Chapter Sixteen
They sat in the warmth of the carved marble chimneypiece. His aunts perched upon overstuffed, embroidered armchairs near the hearth. Uncle Bertrand stretched out upon the fender, looking every inch the indolent nobleman. In many ways, he reminded Selwyn of Mama, who was very much missed tonight.
The younger members of his family sprawled across the carpet in the shadow of the Christmas tree, while Colonel and Anne MacFane claimed the sofa.
Miss Goldsworthy joined him on the floor, pillowed against a heap of fancy fringed cushions that were so en vogue when his mother had last redecorated Brantingham House.
Selwyn draped his arm across her bare shoulders. Although he was a gentleman, he wasn’t immune to the petal-soft skin of a fair young lady or the sweet scent of her perfume. He brushed a coppery curl, marveling at its bounce and gloss between his fingertips.
He had never loved a woman before, yet Miss Goldsworthy had lain claim to his heart from the moment he clapped eyes on her, this brave girl who’d come to London to get everything she’d wanted.
He marveled that she wanted him, when he was just a man, hardworking and traditional compared to his more brilliant, less conventional relations.
Surely, Sewlyn paled in her light, yet he felt elevated and radiant by her side. All the love in the world burned in his heart for her.
As always, everyone received a Christmas gift. He watched with joy as his siblings tore open the parcels he’d purchased for them personally—an ivory parasol for Margie, a diamanté brooch for Fannie, and a pair of red Morocco slippers for Perry.
They had all pitched in to buy Selwyn a fine, silver filigree card case from Aspreys. He held it up and examined it appreciatively. It was a thoughtful gift, and he thanked them wholeheartedly, explaining, “My old one had taken some knocks.”
Emerging from his year of mourning, it was time he returned to society, and a new card case in his coat pocket would facilitate the fresh start he needed.
Perry searched beneath the tree, sorting through discarded wrapping paper and lengths of ribbon until he found one final gift.
“This is for…” the lad squinted to read the label through brandy-goggled eyes, “Aurelia.” He offered the present to her. “Happy Christmas!”
“From all of us,” Margie added merrily. “We snuck off to buy you something that afternoon in Bond Street whilst Selly had your head turned.”
Aurelia blushed and laughed. She opened the packaging to reveal an exquisite cut-glass powder jar inlaid with lustrous mother-of-pearl. It dazzled in the firelight and gaslight and was a thoughtful gift from his family. “Thank you all! Oh, it’s lovely!”
Tears sparkled in her eyes.
Selwyn recalled the words she’d spoken when she first arrived, ‘I have no family… No one has ever written to me or sent me a card except for you… You have been everything to me.’
Miss Goldsworthy had likely never received a gift, and certainly never one given in honesty and appreciation. His siblings adored her, and the rest of his family was fast growing fond of her.
He turned to whisper in her ear, letting his lips brush her temple as he spoke, “I have something special for you, but I’d like to give it to you privately, if you don’t mind waiting.” He pulled away to search her face, noting the high color on her freckled cheeks.
She’d given him the courage to confess the truth to her, to open his heart to her. Once he showed her everything, he hoped to offer his hand to her. He only prayed that she would understand him and accept him—and love him in return.
Selwyn rose and ventured toward the refreshment table, where he picked through the last of the gingerbread and allowed Dowell to serve him a well-deserved cup of tea.
Most of his staff were downstairs enjoying a festive celebration of their own, and he hoped that his butler wasn’t missing out on too much merrymaking.
Yet, perhaps, the lesser staff were happier to have their fun away from the strict rule of the unflappable Dowell, for he had certainly done his best to bedevil the man in his boyhood.
“Happy Christmas to you,” Selwyn told the fellow. “If you could begin to call the carriages ‘round, I’d be grateful. It looks like this evening is winding to a close.”
“Very good, Your Grace,” said Dowell, bowing. He slipped from the drawing room to prepare for the guests’ departure.
While Selwyn sipped his tea, a familiar be-ringed hand settled on his shoulder. He turned to find Uncle Bertrand at his back. “Goldsworthy is not a name I’ve heard before,” said the gentleman. “Do you know her people?”
Twenty years ago, Bertrand Beausire had known Lady Mathieson. It was no surprise that he recognized the strong resemblance this young lady shared with her mother.
Selwyn nodded, understanding completely what his uncle implied. “Yes, I do.”
“And?” Uncle Bertrand’s gaze was unflinching.
He felt his face grow hot, for how did one speak of the depths of one’s soul? “Is it any wonder why I love her?”
“You walk a precarious path, my dear boy, but I commend you for it. You’re a man of principle and integrity, and your darling Mama always said that you must follow your heart if you are to find any happiness in this world.
I do not envy you your position, Selly, but I think—if you have indeed chosen—that you’ve chosen well. ”
He embraced his uncle, who had been his mother’s most beloved brother.
If Selwyn’s father had taught him everything necessary to become a dutiful aristocrat and a country gentleman to his core, then Uncle Bertrand had helped Selwyn learn to appreciate the finer, gentler, more beautiful aspects of life.
Nobody understood his predicament, battling between his head and his heart, better than Bertrand Beausire.
“Does she know?” his uncle asked.
“Some, but not everything,” Selwyn answered with his teacup arrested at his lips. “Mathieson has shut her out, and I wager she won’t look kindly on our lot when the sticklers of society follow suit.”
Uncle Bertrand frowned. “Then you must tell her the truth so that she can make her decision fully informed of the facts and well aware of the fight she’s taking on.
” He gave Sewlyn a fond clap on the shoulder, somehow without even rippling his tea.
“Don’t worry, dearest boy, if she loves you, she’ll wed you, and damn the consequences. ”
If only it were so easy as that!
With the games over and the gifts exchanged, the group began to gradually and naturally disperse.
He bid goodnight to his Aunts Thea and Thyra, and was happy to have them escorted to the kerb by Margie and Fannie.
He walked the MacFanes downstairs, allowing Anne to place a quick kiss upon his cheek as he vowed to call upon them at their barracks when he returned to the East Riding.
Alongside Perry, he bid goodbye to their cousins, Lord Kexby and Lord Rudston, who would be back at Oxford after the New Year and soon to take their places at the pinnacle of English society.
Sometimes, Selwyn felt ages older than these jolly young men, when in truth, he’d been born only a few years before them.
His own university days were treasured memories, and he hoped that Kexby and Rudston rejoiced in their time flirting, clubbing, and sporting, as well as learning.
The Charltons wished Uncle Bertrand well, and with a kiss to Miss Goldsworthy’s brow—a familial blessing if ever there was one—the gentleman climbed into his carriage and set off down Park Lane bound for another party or some other merriment, as Bertrand Beausire’s life was rich, full, and busy.
Still, Selwyn felt glad to wave them off.
After his guests were gone, he guided Aurelia away from the busy pavements, his hand laced with hers in the dim glow of the street lamps.
“Come upstairs with me,” he asked, and she followed.