The Christmas Heiress

by Adrienne Basso

  "What are you trying to tell me, Evelyn?" he asked, enjoying the informality of addressing her by her first name.

  "I fear that where you are concerned I have very little willpower."

  His heart leapt with delight. "I feel the same about you," Jonathan confessed. "It appears we share an irrevocable, unavoidable attraction for each other."

  "I fear that might be true," she whispered, her face the picture of abject misery, her eyes disturbed. "And if it is, I know that my heart needs protection from you."

  Something tender welled up inside Jonathan. The need to take her in his arms and console her was almost overwhelming, but he hesitated, worried the gesture would distress her more.

  "I would never intentionally cause you harm or bring you hurt," he said. "On the contrary, I would take care of you, Evelyn, if you let me."

  Her eyes widened, then she passed a trembling hand over her eyes. "Though I am only a servant now, I was raised in a genteel household, taught to be a lady of grace and virtue. The lessons of a lifetime run deep. It might work at first, when the flush of passion and excitement are all consuming, but I know I could never be happy as your mistress."

  For a moment he froze. His mistress? "I am not a man who enjoys brief affairs and is then content to find another partner." He set his hand over hers and kissed her palm. "My intentions toward you are honorable. I would have you as my wife and treat you with the proper respect that you deserve."

  He had not meant to make such a bold declaration, but once the words had been spoken, he knew they were true. For two years he had admired her, flirted with her and teased her and somehow fallen in love with her. The only possible way for them to be together was through marriage.

  She tore her gaze away. "If only life were that simple."

  "It can be," he coaxed.

  She shook her head. "You need to be practical, Jonathan. You are a second son. You must marry a woman with a sizeable dowry and a yearly income, someone that your mother approves of and deems suitable."

  "I never took you for a woman who would scorn a man for his lack of wealth."

  "I would never think something so offensive!" Evelyn leveled a look of anger at him. "You may want to choose a wife with your heart, but you need to choose a wife who is at least equal or better to your station."

  "I have an adequate allowance," he huffed.

  "For a bachelor. But you will need to supplement it once you have taken a wife and started a family because you do not have a profession or any other means with which to earn a living."

  Jonathan hid a wince at the truth of her words. "I suppose I should be the one who works, not my brother," he said glumly.

  "You were raised to be a gentleman and are perfect exactly as you are," she said forcefully. Her knuckles brushed his cheek. "Do not ever think less of yourself."

  Lord, it was bittersweet to see the admiration in her eyes. "You always say precisely the right things. That is why I need you in my life. I only wish-"

  "As do I, but wishes are very dangerous things." A deep shuddering sigh wracked her body. "I must go or else I shall be missed."

  "We need to talk, Evelyn. Meet me this afternoon. Four o'clock in the library." He smiled slow and sweet. "Nobody ever goes in there."

  She looked at him, her eyes wide and helpless. "I dare not," she said, her voice rising with despair. "It would only bring heartbreak to us both."

  She turned on her heel and ran from him, the soft soles of her slippers echoing off the brick pavements lining the courtyard. Jonathan allowed her to go because he had no choice, swallowing back all the words that rushed to his mouth. It was one of the hardest things he had ever done, staring at her retreating back and all the while remembering the feel of her mouth beneath his, soft and warm and sweeter than anything he had ever tasted.

  Weary in heart and soul, he slowly started walking toward the house. Fate had dealt him a rotten hand. After blissfully enjoying bachelorhood for all these years, he was finally falling in love. With an unsuitable young woman.

  Jonathan gazed up at the sky, marveling at how truly bizarre the world could be. Fortunately, he had always been a man who relished a challenge. He lifted his chin a notch and straightened the collar of his coat.

  Convincing Evelyn Montgomery that they could one day be a happily married couple was going to be the greatest challenge he ever undertook-and by far the most rewarding to achieve.

  "Charlotte, you must come at once. Everyone is gathering in the kitchen. 'Tis time to stir the Christmas pudding!"

