The Christmas Countess

by Adrienne Basso

Her gaze traveled across the room to where the earl and his mother stood. They made a striking pair, mother and son. Their physical resemblance was limited to the same shade of eye color and a similar smile, but no one could have mistaken the relationship. They both held themselves with an aristocratic confidence, assured of their worth and place in this world.

  Rebecca realized sadly it was not a trait that the third member of their family, Lady Charlotte, had been able to emulate. She seemed to keep herself deliberately on the fringes, almost hiding from life. Pity, for she seemed a kind and deserving woman.

  Rebecca wondered how Lily would grow up. Would she feel the same confidence as the earl? Would she exude this same aura of privilege and power? Or would she be like Lady Charlotte, shy and withdrawn? Given what little she had seen of her daughter thus far, Rebecca suspected the child would grow to be a proud, formidable, secure woman.

  “Hungry?” inquired a masculine voice.

  Her gaze flashed upward to meet Lord Hampton‘s. She had been so engrossed in her thoughts she had not heard his approach.

  “Famished,” she said, flustered as her pulse started racing at the sound of his voice.

  It was not fear, she admitted to herself, for he no longer purposely intimidated her. True, there was an attraction, but she found other men attractive, too. What was so unique about him? So irresistible?

  She tried to dispassionately, logically examine the conundrum, hoping that by solving the mystery she could eliminate the feelings. Was it the forbidden allure, knowing this would never amount to anything, for she was the very last woman on earth the earl would consider for a relationship? Perhaps it was an underlying resentment that caused her emotions to react so strongly, since no matter what she said or did, Lily would always remain his child?

  Shaking off her unfathomable emotions, Rebecca told herself firmly that dwelling on this attraction was a course fraught with peril and temptation. Lily was living proof that her will to resist forbidden temptations could, at times, be lacking.

  “Did you enjoy your afternoon in the nursery with Lily?” the earl asked.

  Rebecca felt a rush of emotion fill her eyes, but she blinked back the tears. “‘Twas a joy that surpassed even my expectations, my lord. I thank you again for your kindness. You have no idea how much it meant to me.”

  For a moment he hesitated as if he were about to say something more, but the butler arrived to announce the meal was served. The earl excused himself to escort his mother into the dining room.

  Rebecca found her brother and they followed the crowd. Though it seemed to be a large crush, there was a smaller number of people for the evening meal. Only those guests sleeping at the manor were in attendance; lunch had included additional guests from the neighboring estate.

  “Oh, hell,” Daniel muttered under his breath.

  Rebecca swallowed hard in perfect understanding of her brother‘s remark. The dining room fairly glowed from the twinkling candles in the chandelier, which reflected the shimmering light off all the crystal, silver and gilt-edged china formally arranged on the table. There were five large flower arrangements set on high crystal pillars in the center of the table, along with numerous smaller vases of the same flowers and a single bloom at each place setting in a silver vessel.

  As she glided down the table to find her seat, Rebecca counted no fewer than six goblets in assorted sizes and twelve forks at each place setting. Twelve! Gracious, how much precisely was one expected to eat?

  They began with a choice of pheasant soup, mushroom soup, nettle soup or clear soup, followed by turbot with tartare sauce, sweetbreads in wine sauce, lobster cream, pigeon pie, vegetable souffle and wild duck. Rebecca stopped counting courses when the saddle of mutton was served and at that stage gave up all pretense of eating. Thankfully, she noticed several of the other ladies had done the same.

  Though nervous about the elaborate meal, Rebecca felt she did an acceptable job with her dinner companions, saying all the correct, polite things about the weather and the evening and the plans for the upcoming holiday.

  After the trifle, creams and puddings were served, the dowager countess rose from her seat. All the ladies did the same and they withdrew from the dining room, leaving the men to their brandy, port and cigars.

  For the next half hour the ladies conversed in the drawing room, sipping tea and cordials. Rebecca marveled how anyone could manage to fit anything else in their stomachs, since everyone was wearing tightly laced corsets and evening gowns cinched in at the waist.

