Chapter 3
The dinner table was quiet, save for the clinking of cutlery on plates that had seen more than their fair share of wear.
Mama would have been appalled to see her table laid with crockery so well-used.
Marchingham didn’t seem particularly ashamed of the plates or the plain fare offered for their meal.
But then, he hadn’t been expecting guests.
From his aloof silence, Addy suspected he didn’t often entertain. Or if he did, he was appallingly bad at it. She supposed either could have been possible.
But as the disapproving quiet stretched on, she found she could no longer hold her tongue, even if Aunt Pearl was doing her utmost to enjoy her meal. Alfred had taken his dinner belowstairs, leaving just the two of them to suffer the duke’s icy presence.
“I’ve yet to see a Christmas tree here at Marchingham Hall,” she blurted.
Marchingham paused in the act of cutting a piece of meat, his glacial stare lifting to her. “That is because there isn’t one.”
She gasped. “No Christmas tree? At home, my mother has the servants erect the tree at least three weeks in advance.”
With Christmas a mere fortnight away, it had rather shocked Addy to discover nary a hint of anything festive to be found on her cursory exploration of the manor house.
Dandy had led her on quite a merry chase through the halls and rooms. But there had been no kissing boughs, no mistletoe, no fir branches, no candles or trees or ornaments. The entire edifice was bereft.
“As you can see, you are not at home, Miss Fox,” he pointed out, his tone cutting.
The urge to fling a forkful of bland roast at his handsome face was strong. But summoning all of her restraint, Addy controlled herself.
She pinned a false smile to her lips. “That’s as obvious as the nose on your face.”
One golden brow rose, his countenance forbidding. “Are you commenting upon the size of my nose, madam?”
Aunt Pearl made a strangled sound at Addy’s side, and Addy cast a glance in her direction to make certain she wasn’t choking on her food. Aunt Pearl hastily took a sip of her wine, giving Addy a meaningful look.
Her aunt wished for Addy to hold her tongue, she knew.
But there was something about the wretched duke and the misery of her present circumstances that brought out the very worst in her.
As the snow exhibited no sign of slowing, she was stuck with him, all whilst her dear friends were nowhere near.
At least after she had located Dandy, she had slipped the French bulldog back into her room without Marchingham taking note.
The victory was Addy’s sole source of comfort at present.
She flicked a glance back in the duke’s direction, thinking it a pity that such uncommonly fine looks had been gifted upon a man who was as pleasant as a cold, wet stocking.
“I would never dream of commenting upon the size of your nose, Your Graceship,” she said, unable to keep from needling him just a bit by once again intentionally using the incorrect form of address.
His nostrils flared and his lips compressed. “Yes, I reckon to do so would be unbearably rude, and you would never be that, would you, Miss Fox?”
She narrowed her eyes at him, reconsidering her decision not to throw food at his head from across the table. “Never.”
They exchanged glares, and then the duke resumed eating his dinner.
Addy waited for him to take a bite before continuing brightly, “If you don’t have a Christmas tree, then we must find you one.”
He took his time chewing and swallowing before responding simply, “No.”
“No? That is all you have to say on the matter?”
A small smile curved the corners of his mouth upward. “Quite.”
Her fingers clenched on her own fork, her grip so tight that her knuckles ached.
“At home in New York City, we have a beautiful tree covered in ornaments and candles, festoons over every doorway, kissing balls, presents, candy canes… It is a truly glorious sight to behold. No one celebrates Christmas like my mama. That is why I wanted Lila and Letty to join us.”
“No good would have come of my sisters visiting you in America, Miss Fox,” he said calmly.
“What would have been the harm?” she demanded, still outraged by his refusals each year.
“You, Miss Fox. I daresay your influence is hardly improving.”
“Me?” Her shoulders went back. “There is nothing wrong with my influence.”
He regarded her solemnly. “What would you call sewing the undergarments of the headmistress together whilst she was sleeping?”
“Hilarious,” she said, raising her wineglass in mock toast. “Madame Mallette was horrid to us. She deserved far worse than having the split in her drawers sewn shut. Although, I will admit I was delighted to know that she failed to realize what we had done until she had gone to the water closet and it was too late.”
