A Country Christmas (Timeless Regency Collection Book 5)

by Josi S. Kilpack

  There had to be a way Neville could tell Eloise to be on her guard with Burke, who couldn’t be trusted with women and most certainly not with someone as pure and naïve as Eloise. Especially if Eloise did fancy him. She might invite more than she was prepared to handle, and then she would be hurt and embarrassed. As a friend, Neville couldn’t allow that to happen.

  Burke had already collected Miss Moore by the time Neville reached Eloise. He bowed quickly, then took her hand and led her as far away from Burke as possible. They stood across from one another as the set lined up and his eyes moved up and down her person again before he realized what he was doing. He swallowed and forced himself to meet her eyes. She smiled nervously, and though he tried to smile back he feared it came off poorly.

  How was he to know how to deal with awkwardness between them when they had never experienced it before? Even when Lila had confessed her feelings for Lutherford—with Eloise right there—Neville hadn’t felt uncomfortable in Eloise’s company. She’d somehow managed to be a friend to both of them, and they had moved forward accordingly. Yet now Neville was uncomfortable and fearful of the impressions she was giving without meaning to. And . . . that dress. He ran a hand inside his collar, feeling like an absolute wretch to realize he was ogling her as much as Burke had been. How could he look at her this way? This was Eloise!

  “Is something wrong, Neville?”

  He met her eyes and forced his smile a bit wider. “No. Nothing. Of course not. No. Certainly. Isn’t. Wrong.”

  She pulled her eyebrows together, but then the leading notes were played. She put out her gloved hand, and he took it. When he looked at her again, she was looking at the ground rather than at him. A glance at the other couples showed them maintaining eye contact. The dance began, and Neville tried to get a hold of himself.

  “I’m sorry,” he said at a point when they came close enough to converse. “I’m a bit at odds with myself tonight.”

  They parted, then came together again. “Why?” she asked.

  He considered how to answer, but then shook his head, hoping she would assume he didn’t want to burden her with his worries—which was true. In greater truth, however, he simply did not know what to tell her. She would be so terribly embarrassed to know Burke’s thoughts about her—kissable lips, indeed. What sweet, simple girl like Eloise should be exposed to the impressions of a rake like Burke? But Neville would feel like a poor friend if he didn’t try to protect her.

  They did not speak again—had dancing ever been so tedious? When the dance finally finished, Neville led Eloise from the floor. If it were not so cold, he could invite her to walk the garden so that they might have a private conversation, but there was snow on the ground and it was cold enough to rattle a man’s teeth, to say nothing of what effect it would have on a woman with such bare . . . arms. He would not think about her . . . or her kissable lips. Or her golden hair. Or . . . blast, but it was hot in this room! Would no one open a window?

  “Thank you for the dance, Mr. Franklin.”

  He hadn’t realized they’d reached the edge of the floor. He met her eye and saw the concern in those wide blue depths. He was trying to think of how to provide a remedy when someone spoke from behind him.

  “Are you ready, Miss Hallstrom?”

  Neville turned to look at Burke with narrowed eyes. Burke ignored him.

  “You are a vision on the floor.” Burke put out his arm as though he were a gentleman.

  “Thank you, Mr. Burke.”

  To Neville’s absolute horror, Eloise’s expression was repaired by the time Burke led her to the floor. Neville turned and watched them, forced to observe the other man with greater objectivity. Burke was handsome and relatively charming.

  The couple took their position. Burke leaned in and said something in Eloise’s ear. She laughed, her face lit up like it certainly had not been when Neville had danced with her. A pink flush tinged her cheeks. Neville had made her uncomfortable, but Burke was making her laugh.

  I’ve gone about this all wrong, Neville thought when she laughed again and shook her head at whatever outrageous thing Burke must have said. Neville had arrived with the plan to warn her away from Burke, but all he’d done was drive her to him.

