A Mistletoe Match For The White Duchess (Historical Regency Romance)

by Patricia Haverton

  “I love it!” Etta hugged her, followed by Olivia.

  “What lovely gifts we have exchanged,” Olivia said with a smile. “We truly know one another so well.”

  Etta nodded, “Of course we do, we have been together all our lives and shall be until we are old and grey with grandchildren on our knees!”

  The three girls giggled and Isolde was more than pleased that the awkwardness from the last few days appeared to have passed.

  “Well, now the gifts are exchanged, what shall we do? How about a game of whist?” Olivia suggested after the girls had done away with the wrappings and placed their gifts carefully on the shelf, to be collected later.

  “Yes! I am rather in the mood for a game,” Isolde agreed. However, Etta rumpled her nose.

  “We shan’t be able to play for there is only three of us and we need a fourth. And I for one, would rather not play with my Mother. Or, excuse me for saying, yours, Olivia.”

  Olivia shook her head with vigor. “Faith! Neither do I, Etta. But what about Miss Downey?”

  She pointed in the direction of the young girl who’d been sitting at the piano forte for some time, playing cheerful renditions of songs requested by the assorted ladies. She’d sat for some time without playing, no doubt having worn out her hands after having played for nearly two hours.

  “The merchant’s daughter?” Etta said with a healthy dose of contempt in her voice.

  “Yes, Cousin, the merchant’s daughter. Unless you’d rather I ask Lady Buxby.”

  Etta’s face nearly froze with shock.

  “Please do not. I cannot stand to be around her. She spent the entire dinner asking me questions about the Marquess and whether I really had no idea he would run off to Gretna Green with that trollop. By all rights, ask the merchant’s daughter.”

  “I shall,” Isolde announced and walked across the room. Miss Downey was not as put together as she had been at her coming-out ball, but she was still dressed very nicely, in a dress made of silk; a most expensive fabric, even among the nobility. The stitching and embroidery, along with the many pearls sewed along the bottom and the sleeves to further showed off the wealth her family possessed.

  “Miss Downey?” The young woman looked at her with big, brown eyes. “Would you care to join my friends and I in a game of whist? We are in need of a fourth.”

  The girl looked at Isolde with her eyes narrowed, her forehead in wrinkles. Isolde immediately felt a lump in her throat. Due to the affection and attention the Duke had afforded her, her self-esteem had risen somewhat in recent days. Her old habits of thinking badly of herself and being aware of her faults were always there, lurking beneath the surface. And now, Miss Downey’s odd countenance, brought all her insecurities right back.

  It was just like her father to invite his business partner with his daughter in yet another scheme to get Isolde to broaden her circle of friends. He’d done so often before. Even though it never worked, he did not tire of trying.

  At last, the girl answered. “I suppose so.” She sighed as though it was a big concession to agree to play. She rose with all the energy of an elderly governess after a day of chasing after a litter of children. She walked with a heaviness about her, her shoulder slumped forward. Isolde noted that the corners of her lips were hanging down. She didn’t look at all like the girl who’d been such a radiant diamond of the first wave at her coming-out ball.

  Etta and Olivia greeted the girl who nodded her head at them once and slid into her seat.

  “I am Miss Henrietta Gordon. Baron Balwick is my Father. It is nice of you to join us, Miss Downey,” Henrietta said. Isolde and Olivia rolled their eyes at one another. Etta never could refrain from ensuring those of the merchant class knew she was the daughter of a titled Lord. No matter how lowly a title it might be.

  The lady only responded with a curt nod. “I know who you are. Shall I deal?” she asked before giving Olivia a chance to introduce herself.

  “Certainly,” Isolde replied, already regretting inviting the girl. She was the most sullen creature she’d ever met, worse than Etta after losing the courtship with the Marquess.

  The girls played a couple of rounds, merrily chatting with one another while Miss Downey remained mostly quiet except when the game called on her to speak up.

  Isolde noticed that the young woman often glanced at her and Etta. There was something in her eyes that made Isolde highly uncomfortable. Contempt, perhaps. Yes, that was it.

  “So, Miss Downey, what brings you to this part of the country? Your home is in Bath, is it not? Are you here for Christmastide?” Olivia was always the one who’d try to make conversation, even when it appeared a futile effort. In this case however, the young lady finally appeared to thaw a bit.

  “We are indeed staying for the season at my aunt’s house, the Countess of Westchester. I know you all attended my ball there, though I don’t recall any of you coming to speak to me.”

  She looked around from one to the other. Etta inhaled sharply, not used to be so blatantly reprimanded, especially not by a commoner.

  “I apologize. I did not have the pleasure of being introduced to you at the ball. Otherwise I certainly…”

  She cut Isolde off.

