Joan Smith by The Kissing Bough

Goderich’s mind was not perfect, but other than a few confusions, he understood how matters stood. He hadraised donkeys for Spain; that was not mere rambling, though he had never actually sent any to Wellington. He knew, at least, that Aurelia Townsend was not a suitable mistress for Clare-view.
    The dinner bell summoned Sir William back downstairs. The table was trimmed with evergreen boughs and red bows, and laden with the traditional Christmas feast of roast beef, roasted crab, plum pudding, and mince pies. Wine flowed freely, putting everyone in a festive mood, yet there was an undercurrent of uneasiness at the table.
    Aurelia was wondering what her family would think of her match if Nick was not to be Lord Goderich, and was not to own Clareview. It still rankled, too, that she could not be married at St. George’s in Hanover Square. Pelham noticed that Jane spent more of her time talking to Sir William than himself. Sir William watched them all like a spy, wondering how he might maneuver the unstable situation here to his advantage. He was not imagining that Nick was jealous of his à suivie flirtation with Jane. Nick’s dark eyes turned in their direction more often than chance would dictate. Nicholas was the most confused of all. Aurelia had suggested, before dinner, that they should make a long stay in Paris for their honeymoon. He kept telling himself that he was madly in love with her. His eyes told him that she was ravishingly beautiful; his body told him that he wanted her. Surely his great love affair was more than mere animal lust?
    Certainly he had felt the bristling heat of jealousy when she went so happily upstairs with Willie. Yet he had experienced the same sensation when Willie was holding Jane’s hand. It was bad enough that Pelham was showing signs of infatuation for Jane. He was a fool, but a good-natured, well-to-do one at least. Willie was a scoundrel—the sort of scoundrel whom the ladies seemed to find irresistible. At least he would be leaving after dinner. He couldn’t do much mischief in a couple of hours.
    While these thoughts whirled through his brain, the table talk continued apace. He shook himself to attention and listened to what. Aurelia was saying.
    “Is that not wonderful news, Nick? Willie has agreed to stay for our New Year’s party. Marie will be surprised to find him here. She thinks he is her cicisbeo.”
    Before he could reply, Lady Elizabeth said, “Do stay, Willie.” Even she was not immune to the scoundrel’s flashing eyes. “In fact, you must stay on for the wedding. You will be no end of help in all the little chores that pile up in arranging parties. I remember what an invaluable assistance you were for our May ball the second year Nick was gone. The orchestra, the wine, the decorations—we could not have done it without you.”
    “You are too kind, Aunt Lizzie. I shall be happy to stay, if I can be of assistance.”
    “Then it is settled,” Lizzie said, smiling graciously.
    Lady Elizabeth was the mistress of the house. Nick could hardly object. He smiled and said halfheartedly, “That is good of you, Willie.”
    Willie breathed a sigh of relief. There was no need to claim he felt ill, which would involve at least one day in bed. No need, either, to tell them his trunk was already unpacked. “I shall send my valet to Margaret’s place for the rest of my things. He came to help me dress for dinner.”
    After dinner the ladies retired to the Gold Saloon. Lizzie said to Aurelia, “You must start thinking what you would like for a wedding gift, my dear. I want to give you and Nick something to remember me by.”
    After a pause for consideration, Aurelia said, “Perhaps Nick would like the Van Dyck portraits on the staircase to stay at Clareview. I understand they belong to you. Since they are portraits of ancestors, you know, it would be nice to keep them here. But if you would prefer to take them with you to the Dower House, that is all right,” she added