* * *
Julia stopped pacing the hearthrug in the parlour and sat down when there was a tap on the door. It would not do to allow him to see how agitated she felt. ‘Come in!’
She had expected him to seem less disturbing when he was clothed, but Giles Darrowby merely looked large, dark, imposing and apologetic. At least he had managed that.
‘Miss Chancellor. I am aware that I owe you an explanation.’ He stood just inside the door, resembling nothing more than someone courageously facing a firing squad.
Julia refused to be charmed by manly fortitude. ‘Do come in and close the door and sit by the fire, Lord Missenden. You will be even more of a nuisance if you succumb to pneumonia.’
‘Ma’am.’ He came in, took the chair she indicated, settled his long limbs and sat back. At least he was no longer looming. ‘We became lost. We were looking for Beech House.’
‘That is in Lower Bourne, the village at the foot of the scarp. You are in Upper Bourne, which is merely a hamlet on a terrace above it, and this is Beech View Cottage. It was a miracle your coach managed to navigate the hill. Unless, of course, they have ended up in a snowdrift.’
‘I had three companions in addition to the driver and groom. They should be able to dig themselves out,’ he said confidently. ‘We’d been blundering about in the snow and then we saw the nameplate on your gate.’ His mouth twisted in a rueful grimace. ‘It was half-covered in snow and all we could read was Beech. Miss Chancellor, you appear to believe you know me and I have no recollection of having ever met you before.’
‘Tell me first what you were doing in the snow stark naked.’
‘It seemed like a good idea at the time.’ The ruefulness was attractive. The wretched man had charm. ‘You are acquainted with Sir Felix Wheaton?’
‘We have not met, but I know he has taken Beech House for a house party for the festive season. His own country home some miles away has a problem with the roof, I understand.’ She shrugged. ‘That is the gossip in the village at any rate.’
‘Felix is the best of fellows. Kind, honest, do anything for anyone, chivalrous to a fault—and like putty in the hands of a scheming female. A certain Mrs Fanshawe who has a daughter to marry off has decided that Felix is just the man for a son-in-law. That is to say, he is wealthy, well connected and far too gentlemanly to evade her tactics. He doesn’t like the girl, who promises to be every bit as ruthless and grasping as her mother, but he cannot seem to evade her and Mrs F. has manoeuvred him into inviting them to spend Christmas with him in front of witnesses.
‘We’ve been doing our best to put her off—hints about Felix’s completely fictitious naughty past, suggestions that he gambles, keeps an opera dancer and so on, but none of that weighs against a baronetcy, an elderly bachelor uncle who is a viscount and a healthy amount invested in Funds. So we decided something drastic was called for. I drew the short straw as the first salvo in the campaign. The plan was for me to arrive on the doorstep, as you saw, pretending that I thought it was the kind of house party where such behaviour was expected and that Felix had wagered I wouldn’t do it. The next two would turn up slightly the worse for drink with the baggage and finally Woodley was to arrive with an E.O. wheel and turn the whole place into a veritable gaming den.’
‘E.O.?’
Poor Sir Felix.
‘Even-Odd. It’s a betting game with a spinning wheel. Popular in the hells, but not something to be played in a gentleman’s house. By the time we’d finished with him Felix would appear to be a hopeless rake on the verge of gambling away all his wealth.’
‘But who else had he invited?’ What a ruthless set of men Sir Felix’s friends appeared to be. But she had to admit, the plan could have worked. ‘You cannot have meant to scandalise an entire group of innocent guests, surely?’
‘He was so taken aback and in such a panic when Mrs F. bullied him into holding a house party that we promised we’d see to the rest of the guests. Woodley’s sister will be there with her husband and she’s game for any rig. The sister of one of the others, Jimmy Truscott, is also staying and, if things got too bad, she was going to fling herself into Felix’s arms in a strategic manner. Her mama’s with her, chaperoning another two girls, one of whom Felix was dangling after before La Fanshawe got him in her sights, so we have hopes of that as well.’ He spread his hands as though offering her the blueprint of their plan. ‘We have to do the best we can for him, poor fellow.’
