A Grosvernor Square Christmas Read online

  Happily, Nigel always received one of the coveted invitations to Lady Winterson’s social events. An old family friend, Lucy Frost was quite simply one of his favorite people. She was sharply perceptive with a quick, acid wit, but underneath her polished sophistication lurked the warm and generous heart of a woman devoted to her friends and family.

  She was also an inveterate matchmaker who had been pestering him for years to get leg-shackled. Nigel intended to do just that and he hoped Lucy would approve of his choice, especially since the girl happened to be her goddaughter and niece. By a fortuitous coincidence—he hoped—Amelia Easton was spending the Christmas holiday at No. 3.

  That fit in perfectly with his plan to woo Amelia. Because starting tonight, he was turning over a new leaf. He would no longer be boring old Nigel but the dashing Mr. Dash. He realized now he’d been a fool to simply hope that Amelia would eventually take notice of him. If he was to prevail over her more flamboyant suitors he must, as Silverton had suggested, sweep her off her feet.

  And Lucy’s winter gala was the perfect opportunity to hoist his new colors.

  He cut across the street and mounted the steps of the noble, grey stone mansion. No. 3 always looked exceptionally fine at Christmas, after the countess tricked it out with lavish decorations. Huge evergreen wreaths with red bows hung from the lampposts at the base of the wide steps, and swags of bay leaves and evergreens, interwoven with more red ribbon, framed the front door. Even the classical Roman statues in alcoves on either side of the entrance were dressed with holiday cheer, their pedestals draped in greenery and mistletoe crowns on their heads. The house itself looked like a Christmas confection that should be sitting on the top of a giant Twelfth Night cake, glorious and madly overdone. It radiated warmth, cheer, and a welcome respite from the dreary London night.

  At his knock, a footman decked out in festive green and red livery ushered him inside. One had to give Lucy credit—instead of downplaying the rather comical conjunction of her name and title, she milked it for all it was worth. She might as well be a fairy queen from a Scandinavian folktale, ringing in the season with her magical winter celebration.

  A dignified middle-aged man dressed in simple but elegant black garb approached him from the back of the entrance hall.

  “Evening, Philbert,” Nigel said to Lucy’s butler. “Sorry to be late, but it couldn’t be helped.”

  In fact, he’d carefully planned his late arrival, calibrating his appearance for maximum effect. No more slipping in with the crowd to avoid calling attention to himself. Tonight, Nigel wanted to stand out, and he wanted Amelia to notice him.

  Philbert bowed and gave him a slight smile, a sign of true condescension. Lucy’s butler had more dignity in his little finger than the entire Royal Family. Though his past was rather murky, he ran the house with the precision of a general and smoothed the world for his mistress in dozens of ways. Other aristocrats had tried to lure Philbert away, but he was devoted only to Lucy and the Winterson family.

  “Her ladyship and Miss Easton are almost ready to go in, Mr. Dash,” Philbert said as he eyed Nigel’s cherry-red satin waistcoat. “They are most eager for your arrival.”

  Ah, he’d timed it perfectly. The other guests had no doubt gone ahead of him into the drawing room, and Nigel should now be the lucky man to escort Amelia into the party.

  Philbert preceded him up the ornately curved, blue-carpeted staircase. As they rounded the stairs, Nigel glanced up to see the countess and Amelia waiting for him. The countess was dressed with great flare in a hunter green gown trimmed with gleaming white ribbons, which perfectly set off her queenly demeanor and silver hair.

  But Nigel could only truly see Amelia. Her dress was snowy-white plush velvet trimmed with red ribbons at the waist and sleeves. It’s deceptively simple cut showcased her lovely figure with its gentle curves. Her hair, as shiny as mink, was piled high in charmingly haphazard curls and threaded with red satin ribbon and crystal beads. Best of all, of course, was her beautiful face and soft brown eyes, glowing with a welcome that chased away any lingering chills.

  If Lucy Frost was the Winter Queen, then Amelia was surely her princess.

  Though Nigel wasn’t a prince, he could hope that his new and improved persona would make up for that unfortunate defect.