  “We need some entertainment to finish out the evening,” the dowager countess said as the gentlemen rejoined them. “Who will play the piano for us? And sing? Miss Tremaine?”

  Rebecca felt her skin flush. She had a passable voice, but was intimidated at the idea of singing in front of so many strangers. Still, it would be rude to refuse. She was a guest who had been afforded an honor by being asked. With effort she restrained the grimace that rose to her face and nodded in agreement. The dowager countess beamed with approval.

  Pulse skittering, Rebecca walked to the opposite side of the room and sat at the padded piano bench. “I shall play, my lady. Perhaps Lady Marion will sing?”

  “No!” Several individuals shouted in unison, while others started shaking their heads emphatically to and fro.

  Rebecca was startled by the chorus of negative responses. Her surprise must have shown on her face, for the earl, who stood near the piano, leaned close and whispered, “My cousin‘s voice has been compared to the sounds made by a screeching wet cat left too long in the rain. To be honest, that would be far more pleasant to hear than listening to Marion. I fear if we allow her to sing, everyone‘s stomach will sour.”

  “It cannot be that bad,” Rebecca whispered.

  “‘Tis worse,” Lord Hampton insisted with a shudder. “To say it is caterwauling is a kindness.”

  Lady Marion look exasperated. “I grant you that my voice is unusual, but it has a classic quality,” she declared, tapping her finger against her knee.

  “Classic, Marion?” the earl asked with a raised brow.

  “Indeed. And I give you all fair warning. I am in charge of leading the Christmas carolers this year and I expect to be a full participant.”

  Several of the men groaned. “With you leading us, and lending your voice, we shall all get dosed with buckets of water,” one of them said.

  “Or pelted with rotten fruits and vegetables,” another chimed in and several others laughed at the quip.

  “Christmas is a time of joy and brotherhood, when we all celebrate the birth of our savior,” the dowager countess insisted. “I hardly think the neighbors would toss refuse at a hapless band of carolers, coming to spread holiday cheer.”

  “They will if they hear Marion sing, Mother.”

  “Et tu, Hampton,” Lady Marion uttered with an exaggerated sigh, but then she burst into laughter and everyone joined her.

  Rebecca noticed Viscount Cranborne move near his wife and lay a hand on Lady Marion‘s arm. It was a simple gesture that conveyed love as well as comfort and Lady Marion preened under the attention. ‘Twas obvious they had a strong union, with a deep sense of commitment and passion for each other, though in many ways they seemed an unlikely pair.

  Lady Marion was a diamond of the first water, a woman of great beauty and style. The viscount was beyond thirty, of medium height, stocky, pleasant-looking, yet unremarkable. His brown hair was starting to thin at the crown. Seeing them together made Rebecca think of the ironic truth in one of her mother‘s favorite sayings; as God made them, he matched them.

  A wave of sadness washed over her as she acknowledged the man she had always believed was her match was gone. With the passing of time she had been able to accept the finality of Philip‘s death, but the memory of that loss was something that would remain a part of her.

  She glanced over at the earl and wondered if he felt the same about losing his wife.

  “Charlotte will sing. She has a charming vo
ice,” Lady Marion suggested.

  Lady Charlotte, sitting at the chair nearest the piano, blushed so red Rebecca thought for certain she would refuse.

  “I need someone to accompany me,” Lady Charlotte finally said. “Cameron?”

  The earl shook his head slowly. “A duet is far too ambitious for me. I will not be able to do it justice.”

  Rebecca turned to her brother. “Daniel? You sing well. Won‘t you accompany Lady Charlotte?”

  Daniel obediently came to the piano. Rebecca carefully read through the sheet music, consulting with the pair until they agreed on a final selection.

  Rebecca steadied her hands on the keys and began to play, soon realizing she need not be so nervous. No one would notice any slight mistakes she made, for they were all enraptured by the sound of Lady Charlotte and Daniel‘s voices.

  Their talents were well matched. A light, lilting soprano and a vibrant, emotional tenor. Each had a musical ear, as well as a strong singing voice and though they had not rehearsed, they sang as if they had practiced for weeks.

