by Regina Scott
“I hope so,” she 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. Black was entirely wrong for her, and that dress hid most of her willowy figure. He should ask the school to change the teachers’ uniforms to something less somber, pink perhaps. He blinked the absurd thought away.
“He is well,” she replied. Suddenly, she raised her head. “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.
She bowed her head. “That was my plan. I have been given no reason to change it.”
He started, but before he could question her, her gaze darted toward the dining room. “Oh, dear!”
“What?” Justinian asked.
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.
For once, he would have wished the kitten had found a different home. Had he understood Norrie correctly? Was she actually encouraging him to offer? Why not say it straight out?
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. Well, that was reason enough to prevaricate. Four pairs of ears had been, no doubt, keenly listening to their conversation. 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 had 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.
“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,” she countered. “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. “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. It would be a shame to waste it.”
*
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. His smile was tender as he bent his head toward 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, 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. Eleanor 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 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. Her steps were stately, composed. So why did she feel as she were running for her life?
Chapter Nine
Justinian prided himself on being a scholar, but he was the first to admit he knew very little about women. After his encounter with Norrie, 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 he
admistress, 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 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 headmistress 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 he seemed to have taken. How the woman would react if he succeeded in convincing 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 Darbys’ affections. Of course, I summarily sacked the wretched woman.”
Justinian stared at her. “Are you trying to tell me that Norrie Pritchett is a social climber, a fortune hunter?”
“I regret to say that I believe so, my lord. I tried to teach her otherwise, but I seem to have failed. I hope you know, Lord Wenworth, that I expect all my teachers, and my students as well, to know their places in life.”
Justinian flinched as she echoed the words Norrie had used only days before. “I can only say that you must be mistaken, Miss Martingale,” he replied. The coolness of his tone must not have been lost on the headmistress, for she paled.
“Of course, my lord. You would know better than I.”
It was all Justinian could do not to close his eyes in frustration at the familiar refrain.
His spirits nearly recovered on the ride home with Dottie, who fairly bounced in her seat beside him in the sleigh. The snow that had started a week ago had continued off and on so that the fields lay under a blanket as white as the countess’ counterpane, with the Mendip Hills in the distance piled as high as her pillows.
“And Jingles is really waiting for me?” Dottie asked him for what was surely the fourth time since leaving the school.
Justinian smiled. “Yes, he is really waiting for you. Your Miss Eleanor has been taking very good care of him.” He paused, eyeing his niece. “Miss Eleanor is very good at taking care of people, isn’t she, Dottie?”
Dottie bit her lip, lowering her eyes, and Justinian’s fears increased. “Miss Martingale and Miss Lurkin say I was unkind to Miss Eleanor,” she murmured. “It isn’t right to make friends with people not of one’s class. It gives the wrong impression and encourages coaching.”
“I think the word you’re looking for is encroachment, Dottie,” he murmured. “Miss Martingale and Miss Lurkin are no doubt teaching you what they believe is right; however, you must form your own opinions on that matter.”
Dottie glanced up, a small light of hope in her eyes. “Then it’s all right if I just love Miss Eleanor anyway, even if she isn’t a Darby?”
Her words echoed his own hopes. “Yes, sweetling, it’s perfectly all right to love Miss Eleanor.”
“Oh, that’s famous!” Dottie exclaimed, her enthusiasm restored as quickly as it has been lost.
Justinian wished he could recover his good spirits so easily. After the conversations with the headmistress and his niece, it was apparent where Norrie had formed her notions about her place in the world. However, he could not subscribe to Miss Martingale’s, or his father’s if the tale were true, belief that Norrie was a fortune hunter. Everyone kept telling him that his emotions were obvious, yet she had not encouraged him in the least. In fact, she had gone out of her way to discourage him. Of course, if his initial conclusions were right, and she thought he was offering his love but not his position, she might only be holding out for a better offer.