  “Nigel, how beastly of you to be so tardy,” Lucy said with a merry twinkle in her eye. “I was about to give up on you, but Amelia insisted that it wouldn’t be right to go in without you.”

  Nigel blinked, a tad stunned that his plan was already working to such a positive effect.

  “Indeed?” he replied after bowing over his hostess’s hand. “I’m most grateful, Miss Easton. I beg you will accept my apologies.”

  Amelia’s gaze swept over him with uncharacteristic intensity. “No apology is necessary, Mr. Dash. But I was worried you might have had an unfortunate accident. Mrs. Pickerel informed us that it was terribly icy out tonight. Her footman slipped while helping her into her carriage and they both fell into a heap on the street.” She peered anxiously at him, as if looking for signs of a tumble.

  Nigel had to admit he didn’t much like the idea of her thinking him so clumsy a fellow. He lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss, lingering for a moment. When a small, surprised gasp escaped her lips, he felt a surge of satisfaction.

  “There was no need to worry on my account, Miss Easton, for I am quite well,” he said, letting his voice fall to a deeper note. Amelia stared at him, apparently a bit disconcerted. Nigel took that to be a good thing.

  “Ah, well, I’m certainly happy to hear that,” she said. “Did you walk over to No. 3 tonight? It’s so very cold and damp out, don’t you think? I wonder that anyone would come out on such an evening.” Then she winced, as if registering the fact that she was babbling.

  Lord, she was completely adorable. And his plan must be working because her response to him was quite different than normal.

  “Yes, I did stroll over from my apartments. I must say I enjoyed taking the night air. Does wonders for a man’s constitution.” There, that sounded deuced rugged of him.

  Amelia continued to peer at him with a slight crease in her brow, as if she couldn’t quite think how to respond. That was probably a good sign, too.

  At least he hoped so.

  “Dear me,” Lucy interjected in a faintly laughing voice. “That was excessively vigorous of you, Nigel. I’m sure you must stand in need of refreshment. Why don’t you take Amelia into the drawing room? I’ll follow in a moment after I’ve had a word with Philbert.”

  “Certainly, my lady,” he replied with a flourishing bow. Really, once one got the hang of it, it was easy as anything to act the part of the dashing rogue.

  Amelia took his proffered arm, giving him a hesitant smile as she glanced at his red waistcoat.

  “I’m not used to seeing you wear such bold colors, Mr. Dash,” she said as he led her down the hall. “It’s very, ah, festive.”

  “Isn’t it just?” he said with a smile. “I thought it the perfect choice for Lady Winterson’s Christmas party.”

  And the perfect thing to make him stand out from the crowd. Simmons, his valet, had been appalled and had mounted a vociferous argument against wearing it. Nigel had been forced to speak quite sternly to him, and Simmons had finished dressing him with a monumental disapproving silence.

  “Actually, it matches the color of my ribbons,” Amelia said, “which is rather fun.”

  She glanced at him with a laughing smile that sent his spirits soaring. He grinned down at her, forgetting for the moment that he was acting the part of a devil-may-care rogue. “Exactly. If we can’t have a little fun at Christmas, when can we?”

  Feeling like the luckiest man in London, he ushered her into the expansive and beautifully appointed drawing room. As usual, their hostess had drawn from the most exclusive reaches of the ton, even though tonight’s affair was not in her usual extravagant style. Lucy normally threw a gala ball for her annual even
t, but this year she had chosen to host a smaller, more family-oriented party, for the primary reason that Amelia and her younger siblings were staying at No. 3 while their parents were in Vienna on a diplomatic mission. It was a mark of Lucy’s splendid character that she would tailor her festivities to please the children rather than cater to the jaded appetites of the ton.

  And speaking of jaded appetites, a substantial portion of Nigel’s good mood evaporated as Lord Broadmore strolled up to them.

  “There you are, Amelia,” his lordship drawled in a bored voice. “Thank God you’ve finally come in. You’re the only bright note in this otherwise dreary affair. Can’t imagine what Lady Winterson was thinking this year. No dancing and a bunch of ill-mannered, grubby children kicking up a fuss. It’s beastly, if you want to know. I don’t know how you can bear it.”