  "Grandpapa, you startled me!" Charlotte exclaimed as she hastily shoved the embroidery hoop that held a fine white square of linen into the side cushion of her chair, hoping to hide it from him.

  The handkerchief she was so painstakingly embroidering was a Christmas gift for her grandfather. It was foolish to try and hide it since the gift would hardly be a surprise. She always gave him an embroidered handkerchief at Christmas.

  Lord Reginald insisted it was the one thing he truly needed from her and she was touched when she discovered it was something he treasured. She had learned, quite by accident, that the handkerchiefs she embroidered were to be laundered by hand, pressed by her grandfather's valet, then stored carefully in a special drawer in his wardrobe.

  He had saved them all, including the first one she had crafted with abominable stitches when she was six years old, and the one she made at seven, that was forever spotted because she had pricked her finger so many times and the bloodstains never washed out.

  He had saved the impossibly elaborate one she had created when she turned thirteen, far too frilly and gaudy for a refined gentleman. But he had kept each one, and he insisted on carrying them on certain days of the year.

  Her birthday, his birthday, the anniversary of her parents' wedding, the day she was presented to the queen. He treated them like family heirlooms, as precious as any painting or property or jewels. Knowing that made the sewing chore a bit less arduous, for Charlotte never really enjoyed embroidery and her skill was average at best.

  She shifted in her chair, moving to retrieve the hoop and place it in the sewing basket at her feet, but as she reached down into the cushion she jabbed the needle into her finger, pricking herself. Somehow Charlotte bit back an unladylike oath just in time and stuck her finger in her mouth.

  "Is everything all right, dear?" Lord Reginald asked.

  `Wonderful," Charlotte forced herself to say. "I'll only be a moment."

  Her grandfather pulled out a gold watch fob and consulted the time. "Do hurry, Charlotte. I do not want to be late and upset Cook. She is a genius in the kitchen, but as is true of many artists, she can be a bit sensitive on occasion."

  Charlotte let out a good-natured sigh. "Cook's temperament is the countess's concern, Grandpapa, not ours," she reminded him.

  Lord Reginald grimaced. "But if Cook gets upset with me, she might not make the candied ginger cookies I am so fond of having each Christmas. The holiday would just not be the same without them."

  "Our own Mrs. Saunders baked several batches of the treats before we left Quincy Court," Charlotte said. "Surely you noticed the large tin I packed?"

  Lord Reginald's lips turned downward. "We've been here for two days, Charlotte. The tin is empty."

  "Grandfather! "

  "They are my favorite Christmas treat," he declared defensively, his cheeks turning pink. "If you wanted to save them for Christmas Day, then you should have hidden them."

  "I did hide them!"

  "Well, you should have hidden them where they would not have been so easily found." Lord Reginald flexed his shoulders as if to rid them of an ache.

  Charlotte rubbed a hand over her mouth to cover a grin. She didn't know how to respond. Lately, she had begun to notice instances where their roles seemed to be reversed, where she was the responsible adult and her grandfather was the carefree child. She supposed she could blame it on the holiday, for it brought out the youngster in everyone.

  Yet that
did not explain why he on occasion acted like this in the middle of the summer.

  "I will speak with Cook this afternoon," Charlotte decided. "I am sure she will be pleased to accommodate my request for the cookies. And since you have already eaten so many of them, I will only need to ask for a small number to be baked."

  A look of alarm crossed Lord Reginald's face. "I am not certain that will do the trick. Everyone else is bound to ask Cook for special Christmas treats. The earl requested more mince pies and the countess always likes a walnut tart. And just this morning I saw Haddon give the butler a recipe for trifle that he claimed was Lady Haddon's favorite."

  "You like all those foods, especially trifle," Charlotte said in a reasonable voice. "It's a lovely holiday dessert."

  "Sponge cake soaked in brandy, custard, blackberry jam, whipped cream-there is not a single thing not to like about trifle," Lord Reginald agreed. He sent her a shrewd look. "But if the family has requests and then all the guests keep asking for special treats, there won't be time to make them all. Something will be left out."

