by Carla Kelly
‘Uncle Laurus, what did you bring us?’ the boys demanded, stopping to dig in Laurus’s pockets.
‘Boys, don’t pester your uncle,’ Rose chided as she and Edgar entered the foyer.
‘They aren’t bothering me. Besides, I need to get rid of this twist of sweets.’ Laurus withdrew a small paper cone from inside his coat pocket and dangled it over their heads before depositing it in James’s hand. He and John tore at it, extracting their treats while the dogs waited at their feet for the crumbs.
In the midst of all the wagging and whimpering, Lily spied Pygmalion, who bolted towards the stairs, determined to hang on to his treasure. She cornered the terrier between a high clock and the wall, stopping him before he could ascend and decorate the already bough-laden banister with more Christmas colour. The little dog growled as he shifted this way and that, trying to get past her, each turn of his head adding a new dollop of paint to the already marred wall.
‘Lily, stop playing with Pygmalion and come greet your brother.’ Lily’s father, Sir Timothy’s, deep voice carried over the noise as he and Lily’s mother descended to greet their only son. As always, his dark jacket was dusted with yellow pollen. Woe to those who were made to sneeze by flowers—the Rutherfords had lost more than one maid to the affliction.
‘I will as soon as I get my paintbrush back,’ Lily insisted.
‘Lily, let the dog be, he isn’t doing any harm,’ Lily’s mother added before turning her attention to Laurus.
Lily grabbed the end of the paintbrush and began to tug. Her mother might not care about marking the plaster, but Lily did.
‘Perhaps I can be of some assistance?’ a male voice offered as Lily continued her tug of war with Pygmalion.
‘No, I have him.’ The dog’s little jaws were no match for Lily’s determination and she tugged the paintbrush from Pygmalion’s mouth. It came free so fast, it sent her stumbling back. She whirled, trying to reclaim her balance, only to hit the hard chest of a man with the soft end of the brush. It left a wide, red streak across the camel-coloured coat.
‘Oh, Laurus, I’m so sorry.’ She reached out to wipe off the spot, then froze. This was not Laurus, or Edgar, or Charles, but none other than Gregor St James, Viscount Marbrook.
She snatched back her hand, waiting for his green eyes, a shade more like grass in a meadow than the dark holly leaves decorating the family portraits, to turn as cold as they had in the ballroom four years ago. In the expanding silence, every humiliation she’d experienced as she’d sat on the dance floor rubbing her sore ankle with everyone staring at her except Lord Marbrook, who’d refused to even acknowledge her, filled her again.
‘I’m sorry,’ she squeaked, horrified at the stain and appearing in front of him in her old smock and dress. This wasn’t how she wanted to meet this man again. Curse Laurus for bringing him here.
She pulled the smock from her shoulders and draped it over one arm, squaring herself to face Lord Marbrook and daring him to cast whatever insults he wanted at her. She wasn’t the same Lily he’d so publicly disdained in London and she’d make him see it.
He slipped a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped at the stain, regarding her with more humour than horror. ‘It’s all right. I’ve never much cared for this coat anyway.’
Lily’s chin dropped in shock. If she didn’t know better, she’d think Lord Marbrook was making a joke. Apparently, so did everyone else for the entrance hall grew quiet. Even the twins ceased their chatter, sensing the adults’ astonishment, even if they didn’t comprehend the reason for it.
Lord Marbrook folded the linen square and tucked it back in his pocket, drawing Lily’s attention to the increased width of his chest and shoulders. The candles in the chandelier overhead brought out the strands of red in his dark hair which was cut short in the Roman style. A slight curl made it wave instead of fall over his forehead, captivating her as much as the height and muscle he’d gained since she’d last seen him. His face was more angular than before and graced with a seriousness which seemed to deepen the faint lines at the corners of his mouth and harden the set of his chin. She didn’t want to stare, but she couldn’t help herself. It’d been the same at the wedding ball when she’d glanced past her cousins to watch him with his brother, mother and father. While his family had sneered at the guests, he’d watched the celebration with the longing of a child pressing his nose against a bakery window.
