate, stay with me.” He gave her a tiny shake. “Fight the urge to sleep. Can you do that for me? Stay with me,” the duke repeated, and there was much concern in his tone.
“My head hurts,” she whispered, and she wondered why because she could remember what had happened that had sent her to the floor. “The curse…” As cold panic welled, she tried to focus on his face. “Don’t… leave… me.”
Blackness at the edges of her vision grew overwhelming. It obscured the sight of his pale face, kept coming until she couldn’t discern the blue pools of his eyes, and as she tried to raise a hand to touch his face, the creeping darkness engulfed her, dragged her down into a pit with icy fingers.
“Cate!”
No amount of effort on her part could keep her into the present, and with a tiny sigh of surrender, she slipped into that void.