by Regina Scott
“Pish tosh. I was a Burns long before I was a Darby. The old line could do with some new blood.”
Eleanor shook her head. “Please do not tease me on this. If you care anything for me, you will let things stand the way they are.”
The countess’ eyes narrowed. “You should know by now that the only person I care for is myself. I do as I please around here.”
Eleanor rose again, shaking out her skirts and trying to hide the fact that her hands were trembling. “Then you do it without me. Persist in this line and I will leave tomorrow morning.”
The countess glared up at her, and Eleanor glared back. They stood locked, gaze to gaze, lips compressed, jaws firm. With a determined thud, Jingles over turned the countess’ face powder.
The countess lowered her gaze with a shrug. “Ungrateful kitten,” she muttered. “He has yet to learn the appropriate manners for a Great House.”
Eleanor went to scoop the Jingles out of the pink dust, which coated his fur from tail to nose and peppered the surface of the rosewood dresser. “Some are not born to the manor, my lady,” she replied, dusting him off. Jingles’ pink nose twitched, and he sneezed. “Some of us are content with only a place by the fire.”
“Yes, well, even those can learn to be of service.”
Eleanor bit her lip to keep from responding. From potential countess to serving girl in a few moments, she thought with a shake of her head.
“He needs your help, you know,” the countess continued doggedly.
Eleanor held the kitten up and turned him about. “Yes,” she agreed, “he is a bit dirty. I suppose I’ll have to wash him off.”
“Not the infernal cat, my son!”
She turned to find the countess sitting straight up in the bed, color high.
“I thought we just agreed,” she replied to the countess, “that there was nothing appropriate I could do for Lord Wenworth.”
“You have chosen to see yourself as beneath him. That makes you so in my eyes. Yet you might still be of use to me. He won’t listen to me. He is working himself to an early grave. What am I to do then, eh?”
Eleanor’s mind flashed to his bowed head and felt a chill. “Nonsense,” she replied firmly. “Your son is a brilliant scholar. He’ll find a way out of whatever is wrong.”
“A brilliant scholar he may be, but who’s to know? Do any of them care how brilliant he is?” She waved her hand, but the elegant movement was tight with anger. “His brothers, his steward, those dolts in Wenwood, the people on the estate? They hound him and hound him and never listen to his reasonable answers. A scholar, you say? He is a scholar because I wanted a scholar. Adam was always my husband’s son, and Alex and Jareth belong to no one, but Justinian, Justinian was all mine. I wanted a great philosopher, a poet, a genius. I’m afraid the old adage is true. One should be careful what one wishes for. Justinian is all those things, and as a result, he is a miserable earl.”
“He is a wonderful earl!” Eleanor protested. “He takes his duty seriously, which is more than I can say for the last few Earls of Wenwood.”
The countess raised an eyebrow, and Eleanor felt herself blushing, realizing she had just criticized the lady’s husband and elder son.
“You see, you do have some opinions,” the countess remarked. “Much as I admire your willingness to stand up for the boy, the truth of the matter is, if he is not a miserable earl, he is miserable because he is the earl. You could help him there, I think.”
“How?” Eleanor asked suspiciously, though in truth a part of her would have liked nothing better than to help Justinian.
“Christmas is nearly here. Distract him long enough to let him enjoy it.”
Eleanor gazed at her, a plan beginning to form. Could she truly give Justinian a happy Christmas? Could the school teacher find a gift worthy of giving a Darby? “I can try. But I’ll need your help as well.”
The countess gazed back just as suspiciously. “What must I do?”
“You can start by giving me the addresses of your other sons.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“Never you mind. You wanted me to trust you enough to have you arrange my marriage to your son. You can learn to trust me for a simple Christmas. Besides, the addresses are the easy part. If I can contrive to have a Christmas eve celebration in honor of Dottie’s return, you must agree to dress and come down for dinner.”
Lady Wenworth collapsed back upon her pillows. “I haven’t dressed for dinner in over twenty years.”