Then, when he’d slipped away from his family, she’d followed him. Having heard so much of him from Laurus, she’d felt bold enough to approach him, her heart fluttering when he’d asked her to join him on the bench in the alcove. While they’d sat there, he’d told her how his father had purchased a commission for him and was sending him off to France because he wasn’t the heir, only the disappointing second son who’d failed to comprehend the importance of the Marbrook name. His revelation had increased the darkness which had tightened his angular jaw and hardened his green eyes, revealing the depth of his pain. She’d comforted him in his distress, thinking such intimacy made them friends. She’d been horribly mistaken.
‘I see Lily has painted you.’ Laurus laughed, breaking the silence. ‘It’s only fitting since she’s painted everyone else in the family.’
Laurus’s joke brought the merriment back to the greeting and soon the twins were talking in their loud voices, imploring Daisy to try one of their sweets. She ignored them, staring up at Lord Marbrook in near adoration as he spoke to Rose, then pestering him with questions about his journey. She wasn’t the only one troubling him with unchecked excitement. Pygmalion stood on his hind legs and scratched at Lord Marbrook’s riding boots, fighting for the Viscount’s attention as much as Daisy.
‘Pygmalion, get down,’ Lily demanded, wishing someone would show some sense of decorum, but like her family, the dog ignored her entreaty to behave.
Lord Marbrook picked up the dog and tucked him under his arm as though he were a riding crop and not a usually nippy terrier. ‘Is he yours?’
Lily gaped at him, as did the entire room. ‘No, he’s my aunt’s.’
‘Am I not allowed to touch him?’ Lord Marbrook ran his hand over the dog’s head and down its back. The dog closed its eyes in delight, his tongue hanging out of his red-stained muzzle.
‘No one is,’ Laurus explained with some of the same wonder as Lily. ‘Even Aunt Alice can’t pick him up without risking losing a finger.’
‘It’s a season of miracles with even the most ferocious beast living in love and peace with its fellow creature,’ Sir Timothy announced in a voice better suited to the family chapel than the hall, though he had to nearly yell to be heard over the noise of the twins, and Edgar and Charles debating the merits of their own pointers.
Lord Marbrook’s opinion of the chaos surrounding him was difficult to gauge. He didn’t sneer as Squire Pettigrew did whenever he visited, but stood with Pygmalion tucked under his arm, a reserve worthy of a king masking his thoughts. Whatever his opinion, and Lily was sure it wasn’t good, when he left here he’d probably tell everyone in London of the coarseness of the Rutherfords, and Lily in particular. It would set the tongues wagging against her and her family all over again. Everyone else might not care what society said about them, but Lily did.
‘I’m so glad you could join us for Christmas,’ Lily’s mother offered in a calm voice, as though nothing, not a houseful of guests or a viscount with a stained coat holding a vicious little terrier, could ruffle her. Lily wished she possessed her mother’s poise. It would make living in the bedlam of Helkirk Place much easier.
‘It’s I who am grateful for your warm invitation, Lady Rutherford,’ Lord Marbrook responded with all the manners expected of a viscount.
‘I’m sure such feelings won’t last long,’ Lily murmured much louder than intended, hazarding a frown from her father.
‘What do you mean, girl?’ he
demanded.
If she hadn’t wanted to slip away unnoticed before, she did now.
Laurus dropped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘What she means is, Lord Marbrook will regret it when I insist he join in our celebration of the Lord of Misrule. You will help us, won’t you, Marbrook?’
Lily imagined the old viscount, if he were here to see this, would clutch his cap in horror at a mere baronet’s son addressing a peer in such a manner. If Lord Marbrook minded, it was impossible to tell for very little in his expression changed as he answered.
‘I’ll gladly help you.’
Lily imagined he didn’t share Laurus’s excitement for the coming festivities and she wondered how her good-natured brother could have ever become friends with such an aloof man.
‘You’ll find our way of celebrating Christmas a little different here, as opposed to London,’ Sir Timothy announced. ‘We enjoy our Christmas feast tonight and tomorrow hold a ball for all the country families.’
