by Anna Bradley
Thomas looked after Emma while their parents were away. When he was gone on antiquities digs his sister would stay at Marcourt Hall. After her husband died, Lady Childs returned to Wickling Manor but left again several months later under mysterious circumstances.
Although there had always been something suspicious about Lady Childs leaving in the middle of the night, Rose accepted the convent story as easily as Emma did. Perhaps she, like Emma, hadn’t wanted to know the truth. No wonder Sir Thomas often looked at her as if she were a child.
There had been a moment in his study today when Thomas had seen her as a woman. Despite her inexperience in such matters, she thought the baronet was as attracted to her as she was to him. The thought made her pulse race.
“What is it, Rose? You look flustered.” Her aunt frowned.
“I am merely thinking of how to make this a lovely Christmas for Emma,” she replied quickly.
“Just having you here with her should be enough,” Abigail replied with a gentle smile. “You two have always been as thick as thieves.”
* * * * *
The next morning, Thomas didn’t want to get out of bed. Not only was his bed warm and cozy, he didn’t relish the thought of spending all day making Christmas decorations. And a whole day with Lady Markham?
Last night at dinner she had stared at him often as if she were trying to sort something out.
Lady Rose must have noticed her aunt’s preoccupation with him as she distracted the lady several times. “How are the twins, Aunt Abigail?” she asked once. Another time she said, “Aunt Abigail, do try the lemon cake. It is delicious.”
He’d been seated next to Rose, although he couldn’t smell her perfume over the lavender scent her aunt bathed in. When he looked down at his plate, he could see Rose’s delicate hands from the corner of his eye. She had lovely skin. He wondered if it was soft. He looked up and Lady Markham was watching him.
After dinner he joined the ladies in the drawing room. Lady Markham suggested cards, which everyone agreed to. Once she and Rose beat Emma and himself soundly at gin, she professed herself tired and ready for bed.
A raised brow from her aunt coaxed Rose to say, “I will go up with my aunt. Goodnight.”
Emma wished to retire and read in her bedchamber. He saw her to her room.
“I am so glad you’re home, Brother,” Emma said to him when he’d wheeled her into her bedchamber.
He leaned down to kiss her cheek.
“As am I,” he replied. “Goodnight.”
He’d thought to return to his study and get some work done, but he couldn’t settle. His thoughts returned to how lovely Rose had looked in her white evening gown, her shapely arms no longer hidden by the long sleeves of a day dress.
Rose was a kind-hearted girl who should be with her family at Marcourt. If not for her keeping Emma company so often, she might have had a season, be married by now. She was from a good family and very attractive. Rose would have been the diamond of the season.
He would be twenty-eight years old next month and here he was mooning over a young woman like a schoolboy. Thomas had never married but he wasn’t a monk. Although he enjoyed the company of women, he had yet to find a lady he wanted to make his wife.
He’d finally fallen into a fitful sleep, visions of Lady Rose and faceless men vying for her attention during a season in London haunting his dreams.
Thomas sighed and rose from his bed. His man James had already been about. The window was closed, and fresh water was in the pitcher on the dresser. A small fire burned in the hearth.
When he was dressed, he went downstairs to the breakfast room. He was happy to see it empty save for an attending footman. He ate his plate of eggs and ham quickly and retired to his study, not sure how long his privacy would last.
Emma found him there an hour later. She dismissed the maid who’d wheeled her to his study. “Come along, Thomas. You did promise to help with the holiday preparations.”
He pushed his sister down the corridor to the west wing of the house.
“I found him, Rose,” Emma said as she rolled across the threshold of the still room.
Lady Rose and Lady Markham looked up from their places at a long table in the center of the room. Rose smiled at him; her aunt nodded. When he had pushed Emma to a place at the table, he removed his coat and lay it on a nearby stool.
“Another pair of hands,” Lady Markham said. “Come here, young man. I have just the task for you.”
“It has been years since I was in this room,” he commented as he walked forward to see what the lady wanted him to do.
The room was bright from the light pouring in from several windows. The walls were white. The trim around the windows and the cabinet doors was painted a light blue, adding a splash of color to the room. Sprigs of dried herbs hung from the ceiling. The long table in the center of the room held evergreen boughs, holly branches, and mistletoe.
“Some of these branches are too long. There is a hand saw on that table against the wall. Cut these three branches in half.” The lady paused. “And don’t injure yourself.”
He merely nodded and followed her instructions. When he returned the branches to the long table, he noticed a bowl of apples and a large mound of assorted colored ribbons. Was his home to be swathed in fripperies?
“Very good,” Lady Markham said as she looked over his handiwork. “You’re not only decorative but useful.”
He glanced up to see Rose and Emma with their hands over their mouths. He himself wanted to chuckle at the lady’s statement. His mood lightened. It was good to see Emma so happy.
“What next?” he asked, willing to do what was needed for his sister’s sake.
Lady Markham replied, “Right here there is a pile of scraps we may not use. Please place them in the bucket just there.”
He didn’t ask why the ladies hadn’t enlisted a servant for assistance but did as he was bid. He was spending time with not only Emma but Rose as well; at least the smell of the greenery masked Lady Markham’s strong lavender perfume.
