"No one, sir. Estelle is expecting me and I don't know what else to tell you. You simply must take me with you."
She was quite proud and quite determined, he had to credit her that. But what on earth could Estelle be thinking? He stared at the woman, then glared at the pony, then went back to his letter, then read through her letter again, for good measure. Eventually he could do nothing but acknowledge the words on the pages. He handed her letter back to her.
"My sister expects me to cart you to Wiltshire."
"Yes. You've got it, my lord. Good for you."
He let out a low breath and hoped she didn't hear the ungentlemanly phrase that slipped between his lips.
"Very well. Bring the nag and come along. The sooner we get this over, the better."
And like that, the matter was settled. The Earl of Bahumburgh would .be traveling to Wiltshire with an unaccompanied female, the fattest pony in England, and a piano-forte. In a wobbly, unsprung wagon. Wearing clothing borrowed from a common laborer.
Surely the day could only improve from here.
Chapter 2
Jacob Myserleigh grumbled as he rummaged through the various rugs and blankets he'd had stowed in the wagon to help ensure the piano-forte was held securely in place for the journey. He'd been earl for more than half of his life now, since he was a mere lad of 13 and his father died. How had he come to this, now, dressed like a peasant and climbing about in the back of a wagon?
It was all just one more indication that Christmas was a silly, sentimental holiday and, frankly, a damn nuisance. Estelle was never going to hear the end of this, he promised himself. He'd not even made it out of London yet and already the journey was turning out to be more than miserable. How much worse would he be now that he had to add the snippy little Miss Meriwether to his collection?
If he'd have known he'd be hauling a female he'd have made sure there were more comfortable accommodations. She and her pointy chin, defiant attitude and half-eaten bonnet would be forced to ride on the bench next to him and endure whatever discomfort came their way. The wagon offered little protection against the elements and nothing in the way of springs. With any luck, the chit would realize her folly and refuse to climb up into the thing in the first place.
"Oh, most excellent. You have a wagon, sir," she said when she finally emerged from the stable leading the circular pony.
Damn it, but did the girl actually seem pleased with that? She saw what she'd be riding in and she had the gall to smile over it? What sort of unnatural female was this, anyway?
First she showed no care for propriety and now she appeared delighted to ride on a wagon. Honestly, Myserleigh was becoming more and more concerned for Estelle's sanity. What could his sister have been thinking to arrange this debacle? If not for the fact that Myserleigh prided himself on his upright behavior and strict adherence to societal mores, this foolhardy young woman might be getting herself into a great deal of trouble.
She was, after all, exceedingly pretty. He'd noted that right from the first. Not that he would be the least bit interested in one of Estelle's silly friends—especially not one who would go off with a stranger and fancied herself a riding instructor, of all things—but in other circumstances he would readily admit she was an attractive woman. She was lucky to be under his platonic protection, as a matter of fact. As she said, traveling unaccompanied might prove somewhat risky for a young lady like her. Estelle was an idiot not to make better arrangements for her, but at least she had trusted her brother to keep the girl safe.
And he would, of course. Miss Meriwether might be uncomfortable for the next two days, but at least she'd be safe. If she ended up making the journey, after all. There was still the chance that once they got under way she would realize her error and ask to be let off. Estelle could hardly expect him to keep the girl with him against her will, could she?
No. Of course she couldn't. If Myserleigh wanted to be rid of his sister's so-called instructor, perhaps he should just see that Miss Meriwether did not find anything particularly inviting that would make her want to continue the journey with him. No doubt that would be the easiest task in the world.
"Yes, we have a wagon," he said. "It is the only thing sturdy enough to haul the piano-forte Estelle wants."
"A piano-forte! Oh, but I love to play. I'm so happy she will have one. Perhaps I can give the children lessons on that, too."
"How multi-talented you are," he said, tossing an old woolen blanket over the bench so she didn't get splinters in her backside.
Not that he was allowing himself to contemplate her backside. That would be wrong.
"Perhaps my parents would have done better to teach me more practical skills such as carpentry or sheep herding," she said, and he thought she sounded half serious. "But they did not so, alas, my talents lie in more domestic fields. I can do tatting and needlework, too, if Miss Liza is old enough to begin working a sampler and would like some assistance."