  Charlotte snorted. "I promise that your ginger cookies will not be forgotten. Even though you have already eaten enough to last you until next Christmas." She placed her embroidery hoop in her sewing basket and snapped the lid, then she slid her arm through his. "Come, let's hurry down to the kitchen, so we can arrive in time and stay in Cook's good graces."

  Lord Reginald's answering hearty smile warmed her heart. It took so very little to please her grandfather. He was an uncomplicated man, goodnatured, kind and generous. Though a part of her would always regret not knowing her parents, she was grateful that she had been given the chance to form a unique bond with this very special man.

  The smells wafting from the kitchen made Charlotte's mouth water when they entered the room. Lemon, orange, cinnamon and nutmeg. She wondered if one of the earl's ships had brought the exotic fruits and spices to the shores of England, providing the necessary ingredients for this special pudding.

  All the servants were lined up on the far wall, clean and shiny as if ready for inspection. Most of the houseguests were also present, laughing and jostling one another while enjoying generous helpings of the mulled wine that was being served.

  Lord and Lady Haddon had even brought their youngsters. Lord Haddon held their daughter, Julia, firmly in the crook of his arm, appearing so comfortable and at ease it was obvious the little girl spent many hours with her father. She was a pretty child, who shared her mother's striking blue eyes and curly blond hair. The baby rested in the cradle of his mother's arms, his eyes wide open and curious, his small hand reaching out occasionally to bat at his mother's cheek.

  With Charlotte by his side, Lord Reginald weaved his way through the crowd, winking at her when he miraculously managed to place himself in a prominent position near the wooden worktable.

  Charlotte found herself smiling at his antics, glad that he was able to still find joy in life's simple pleasures, happy that he had not adopted the appalling habit that so many others of his age so eagerly embraced, complaining about his health. It seemed to her that a very favorite topic of conversation among older people was a catalogue of their various health complaints, when they usually offered far more detail than anyone cared to know.

  "If everyone is here, we can get started," the earl announced, bringing the lull of jovial conversation to an end. "Cook has told me that in order to make a proper pudding it should be stored for several weeks after it is mixed and boiled because the longer the fruit is marinating the better it tastes. But I wanted us all to observe one of my favorite Christmas traditions, and so we have gathered here to each take a turn stirring this magnificent pudding Cook has created."

  Cook, a stout woman of middle years, exhibited a modest grin. "As His Lordship has said, two weeks isn't enough time to make a proper pudding, but I figure if we put enough brandy sauce on it, it will be passably tasty."

  Everyone laughed. "The earl will do the honors of selecting the first person to stir the pudding," Cook continued as she handed him a large wooden spoon.

  He cast a thoughtful glance among the eager, smiling faces crowded together in the kitchen. Though she tried to act nonchalant, Charlotte felt a warm blush creep into her cheeks when his eyes came to rest on her. For an instant she thought he was going to extend the spoon in her direction, but instead he moved beyond the houseguests and whisked it toward the youngest housemaid.

  "Me?" she squeaked, her face lighting up with delight.

  There were cheers and shouts from the staff and approving nods from the guests. Clutching the spoon close to her chest, the maid nervously moved to the worktable and stared down at the large bowl.

  "Give it a good turn, girl, and be sure to do it from east to west, in honor of the three kings," Cook instructed. "And don't forget to make a wish when you stir. I'll be dropping three coins into that pudding and whoever finds a coin in their serving will have wealth, health, happiness and their wish come true."

  "It smells heavenly," the maid exclaimed with awe.

  When she was finished, she nodded toward another of the housemaids, who eagerly came forward. She in turn signaled one of the grooms, a bold fellow who stirred the concoction with a flourish and then bowed to the earl.

  He stepped forward and took his turn as if it were the most important task of his day, selecting Lord Reginald to follow him. The older gentleman exhibited nearly as much delight as the young maid in being selected. He stirred the pudding enthusiastically, then called for Lord Haddon.

  "Bring your pretty little daughter over here, Haddon," Lord Reginald commanded. "Never too young for a child to learn about having fun at Christmas time."