Was it true? Could she trust him that far? But the story was too ridiculous not to be the truth, Julia thought. Too ridiculous and too dangerous in this weather. ‘What will your friends do now?’
‘Arrive all at once and do the best they can, I suppose. Assuming they’ve reached the village safely and have discovered where they are, I imagine they’ll soon work out what has happened. But how on earth are you going to manage, cut off like this with no servants?’
‘Here on Spinsters’ Row we assume that we will be snowed in at least once every year and we prepare for it.’ His eyebrows rose at the name, but she ignored that. ‘This is particularly bad weather, but between the five cottages we have wood for at least two weeks and plenty of food even if we do run out of milk.’ She smiled sweetly at Lord Missenden and saw his eyes narrow warily. ‘Once it stops snowing people will begin to dig out the paths and you will be safe then, my lord. In the meantime you are trapped in the midst of a coven of single ladies with one about to give birth next door. You will be at the mercy of my cooking and in the same house as Fred, who would like to shred whatever parts of your anatomy he can reach.’
‘You do not like me, Miss Chancellor,’ Giles Darrowby observed. He was quite still except for the gentle drumming of his fingers on the arm of the comfortable old chair.
Any moment now Fred will pounce.
She leaned down, picked up the catnip mouse and tossed it into a far corner. The cat stalked off after it.
‘I have no very good impression of your character, that is true. I applaud your concern for your friend, but otherwise you appear to be a rakehell, a care-for-nothing and heedless of the honour of young women who cross your path.’
That did get through the negligent air of self-confidence. Lord Missenden’s mouth tightened into a hard line and the sensual curve of his lower lip, at which she realised she had been staring, became something else entirely.
‘The honour of any woman must be the concern of every gentleman, myself included. You appear to be labouring under the impression—or perhaps delusion—that we have met before. I can assure you, it is not the case.’
‘Indeed? I suppose you are going to tell me that you have no idea who Miss Sara Belton is and have no knowledge of her elopement with Lord Cranton?’
‘Sara? Of course I know who she is. Cranton is a friend of mine. Her father was planning to marry her off to a man his own age, even though he knew she and Cranton were in love. If you have taken against me because I helped them elope, then you’ll get no apology from me.’
‘No?’ Julia found she was on her feet, trembling slightly with the tightly controlled anger that was threatening to escape. ‘I am not permitted to hold a grudge for the fact that you abandoned me to take the blame for the entire enterprise? You were part of a conspiracy to have me blamed for making the arrangements, hiring the carriage they escaped in, smuggling her out of the ball to the inn—and then when you abandoned the coach you were driving as a decoy you simply left me there to face the music. And ruin. Call me unreasonable, but I think I am entitled to some gesture of regret from you.’
Chapter Two
Giles Darrowby stared at her, then got slowly to his feet. ‘You were in that coach? You? I looked in quickly to check, but I thought it was the maid.’
‘I got a very good look at you. You had your hat off and you were grinning.’
‘Because I thought it was all going to plan,’ he protested. ‘Sara’s friends wh
o organised everything for her told us that it would be made to look as though the maid was duped and then tied up when she realised what was going on.’
‘By Sara’s friends I assume you mean Miss Gascoigne and Miss Hailsham?’ He nodded. ‘They entangled me in this because I naively thought they were my friends. They secured Miss Belton’s undying gratitude without having to incriminate themselves in any way, made sure the maid, who might have given them away, was not involved and no doubt amused themselves vastly at my expense. I paid the price for believing overtures of friendship that proved to be quite false. Do sit down, Lord Missenden. You loom.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He sat down abruptly. ‘Sorry for looming, sorry for not realising what was happening. But why would Sara—?’
‘I do not think she knew anything about it. I hope not, because I liked her and, although I did not know her very well, she was always kind to me when I was just out and very...awkward.’
A hopeless wallflower.
‘I was glad to help her. Was she...? Did they get away safely?’