“Addy, dearest,” Aunt Pearl attempted to intervene in a tone of shock.
Addy knew it was beyond the pale to speak so boldly in mixed company, but she didn’t care.
“Is a pot of honey emptied in one’s hair a worse fate?” he inquired coldly.
“The honey wasn’t my idea,” she defended herself. “However, it was immensely gratifying to see how difficult of a time that old shrew had washing it out.”
“What about sneaking into the village to find young gentlemen to kiss?” he snapped.
Heat crept up Addy’s throat, but she refused to look away. Instead, she held his gaze. “That one was my idea.”
It had also been what had ultimately seen Addy, Lila, and Letty expelled from the Académie Clairemont.
“Adelia Louise,” Aunt Pearl said, sounding aghast.
Mama had never told anyone the true reason for Addy’s premature return from Swiss finishing school. She’d been far too ashamed. Poor Aunt Pearl was learning of Addy’s misadventures for the first time. All thanks to the Duke of Arse-ingham.
“As you can see, I was not unreasonably reluctant to allow my sisters to once more be exposed to your unladylike influence,” the duke was saying with a self-important, triumphant air.
“They might have gone to visit you and ended up murdered in some filthy alley or perhaps they would have run off with a pair of lowly sailors.”
“I never would have allowed any harm to befall them,” she defended herself, fairly trembling with outrage. “Lila and Letty are like sisters to me.”
“You must forgive me if I find your reassurances less than comforting, Miss Fox,” he returned, his voice cool. “It is a miracle neither of them was ruined after what happened at the Académie Clairemont, and all thanks to you.”
A thought suddenly occurred to her, distracting her from the acerbic dialogue she was exchanging with the duke.
The Christmas presents she had painstakingly chosen and brought from America for Letty and Lila were packed in her trunks.
The trunks she’d been forced to abandon hours earlier to the snow.
She gasped. “I have to go back to the carriage.”
“So that you can meet your worldly end in the snowbank after all?” Marchingham asked unkindly.
“No.” Tears welled in her eyes. Tears of frustration and sadness and failure.
Oh, how she had been looking forward to seeing Lila and Letty again at last. To presenting them with their gifts.
To staying up far too late, exchanging stories about the turns their lives had taken over the last three years.
“So that I can rescue the presents I brought for your sisters from the snow.”
On the last word, her voice cracked. She very much didn’t want to exhibit any weakness to the duke. Particularly not after his harsh words and stinging accusations. But much to her humiliation, the tears spilled, rolling hot and fast down her cheeks.
Christmas was ruined. She hadn’t managed to surprise her friends. She was trapped with their horrible brother. It was still snowing. And she had no clothing, aside from the travel gown on her back.
“Don’t cry, Adelia dear,” Aunt Pearl said softly, patting her hand. “You’ll make me weep too.”
Addy sniffled. Swallowed. Dashed at the tears with the back of her hand. How embarrassing. She was Miss Adelia Fox, daughter of one of the wealthiest men in New York City, and yet she had never felt more helpless, nor more like a failure.
“You needn’t weep, Miss Fox,” the duke said curtly.
His words—far less cold than his earlier tone—caught her attention. She’d supposed he would triumph over her sadness, her inability to control her own emotions. But there was, unless she was mistaken, a hint of sympathy in his voice now, in his gaze as it met hers and held.
“Your trunks have all been collected,” he said gruffly.
Addy’s mouth fell open. “They have?”
He nodded. “A few of the lads and I returned to the carriage, and we loaded them into a wagon and brought them here.”
He had exhibited such callous indifference over her concerns earlier. And yet, he had ventured into the snow yet again on her behalf. Addy didn’t quite know what to do with this information.
“Thank you,” she told him, unable to keep the astonishment from her voice.
He returned his attention to his plate. “The grooms were brushing the snow from them in the stables. I expect you’ll find them awaiting you in your room after dinner.”
“I am indebted to you,” Addy managed, though the admission was not without another wound to her already fragile pride.
“Indeed you are, Miss Fox,” he agreed, his eyes lifting from his plate to hers once again.