The Christmas Heiress Page 8

  Edward tilted his head and drained his glass. Jonathan, his brows drawing together in a puzzled frown, imitated his brother's actions.

  The countess averted her gaze, apparently trying to hide her shock. She lifted her teacup and took a fortifying sip. Edward wished he possessed the nerve to ask her if she wanted a splash of whiskey mixed in with her tea, to settle her nerves.

  The countess pressed her lips together and gave a stubborn sniff. "There is still hope for you to make a suitable marriage, Edward, if you decide to be sensible."

  "Even with the smell of commerce on my person," he mocked, echoing her words.

  "As I said, blood will tell in the end. This peculiar inclination you have to work is not widely known in our circles." In obvious irritation, the countess narrowed her penetrating gaze. "Though you may choose to deny it, you were raised with the expectation of nobility. I believe it would be best if we think upon this unfortunate matter with Miss Menton as a blessing."

  "A blessing?" Astonishment shone in Jonathan's eyes. "That is a rather heartless remark, Mother."

  "Nonsense." The countess's lips pursed into a sour expression. "Edward has been given yet another chance to make a proper marriage. I can only pray that he will not squander this opportunity."

  Edward frowned. Part of him could not help feeling angry at his mother's cold attitude and expectation that he simply substitute a new bride, a better bride to replace the woman who had so recently duped him.

  "The choice of a wife will remain solely my decision. I do not seek nor do I require your permission or approval, Madame," Edward replied without apology. It was essential that his mother realize he would not be manipulated in this matter.

  "Forgive the interruption, my lady, but there is a crisis in the kitchen that requires your immediate attention."

  They all turned to face the female who had entered the room. Edward was expecting to see one of the maids, but instead beheld a tiny, slender, shapely, strikingly pretty young woman with lively dark eyes and raven hair that was worn in an elegantly plaited and coiled chignon.

  Her gown was subdued in color and style, slightly out-of-fashion, but made of quality fabric. She was not a common house servant, yet she was not a lady. Still, she bore herself with aristocratic grace that seemed to be bred into her very bones. Was she a poor relation of one of the houseguests?

  "Thank you, Evelyn," the countess replied. "Tell Cook to wait for me in the dining room. I shall attend to this problem in a moment."

  The younger woman curtsied and turned to leave, but Jonathan rushed forward.

  "I am delighted to see you again, Miss Montgomery," he exclaimed. "And might I add, you are looking very fetching this afternoon."

  "'Tis very kind of you to notice, Mr. Barringer," she replied with a shy smile. "It seems that whenever we chance to meet you remark upon my attire. I am beginning to wonder if you have an affinity for women's clothing."

  Jonathan laughed with delight, and a glint of mischief lit his eyes. Edward moved to stand beside his brother.

  "Cease harassing this poor young woman at once and introduce us, Jonathan," he demanded.

  "I don't believe you have met Mother's companion, Miss Evelyn Montgomery," Jonathan responded obediently. "This is my older brother, the Earl of Worthington."

  Miss Montgomery shot him a quick look of surprise. "My-my lord," she stammered in greeting. He glimpsed a hint of vulnerability in the dark depths of her eyes before she lowered them and sank into a raceful curtsey. "Forgive me for not properly iiig you."

  Edward could only imagine what tales of horror his mother had related about him, for what else could explain the poor girl's sudden strain. Slightly embarrassed by her nervous reaction, Edward sought to put her at ease.

  "I am very pleased to discover my mother has the company of such a fine young lady, Miss Montgomery," he said kindly. "I am sure you are of great help to her."

  "I tr " y.

  "Do not be so modest, Evelyn," the countess said. "Your hands and feet are always kept very busy, but never more so than during a house party. I do not know how I would possibly manage without you."

  "'Tis lovely to have the extra company, especially during the holidays," Miss Montgomery said. "Christmas is always such a joyful, magical time of year."