  The viscount placed his hand over his daughter's and they moved the spoon together. Lady Haddon managed to do a plausible job with her one free hand, as she held her son in the opposite arm. She signaled for Charlotte to be next.

  Charlotte accepted the spoon with a smile, Cook's words about making a wish reverberating in her mind. It was a silly notion, to be sure, yet there was certainly no harm in allowing for the possibility of a wish coming true. But first she had to make one.

  So many thoughts and ideas swirled through her head and she quickly picked the first one. May I someday find a man who truly loves me, for only then will I marry.

  Charlotte blushed, surprised at her wish, momentarily fearful that others might know what she had been thinking. Sternly telling herself that was impossible, she passed the spoon to Jonathan.

  He made a motion as if he were going to lick it and everyone laughed. Then he turned to Cook. "Will you put any gold rings into the mix so the finder will get married in the coming year?"

  Cook's expression turned crafty. "I might be throwing one or two in there, sir. But I'll leave out the thimbles and buttons, so no one will be finding themselves forever staying a spinster or a bachelor."

  "Good for you," Lord Haddon said. "I always thought that was a depressing tradition, at odds with the spirit of the season."

  Jonathan and his brother exchanged a quick look, then Jonathan turned and offered the spoon to their mother. Charlotte noticed the countess had been smiling earlier, but her lips flattened suddenly as if she was worried someone might have seen her joy.

  Her expression was focused and solemn as she stirred the fragrant pudding. Charlotte could only imagine what the older woman's wish might have been. The earl and his mother had pointedly kept themselves on opposite sides of the room. Was the countess hoping for a true reconciliation with her son? Or would she prefer that he left at the earliest opportunity?

  Charlotte feared it might be the latter, then wondered why she should even care. Yet oddly, she did.

  The remaining guests and servants took their turns and then Cook pronounced the pudding was ready to be boiled. Everyone clapped and cheered. Cook turned the mixture onto a cloth, shaped it into a round ball and then slyly pressed several gold coins and two gold rings into the batter.

  She pulled the en
ds of the cloth together and tied the package tightly at the top of the ball before placing the pudding into a boiling pot of water. Once the pudding was cooking, the servants scurried out to attend to their many duties; the houseguests followed at a more leisurely pace.

  As she made her way toward the archway, Charlotte felt a hand on her shoulder. She knew, even before turning around, it was the earl.

  "I am organizing a party to search for a Christmas tree later in the week. I do hope you will be joining us."

  "The weather has turned cold," Charlotte remarked. "Your stable master told me he believed it would snow soon, perhaps as early as tomorrow."

  "Then we need to locate the tree as soon as possible, before the forest is covered in snowdrifts," the earl replied. "I shall consult with my mother regarding the other planned activities and set the earliest date and time available. Will you come along?"

  There was a pause as Charlotte tried to read his expression. She had the strangest notion that her answer was very important to him. Then the gleam in his eye was gone, replaced by a polite smile.

  "I would be delighted to attend the outing," Charlotte replied.

  "Excellent." He touched her hand briefly before bowing and taking his leave.

  Her skin prickled at the contact of his bare flesh against her own, but Charlotte sternly told herself that sudden shiver of anticipation she felt meant nothing.

  Nothing at all.

  CHAPTER 9

  Jonathan sipped on a glass of port, his eyes glued to the doorway of the library, his ears attuned to every sound beyond it. He had been waiting for two hours and his patience was finally rewarded when he heard Evelyn's light, quick step crossing the hall. His mother was out visiting the vicar and his wife with several of the female houseguests, so Evelyn was unencumbered by her duties. Now was the perfect time fora private conversation. If he could get her alone.

  She had not met him in the library yesterday as he had requested. The disappointment he had felt when he realized she was not coming was acute. Compounding his hurt was the marked change in her behavior. They had always enjoyed an easy, relaxed relationship, but after their stolen kiss yesterday afternoon, Evelyn had clearly been avoiding him. When they did happen upon each other, she was polite and distant.