  The dance began, and Neville watched her—really watched. She was so graceful in her steps, fluid almost. The skirt of her dress moved with her like water—and the bodice was tight enough to be a second skin—but the cut of the dress accentuated her narrow waist perfectly. Her sleeves were off her shoulders, showing her creamy neck and collarbone and . . . other assets. He forced himself to look away and swallow before looking back again with an attempt at decorum. She was beautiful, and yet he knew in a way that Burke did not that her beauty was more than the dress and the hair and the kissable lips. Eloise was kind, witty, smart, and optimistic—the perfect example of how inner beauty could be reflected on the outside. Neville had known and appreciated her inner grace and goodness all his life; how had he not noticed her blossoming into the external beauty he saw now?

  Burke had noticed before Neville had even considered the possibility.

  Chapter Six

  By the end of Eloise’s set with Mr. Burke—an energetic reel, which left her questioning the wisdom of such tight stays—she was nearly recovered from the uncomfortable dance with Neville. He’d been so severe that she had been fighting back tears by the end. Had she misinterpreted their ease in one another’s company? Had she seen what wasn’t there?

  She’d felt foolish for wearing this dress in hopes it would help him see her as more than a childhood playmate. He was too out of sorts to notice. Beyond that, she worried about what had him so irritated. It was not like him to brood, and she wished she knew how to help. Was something amiss at the estate? Was his father feeling poorly? Had he received bad news of one kind or another?

  “That was the loveliest dance, Eloise,” Mr. Burke said when they reached the edge of the floor. Neville had been standing nearby when they’d taken the floor, and she’d seen him watching them a time or two, but he was gone now. She wondered where he went. “You are the very vision of Christmas in that dress, and I thank you for gracing me with your company,” Mr. Burke continued.

  “Of course, Mr. Burke,” she said, still glancing around the room in hopes of finding Neville. “Thank you for your compliments.”

  “Would it be frowned upon too severely if I took the waltz as well?”

  Eloise hesitated to answer; she had hoped Neville would ask for the waltz. But he hadn’t. And Mr. Burke had.

  “Of course not,” Eloise said.

  Mr. Burke winked, bowed once more, and turned away.

  “Is he not a fabulous dancer?”

  Eloise had not heard Catherine approach, but smiled politely at her friend. “He is, indeed.” She couldn’t deny that he’d made her feel the way she’d hoped Neville would make her feel tonight—like the kind of woman a man enjoyed sharing company with.

  “Did he request another dance?” Catherine asked with her eyebrows up.

  “The waltz.”

  “Oh, you are a very fortunate girl.”

  Eloise smiled and nodded, but she had fantasized of twirling the floor in Neville’s arms. Of course, she’d thought that before she’d known of his foul mood. But surely if they were in one another’s arms, they could talk as they always had, and she could help him find a solution to whatever was bothering him. It seemed reasonable to assume that a good friendship would lead to a good match, yet there was a barrier between them tonight that she didn’t understand. Somehow even their friendship seemed threatened.

  Catherine was asked to dance the next set, and Eloise was considering some tea when Robert Hadley stepped before her. “M-might I h-h-have this d-dance, M-miss H-H-Hallstrom?” Robert was seventeen years of age and blushing to his ears. Asking her to dance had no doubt taken monumental confidence on his part, and she would do everything possible to put him at ease.

  “I would be honored, Mr. Hadley.”r />
  He nodded furiously as she put her gloved hand in his sweaty one and smiled. “You look very handsome tonight, Mr. Hadley.” She was determined to boost his confidence.

  “A-as d-d-do you.”

  “Oh, thank you,” she said, putting her other hand on his arm. “That is most kind of you.”

  She spent the dance complimenting how well Mr. Hadley knew his steps. By the time he returned her to her place on the edge of the floor, only his ears were red. She hoped he felt more comfortable now; she knew the difference a partner could make on one’s confidence. She’d known such a thing before tonight, of course, but the lesson had certainly been brought to the forefront of her mind again. There was little time to think much about it before she was commandeered for yet another dance. She followed her newest partner to the floor and determined not to let her concerns for Neville’s mood ruin the night.