  Edward was pleased Miss Montgomery appeared content in her position and pleased also that his mother seemed to appreciate her companion's work. In his experience, all too often a lady's companion was a drab, shapeless creature, an invisible female who lived and worked in the households of wealthy aristocratic families as little more than an underpaid servant. He decided he would consult the account books before he left the estate to ensure that Miss Montgomery was being adequately compensated.

  Edward smiled charmingly. "We must make certain not to overwork you, Miss Montgomery, else you will decide to leave us."

  Her eyes grew wide. "But I have nowhere else to go, my lord. My parents died within a few months of each other several years ago. Lacking any suitable relations willing to take me in, I was fortunate indeed to find work as your mother's companion."

  Miss Montgomery spoke with a steady voice, but at the mention of her parents' deaths, an unmistakable dark grief flickered across her lovely face. Edward felt a jolt of sympathy for the young woman's predicament. Though technically not an orphan, he knew all too well what it felt like to be deprived of blood relations.

  "Considering your circumstances, I hope that you will look upon us as far more than an employer," Edward said, offering the young woman a smile he hoped was encouraging.

  A pretty blush of color filled her cheeks and she ducked her head. It wasn't too difficult to follow the progression of her thoughts; clearly, she was embarrassed at having revealed so much about herself.

  Jonathan's discreet cough came to the rescue, breaking the mood. Miss Montgomery darted lightly back across the room to leave, but stopped with her hand on the doorknob. "I'm sure it will be a fine holiday celebration now that you are back with your family, my lord."

  "I will see you both later," the countess said after her companion had left. "As you might remember, Edward, we dine earlier than is the Town fashion. The houseguests will be gathering in the drawing room no later than six-thirty."

  Edward nodded his head politely, wondering why his mother bothered to remind him about the evening meal. She would certainly prefer if he were late, or better still, if he never came at all.

  He sighed. This day felt twenty hours long, yet it was far from over. Edward admitted it was partially his fault. He had expected too much. Jonathan's optimism had brushed off on him, making him believe it was possible for the countess to see reason, to forget the past and to move forward and mend the rift between them.

  He knew now, it would take far more than an afternoon chatting over tea and trading barbs to alter his mother's opinion of him. It would take far more than patience and a few glasses of whiskey along with some garbled explanations of his actions to reach some kind of peaceful relationship.

  It would take nothing short of a miracle.

  Charlotte took a late-afternoon lavender-and-rosewater-scented bath, washing her hair and then rinsing it in equal parts lemon juice and hot water. Once it dried and was combed out, she climbed into the comfortable four-poster bed, knowing she would be unable to nap, but deciding a few hours of quiet rest would invigorate her mind and spirits.

  Much to her surprise, she slept a dreamless, untroubled sleep for several hours and awoke to find her headache gone. Pleased to be feeling better, she dressed with care for dinner, allowing her maid to lace her tightly into a fashionable dark green silk gown with cream lace trim and a matching green embroidered hem.

  Charlotte had always enjoyed wearing fine clothes and tried to look her best at all occasions, but it was now of paramount importance that for the next two weeks she groomed herself with the utmost care. Being in prime looks gave her a boost of confidence and it was essential that she wasn't at any kind of disadvantage
whenever she was in the earl's company.

  "How should I wear my hair this evening, Jones?" Charlotte asked her maid.

  "Not too severe, Miss," the maid replied. With skillful hands, she pinned up a large section of Charlotte's hair and then deftly manipulated sections of the long, shiny tresses into ringlets that clustered around her face. "If you are wearing the emeralds tonight, I can place the matching haircombs on the top and sides."

  "Yes, please. Use the combs."

  The maid unlocked the jewel case and retrieved the emerald-and-diamond combs. After pinning them carefully into place, she stepped back to admire her handiwork. "It looks lovely."

  "Yes, it does, Jones. You have a deft touch. Thank you.

  Charlotte removed the matching necklace and earbobs from the jewel case, then dabbed some lavender-scented perfume onto the inside of her wrists and elbows and behind her ears.