"I see Estelle will at least get her money's worth for you," he said, then realized it sounded decidedly crass.
But she seemed not to notice. She simply shrugged, and gave a light little chuckle as she worked to secure the pony's lead rope to the back of the wagon.
"I hope to make her not regret taking me on, sir. There, do you think this is secure? I would hate for poor Holly to go off wandering away."
"That nag is more likely to roll away than to wander, I think."
"All the more reason to be thankful for your lumbering wagon, sir. I daresay your hairy draft-beast will not make it a challenge for Holly to keep up."
"If it becomes too much of a difficulty for her, I suppose we can stow your pony in the wagon with the piano-forte," he suggested.
Hell. She seemed to be considering this.
"Yes, I believe you're correct. There would be just enough room there," she said. "Unless, of course, you wish to use that space for yourself. I'm sure driving the wagon all the distance to Wiltshire will be quite taxing for you. You might wish to take a rest now and then and I will take over the reins."
Give his reins to a female? No. Hell no.
"I'm sure I can manage. Now, if you're content with your knot tying abilities, perhaps you might take your seat so we can be off. As you've mentioned, we do have quite a distance to cover and only two days to get there."
She frowned at his words, but with one last check of the pony she came to the front of the wagon. He was already settled in his seat so he left her to fend for herself. It was terribly rude of him, he knew, but he wanted to see if she'd acknowledge the difficulty and give up before he had to actually go to any trouble for her.
She did not. She simply grabbed her skirts in one hand, the rim of the wagon wheel with the other, and hoisted herself gracefully up into the box. Without so much as an unpleasant glance at him to accuse him of ungentlemanly behavior, she folded her hands primly on her lap and smiled sweetly.
"I hope the rain holds up for our journey," she said as peacefully as if they were off to the theatre. "The skies are quite gray and it would be lovely not to be rained on."
He slapped the horse into motion.
"Don't hold your breath, Miss Meriwether. It's been my experience so far that nothing about this journey will be easy."
She did glance over at him this time, but her smile never dimmed. "Then perhaps it isn't a journey, sir, but more of an adventure."
"By God, I hope not."
He had the distinct feeling, though, that God didn't really care what he hoped for. God, it seemed, was in the mood for a laugh.
Carole glanced over her shoulder, keeping careful not to topple out of her seat in the wagon. Holly appeared to be doing just fine, trailing along behind as they made their way through the bustling streets. The wagon rocked and swayed clumsily, its heavy load strapped tightly so it did not shift along the way.
All things considered, the journey might not be quite as awful as she had first feared. Not that the wagon was in any way comfortable, and not
that Lord Bahumburgh seemed in any way a pleasant travel companion, but the clouds were not yet opening on them and the breeze had died down to something quite tolerable. Aside from all that, Carole was looking forward to a fresh start. Anything could be bearable if it ended in improvement. At least... so she hoped.
Whatever awaited her in Wiltshire was bound to be better than her prospects if she remained in London. For that alone she would enjoy the journey—at least as much as a cold, dreary ride in a derelict wagon with a gentleman who clearly wished she were anywhere else could be enjoyed.
"Our next stop should be just up ahead," he said, his deep voice startling her after the past minutes of silence.
"This seems a very nice part of Town," she said, admiring the tall buildings and the occasional glimpse of St. Paul's magnificent dome towering over them, sheltering them from the threatening skies.
"It's an expensive part of Town," he grumbled.
"The shops all appear quite elegant."
"I take that as a good sign my sister will not surprise me with another pony when I stop to pick up the next gift on her list."
She knew that when he said "pony" he was including her in his surprise. Honestly, what had Estelle been thinking to arrange all this without mentioning the most pertinent details to her brother? Heaven only knew what additional surprises lay in store as the earl completed his list of gift gathering. Apparently Estelle had not thought to bother telling him the nature of these gifts, simply the direction where to get them.
To tell the truth, Carole found it all rather intriguing, but she had the distinct notion that his lordship was not one to be keen on intrigue. Or surprises. Or ponies who did not meet his strict expectations for weight, apparently. Heaven only knew what he must think of her.