  “It is quite all right. I am used to being looked down upon by those higher in station, despite the fact that my family enjoys much greater wealth than many a noble we encounter.”

  She glared directly at Henrietta, much to the shock of Isolde. The blatant disrespect the girl displayed was shocking. Despite them all being of similar age, precedence would have required Miss Downey to show at least some respect for her card-playing partners.

  “Additionally, my Father is in need of a new bride, and Lord Lincester informed him that he would be able to assist him.”

  Henrietta’s eyes widened. “Your Father seeks a wife? What of your Mother?”

  The girl’s head spun around so fast Isolde worried it might snap right off.

  “My Mother passed away two years ago this spring. My Father is not content being alone and wishes to marry once more. For his benefit as well as my younger Brother’s. That is why we are here this season. He wishes to marry into a noble family. No matter how lowly the rank.”

  “So, you are here to seek out eligible ladies?” Olivia asked. The young girl glared at her again.

  “Not to seek out. Lord Lincester said he already had a young lady in mind. As much as your lot like to look down on the common folk, when one of you is near dished out, some are willing to look past the fact that we are mere commoners.”

  Once again, she glared at Henrietta who swallowed hard, her face turned as white as the snow outside. A fact made even more evident by the red of her hair.

  Could the young woman be implying that her father intended to make a match between his niece and his business partner? Isolde exchanged a glance with Olivia, her blue eyes were wide. She mouthed ‘Etta Downey?’ at Isolde, who shrugged. It made sense.

  And it would explain the young girl’s’ poor manners, for after being looked down upon for not being of the right class, she would soon have a stepmother who was not only of the class she so despised, but who was also only a few years older than her. And from a family that openly dislike the merchants. Would her father truly be so uncaring of Henrietta’s feelings?

  He knew of the circumstance that had ended Etta’s previous courtship, as well as her general disposition to all things related to commoners. He could not honestly believe this match was in Henrietta’s best interest.

  Etta certainly appeared rather horrified at the very idea, for slowly she set the cards down on the table and pushed herself up.

  “Excuse me, for I must …” She stood but got no further than two steps before her eyes rolled backward in her head and she swayed. Olivia jumped up and grabbed Etta by the arm to keep her from crashing hard onto the floor. Unable to get a good grip, Etta slipped through Olivia’s arms and she tumbled onto the floor.

  Isolde rushed to her cousin to assi
st. When she looked up to call for help, she locked eyes with Miss Downey who sat at the table still, not having moved one inch. The expression on her face was so cold and full of glee it made Isolde’s blood freeze.

  Chapter 14

  It was late in the night, the assorted guests had long since gone to bed, when Jonathan and Eric returned from a late-night ride through the snowy woods.

  “I hope your Cousin is recovering well,” Jonathan said as they left the stables and walked toward the house.

  Eric shrugged. “I am certain she is. She is rather a feisty one. I am still surprised she fainted as she did. It appeared no one knows what caused it. She was settled in her chambers, last I heard. Zooks! What a display. What an array of disasters tonight turned out to be.”

  Jonathan shrugged, “It has been rather an eventful night.” He paused and glanced at his friend. “I am only glad we have set aside our differences from earlier.”

  Eric tilted his head, as if unsure of what Jonathan spoke. Then his face lit up with realization.

  “Our squabble over my Sister. Yes. I know you are a good, upstanding person. I simply want to ensure that Isolde is not placed in an awkward position. To tell the truth, I was perturbed by the display at the stables, for had I been anybody else, it could have been quite the scandal and her reputation would have been ruined. It is hard enough for her as it is, being as quiet and timid as she is.”

  “I understand, and I promise that I shall not do anything to endanger her in any way. I care for her a great deal. I always have.”

  They climbed the steps to the front door.

  “I know you do, old chum. I know. Now. Let me bid you goodnight, for I am fatigued and must have my rest. I shall see you in the morning?”

  They had agreed to go riding again in the morning, before Jonathan had to return to Chesterton Hall to attend to business there. As much as he enjoyed spending time with his friends after all these years, he had much to learn when it came to the running of his estate. He planned to take dinner with the Gordon family again the following evening. And perhaps take the opportunity to speak to Miss Gordon some more.

  He had harbored hopes of being able to dance with Miss Gordon that night. Because of the fainting spell of her cousin, the dancing had been cancelled and he had not found occasion to spend even a minute with her. He sighed as he watched Eric make his way into the house.

  When he was out of view, Jonathan stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a small leather bracelet. He looked at it for a moment before wrapping his fists around it and returning it to his pocket.

  * * *

  It was almost three in the morning when Jonathan gave up on trying to force sleep. He rose from his bed and dressed once more, this time leaving to go into the courtyard. He had not been able to shake thoughts of Miss Gordon from his mind for any length of time.