‘I assure you, any customs you keep will be heartily enjoyed. My last few Christmases have not been happy ones.’ Gregor stroked the dog, the green of his eyes darkening with his disquiet and, to her surprise, making her own heart constrict. She hated to imagine anyone, even Lord Marbrook, so unhappy at such a pleasant time of year.
‘Yes, we were very sorry to hear of your brother and father,’ Lady Rutherford offered.
Lord Marbrook had lost a father and an older brother in the space of a year, all after enduring who knew what horrors in France. It softened Lily’s attitude towards him, but not her desire to escape and avoid any more silent judgement or unintended missteps. With the red paint stain on his jacket mocking her, she backed slowly away from the group. They were so busy chatting, they didn’t notice her as she made for the sitting room and the peace of her painting.
* * *
Over Lady Rutherford’s shoulder, Gregor caught Miss Rutherford stealing off down the hallway. She didn’t run, but moved with the same timid grace he remembered from outside the ballroom four years ago, only tonight she was sneaking away from him, not to him. He couldn’t blame her. She’d been kind to him once and he’d treated her with the disdain all Marbrooks showed anyone they thought beneath them. So many times his father had railed against Gregor’s friendship with Laurus, but he’d defied the man to maintain it. If only he’d possessed the courage to defy his father the night of the ball, but at seventeen, he’d still hungered after his father’s approval and in an effort to secure it, he’d hurt a young woman who didn’t deserve it.
Miss Rutherford paused near the centre of the hall and looked back at the group. Catching his eye, she stood up a little straighter and Gregor silently applauded her spirit. Regardless of the incident with the paintbrush, she’d faced him with sufficient resolve to impress a man used to commanding men and he admired her for it. While she studied him, the candles on a nearby sideboard brightened the whites of her eyes and caught the faint amber strands in her brown hair. Despite the simple style of her grey dress, it couldn’t hide the roundness of her high breasts or the faint curve of hips just beneath the paint streaks. In the four years since he’d last seen her, she’d lost the plumpness of girlhood and gained the more sinewy curves and lines of a woman. The supple changes made Gregor’s breath catch in his throat and for a moment he thought he saw her own sweet chest pause in its rising and falling. Then it was gone and with it the faint connection holding her here. With her lips pressed tight together in disapproval, she turned and fled into the room at the far end of the hall.
Gregor ran his hand over the dog’s wiry fur, trying to draw comfort from the creature, but there was little to be found. He’d hesitated to come to Helkirk Place, unsure how the family might accept him after the débâcle at the wedding. Their kind welcome only increased his guilt, yet still he was glad to be here, for he had sins to atone for with Miss Rutherford.
‘I’ll have my maid see to your coat,’ Lady Rutherford offered, taking his arm and leading him upstairs to show him to his room. The rest of the family followed, especially the youngest girl who lingered by his side, watching him like the dog did. Behind them, everyone else talked and laughed loudly, the sound echoing off the walls.
The noise drove Gregor into silence. He wasn’t accustomed to such an animated family. Despite his many years of friendship with Laurus, his father had never allowed him to come here during the holidays, insisting Gregor spend a lonely six weeks in the mausoleum which was Marbrook Manor. It was easier for his parents to berate him for not meeting their high expectations with him under their roof than through the few letters either of them bothered to write to their least favourite son.
It was a pleasure to be in the midst of so much happiness.
‘You needn’t trouble yourself or the staff about the coat.’ He owned twenty others like it and not one of them warmed him as much as this house and family did.
Chapter Two
‘He’s quite a good person, once you get to know him,’ Laurus pressed, standing beside Lily’s canvas, his brown eyes, identical in colour to hers, focused on the painting.
‘Which I have no intention of doing.’ Lily brushed a stripe of orange along the horizon line, working carefully so as not to get paint on her blue-velvet dress. She’d crept upstairs some time ago to change, determined to appear more refined and ladylike the next time she encountered their grand visitor.