Eleanor smiled. “Then it’s high time you started, don’t you think?” As if in agreement, Jingles sneezed.
Chapter Eight
Justinian found himself unaccountably depressed as Christmas drew near. He had yet to arrive at a workable solution on the levees, his mother seemed unusually agitated, and he had not had time to touch his novel outside of a short evening some days ago. All those things would have been enough to depress any gentleman, but he suspected that, in reality, the main problem was that Norrie had cut him off so abruptly. His attempts to renew their acquaintance had only served to push her farther away. She seemed to be sensitive to his least remark, so confronting her would hardly prove a remedy. It seemed perhaps his father had been right all along. Somehow, that thought was the most depressing of all.
Trying to ease his mind, he threw himself into his estate work, remaining closeted with the beleaguered steward from early in the morning until long after the sun had set. He was therefore surprised to find, when he left the library late one afternoon, that Faringil and three strapping footmen were busily draping evergreen boughs along the railing of the great stair. Glancing about, he found a similar swag festooning the doorways to the morning room, the withdrawing room, and the dining room. “Are we having some sort of celebration?” he asked with a frown.
Faringil motioned the footmen to keep working and stepped down to his side, dusting off his hands on the apron he wore tied about his waist. “I believe we may be doing so, my lord,” he replied.
Justinian waited, the no more answer was forthcoming. “Christmas?” he wagered a guess.
“Just so, my lord,” Faringil agreed.
“How many days away now?” Justinian asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.
“Three days, my lord?” Faringil tried hopefully.
Justinian rolled his eyes. “Good God, man, it’s perfectly all right to have an opinion on something that is a matter of fact. Is it or is it not three days to Christmas?”
The footman paused in their work, throwing not-so-covert glances over their shoulders at the butler, who was reddening. “If his lordship thinks there are three days,” Faringil replied solemnly, “there are three days.”
“And if his lordship thinks it’s a balmy summer’s day?” Justinian countered, exasperated.
“Then,” Eleanor replied, exiting the parlor with an armload of holly, “his lordship will be noted as having taken leave of his senses, and life will continue.”
The footmen’s eyes widened in amazement. Faringil choked on whatever he was going to say, covering it with a discrete cough behind his hand. Justinian found himself grinning.
He swept her a bow. “Ah, the sweet voice of reason at last. I take it this is all your idea.”
Eleanor felt herself blushing. “Actually, your mother got me started. We thought we might decorate the house for Dottie. You will be going to get her the day after tomorrow, won’t you?”
Justinian nodded. “I will indeed. And by the looks of it, this will be a festive homecoming.”
“I hope so,” Eleanor said. “We’ve gathered greenery for all the rooms, and Mary and the other maids are making boughs for the mantles and doorways. Now, if I can just keep Jingles from helping with the decoration, all should be well.”
“How is your little charge?” he asked, noting the way the greenery brought out the color in her cheeks. Black was entirely wrong for her, he thought. I should ask the school to change its teachers’ uniforms to something less somber
, pink perhaps. He blinked the absurd thought away.
“He is well,” Eleanor replied. She straightened, then continued resolutely. “That is, he is as well as I have been able to make him. I do hope, with Dottie coming home and me leaving right after Christmas, that someone will be given charge of him?”
“That’s right; you’re leaving.” Somehow that thought was the most important of any she’d voiced. The new year seemed to stretch on drearily.
Eleanor bowed her head. “That was my plan,” she replied, knowing that at least four pairs of ears were keenly listening to her response. “I have been given no reason to change it.”
He started, and she hoped perhaps he had understood. Before she could glance up to be certain, she spied a black tail disappearing into the dining room. “Oh, dear!”
“What?” Justinian snapped, clearly pulled out of another thought.
She dropped a quick curtsey. “Forgive me, my lord, but I must see to the kitten.” She hurried around the stair toward the dining room.