* * * * *
Rose was pleased to see Sir Thomas get into the spirit of their endeavor. She surreptitiously watched him complete the tasks Aunt Abigail assigned him. He really was being a good sport.
“All this finery does not go up until Christmas Eve?” he asked his sister with a dramatic sigh and a shake of his head.
Emma leaned over and pinched him on the arm. “Yes, but we want all the decorations done before then. There is so much to do.”
She demonstrated how to combine a glossy branch of holly with some evergreen to make a kissing bough. The bright red holly berries were one of Rose’s favorite signs of the season.
“How many kissing boughs can we possibly need?” Thomas asked playfully.
Rose looked up and their gazes met. Thomas winked at her, and she felt her cheeks heat. Looking down, she fumbled with the string she was using in an attempt to tie the materials of her bough together.
“Let me help you,” Thomas said. She felt his body close to hers as he took the piece of string from her hand. They were both gloveless, and she started as his fingers brushed her own.
“You hold the branches just the way you want them,” Thomas said from close beside her ear. “I will bind them together for you.”
His warm breath tickled her skin. She remained with her head down as she entwined the greenery together to her satisfaction. “There. That is perfect.”
Thomas tied one end of the bough together, careful to hide the twine as best he could. He cut another piece of twine from a roll nearby and tied the other end of the bough.
“Well done,” she said, pleased with the results. She looked up to see the baronet still stood far too close for comfort.
His greenish-brown, thickly lashed eyes roamed over her face slowly. She couldn’t look away from him. With his coat removed, she felt the heat of him near her, his white shirtsleeves billowing in the new fashion. It suited him. He resembled a rakish pirat
e from one of the novels she loved to read.
She started when Emma cleared her throat. “That will do,” Emma said loudly. “Thomas, do take these small pieces of holly.”
Thomas released her gaze and looked at Emma. “Where do you want them?”
“Over on that potting table.” Emma pointed to a corner of the room. “Cook can use them to decorate platters and other dishes for Christmas dinner.”
Rose looked at the piles of greenery around her. “I’m going to make some arrangements for our bedchambers. It is really disappointing that the Christmas Rose Lottie planted at Marcourt didn’t bloom. I will use some of the ivy and hawthorn instead.”
“That is a wonderful idea,” Lady Markham said, her eyes on Rose’s flushed cheeks. “The Christmas Rose is not a favorite of mine due to its pungent fragrance.”
She didn’t reply although she had to wonder how sensitive her aunt could be to scent as her own perfume was usually overpowering.
A large floor-to-ceiling cabinet held dozens of glass containers for medicines, pickling, and jelly making. The bottom shelf held large vases and cut-glass bowls.
She concentrated on her arrangements, careful not to look at Sir Thomas. Her aunt had a watchful eye when she and Thomas were in the same room. She’d thought her aunt might simply be curious about Sir Thomas. Now she found herself wondering if Abigail had guessed that Rose was attracted to the baronet.
Emma and her aunt kept Thomas busy with small tasks for some time. A maid knocked at the open door.
“Cook has a meal laid for you in the small dining room, Sir Thomas.”
“Thank goodness. I’m famished.” He walked to Emma and grasped her chair, rolling her to the dry sink in the room. “I nearly took an apple from one of the kissing boughs.”
Rose and her aunt washed up after Thomas and Emma were finished. Once in the dining room, there was little conversation as they all tucked into the cold meal of bread, roast beef, and cheese.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Auntie?” Rose asked Aunt Abigail after chewing and swallowing a bite of cheese.
“It reminds me of when your mother and I were girls,” she replied. “We would gather the greenery we needed from the woods, racing each other to see who could collect the most treasures. Oh, to be young again and run and play as I did back then.”
Her words brought back memories of when she and Emma would look for Christmastide materials in the woods of both estates. Sometimes they would nick greenery from the glasshouses at Marcourt, although Lottie would chase them away if she caught them at it. She looked at Emma and saw her face turn pale.
Emma motioned to a footman. “Please see me to my room.”
“Please stay, Emma,” she said when the servant pulled the chair back and turned it toward the doorway.
“I’m all right, Rose,” Emma replied, her voice shaking. “I merely need to go to my bedchamber for a short while.”
Thomas stood up. Rose shook her head and put a hand on his forearm. “It is not my place to tell you how to handle Emma,” she said softly, “but it may be better to give her a few moments to compose herself.”
Thomas nodded and retook his seat. Aunt Abigail frowned before her eyes widened. “Oh dear, I stuck myself in, didn’t I? Poor lamb.”
Rose didn’t reply. Thomas held his mouth in tight lines. She knew he didn’t want pity for Emma. Emma didn’t want anyone’s pity either. Normally Aunt Abigail was less concerned about the sensibilities of others. Again, she was surprised by her aunt’s concern for Emma.
They all picked at their food. A few minutes later, Thomas stood again. “I will go to her. Excuse me, Lady Markham, Lady Rose.”
When he was gone, her aunt said, “He does care a great deal for his sister. I wonder at his being gone so often.”
