Part 1 (1/2)

A Christmas Bride.

Jo Ann Ferguson.

For Robin, You have taught me many things.

-and I thank you for all of them.

But most of all I thank you for your friends.h.i.+p.

One.

”All we need to do is find you a fiancee by tomorrow.”

Timothy Crawford ignored his cousin's laugh. This was no laughing matter, and Felix should be quite aware of that. He thought that they had been in each other's pockets for long enough that his cousin would appreciate the gravity of this situation. This was all his own doing. If he had been honest with his grandfather, he would not be suffering from this predicament now.

Putting his gla.s.s on the table by the chair in his dimly lit parlor, Timothy rose and went to the window to look out on the square that was almost lost in the London fog. He clasped his hands behind his back to keep them from curling into fists of frustration.

What a b.u.mble-bath! He had wanted only to ease his grandfather's anxiety about future heirs. When he had devised the story of a wondrous woman who had agreed to be his wife, he had not guessed he would actually have to produce her for his grandfather's inspection at his seventieth birthday celebration on Christmas Eve.

”How difficult can it be?” Felix continued, splas.h.i.+ng more wine into his gla.s.s as he came to stand beside Timothy. He was half a head shorter, and, instead of the golden hair that was the hallmark of their family, his hair was a dull brown. ”You are a viscount with our grandfather's t.i.tle of earl to be yours upon his death. Cheyney Park is a magnificent country seat, and you shall have enough blunt to satisfy even the most demanding wife. I am sure, with no more than a crook of your finger, you shall be able to find any number of la.s.ses eager to betroth themselves to you.”

”I have plied Grandfather with out-and-outers for too long.” He sighed. ”I have no choice but to be honest.” He reached for his gla.s.s and raised it to his lips, but it was empty.

Felix obligingly refilled it. ”He will disown you. You shall have the t.i.tle, but not a copper penny to go along with it.”

”Which will be your father's good fortune, for he would be next to inherit it.” He rubbed his eyes. How long had it been since he last slept? Two days? Three? He was not sure of the number of days, but knew it had been since the letter had arrived from Cheyney Park with the request that Timothy and his fiancee, Serenity Adams, attend the earl's birthday celebration.

Serenity Adams! He wished he never had written to his grandfather of this paragon of femininity. No woman he had met during the Season here in Town matched her perfection, with her ebony hair and silver-blue eyes. He had even gone so far as to describe in his letters to his grandfather how she was a pattern-card of style, favoring bright colors that accented the color in her smooth cheeks, and the betrothal ring he had given her.

He glanced at the box sitting on the mantel. The ring existed, for he had been want-witted enough to purchase it for Charlene Pye, not realizing she had set her cap for another. No other aspect of Serenity Adams existed, for she was the product of a lonely imagination on nights when his only company had been a bottle of something to sand the edges off his pain.

Now Grandfather wanted to meet her.

Downing the wine in his gla.s.s, he sighed. ”I see no choice but to go to Cheyney Park and tell Grandfather the truth.”

”That is a mistake.”

Timothy smiled for the first time in days. ”I trust you will tell me that all the way to Cheyney Park.”

”You want me to go with you?” Felix shook his head. ”I am not the favorite grandson, the beloved heir. Grandfather will waste no time dressing me down.”

”For what?”

”For not telling him the truth.” He took a deep sip. ”He would see that as a gentleman's duty.”

”I know.” Squaring his shoulders, he said, ”I cannot delay this any longer. Wish me good luck, because I shall be leaving at dawn to face his fury.”

Felix sighed, then said, ”I shall go with you. If I don't and Grandfather learns that I knew of your deception, he will be in a snit at Father for raising such a deceitful son.”

”He cannot blame my deceit on anyone but me.” He dropped back into the chair. ”Blast it! It seemed like such a good idea when I first told Grandfather about meeting this charming young woman who was eager for my attentions.”

”If you had not been so busy dealing with Grandfather's business interests, you might have time to meet the young ladies who are seeking a husband.”

”I shall leave the flirtations to you.” Without looking up, he added, ”I am departing for Cheyney Park at dawn. If you wish to go with me, be ready to join me then.”

Timothy did not move as his cousin walked out of the parlor. He could not fault Felix for finding the whole of this amusing.

Felix Wayne never would have found himself in such an untenable position, for he could tell falsehoods without hesitation. Only to his father was he unerringly honest. Grasping the bottle, Timothy poured himself another serving of wine. He started to drink it, then set the gla.s.s down again. What good was losing himself in wine? All he would have in the morning was a headache and the same problems.

He had not intended this ruse to go so far, but his grandfather had been unduly interested in Serenity Adams and Timothy's intentions toward her. No letter arrived from Cheyney Park without a query about Miss Adams. He should have foreseen this. He might have, if he had not been so caught up in the building of the new textile factory in the Midlands.

You should leave business to businessmen. How many times had Felix chided him with that? It might have been easy to agree if he did not enjoy overseeing the day-to-day management of his grandfather's investments. Mayhap he should have been born a merchant's son, instead of an earl's son's son.

Now he had to face the consequences of his web of lies that had been woven into the image of the perfect woman. He could only hope that his grandfather would forgive him. He doubted if he would ever forgive himself.

Felix cursed as the carriage bounced, and his head cracked against the roof. Glowering at Timothy, who sat across from him, he said, ”You should rid yourself of that lame-hand in the box.”

”You cannot blame Jenkins for this feather-bed lane.” He gripped the window's edge as the carriage dropped into a chuckhole and out again. Water splattered up from the puddles to blend with the falling rain. ”This winter's storms have washed it out.”

”We shall not reach the Park tonight at this rate.”

”True.” He was not sure if that was a relief or not. He did not look forward to confessing to his grandfather, but he did look forward to the relief of being honest at last.

”Blasted inconvenient for the earl to have his birthday on Christmas Eve.”

Timothy grinned. ”I doubt if his mother took your discomfort today into consideration when the time came for him to be born. Most likely she was thinking only of her discomfort.”

”By Lord Harry!” Felix bellowed when his head b.u.mped against the carriage roof again. ”Can't you tell him to watch where he is going?”

He did not bother to answer. Jenkins was an excellent coachman, and he would be finding the best route along this seldom traveled road that led across the moors not far from the old Roman walls at the farthest extent of their erstwhile empire. The rolling hills edged with low copses and gorse had been swallowed by the fog and freezing rain, and Timothy suspected the coachee could not see much past the tip of the lead horse's nose.

Closing his eyes, he decided to try to rest. He had found no sleep last night either. How long could a man go without rest before his own thoughts drove him to insanity? He had been bird-witted to embark on this journey of lies. Mayhap when he was honest with his grandfather, he would not have to suffer any longer from thoughts of a woman who was nothing but an air-dream. He was the brunt of the jest, because, although he had named her Serenity, he had found no serenity in the past week.

”Why are we stopping?”

Timothy opened his eyes at his cousin's grumble. He was not sure if he had fallen asleep or not. Only a moment might have pa.s.sed or an hour. Either way, his mind was still groggy, and the heavy rain was still falling, and the fog still reigned across the moors.

He sat straighter as the carriage slowed. It bounced when Jenkins came down off the box.

Opening the door, he called, ”Jenkins, what is amiss?”

”Lord Cheyney, there are tracks in the mud here that lead off the side of the road. Looks like a carriage went over.”