‘You did not know? Yes, they pretended to make for Gretna, then cut across country and were married just across the border north of Berwick. Cranton has Scottish estates so they stayed there until her parents had calmed down and accepted the match.’
‘I was gone from London by then.’ Her aunt, who had been reluctantly sponsoring her orphaned niece’s come-out, had packed her off to the country in disgrace, more worried that she might be blamed for Julia’s actions than she was about the effect on her niece’s future. Julia had made no protest, glad to escape. She had hated her come-out. Still grieving for her parents, she’d been thrust into the crowded, artificial, frenetic social whirl, so different from her quiet country childhood, and her aunt had made little allowance for inexperience.
Lord Missenden was still frowning. ‘But why would Miss Gascoigne and Miss Hailsham do that to you? They must have known what the consequences would be for you.’
‘I had upset Miss Gascoigne,’ Julia said tightly. ‘I hadn’t realised. And I do not want to talk about it.’ It was bad enough to have been made a fool of, to have mistaken cynical, sophisticated spite for friendship. It was just as humiliating to discover that Lord Tarling—tall, blond, handsome—was only flirting with her so intensely in order to make Miss Gascoigne jealous.
‘Miss Chancellor.’ Giles Darrowby leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands open as though in supplication. ‘Please believe me when I tell you on my honour that I had no idea of what was happening. Cranton was my friend, we organised his end of things and trusted Sara when she said her friends would manage her own escape.’
‘I am sure she knew nothing about it,’ Julia said, forcing herself to be fair although it felt as though she was chewing gravel to force the words out. He was a gentleman, she had to take his word. ‘And I accept that you would not have left me there if you had realised who I was.’
‘But I should have checked,’ he said, clearly picking up on her inner feelings.
‘Yes. Besides anything else, you should have checked that the maid really was all right. It seems, Lord Missenden, that you’ll do almost anything for your friends, but the rest of us can take our chances.’
‘Harsh, Miss Chancellor.’
‘If the cap fits, my lord. I do not propose to say anything more about it. We are trapped here and I have no wish to spend several days in a state of war with you.’
‘An armed truce, ma’am?’ The charming smile seemed somewhat twisted now.
‘Unarmed. I have no desire to ruin my Christmas any more than it already is. However you arrived here, you are my guest now.’
‘Thank you,’ he said gravely. ‘But Christmas? That is two days away. Surely by tomorrow I can be out of here?’
‘We are not in London. Nor are we in some great country house with an army of servants. I told you—we are in a cottage perched on the top of the Chiltern scarp facing west into all the weather that comes at us across the Vale of Aylesbury and the old men swear this is going to be a dreadful winter. It would be a miracle if your friends managed to get their coach to the bottom of the hill in one piece, but even if they had to abandon the vehicle they should have been able to get down to the village with the horses—and there they’ll be trapped, too. For you to venture out now would be suicidal. It is still snowing and I cannot even see the front gate.’
‘Hell,’ he muttered, without apology, long fingers beating a rapid tattoo on the faded chintz.
Fred, slinking round the side, reached up one paw and took a swipe at the moving digits. Lord Missenden pulled his hand away just in time and Fred swore as his claw snagged in the worn weave of the armchair.
‘Fool cat. Did you not hear your mistress? An unarmed truce. Hold still.’ He swept up the growling, wriggling cat in one hand and disentangled the claw with the other. ‘Ouch. Ungrateful beast.’ Fred stalked off affronted, sat down and began to ostentatiously wash all traces of contaminating human touch from his fur.
Lord Missenden went over to the window and drew back the heavy red velvet curtains. The light in the room illuminated only thick, swirling snow in the blackness. He stood, one hand on the edge of each curtain, staring out as though he could intimidate the weather into a thaw.
A thaw would be welcome, Julia thought, looking at the long-limbed figure, the broad shoulders, the thick hair and remembering what lay beneath those incongruous clothes. A thaw bringing with it a nice steady trickle of ice water. If I have to be trapped with a man, why does it have to be this one? And why, oh, why does he have to be quite so attractive?