  After the set, Eloise found a chair away from the dance floor so that potential partners would know she was sitting out this set—she needed to catch her breath. The exertion and the crowd were contributing to a rather warm room. A few moments after she sat down, Neville slipped into the chair beside her. Despite her anxiety regarding his mood this evening, a thrill coursed through her to have him so close, and she sat up a bit straighter. He’d obviously sought her out. Perhaps he was feeling better, and they could now get on as they usually did, with comfort and equanimity.

  “Oh, please do not ask me to dance, Neville,” she said with a smile. “I am wrung out but will hate saying no to you.”

  “You haven’t turned anyone else down.”

  His tone was petulant, and she turned to look at him more closely. His jaw was tight, and he was not looking at her. She felt her irritation prickle for the first time. Why was he treating her poorly? Friends did not do such things to one another. Her response was clipped. “And, as I said, I am wrung out from it.” She faced forward, almost relieved to be irritated with him since it saved her from feeling insecure. “Whatever the reason for your poor mood tonight, I would thank you not to act as if I am to blame.”

  Neville was silent a moment before he let out a breath and leaned against the chair back. “I am sorry, Eloise. I am out of sorts.”

  She instantly softened and turned toward him again. “What is bothering you? Might I help?”

  He shook his head and made a point of watching the dancers. After a moment, she joined him. They sat in silence.

  “Did you enjoy your dance with Burke?” Neville finally asked.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “I hope you will not dance with him again tonight.”

  Eloise’s irritation rose once more, but she looked ahead when she spoke. “He

  asked for the waltz.”

  Neville narrowed his eyes. “The waltz? Two dances. There will be speculation.”

  “It only means he asked me before anyone else did. It’s not as though I shall give him a third, and it is the Christmas ball. Rules are always bent for such an occasion.”

  “As you have well proven.” Neville faced forward and cursed.

  “I beg your pardon,” she said, raising her eyebrows at the double offense—his accusation and using such language in her presence.

  “I am sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I am—”

  “Out of sorts,” she finished for him. “So you’ve said.” She shifted in her chair, facing him more directly. “If you are unable to be sociable tonight, Neville, then perhaps you should leave so that the rest of us might not be drawn into your petulance.”

  The last thing she wanted was for him to leave, but she was losing hope of there being any way to redeem this evening. Each exchange she had with Neville seemed to only make things worse.

  “You want me to leave?”

  She pulled back slightly at the hurt in his voice. “N-no, I do not want you to leave, but . . . what is wrong? Why are you angry with me?”

  “I am not angry with you.” He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it adorably disheveled, and leaned forward to put his elbows on his knees. He turned his head to look at her. “I am just concerned, Eloise.”

  Eloise pulled her eyebrows together again. He sounded rather fatherly.

  “You are very young, Eloise, and naïve to the ways that men . . . look upon a woman.”

  Her cheeks caught fire.

  He waved in the general direction of her bodice. “When a woman presents herself . . . thusly, a man might get the wrong impression.”

  Eloise crossed her arms over her chest, horrified at what Neville was saying, while looking around to confirm that she was no less appropriate than any other woman here. Rachel Bastian, for example, was practically falling out of her dress and made a point to brush against each man who took her to the floor. Eloise’s horror was amplified by the fact that she’d wanted Neville to feel attracted to her tonight, and yet now he spoke of such attraction as something untoward. Eloise could hear the blood pounding in her ears. “You are speaking beyond your realm, Neville,” she whispered, shifting away from him in her chair.

  He met her eye, and she could see that, despite how offensive his words were, his concern was sincere—confusing her once again. “I am speaking as a friend, Eloise. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

  “Hurt?”

  “By a man who might get the wrong impression when he looks upon your presentation tonight.”

  “And what impression is that, Neville?”