  At last she felt ready to do battle. She was going to show the Earl of Worthington that she was a contented, beautiful, sophisticated woman in the very prime of her life who did not waste a minute of her thoughts on him.

  She had something to prove. To him, but more importantly to herself. She was, in truth, a contented woman. Life with Grandfather at Quincy Court was good. She had far more freedom than many unmarried women her age, financial security and the opportunity to say and do whatever she wanted, within reason, of course.

  If something was missing, well, perhaps that too might come along one day. Being rejected by the earl when she was seventeen years old had been a bitter pill to swallow. For a short time Charlotte had decided she would never marry, but eventually she came to her senses and realized it would be foolish to deny herself a lifelong partner because of one broken relationship.

  No, Charlotte had not given up on marriage. She had however adopted a high standard of expectation in a partner. Thanks to her indulgent grandfather, the choice of a husband was hers to make, and even though she was twenty-three, she felt no need to hurry. She had gained maturity and sensibility over the years and felt no competition from the crop of giggling debutantes fresh from the schoolroom who came to London each Season.

  Charlotte was courted each year by several gentlemen, though as of yet she had not found the right one. Her goal was to marry someone who was acceptable to her grandfather and appealing to herself.

  The trouble was, no man, no matter how handsome, titled, wealthy or powerful, had been truly appealing.

  Was that because of Edward Barringer, Earl of Worthington? A little shiver prickled her spine. Charlotte honestly could not say. But now that she had been given a chance to see him again, perhaps she would finally find out.

  The guests gathered in the drawing room before dinner, exchanging greetings and renewing acquaintances. Charlotte visited briefly with each of them, then stole away for a moment to a quiet corner, her attention drawn to the outside fading light.

  She stood at the long French windows, watching the sun set beneath an orange, gold and pink sky. "Have you ever seen a more glorious sight?" she muttered, her voice filled with soft wonder.

  "Yes, it is rather magnificent," came the masculine reply.

  Charlotte felt herself flushing. She had not realized the earl was so close. She thought she was alone.

  Without being invited, the earl came up beside her and they watched the sun disappear over the edge of the distant forest. As darkness engulfed the view, the twinkling glow of the candle-lit chandelier reflected off the window glass. Charlotte lifted her head and looked directly at him.

  He was looking back, his eyes narrowed in puzzlement. She wondered if he was remembering kissing her. She tilted her head a little higher. She felt color flood her cheeks as her mind was swamped with those extraordinary memories.

  Many things were different about the earl, but the sheer power and magnetism of the man had not altered. Especially when one was standing so close. Charlotte felt a surge of confused resentment. The last thing she needed was to rekindle her girlhood emotions toward him.

  "Was it a sudden, impulsive decision to leave London and come to Farmington Manor?" she asked, desperate to change the strange mood that enveloped them.

  The earl's eyes narrowed. "As I have so frequently reminded everyone who has been so shocked to see me today, this is my home."

  "Yet you never visit."

  He brushed his hand lightly through his hair. "Are you aware of the circumstances of my recently cancelled engagement, Miss Aldridge?"

  Charlotte set her lips. Dozens of sarcastic retorts sprung to her lips, but she surprisingly found herself unable to gloat at his misfortune. She looked at him closely, feeling as if she could see through the elegant clothes and sophisticated confidence to the hurt and loneliness beneath. "I read the Morning Chronicle, my lord. And the Morning Post."

  "Not the Times?" he asked, his eyes dancing.

  "'Tis usually a wasted effort to read that paper. I find their gossip column sadly lacking in sordid details," she replied lightly.

  He raised his eyebrow and drawled, "Aye, but what they do not know, they can easily fabricate."

  "Was it all a lie?" she could not keep herself from asking. "The newspaper accounts were dramatic and sensationalistic. In these sorts of situations, a gentleman usually allows a lady to cry off, in hopes of saving her reputation."

  He gave a short, rather mirthless laugh. "My former fiancee did not cry off in the customary manner. She ran off. With another man."