His conviction was put to the test that very afternoon, however, for Faringil was waiting for him when he returned with Dottie. The homecoming was everything Eleanor had worked to make it. Dottie exclaimed over the decorations and ran through the renovated schoolroom, touching this, holding that, and smiling at everyone. When he took her to see her grandmother, she threw her arms about her, and his mother’s eyes shone with tears of joy. Eleanor, however, was nowhere to be found. The idea that she would keep to her place and not witness the happiness she had worked to bring about infuriated him, but before he could seek her out, Faringil appeared to stand silently behind him. When Justinian frowned at him, he nearly bowed and beckoned. His frown deepening, Justinian followed him into the corridor.
“Begging your pardon, my lord,” the butler intoned in a whisper, glancing up and down the corridor.
“Yes?” Justinian asked, refusing to lower his own voice.
“I dislike interrupting Lady Dorothea’s homecoming, but I have been given some rather disturbing news.” He glanced up and down the corridor again, and Justinian had to hold himself back to keep from throttling the man.
“Well, then, out with it,” he commanded.
Faringil drew a sheet of paper from inside his black satin waistcoat and carefully unfolded it. “Betsy found this in the trash, my lord. She originally kept it to use the back side of the paper for writing a letter to her mother, but Mrs. Childs saw it and recognized the handwriting. Or should I say, the attempt at the handwriting.” He handed it to Justinian. “Someone appears to be trying to forge your name, my lord.”
Justinian stared at the parchment. The page was filled with nothing but his name, “Justinian, Earl of Wenworth,” over and over again. The first few times bore little resemblance to the elegant script he had learned at Oxford, but gradually, something resembling his hand appeared.
“Where did you find this?” he demanded.
“I regret to say, my lord, that it was under the writing table in Miss Eleanor’s room.”
A chill run through him. He thrust the paper back at Faringil. “There must be some logical explanation.”
Faringil bowed his head. “Of course, my lord. Just as you say.”
“Stop that this minute,” Justinian thundered. Faringil jumped and took a step back, eyes widening. “I refuse to have a man in my employ who cannot or will not think for himself. I am not infallible! I am asking for your opinion, man. Have you lived so long under the Darby roof that you don’t know how to have a thought of your own?”
Faringil paled. “I would never presume, my lord, that is I have the deepest respect, that is…”
“In other words,” Justinian said, “the answer is yes. Small wonder I feel as if I’m the only one making decisions around here.” He eyed his man, who seemed to have been reduced t
o a quivering pile of blanc mange. “Stand up, Mr. Faringil. I appreciate you bringing this to my attention. I will give the matter considerable thought, you can be sure. For now, say no more about it.”
The butler bowed, relief written in his every movement. “Of course, my lord. Thank you, my lord.” He hurried away from Justinian with steps easily twice as fast as his usual measured tread.
Justinian shook his head. He glanced down at the sheet of paper, which Faringil had refused to take, and saw that it was clenched in his hand. Relaxing his grip, he eased the sheet back to its full size. His name stared back at him. And something else.
Along the bottom of the paper lay the smudged track of a kitten.
Chapter Ten
Eleanor waited in the doorway of the dining room, clasping her hands to keep them from trembling. She didn’t need to look up to be reminded of the kissing bough over her head or of the scene that had taken place only days before. The kiss must not distract her, not tonight.
She glanced again about the room, from where the candles blazed in the glittering silver chandelier to the crystal bowl of frothy eggnog on the sideboard. The great table was draped in damask, with six places set near the head, the gilt-edged bone china and gold cutlery glimmering against the expanse of white. A strand of ivy entwined around the base of each crystal goblet, and in the center of the table lay an immense wreath of evergreens, holly, ivy, and dried red roses. Everything was ready for Christmas Eve dinner.
Dottie scampered down the stairs, fluttering the satin bow on her red velvet dress. Lady Wenworth had decreed that the child could put off mourning, at least through the Christmas season. Dottie stopped before Eleanor and threw her arms around her.
“Happy Christmas, Miss Eleanor,” she proclaimed, pulling her down to plant a kiss on her cheek.
Eleanor hugged her and straightened. “Happy Christmas to you too, Dottie. Thank you for keeping your uncle busy this afternoon. Your grandmother and I were also quite busy. Is everything ready in the withdrawing room?”