  He grunted as though frustrated, not seeming to realize that she understood quite perfectly. She only wanted to make him say it out loud. Perhaps if he did, he would realize how horrid he was being.

  “An impression that you want a man to . . . look at you, to ogle you, in fact, and wonder at what charms you might be hiding.” He gestured toward the bodice of her dress again and huffed. “Though I must say you are not hiding very much.”

  “How dare you say such a thing to me?” Eloise hissed, rising to her feet. Without saying another word, she moved toward the first doorway she could see on the nearest end of the ballroom, partially hidden by a screen painted in a festive Christmas scene. She could feel a dozen pairs of eyes follow her from the room. Unfamiliar with the Webster house, she looked both directions in an attempt to get her bearings.

  “Miss?”

  She looked to her left where a maid was standing with a tray of glasses, apparently en route to the ballroom, and felt her chin begin to tremble. “I need a place to be alone for a moment, t-to gather myself.” She still had her arms crossed over her chest, feeling naked and exposed in more ways than one.

  “The retiring room is just this—”

  “Somewhere I can be alone,” Eloise cut in, unable to face the other girls and women who would be adjusting their gowns or making idle gossip in the room set aside for such things. “Please.”

  The young maid nodded and waved down the hall, away from the ballroom. She began walking that direction—tray still in hand—and Eloise followed. “Certainly, miss. This way.”

  Chapter Seven

  Neville barely noted Eloise’s exit before he found himself alone. A few guests looked at him strangely, and he assumed they had seen Eloise’s red face and hasty escape from his company. He opened his own mouth, as though to explain himself to the onlookers, but no words came out. Once again, he’d gone about things the wrong way. Perhaps Eloise was right; it would be better if he left. But now she was upset, and it was his fault. He couldn’t leave without repairing things—never mind that he had no idea how to do that.

  Explain. That was all he needed to do: explain himself. Eloise was a sensible girl, or, well, woman, apparently, and would certainly understand if he could explain in enough detail his reasons for saying what he’d said. If Eloise knew that his intent was her protection, she would certainly agree with him. She might even thank him for being such a good friend.

  Neville stood, gave an awkward nod to the people watching him, and turned toward the door Eloise had used for her own escape. He soon found
himself alone in a hallway with no idea which direction she’d gone. A sound from the left caught his attention, and he looked that direction in time to see a maid with a tray in one hand closing a door behind her. He stepped into a shadowed portion of the hall until she disappeared.

  Several seconds later, Neville opened the door slowly, his eyes fixing on the vision of red facing away from him. Her shapely shoulders, narrowing rib cage, graceful hips—he looked away and gave the room a quick inspection instead. It was a study of sorts. It smelled of old pipe smoke and books, but it had a fire in the grate and, best of all, privacy. Eloise stood facing the window with her back toward him. A sniffle and swipe at her eyes betrayed how upset she was, and he felt his stomach drop. He left the door of the room open as he stepped inside.

  “Eloise,” he said softly, pulling his handkerchief from the pocket of his coat. She turned and winced when she saw him before turning her back again.

  “Go away, Neville,” she said in a voice that was both shaky and firm.

  He paused a step but then moved toward her and handed the handkerchief over her shoulder. She shook her head and turned away from him, but he pressed the handkerchief forward again.

  “At least let me do something to try to make this right.”

  She sniffled again, then finally took the cloth from him. He stepped back, but she didn’t turn toward him and she said nothing.

  “Eloise,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”

  “For calling me a harlot?” she said without looking at him, her voice ragged with emotion.

  “I did not call you a harlot,” Neville said in defense.

  Eloise spun around. “You most certainly did! And in the same breath accused me of being too dim-witted to realize that I was behaving as such.”

  “I never used harlot or dim-witted in anything I said.” Her eyes remained narrowed, and so he put up his hands, palms facing her in surrender. “It certainly wasn’t my intention to suggest either of those implications.” He shook his head in a desperate attempt to redeem himself. “I’m sorry that I upset you.”