  "It was most unfortunate that she chose such a public-"

  He held up an arresting hand. "Please, no offers of sympathy." He gave a slightly self-mocking head shake. "Oddly enough, I find it makes me feel even more morose.

  Charlotte crossed her arms, but was saved from making a response by the sound of the dinner bell. The earl bowed and excused himself, then walked over to his mother.

  The countess appeared startled to find her son beside her. For a brief moment she looked as if she would refuse the support of his arm, but the earl stood patiently, never moving a muscle, never taking his eyes off his mother.

  The guests were all too polite to openly stare, but the countess must have realized they were all very aware of the drama. With a small sigh, the older woman lightly rested her gloved fingertips on the earl's sleeve and allowed him to escort her from the room.

  The rest of the guests paired up and followed them into the dining room. Charlotte held on tightly to her grandfather's arm.

  "The countess does not seem pleased to see her eldest son," Lord Reginald whispered. "Looks like the holiday fireworks are going to be set off early this year."

  "It should be quite a show," Charlotte agreed. "Do not stand too close, Grandpapa, or you might become burned."

  Lord Reginald smiled, but his eyes were grave. "Does it distress you greatly to see him again, Charlotte? If you wish to leave, I will make our excuses to the countess and we can depart in the morning."

  Charlotte gave the suggestion due consideration, then shook her head. "No," she responded firmly, honestly. "There is no need for us to leave. If it becomes necessary, I can easily avoid the earl. Besides, we have already allowed our staff to join their families for the holiday. It would be unfair to expect them to return to Quincy Court and make Christmas for us on such short notice."

  "All right. For now we shall stay. But all you need to do is give the word and we shall depart at once."

  Her grandfather led her around the table and a footman pulled out her chair. Charlotte gathered her wide skirt to one side and gracefully sat down. She glanced around the table and realized with some surprise that she was seated on the earl's right hand.

  He fittingly occupied the head of the table, but a higher-ranking female should have been afforded the honor of sitting next to him. A second glance about the room confirmed a far more casual arrangement of the twenty dinner guests. Even the countess's companion, Miss Montgomery, was joining them, seated beside Jonathan.

  "I came in earlier and switched all the placards,"
the earl confided. "In my experience, these dinner parties can be far too formal and stuffy."

  Charlotte frowned and took a sip of wine. While it was true that a less formal seating arrangement could be more festive, especially given the season, she imagined the earl had pulled such a juvenile prank to give his mother fits. By the look of astonishment on the countess's face, it was working.

  Yet Charlotte could not deny the prickle of pleasure she felt, knowing he had chosen to place her at his side as his dinner companion.

  There was a flurry of laughter and bright conversation around the table as the first course was served. The leek soup was followed by a roasted partridge, river trout served with mushrooms in wine sauce, chicken in lemon sauce accompanied by peas and venison steaks in cream sauce.

  It was clear that Cook was outdoing herself tonight, preparing a feast worthy of a returning monarch. Charlotte lost count of the dishes after the stuffed pheasant was served. She took a small bite of each dish, enjoying the unique flavors and textures, yet tried to pace herself, wondering how many more courses would be served before the cheese, fruit and dessert were finally brought out.

  "Would you care for more wine?" the footman inquired politely, tilting the crystal decanter above her glass.

  Charlotte set one hand over the rim. "I believe I have drunk more than my share this evening. 'Tis probably best if I switch to something less potent."

  The earl looked into her eyes and smiled. "Water is so dull, Miss Aldridge."

  "Yes, it is, my lord." She smiled back. And removed her hand.

  "Such a fine wine deserves a toast." He turned the stem of his wineglass between two fingers, then raised it to her. "To renewing our friendship."

  Charlotte's eyebrows rose and her hand, holding the wineglass, froze halfway to her mouth. "Renewing our friendship? Your words imply we have already established a friendship that now merely requires some reacquaintance. That is not my recollection of our past."