  Nigel felt Amelia’s slender body go rigid, understandably, since two of the grubby children were her siblings. He could also tell that while a retort hovered on the tip of her tongue, her sense of courtesy prevented her from voicing it.

  But Nigel was done with niceties when it came to idiots like Broadmore.

  “Really, Broadmore?” he said. “Don’t mean to insult you, but the children aren’t the ones kicking up the fuss.” He inspected one young lad, dressed neat as a pin and sitting quietly with Lady Peterson, then shifted his gaze onto Broadmore’s garish purple and yellow striped waistcoat that made Nigel’s color choice look positively subdued. “In fact, I’m forced to remark that the children seem both better behaved and better dressed than you. Can’t imagine why you thought that particular color combination in a waistcoat was a good idea. Makes you look rather like a large insect.”

  Broadmore gaped at him momentarily, but then his dark eyebrows snapped together in a thunderous scowl. Amelia made a choking sound before clutching Nigel’s sleeve and pulling him away.

  “Excuse us, Lord Broadmore,” she said in a bright voice over her shoulder, “but I’ve been meaning to introduce Mr. Dash to my sister Penelope. You know this is her first ton party, and she’s feeling a little shy.”

  Broadmore’s scowl was replaced by a smirk. “Oh, of course. Dash is the perfect fellow to sit with the children while we enjoy ourselves. I’ll come rescue you in a few minutes, my dear. You needn’t worry that I’ll abandon you this evening.”

  Before Nigel could make a suitable riposte, Amelia dragged him off to the other end of the cavernous drawing room. He liked to think her actions indicated a preference for his company over Broadmore’s, but some mumbled comments under her breath suggested otherwise. He was quite certain she uttered the phrase beastly men.

  Amelia recovered her cheerful temperament once they joined her siblings. In fact, they spent a pleasant half hour chatting with Penelope and Mitchell, Amelia’s brother and sister. Contrary to Broadmore’s ill-mannered observation, the children were well-behaved and intelligent, much like their older sister. Because they were also a trifle shy and clearly missing their parents, Nigel did his best to set them at ease by asking them about their visit to No. 3 and the gifts they hoped to receive at Christmas. Amelia happily joined in the conversation, laughing along with her siblings until Broadmore reappeared and carried her off to speak with his aunt, the Duchess of Ledmuir.

  Though her reluctance to go had been evident, Broadmore obviously thought he was rescuing the girl from an evening of unrelieved boredom. Nigel had to shake his head over the man’s failure to recognize that Amelia was a devoted sister who truly enjoyed the company of her siblings.

  Nigel finished his conversation with the children and then excused himself to smoothly cut into Broadmore’s heavy-handed flirtation with Amelia. Fortunately, their hostess appeared at just the right moment to unwittingly aid Nigel’s cause by insisting that Broadmore attend to the Dowager Countess of Brisco. Once Broadmore was safely in the old termagant’s clutches, Nigel spirited Amelia away to the bay alcove at the far end of the drawing room.

  They sipped champagne while Nigel amused her with trenchant observations on some of the other guests. He suspected that a few of his remarks might have shocked her, and he silently admitted to himself that one or two might have tip-toed over the line of decorum. Nigel had never been one to gossip, and engaging in those sorts of witticisms struck him as a dreary exercise. But most ladies of his acquaintance did generally enjoy a good gossip, although Amelia seemed rather, well, disconcerted by his efforts more than anything else. Perhaps they were both struggling to adapt to the new Nigel Dash.

  When it came to flirting, however, he was convinced he was having some real success. He managed twice to make her blush, and she even cast her gaze modestly down when he paid her a magnificently ornate compliment about the fathomless depths of her sparkling eyes.

  And truth be told, he could sit all evening and gaze into her lovely eyes without feeling the need to utter a word of nonsense. But he’d monopolized her attention long enough. It was one thing to engage in a discreet flirtation for a short spell. It was quite another to set the gossips prattling about Amelia’s conduct with an unmarried man.

  He was just about to suggest they join the others when Lucy hurried across the room, looking flustered. “Excuse me for interrupting, my dears, but I’m in a terrible quandary and I need Nigel’s help.”

  Nigel stood. “Of course, my lady. How can I be of assistance?”

