Christmastide With His Countess

by Ellie St. Clair

  She hadn’t lied about needing the exercise, for her or the horse. Scarlett loved the freedom riding provided her, and she always allowed her hair free of its ties, today flowing from underneath her fur cap. When she opened her eyes once more, she knew she was not alone, and she looked over at Hunter, who had nearly pulled even with her.

  “Impressive, Lord Oxford,” she called out. “I had quite the head start.”

  “Yes, well, apparently you slowed,” he responded. “Though why, heaven only knows.”

  “You simply have to ask me, Lord Oxford,” she said. “In fact, there are some things I should like to speak with you about as well. I thought we would be better off out here, away from everything and everyone, than in close quarters.”

  “Very well,” he said, suspicion in his tone, but before responding to him, Scarlett looked around them to see they had made it to a clearing in the trees. The evergreens circled them, with one break in the trees that allowed for a view out onto the rest of the land beyond. The ground was currently snow-covered, the trees in the distance blanketed in the snow that had fallen the night before. The morning was warm, however, and Scarlett only hoped the snow would remain until after Christmas. Somehow, it always felt more like a true Christmas when the earth was covered in white.

  After dismounting, she turned to find Hunter standing against his horse, arms crossed over his chest as he waited for her to speak. She took a breath. She didn’t enjoy conflict — normally she simply avoided it — but this needed to be said.

  “It’s about your tenants, Lord Oxford,” she said, noting his nostrils flare at her words. “They are not well off, not at all. Many of them are poor and hungry, despite the fact that they seem to be successful in what they are growing and the animals they are raising. You own all this land,” she said, extending her arms in a wide circle around them, “for miles, and yet you do nothing for it. You leave others to do the work for you, while you simply collect their pay. It’s not fair, Lord Oxford, especially when you are making them pay exorbitant figures for rent.”

  His frown deepened as she spoke, his stance as frigid as the air around them.

  “Are you questioning the way I treat my people? Do you really think I would be so harsh with them?”

  She stepped toward him, finger pointed into his chest. “Yes, I am questioning you, and of course I think that way! I have seen it myself. Over the last few months, while you have been busy with your lords in London, I have been here, visiting them, seeing firsthand how they live and the way they are struggling. You know nothing of it! At least, I hope you are simply ignorant, for if this is purposeful, then I am even more horrified than I ever could have imagined.”

  She was breathing hard, and she noted he was doing the same, as she could feel the rise and fall of his chest underneath the tip of her finger, which was now pressed into his cloak.

  “Do you have any idea, Scarlett, of what I have been doing in London, to try to make lives better for the very people you are accusing me of sending into dire straits? No, you don’t. Have I visited my tenants lately? No. But only because you have been here, keeping me away. Do not accuse me of not caring for them. I have a very capable steward in place who looks after them while I am away. And while we are on the subject, I must speak to you about the fact that you seem to be taking matters into your hands, giving these people money that you have no authority to give!”

  “If I could have the money for dresses or furniture for this grand house, then why can I not spend it where I see fit for a much better purpose?”

  “Because that is not the way of things!” he burst out, raising his hands into the air. “You’re supposed good deeds will only lead to people feeling like they have been treated unfairly, that you are favoring some of them over others.”

  “If that is seriously what you think, Hunter,” she said, not noticing until it rolled off her tongue that she had slipped and used his given name, “then you know nothing at all.”

  They stood there in tableau, staring at one another, until finally he sighed, running his gloved hand through his hair as he turned from her to look out onto the land beyond. He placed his hands on his hips and tipped his head back, as though he were deep in thought. He finally turned back to her.

  “Fine, Scarlett,” he said, “We will go visit the tenants and determine if it is as you say.”

  “Truly?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

  “Yes,” he said with a shrug. “I should visit them at Christmastide, anyway.”

  “And your steward,” she said, stepping toward him once more. “He has to go.”

  Hunter scoffed. “I am not getting rid of Stone. He has been with the family for years and is quite capable.”

  “Have you looked at the books lately?”

  “No, but—”

  “Do you know what he is charging for rents?”

  “Of course.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I don’t need to tell you anything.”

  “See, you have no idea. Just look.”

  “Fine, Scarlett,” he said, raising his hands in the air. “I do not know the current rents. Are you happy now?”

  “Somewhat,” she replied, turning to walk back to her horse, anger still simmering in her belly. She was frustrated in his inability to see what was right in front of his face, while he put his faith in people who had no business in having it. And yet he questioned her!

  As she returned to Star, Scarlett noted the way the snow was crunching under her feet. It had become wet and sticky with the warmer air of the morning. A smile crossed her face as she knelt down and gathered some of it in her gloved hands, packing it together.

  She took a quick look behind her to see Hunter standing there, looking off in the distance with a thoughtful expression on his face. Ah, so maybe some of her words had actually gotten through his thick skull. Well, if they didn’t, then hopefully this would. She turned, and, as quickly as she could, launched the ball of snow through the air, before it came down on its mark, hitting him square in the chest.