‘I’d like to be his friend,’ Daisy gushed from her place by the fire, her hands folded in the lap of her long brown-wool gown. It seemed Lily wasn’t the only who’d changed in honour of their guest.
‘I think you’ve already captured his attention.’ Laurus winked at their sister and Lily swiped at her brother with her hand, trying to warn him off encouraging Daisy.
The Rutherford trait of making a fool of one’s self in front of others was the strongest in Daisy, for she didn’t possess the maturity to mind her manners or her tongue, and their mother had long given up trying to instil such a trait in her youngest child.
‘Enchant him enough and perhaps he’ll wait for you to reach your majority,’ Laurus teased, stepping out of Lily’s reach as she took another swing at him. ‘You might even become a viscountess and outrank Petunia.’
‘Do you really think so?’ Daisy clapped her hands in front of her in hope.
‘No,’ Lily answered. ‘No Marbrook is going to sully the family name with the daughter of a baronet.’
‘Or perhaps you’re afraid Daisy might take him from you?’ Laurus prodded.
‘Don’t tease her or she might ruin your jacket like she did Lord Marbrook’s.’ Daisy laughed with the smugness of a ten-year-old.
‘What are you all jabbering on about?’ Aunt Alice demanded, shuffling into the room on her cane.
Lily set down her brush and hurried to help her aunt into her favourite chair by the fire. ‘Nothing, we’re only discussing our guest.’
‘A fine young man that one.’ Aunt Alice sighed as Lily fetched a blanket to lay over her aunt’s knees. ‘Mind you don’t let him get away from you like you did last time.’
Lily struggled to not groan as she propped her aunt’s feet up on a low stool.
‘Oh, he isn’t interested in Lily,’ Daisy protested.
‘Mind your tongue,’ Lily demanded as movement near the sitting room door silenced her.
Lord Marbrook entered, the dark green coat which had replaced his ruined tan one sharpening the colour of his eyes. The sternness of his father didn’t harden his piercing look or make rigid his stance. Instead, he stood with the discipline of an army officer and the humble hesitancy of a guest, one respectful of his place as an outsider instead of the worshipped scion of a titled family.
Lily rose and hurried back to her canvas. Daisy wasn’t so timid, rushing up to him and dragging him into the room to speak with Aunt Alice. The older woman
raised her lorgnette to inspect him as Pygmalion, roused from his nap in front of the fire, trotted over to sit beside him.
‘What are you doing in this godforsaken part of the country?’ Aunt Alice demanded in a tone brusque enough to make Lily wince.
‘It’s far more festive here than anywhere else I might spend Christmas.’ Lord Marbrook’s smile dropped a little about the corners, so subtle it might have been missed, but Lily noticed the change. Knowing something of his family, she wasn’t surprised by his pain or his willingness to come to Helkirk Place. She stepped back behind her canvas, hiding from Lord Marbrook and the dangerous notion of caring about him. He hadn’t appreciated her concern for him before, and he wasn’t likely to now, not after she’d ruined his jacket.
While Lily worked, Aunt Alice and Daisy chattered away to Lord Marbrook. Lily listened with half an ear, trying to ignore the deep roll of his voice whenever he answered one of their many questions about London. More than once the heady melody of it drew her out from behind the canvas to admire the way his crisp white collar framed his face. Then his eyes would snap to hers and she’d duck back behind the painting, willing her heart not to race and feeling like a foolish girl for peeking around corners at a man.
‘Don’t let Daisy command his attention,’ Laurus whispered as he came to stand beside her.
She nearly wiped the knowing look from his face with her orange-tipped paintbrush as her brother sauntered off to sit near his guest. Whatever he imagined might transpire between her and his friend, it most certainly wasn’t what Lily had mind. While Lord Marbrook was here, she intended to avoid him. It would be difficult, what with supper and festivities tonight and the ball tomorrow, but she’d find a way to manage it. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be here for the entire twelve days of Christmas. At least the weather offered no reason for him to linger. Although there was snow on the ground, it wasn’t overly thick and the sky was blue and clear, adding to the frost decorating the trees.