Physically attractive, that was. Morally he seemed to be something of a loose screw, although his wickedness sounded more light-hearted than malevolent and he did appear to be a loyal friend. But society gentlemen had been a mystery to her when she was doing the Season and she had no real hope of understanding this one now.
He drew the curtains together again with an abruptness that made the rings rattle. ‘There are those who would say that a gentleman should take himself off and attempt to reach the village,’ he remarked. ‘Or a house closer than that.’
‘You would not make it to the end of the Row tonight, it would be suicide.’
Lord Missenden put one hand on the curtain again, as though some miracle might have stopped the snow in the past minute, then lowered it. ‘You are doubtless right, Miss Chancellor. I will sleep on the settle in the kitchen.’
* * *
The kitchen was warm and she doubtless kept the range in all night so it would save fuel and, most importantly, it was probably as far as it was possible to get from Miss Chancellor’s bedchamber without bedding down in the log store.
‘Why on earth would you do that when there is a perfectly good spare bedchamber upstairs?’ she enquired, her dark brows levelling as she frowned at him.
What does she look like when she smiles? Perhaps she never does.
‘Because I assume that is close to your own bedchamber.’
His reluctant hostess bent to throw a small log on the fire. As it flared up he saw the freckles across her nose, the impatient pursing of her lips, and felt a sudden, highly inappropriate, flare of attraction.
‘If you are going to attempt to ravish me, Lord Missenden, I imagine that a flight of stairs is hardly going to stop you.’
Had the woman no maidenly sensibility? Apparently not, only an abundance of tart common sense.
How very refreshing.
‘I have no intention of doing anything of the kind. Your opinion of me is bad, but I assure you I draw the line at ravishment. Very well, I admit that a proper bed would be very welcome, but you will lock your chamber door, of course. I would not want your rest disturbed by any uneasiness.’ Goodness, he sounded pompous enough to be his own grandfather.
Miss Chancellor’s smile was a faint twitch of amusement that showed she thought so,
too. ‘I can assure you I will not be the slightest bit uneasy. I sleep with a pistol beside the bed, you see.’
‘Loaded?’
‘It is not much use if it is not and, yes, I am perfectly capable of using it.’
‘In the bedchamber?’
‘I think that inviting a potential ravisher to step outside and wait while I fetch it might defeat the object, don’t you?’ Then, as though they had been discussing nothing more shocking than the weather, she remarked, ‘Time for supper, I think. Are you hungry, Lord Missenden?’
His mind—and his body—were so fixed on this exchange—flirtation?—that it took him a moment to translate the question into plain, non-suggestive English.
She means for food, you idiot.
‘Hungry? Yes, very, now I come to think of it. Luncheon was an inferior stew at an inn just past Hemel Hempstead. But you cannot have planned for an unexpected guest. Is there enough food?’
‘After two weeks you might begin to find it monotonous, but we will not starve, I promise you,’ she said as she stood up.
Giles followed her out of the room and along the chilly hallway to the kitchen. ‘Is there anything I can do to help? I cannot cook, I should warn you.’
‘Bring wood in and coals for the range, the parlour and both bedchambers upstairs, if you please. Through there.’ Miss Chancellor pointed to the back door and then rolled up her sleeves, apparently with no qualms about giving orders to a viscount as though he was the footman.
She looked as though she knew what she was doing, which was puzzling. He would have wagered several guineas that any young lady of his acquaintance would have been completely lost if left alone in a kitchen and required to produce a hot dinner for two. What had her aunt been thinking of? To send her off to this remote hamlet while the fuss over Sara’s elopement had died down was one thing, but to leave her here to live as though she was an impoverished middle-aged maiden lady was inexplicable. The thought that perhaps he had contributed to her disgrace and exile was an unpleasant jolt to his conscience. There was nothing he could do about that now, he told himself, but there were tasks to be done and they were all he could do at the moment to make amends.
Snowbound Surrender Page 9