  The closeness they’d experience at the stables filled his heart with such joy. Moreover, something inside of him changed at dinner. He’d been reluctant to speak out in public, and he certainly would never have dared challenge any of his fellow lords, nor sought to act as peacemaker in a quarrel. No.

  In the past, he would have simply sat in silence while Eric and his uncle engaged in their war of words. He would have waited for the Viscount to step in. However, seeing Miss Gordon in distress over the matter had inspired him to stand up and ascertain his position.

  As the highest-ranking noble, he knew that the lords would heed his request to pause their arguing. And they had. Somehow, simply knowing that ending the argument would comfort Miss Gordon had helped him slide into his position and take charge of it.

  He longed to thank her for giving him that strength, even though she likely had no idea she had. He also longed to give her the bracelet he’d brought for her. It was not customary for unmarried couples to exchange gifts, but he did not care about the dos and don’ts of society. He wanted to give it to her as a token of his affection for her.

  Must I wait until morning? I imagine there will not be opportunity to be alone with her for I am to leave before breakfast.

  He paced the snow-covered courtyard. He turned his head and looked at the darkened windows surrounding him. He had spent enough time here to know the occupancy of Roselawn Manor. He knew that Miss Gordon’s chambers were facing the courtyard while Eric’s faced to the front, overlooking the gardens.

  Jonathan surveyed the courtyard to ensure no one was around, and no lights were on that would allow those inside the house to see him. No. He was covered in the darkness of the moonless night. He squatted down and ran his hand across the ground, in search of–

  Here it is. Yes, this is ideal!

  He held a small pebble in his hand and before the courage could fail him, launched it toward the window he believed belonged to Miss Gordon. Quickly he ducked behind a tree, just in case he was wrong.

  It took one moment but then, to his great relief, he saw her appear in the window, holding a candle. Jonathan stepped out from behind the tree and waved, unsure if he could see her. She raised the candle up and down in an effort to see.

  He rushed forward to where the snow had gathered along the inner wall, hoping she’d be able to see him against the white snow. She did.

  He saw her wave in his direction and he waved back. He wanted to call out but knew he could not risk it. In fact, he should not be there at all, for he’d just promised Eric he’d do nothing to endanger her reputation.

  His desire to be around her was too strong, however. He motioned for her to come down to join him and she nodded, understanding his meaning despite the lack of words.

  The light disappeared and she closed the window, leaving him in the courtyard, hoping she’d soon appear. He pulled his great coat closer against him as the cold began to seep into his bones. He walked up and down, always with an eye on the entrances to ensure no one was around.

  Then, sometime later, the door opened and Miss Gordon appeared. She was dressed in a redingote in a radiant burgundy color, her head under a white capote and her hands tucked inside a matching burgundy muff. A white and red shawl adorned with sparkling pearls was wrapped around her shoulders, giving her a striking appearance.

  “Your Grace! You are rather reckless, are you not?” she said in a tone that did not match the scolding in her choice of words. She sounded pleased, not upset in the slightest.

  “I am. But as you may know, fortune favors the bold. And I have been most fortunate to have made your acquaintance.”

  She looked at the ground, shaking her head.

  “Your Grace…” Suddenly she looked up at him, a smile on her face. She pulled her right hand out of the muff and he saw she was holding something in her hand. A white handkerchief. She handed it to him, and it wasn’t until he took it and unfolded it that he realized what it was.

  “I gave this to you the night we met, when you cut your finger.” He grinned as he held on to it. He noted that it was entirely white once more, not a trace of the injury it had helped treat remained.

  “How did you…” before he could finish, she broke into a wide grin and shook her head, her eyes shone under the starry sky.

  “It is not the same. The one you gave me was rather stained with blood from the wound on my finger. I recreated the stitching on a new handkerchief. I had intended to give it to you yesterday as a Saint Nicholas gift, but we were not able to see one another due to Etta’s episode.”

  Jonathan unfolded the handkerchief once more and ran his fingers across the stitching. He would not have been able to tell the difference between it and the original, for she had done such beautiful work. It was indeed a work of art.

  “I thank you, Miss Gordon. You did not have to do this for me, but it is much appreciated.” He bowed his head in thanks and then remembered his own gift to her. He stuck his hand in his pocket to retrieve it when she spoke once more.

  “Would Your Grace mind terribly if we walked while we talk? I feel as though my feet will freeze to the ground at any moment.�
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  “Certainly! I apologize for the manner in which I asked you to meet. I know this is rather unusual and not at all acceptable.’

  They walked out of the courtyard and he found himself following her lead. This was, after all, her home.

  “I do not mind at all, Your Grace. I was quite awake. In fact, I just returned from my Cousin’s chambers. And I do not bother with what is usual or acceptable. As Your Grace might be aware, I am not exactly a well-respected member of the ton.”