  He let out a shout as he turned to her, his face aghast as though he couldn’t believe what she had just done.

  And she laughed. Oh, it felt good to find that release, to be able to send some of her frustration flying toward him through the snow. But then his mouth settled in a firm line and he narrowed his eyes at her, and she took a long swallow. Had she gone too far?

  But then, quicker than she could have imagined, he knelt himself, scooped up the snow and launched a ball of it at her, the snow exploding over her cloak and dress beneath. Pieces of it broke off and began to melt on the exposed skin of the top of her chest and neck above her chemisette.

  “You … you … scoundrel!” she finally shrieked, but he just laughed at her words. His laugh was loud and booming, and she realized it was the first time she had heard it. Not that she had given him much opportunity to find anything humorous around her.

  “Do not give out what you cannot take back in equal measure, Scarlett!” he called out to her, and then with a shout she was balling up the snow again, as was he. It seemed no sooner did she launch one projectile at him that he was sending one back her way. She threw with all her might, though she knew he was keeping some force back from her. She crowed with exhilaration when she saw he took a direct hit to the face, and he let out a holler.

  “Careful, now, wife,” he growled, though he wore a smile to go along with it. “You will get yourself into more trouble than you can take.”

  “We shall see about that!” she said, and she bent to pick up another. When she stood, however, he was gone, and she whipped her head one way and the other trying to find him. But where did he— she let out a piercing scream as suddenly her entire back was wet with icy snow, and she turned to find him behind her, satisfaction on his face as he took in her expression.

  “I told you to watch yourself,” he said with a wink and a wicked grin.

  She didn’t think then, not of how she was trying to k
eep her distance nor that he was much stronger than she and this could not end well for her. She simply launched herself at him, taking him off guard and the two of them went flying backward into the snow.

  Scarlett tackled him with frustration, but with laughter as well. And then she raised herself up from him and caught his gaze — and suddenly, with his twinkling blue-green eyes staring up at her, losing some of their humor and becoming altogether serious, nothing seemed funny any longer.

  5

  Hunter swallowed hard.

  Scarlett’s face was but inches from his, so close that he could count every freckle covering her pert nose. He knew the moment everything changed, when her eyes widened and she took her plump bottom lip between her crooked front teeth.

  He could feel every inch of her body on top of him. She was soft in some places, hard and lithe in others. Despite lying in a pile of snow, Hunter felt no cold at all; rather he was heated down to his very bones.

  Trying not to scare her away, he slowly, carefully, lifted his head, closing the space between them. He kept her stare, encouraging her to stay with him, but the moment his lips were but a breath away from hers, she scrambled back away from him, her hands and knees biting into him in her haste to retreat.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her words coming out in a rush of breath. “I shouldn’t have done that. I—”

  “It’s all right,” he said, waving a hand at her as he stood, brushing the snow off of his cloak and trousers. “Just a bit of fun.”

  “I know. I shouldn’t have—”

  “Stop apologizing, Scarlett,” he said, coming up behind her and helping to clear the snow from her own cloak. He wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for — the fact that she broke away from him, that she took him down in the first place, or that she had even started this game. “It’s fine.”

  She said nothing, turning away from him with her careful facade back in place, hiding all emotion. He sighed. Why did she turn from him so? If only he knew what was keeping her away, then perhaps he could help fix it. Unless it was simply him. For the last thing he wanted was to be dismissed for who he was. Finally he had come to a place in his life where he had found purpose, when people accepted him for the person he was, for the attitudes he held and the work he did. He had suffered enough rejection in his early life. He didn’t need it from his wife.

  Hunter watched her as she walked over to her horse. She gently rubbed the stallion’s nose, whispering soft words into his ear, too quiet for Hunter to hear. In this moment of vulnerability, when she had her guard down, he had the chance to simply look at her. And she was heart-stopping. Her breath was like smoke in front of her face in the cool air, the sun glinting reddish-gold highlights off her hair, which had come loose from its pins on top of her head and was now floating around her face, moving softly with the slight whisper of wind. She was a winter nymph, and he wished he could know this side of her more intimately.

  As though sensing his stare, she whirled around and the wall came up once more, shuttering her from his view.

  “We should go,” she said, and as he walked over to help her mount, she launched herself upon the horse all on her own, hiking up her skirt. Those damn breeches, thought Hunter. They let him see every inch of her shapely legs, made his mind wander to places it had no business being.

  “So we should,” he muttered, and, feeling completely useless, walked back to his own horse as she kicked her heels in and began the trek home.

  She may confuse the hell out of him, but never in his life had Hunter witnessed a woman who could ride as Scarlett did. Nor most men, were he being honest. She and her mount were like one, not only in their movements but in the way her hair seemed to be an extension of the horse’s mane, the chestnut hue of the horse a perfect match for his wife’s coloring. She was exhilarating. And wanted nothing to do with him, that much was clear.

  “Welcome home, my lord,” Henry Abbot, the butler at Wintervale for as long as Hunter could remember, greeted him as he arrived.