“As do I,” she replied. She didn’t want to say more, didn’t want to discuss Sir Thomas with her aunt. It was all well and good for her to criticize him, but strangely enough, she didn’t want others to do so.
The small room was nearly hexagonal in shape, one side containing the door. A fire burned to keep the room warm as the curtains were all drawn back to let the light in. Snow began to fall. For a moment she was thrilled before she remembered she would not be playing in the snow with Emma, nor ice-skating with her friend on the frozen pond at Marcourt.
“It doesn’t look thick enough to accumulate,” Abigail said. She pushed back her chair and stood. “Shall we remove to the drawing room? I left my embroidery basket there. I should like to finish stitching a gift for the new baby.”
Rose roused herself from her gloomy thoughts. “Yes, of course. We can’t be sure when Emma will feel like continuing our work with the decorations.”
She would leave Emma to her brother’s care. Perhaps the more time he spent with his sister, the more he would realize how much he was needed at Wickling Manor.
CHAPTER FOUR
In the corridor outside the dining room, Thomas clenched his fists. It had taken great self-control not to chastise Lady Markham for her words. She had merely shared a childhood memory after all. He’d hoped Emma was over her depression about the things she couldn’t do anymore. Mere wishful thinking on his part.
“Emma,” he said after he knocked at her bedchamber door. “May I come in?”
Her maid opened the door. He walked past her to where his sister sat in her chair, sniffling.
“Leave us, Janet,” he said quietly.
Once the maid was gone, Emma said, “I’m all right, Thomas. Really. It was just a weak moment.”
“You’re more than entitled to have those,” he replied. He squeezed her shoulder gently with one of his hands. “I wish it was me in that chair instead of you.”
“Nonsense!” Emma shook her head. “Don’t ever say that again, Thomas. I had an accident. Your feeling guilty helps neither of us. If you must blame anyone, blame Mother.”
He did blame their mother along with himself.
Thomas released her shoulder and pulled the tiny bench from her dressing table over beside her invalid chair and grumbled good-naturedly, “Let me see if this will hold me or if it collapses and I have to get you another for Christmas. You would probably want a new dressing table as well.”
Emma smiled although her eyes were wet with tears. “You always could make me laugh.”
“And now?” His question sounded as earnest as he felt.
“You still can. Although you need to be home more often if you want to see me laugh.” She paused. “Do you go away because you don’t want to see Rose?”
He blinked. “Why would you think that?”
“I wondered as you argue with each other so often. I thought perhaps. . .”
“Perhaps?” He raised a brow.
“It is obvious you’re smitten with her and you’ve decided not to pursue a connection although I think she is drawn to you as well.”
Her words took him by surprise. He did think Rose was pretty. He wouldn’t have said he was smitten with her.
“Your friend is not only too young for me, but she is as flighty as they come. The lady has been enamored of every man she encounters since I’ve known her.”
“There is a good reason for that,” Emma replied. She put a hand to her mouth.
“And what might that be, Emma?” His gaze narrowed on her face.
She shook her head repeatedly. “That is not my secret to tell.”
Not only had their conversation piqued his interest in Lady Rose’s secrets, it also served to distract his sister from her melancholy state. He would not press her to tell him why Lady Rose behaved as she did. Right now, he was there to comfort her.
“Shall we continue with our Christmastide preparations?” he asked lightly, pretending an interest in the activity.
Emma shook her head. “I think we have made enough decorations for today. Cook wanted to go over the final menus for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. I think I should see to that.”
“Very good,” he replied, relieved. �
�I am going to look in on Mr. Smythe. I could do with a breath of fresh air. Let me take you along to the kitchen before I go outside.”
When Emma was deposited in the kitchen, Thomas made his way to the family entrance on the east side of the manor. Once outside, he walked across a gravel yard to a building which housed the laundry, some storage rooms, and the land steward’s office.
The chilly air was a welcome change from the stuffiness of the house. A few snowflakes fell onto his nose. He sought his steward Mr. Smythe out not only for business but for companionship. A man’s company would be a novelty right now. The current weather negated a trip to the neighboring estate to see Ambrose, Rose’s only brother.
The thought of Rose conjured up the memory of standing close to her in the still room. Her subtle perfume drew him in, the warmth of her body adding to her unwitting siren’s call. He envisioned her glossy brown hair loose, spilling over her soft white shoulders. He reached the office of his steward. Hopefully the man was here and not elsewhere on the estate. He needed a distraction.
Thomas didn’t want to think about Lady Rose’s secrets or whether his sister was right and Rose was attracted to him. His focus should be on making his sister happy, not himself.
* * * * *
While Aunt Abigail embroidered a baby blanket, Rose read over her latest children’s story. She was determined to not go looking for Emma. When Emma was ready, she would find them.
Rose held back a sneeze. Her aunt’s perfume really was quite strong today. It might be time to talk to her aunt’s maid about diluting her mistress’s scent.
She found her attention straying from the words on the pages before her. Her gaze wandered around the room decorated in shades of green, Rose’s favorite color. According to Emma, William Kent had created some of the interiors at Wickling Manor. Despite Lady Childs’ many faults, the woman had not altered the interior design of the rooms purported to be designed by the celebrated architect.