  Rebecca felt a chill at how beautifully their voices melded together, noting how everyone appeared moved by the emotion of the pretty ballad. As the piece concluded, Rebecca saw Lady Marion dab at her eyes and several other women lift a handkerchief to their faces.

  “Though I know it was not your intent, you have convinced me,” Lady Marion said. “I shall gladly lead the carolers, choosing the songs and the places where we will serenade. But I promise, I shall only mouth the words.”

  There was but a moment of silence, and everyone began to clap. Lady Marion loudest of all.

  Chapter 6

  “Which gown will you be wearing for this afternoon‘s visit, Miss Rebecca?”

  Rebecca set down her writing quill and looked over at Maureen. The maid had opened the cherry armoire and was standing in front of it, hands on hips in consideration.

  “I‘m not sure,” Rebecca confessed, slightly panicked that this was yet another test of fashion sense that she might fail. Life was far more complicated for society women, with pitfalls too ridiculous to consider. It made her glad to realize this was but a short venture for her into the world of the highest privilege and nobility.

  “Do you know specifically where you are going?” the maid asked.

  Rebecca frowned, wondering what possible difference it could make. “The dowager countess mentioned we would be stopping at the rectory to visit with the vicar and his wife to discuss Christmas activities and gifts for the parish families. Is there something you think is appropriate for that sort of call?”

  The maid nodded enthusiastically and pulled out a lovely day dress in a deep shade of blue. She paired it with a multicolored paisley shawl and a small hat done in shades of blue that could be comfortably worn while taking tea.

  Properly clothed, with her hair neatly styled, Rebecca decided to wait in the front courtyard, eager for a chance to enjoy some fresh air. The first thing she noticed as she stepped outside was the sharp drop in temperature and the visibility of her breath.

  Pulling the collar of her wool cloak higher to ward off the icy chill, Rebecca was glad to note the coach had been pulled around to the front, the driver and grooms waiting patiently for all the passengers to arrive. Standing too long out in the cold would not be pleasant.

  “The weather has turned biting. It feels like it might snow very soon.”

  The masculine voice was deep and measured. Rebecca turned to find the earl by her side. He looked dashingly handsome garbed in traditional riding clothes and knee-high black boots. Predictably, her heart quickened. He offered his arm, and she laid her hand on the top of his sleeve, ignoring the little shiver of awareness that traveled through her limbs.

  “I did not think snow fell much in this area,” she said, glancing up at the collection of clouds drifting across the sky.

  “‘Tis a rare, but not impossible, occurrence,” he replied. “Actually, under the proper conditions, anything is possible, don‘t you agree, Miss Tremaine?”

  She smiled vaguely. He is merely making polite conversation, she told herself sternly. There is no hidden innuendo in his words, though once again Rebecca acknowledged she was at a loss to comprehend why the earl captivated her so thoroughly. She was not a completely naive woman; she had been exposed to handsome men before. Yet even after several days in his company, being around him still unnerved her.

  Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the dowager countess and Rebecca was glad for the distraction. Then to her complete surprise, Lily and her governess, Mrs. James, also appeared.

  “Are we all here?” the dowager countess asked, nodding her head in answer to her own question. “You are such a dear to accompany us, Miss Tremaine. I sent the other ladies into the village to do a bit of shopping, explaining that I did not think it fair to overwhelm our young vicar with too many visitors this afternoon.”

  Rebecca licked her lips. “Perhaps it would be better if I too stayed behind?”

  “Oh, no, I very much want you along. Cameron told us your late father was a man of the cloth. Your presence will ease the vicar‘s nerves, I am certain.”

  Giving her no opportunity to protest further, the dowager countess practically shooed Rebecca into the coach. Lily began to climb in next, but suddenly stopped.

  “Papa, I want to sit next to you in the carriage.”

  “That‘s impossible, Puss. I‘m not riding in the coach.”

  Indeed. The earl had vaulted onto a large black stallion and the pair were eagerly prancing about the courtyard. It was almost sinful how strong and virile the earl looked.