  “Abbot,” he said, nodding to the man. “How fares the household today?”

  “Very well, my lord, very well,” he said. “And may I say, my lord, how happy we all are to have you home.”

  “Thank you, Abbot,” he said, then looking from side to side to ensure no one — particularly his wife, who told him she would be staying in the stables for a few more minutes with her horse — was nearby, he questioned his butler. “Abbot, I’d like to ask you … how does the staff feel about Lady Oxford? Is she fair? Has she treated you well?”

  He hadn’t given it a thought until now, and he felt some guilt that he had left so abruptly months prior without determining whether his staff would fare well under his wife’s direction. If she were so cold and standoffish with him, what was she like to the rest of them?

  “Lady Oxford? Oh, she is wonderful, my lord,” Abbot said with such admiration and enthusiasm that Hunter nearly took a step back in shock. “All of the staff love her, my lord. She is very kind, and generous too. We see to whatever she may need, of course, but she is always concerned about our wellbeing. When Cook was burned, my lady saw to the wound herself, she did! And when it was discovered one of the maids was with child — not that we want to speak much of that, of course — my lady ensured she was well looked after. When there were complications, she told her to take time away, with pay. Oh, yes, my lord, we like her very much.”

  “I see,” murmured a surprised Hunter. “Thank you, Abbot.”

  The butler nodded and walked away with Hunter’s cloak over his arm, leaving Hunter to stare after him. What did everyone else see that he didn’t?

  “And then, Marion, I just lay there on top of him as though I were a blathering idiot, an infatuated, flirting tease! What was I thinking?” Scarlett laid her chin in her hands as she looked in the mirror of her vanity table. Her lady’s maid scampered about the room behind her, laying out her clothing for dinner. Scarlett had removed all of her wet garments and now sat with her wrapper around her as she warmed herself with a cup of tea after her romp in the snow. She had nearly allowed Hunter to kiss her. She had to be more careful. The man said himself that he would be off to London soon, and if she allowed herself to feel anything for him, here she would sit, pining away for him like some lovesick young girl.

  That, she would not allow to happen.

  “Perhaps, Marion, I should go visit my mother for Christmas. I haven’t seen her in over a month now, and you know how she loves Christmas so.”

  Marion stepped back from Scarlett’s wardrobe to look at her in the mirror. She had been with Scarlett since she was a girl, had practically grown up with her. Scarlett knew how untoward it was to share such confidence with a maid, but besides Lavinia — who, as Hunter’s sister, she couldn’t completely take into her confidence about certain matters — she had no one else to speak to. Marion had proven time and again she could be trusted, and Scarlett appreciated their closeness.

  “It’s not for me to say, really, Lady Scarlett,” she said, scratching her head underneath her mob cap. “Though if I had a husband who looked like yours, I wouldn’t stray far.”

  “Marion!” Scarlett’s head snapped up and she turned to look at her maid with astonishment. “I can hardly believe—”

  “Forgive me, my lady, that was not right for me to say, not at all,” Marion said, her cheeks flushed.

  “It’s fine,” Scarlett said with a wave of her hand. “I was taken aback, that’s all. You know how I feel about letting him in too close.”

  She flipped open the locket around her neck, taking in the miniature of her mother, who looked so like the reflection that was staring back at her. Scarlett loved her mother beyond words. She was kind and beautiful, inside and out, with so much love to give. Her father had cast that aside, and Lady Halifax had schooled Scarlett to protect herself from the same circumstances. She told her daughter she never wanted her to suffer such hurt.

  “The staff has talked about him, before, Lady Scarlet
t, and I must say … he doesn’t seem that bad a sort. Perhaps if you gave him an opportunity—”

  “No, Marion,” she said, harsher than she intended, and she softened her words with a smile. “Besides, if he leaves in a couple of days as he plans to, then it doesn’t much matter, now does it?”

  “I suppose not.”

  Marion helped her into a simple but beautiful, flowing red dress, with an empire waist and cap sleeves, before draping a shawl around her shoulders.

  Marion cleared her throat. “I don’t suppose … never mind.”

  “What is it?” Scarlett asked, turning to look at her, surprised to see Marion’s eyes on the ground as she scuffed her toe into the carpet.

  “I was wondering — do you know anything of Lord Oxford’s valet? Mr. Spicer? But no, of course you don’t. Why would he speak to you of his valet? Forget I asked. Off you go, now.”

  Scarlett grinned, pleased to have a distraction from her own musings. “Why, Marion? Do you happen to have a penchant for this Mr. Spicer?” She couldn’t picture the man in her head, but then, she had little cause to note her husband’s valet.

  “No! Yes. Oh, my lady, he is awfully handsome. He caught my eye at the time of your wedding, if I were being honest, and then of course I didn’t see him again until just this week. I simply wondered whether he was a single man, that is all.”

  “That, Marion, I can find out,” she said, with purpose now, and Marion smiled gratefully. Interesting, though Scarlett. She wasn’t sure how well it could potentially work out between the two of them, but Marion was a grown woman and could choose her own actions.