“Infernal animal,” Justinian muttered. Had he understood her correctly? Was she actually encouraging him to offer? He watched her disappear into the darkened room. Around him, the footmen quickly busied themselves with their work, moving farther up the stair with each turn of the boughs. Nonchalantly, Justinian crossed the entry and wandered down the corridor to the entrance to the dining room.
As his mother took her dinners in her room and he had been taking his in the library, the room hadn’t been used since his brother died. He was surprised to find the long oval table polished, with a silver epergne of greenery in the center. More boughs draped the silk-hung walls, and ivy wreathed the back of the sideboard. The silver chandelier glittered brightly in the light from the corridor, and he thought each of the hundred-some candles were new.
The room appeared to be empty. “Miss Eleanor?” he ventured, his voice echoing to the ceiling high above. “Norrie?”
There was a muted thud and a muffled cry. They sounded from very near the floor. Frowning, he bent and peered under the table. “Are you all right?”
“Fine, fine,” came the response from somewhere down the table. “I’ll be out directly.”
He strolled along the row of lyre-backed chairs, head cocked to scan under the table. “You’re sure?”
“Yes, completely. If you’d just be so kind as to go away.”
Justinian paused raising an eyebrow. “Go away? Why?”
As if in answer, Jingles strutted out from under the table. He stalked past Justinian and paused impressively in the doorway, eyeing him with apparent disfavor. Then he turned his back on Justinian and began washing himself.
Justinian turned his gaze to the table in time to see Norrie backing out from under it on all fours. He was ashamed to admit it was a rather fetching picture, but when she turned and saw him, he suddenly wished he had found some other way to occupy his time. Her lips were compressed, and her eyes snapped fire.
“I distinctly told you to go away,” she clipped out, stalking past him every bit as stiffly as the kitten had done.
“Ah, but you see, this is my house,” Justinian replied, hurrying to catch up with her.
“And that should be your kitten,” Eleanor countered, averting her gaze, hoping her embarrassment could be hidden beneath her anger. “I fail to see why I must continually take care of him.”
“Simply because you’re so very good at it,” Justinian answered truthfully. He touched her shoulder, stopping her, then managed to secure her hands in his own. “You take care of everyone near you. I must thank you for being so kind to my mother. She has been rather gruff of late. She tells me she shall miss you greatly.”
“I’ll miss her too,” Eleanor said with sigh. “But I must move on. You understand, don’t you?”
Suddenly, he didn’t understand at all. Still, he tried to remain congenial. “I don’t understand, actually, but as you have pointed out, we do seem to be different people these days. However, I have not forgotten my manners. I was trying to thank you, for doing this for my mother, and for Dottie.” He glanced about the room again, and his gaze lit on the bough that had been hung over the dining room door. The shape and make of the materials were unmistakable. He could feel the grin spreading. “And I must compliment Mary on her work as well. That is the finest kissing bough I have ever seen.”
Eleanor glanced up, horrified. The mistletoe and apples stood out in the dim light. She glanced wildly out the door, but the footmen and Mr. Faringil must be nearly at the top of the stair, for they were nowhere in sight. She was quite alone, with Justinian.
He could see she was frightened, but he could not seem to stop himself. If he was branded as being in love, perhaps it was time he started acting like it. “It would be a shame to waste such a lovely kissing bough,” he murmured, bending his head to hers.
His kiss was like nothing she had dreamed. No poem he had ever read to her, no story she had imagined captured the sweet fire of it. The love she had felt for him all those years welled up inside her, adding to the warmth of his embrace, making her press herself against him, returning his kiss with all her heart. She willed the moment never to end, prayed that he would feel what she felt at that moment, for if he did, surely he would never let her go again.
But he did let her go, drawing a shaky breath and gazing down at her with a warmth in his eyes that took away what little breath she had remaining. Norrie could only stare at him. His lips looked as warmed and swollen as hers felt.
“Norrie,” he started, voice husky. “Forgive me. I should never have . . . .”