  “I will ride with you on your horse,” Lily declared. Jumping down from the small carriage step, the little girl ducked under her grandmother‘s raised arm and ran over to Lord Hampton.

  Her sudden movement startled the earl‘s horse. It reared, front hooves pawing wildly in the air. Rebecca felt a scream build in her throat as the little girl came perilously close to the stallion‘s large, deadly hooves. But Lord Hampton managed to expertly control his mount, alleviating any danger to the child.

  “Be careful, Lily!” the earl shouted.

  Rebecca waited for the scolding. It was reckless, dangerous, behavior and Lily deserved a harsh reprimand. But no one said another word to the child.

  In shock, Rebecca watched a groom hustle over and boost the little girl into Lord Hampton‘s waiting arms. She squirmed and shifted, finally sitting sidesaddle. The earl held her firmly in the circle of his arms.

  “Is her coat warm enough?” Rebecca asked, wanting to bite her tongue the moment the question fell from her lips.

  Mrs. James gave her an odd look, no doubt wondering how it was any of Rebecca‘s business.

  “Cameron will keep her from catching a chill,” the dowager countess replied. “At least with Lily on the horse he will be forced to ride at a sedate pace, keeping the wind at bay. And that shall make it a far safer ride for both of them.”

  The earl and Lily took off ahead of the coach. Rebecca could hear the little girl‘s laugh of delight as they raced off and hoped the dowager duchess‘ comment about the earl riding slowly was true.

  It was not too long a drive to the rambling stone cottage that housed the vicarage. The three women stepped out of the coach just as the earl and Lily arrived. Lord Hampton carefully handed his daughter down to a waiting groom before dismounting. Then offering his arm to his mother, he led the way to the front door and banged briskly on the lion‘s head knocker.

  An elderly housekeeper opened the door, asking to take their coats and gloves and the earl‘s hat the moment they were inside. After removing her cloak and straightening her shawl, Rebecca‘s attention was drawn to the vicar and his wife, who crowded together into the foyer to greet them.

  Clad in the somber clothes of his profession, Vicar Hargrave was a kind-looking man with alert brown eyes and close-trimmed dark hair whom Rebecca judged to be but a few years older than herself. His expression
was eager and a bit anxious as he bowed to greet them. His wife looked younger, no more than nineteen or twenty, a small, slender woman with strawberry blond hair, innocent features and a shy smile.

  They were ushered into a cozy parlor that smelled faintly of lavender and beeswax. The furniture was well used, but in good condition. Nothing exactly matched in terms of style or even wood grain, yet nothing seemed out of place. It was a comfortable and inviting room.

  A pretty landscape depicting the village square, done in oil, hung over the fireplace, instantly drawing Rebecca‘s attention. She moved closer for a better look, peered at the signature, then smiled in surprise.

  “I must commend your talent, Reverend Hargrave. ‘Tis a beautiful picture.”

  The vicar bowed his head modestly. “Painting is merely a hobby of mine. Mrs. Hargrave insisted we hang it in here, though I believe it would be better suited for a back room.”

  “Nonsense,” the earl replied. “This is first rate.”

  The housekeeper wheeled in a tray and they sat for tea. Rebecca noticed Mrs. Hargrave‘s hand trembling slightly as she poured from the pretty china pot. Tendrils of steam spiraled into the air as she passed the nearly full cup of tea to the dowager countess.

  Rebecca had to restrain herself from leaping forward to rescue the shaking china, fearing a disaster, but the dowager countess was a woman experienced with flustered young females. She clasped the cup firmly in her hand, then set it gently on the low table in front of her.

  After serving the ladies, Mrs. Hargrave poured for the gentlemen. The earl accepted his cup with a nod and a grin of thanks. Mrs. Hargrave blushed and nearly dropped the teapot in his lap. Rebecca felt a flash of sympathy, knowing all too well the effects of that devastating smile.

  Cakes and small sandwiches were served next. Compliments were extended to Mrs. Hargrave when her husband revealed she had baked two of the delicacies herself. Rebecca thought fondly of the many hours she had spent in the kitchen, learning the same skill, then realized it had been weeks since she had last done any baking.