  “What’s wrong, Aunt Lucy?” Amelia asked in a worried voice. “Can I help, too?”

  Lucy narrowed her eyes on them, then nodded. “Perhaps you’d both better come with me while I explain.”

  She sailed off and they trailed in her magnificent wake. When they passed Broadmore, still trapped in conversation with Lady Brisco, Nigel gave him a polite nod. His rival’s furious glare in return promised legions of retribution that Nigel mentally shrugged off. As far as he was concerned, Broadmore was an ass who deserved everything he got.

  As long as what he got wasn’t Amelia.

  They followed Lucy out to the hallway, where they found Philbert in a large club chair that appeared to have been hastily dragged from another room. The butler had crossed his leg over his knee, and his normally impassive features had twisted into a painful grimace as he gingerly rubbed his ankle. One of the liveried footmen hovered, looking as guilt-ridden as a naughty child.

  “Does it feel any better?” Lucy asked, her voice colored by anxiety. “I think you should let Thomas help you down to the kitchen.”

  “Thomas is the reason I find myself in this predicament,” Philbert responded dryly. “I believe he’s helped me enough for one evening.”

  “What happened?” Amelia asked, torn between alarm and laughter.

  Lucy reached out as if to touch Philbert’s shoulder, but then seemed to think better of it. “Thomas was helping Philbert put on his robe, and they both got horribly tangled up in the skirts. Poor Philbert tripped and twisted his ankle.”

  Nigel frowned. “His robe? Isn’t it a bit early for Philbert to be toddling off to bed, especially with guests in the house?”

  “Oh, I understand,” Amelia exclaimed, darting behind Philbert’s chair. “Not his dressing gown, his costume.”

  She retrieved a bundle of material from a side table set against the wall. “This robe.” She held up an elaborate, forest-green garment with long, deep sleeves trimmed with ermine.

  “That looks like something Father Christmas would wear,” Nigel said, remembering the character from the holiday pantomimes of his childhood. He looked at Lucy, trying not to laugh. “Surely you weren’t going to force poor old Philbert to play the part, were you? Not that I mean to criticize, but it doesn’t really seem your style, my dear ma’am.”

  Philbert gave him a speaking glance, clearly holding the same dim view of the proposed entertainment as Nigel.

  “Philbert was to dress as Father Christmas and distribute dessert and extra dainties to the children,” Lucy said. “Cook made up some sugared baskets with sweetmeats especially for them.” She looked at her butle
r and wrinkled her nose in silent apology. “It was to be a special treat, you see. Something to cheer them up.”

  “They’re so missing Mamma and Papa this year,” Amelia earnestly explained to Nigel. “They’ve been gone for weeks and we’re not sure when they’ll return. It’s the first Christmas that we’ve not all been together,” she finished in a rather forlorn voice.

  Philbert dredged up a sigh as he gazed at his mistress. “Forgive me, my lady. Thomas and I seem to have made rather a botch of things.”

  This time Lucy did pat him on the shoulder. “I’m simply relieved you didn’t receive a greater injury.”

  “Well, why doesn’t Thomas play the part?” Nigel said, eyeing the strapping young man. “He’s certainly imposing enough for it.”

  “That’s entirely the problem,” Lucy said. “He’s too big. When he tried on the robe, it started to rip across the shoulders.”

  “Surely there’s someone else…” Nigel trailed off at the look on Lucy’s face. “Good Gad, no,” he exclaimed. “You cannot begin to think—”

  “Of course!” Amelia’s face lit up as she grabbed his arm. With the small portion of his mind not taken up with the horror of Lucy’s plan to make a complete fool out of him, he noted that Amelia did seem to be touching him rather a lot this evening. Now she was also bouncing up and down in her pretty white and gold spangled shoes. “You’d make a splendid Father Christmas, Mr. Dash, because you have such an easy way with children. I’m sure the robe will fit, and we can adjust the wreath in an instant.”

  “The wreath?” Nigel repeated in a hollow voice. He fastened his appalled gaze on Philbert, who nodded in masculine sympathy

  “Well, Father Christmas must wear his crown of mistletoe, Nigel,” Lucy said in coaxing voice. “He wouldn’t look authentic without it.”