Her heart nearly broke at his words. She held up a hand and sealed his mouth, feeling the sweet pressure of his lips against her fingers. “No, please, don’t. I don’t want to hear apologies. I’ve always wished I knew what it was like to kiss you. Thank you for granting that wish. You needn’t worry I’ll read too much into it. I know my place.”
“Your place!” The force of his words pushed her hand away. “After a kiss like that, your only place is with me.”
Eleanor paled, stepping away from him. How could he, after what they had shared? Was her love so cheap after all that all she was worthy of was to be his mistress? She bent and scooped up Jingles, thrusting the kitten into Justinian’s arms. “My place,” she said clearly, “is below stairs, with the other servants. At least they have some dignity. I pray you’ll leave me a little of it and not mention that subject again.”
Head high, she stalked from the room. Shaken and confused, Justinian could only peer after her, noting that before she even reached the door to the kitchen, Norrie Pritchett was running as if her life depended on it.
Chapter Nine
Justinian Darby prided himself on being a scholar, but he was the first to admit he knew very little about women. After his encounter with Norrie two days ago, he was prepared to admit he knew nothing. He had puzzled and puzzled over her reaction, but he could not understand it. The only conclusion he could reach was that she had mistaken his comments for an offer of a carte blanche, but that made little sense. He would hardly offer someone like Norrie the opportunity to be his mistress. In the first place, she was entirely too much of a lady to even think of doing anything so reprehensible, and, in the second place, surely she knew he would never dishonor her. Still, he had felt it only proper to honor her request and leave her alone, at least until he understood his own mind.
Now, after two days of pondering, he was no closer to understanding her, but he knew what he wanted. If there was any good thing that might come from his being made the earl, it was that he was now the one to make the decisions. And he had decided that the best thing he could possibly do with his life was to marry Norrie. Now, all he had to do was convince her of that fact.
He was feeling rather optimistic when he arrived at the Barnsley School just before lunch to retrieve Dottie for the Christmas holiday. Unfortunately, that was the last time he was to feel optimistic for quite some time. Miss Martingale, the head mist
ress, was her usual obsequious self, fawning over him from the moment he arrived. Her attitude set his teeth on edge. Given all the matters on his mind, he supposed it wasn’t surprising when he cut short her excessively long welcoming speech with a curt, “May I see my niece now?”
Miss Martingale blinked, snapping her mouth shut. She nodded to one of the other staff who had been assembled to receive him, and he offered the mousy little woman a grateful nod. As she scuttled from the room, he was thankful that Norrie had somehow managed not to be infected by the sheer subservient attitude that seemed to dominate the place. Perhaps she was right in having him remove Dottie permanently.
Thinking of Norrie made him remember that he should at least thank Miss Martingale for letting them appropriate her. “Miss Pritchett seems quite recovered from her illness,” he offered as they waited in what was becoming a rather chilly silence.
The large head mistress affixed him with a cold stare. “Indeed. I wish her well.”
“I’m not sure when we will be returning her to you,” Justinian continued. “My mother seems to have taken a fancy to her.” Not to mention the fancy I seem to have taken, he added silently. He wondered how the woman would react if he succeeded in getting Norrie to marry him. The scandal would be one of the few ever to enliven the Darby reputation, but he was certain his family name would survive.
Miss Martingale frowned, and he was sure any child seeing such a face would run screaming for the door. “Am I to understand, my lord, that you have taken that woman in?”
Something in her tone told him this conversation was going to unnerve him. “I must object to you referring to Miss Pritchett as ‘that woman,’” he replied. “But yes, she is staying with us. My mother asked that she remain until Christmas. I thought you had been informed. My apologies for detaining her from her duties. You must have been frantic.”
“As she was released from her duties in early December, I had no reason to care as to her whereabouts,” Miss Martingale declared. “I must say, I’m very sorry to see that she finally managed to ingratiate herself into your family, my lord. Your father warned me about her years ago, but I thought that he and I together had curbed her tendency to think beyond her station. Unfortunately, only recently I realized she was using Lady Dorothea to weasel her way into the Darby’s affections. Of course, I summarily sacked the wretched woman.”