Then again, it was fairly obvious what he thought of her. He had not lifted a finger to assist her into the wagon, he spoke only clipped sentences when completely necessary, and he had barely looked at her once so far. Indeed, it was painfully obvious what the earl thought of her. He thought her common, unneeded, and entirely beneath him. All of which, of course, she was.
The wagon slowed as the earl pulled it to a halt outside a very smart establishment. She knew they could not possibly have looked more out of place. The earl frowned and glanced back at the letter he kept close at hand. Carole peeped over and could make out the number thirty-two written there. That was, indeed, the number indicated on the shop.
The front windows proudly displayed silver service, golden trinkets and other beautifully worked items that glittered and shone even on this dreary day. Carole could not even remember a time when she'd entertained notions of admiring such things. The name painted in elegant script on the door read Rundell, Bridge and Rundell.
"A goldsmith," the earl muttered. "Well, I daresay whatever I'm supposed to pick up here will be a bit smaller than a piano-forte and—we can assume—smell considerably better than a pony."
She hoped that when he said "pony" this time he was not including her.
"I'm sure Estelle is most thankful that you are gracious enough to deliver her children's gifts, my lord."
He merely scowled at her words. "It's not as if she gave me a choice."
"We always have a choice, sir. You are doing a good thing for her family."
He uttered something like "Bah" and climbed down from the wagon. Affixing the reins, he glared up at her.
"Stay with the wagon. I'll be but a moment."
"Very well, sir."
"I only hope no one I know sees me."
Ordinarily she would have been offended at his words since clearly the implication was that he was ashamed to be seen with her, but considering the poor man was inexplicably dressed as a laborer and driving a very rough wagon pulled by the shaggiest beast of a draft horst that Carole had ever seen, she supposed she could understand his feeling. A few short years ago she, herself, would have felt quite the same way.
My, but how little she cared for such silly things as appearances now. It was amazing how unimportant that became when necessities such as eating or keeping a roof over her head became such fragile commodities. Not that she'd given up on propriety in her efforts to survive! Thank heavens, she'd been able to get by on the proceeds of selling what meager things she'd managed to maintain from her former life of ease.
Unfortunately, it was only possible to sell something once. When the money from that was used up, she had to sell something else. Then something else after that. By the time Estelle's letter of rescue had come, Carole had reached the end of her somethings.
So, here she sat primly, determined not to be insulted by the earl's slights and not to mind that she was carrying everything she owned in one small traveling bag. Only the future mattered now; the future and the fact that she was not going to let the earl's irritable attitude ruin her mood. Life had been difficult, but it was bound to get better.
Perhaps this journey to Wiltshire was just the first step toward the happy future she had always dreamed of. And it was Christmas! She'd taken happiness for granted in the past—but never again. The earl might wish to grumble and complain over the least little thing, but she would not.
Even as the first sprinkle of rain fell from the sky and dotted her nose, she vowed she would not complain. At least not so that the curmudgeonly earl might hear her.
Myserleigh entered the shop where a young man looked down his nose at him immediately. As the young man was a good six inches shorter than Myserleigh the effect was less than intimidating. Myserleigh simply glowered at the pup and introduced himself. Immediately he was given a bit more respect.
The employee seemed to know exactly what Myserleigh was here for and quickly disappeared into a rear room. When he returned a moment later he carried a small parcel, wrapped up in muslin and green satin. As the man set it down and carefully unwrapped it, Myserleigh was surprised by the exquisite beauty of the thing.
It was a small golden box, perfectly crafted to hinge tightly and rest on solid little feet. The box itself was covered in elaborate filigree and tiny gold rosebuds, creating a veritable garden of extravagance and begging to be gazed at and studied. Myserleigh usually had no time for such frippery, but even he could see this was of the highest quality and very likely cost his sister quite dear. Why on earth she would buy such a thing for her children he couldn't possibly guess.
"We did not craft this box, sir, but you can see it is of good quality," the young man said. "It was in sore need of repair so we have done our best to put it back into order."
"It's quite charming," the earl allowed.
"Does the box meet with your approval?" the young man asked as he proudly turned it to display their efforts.
Myserleigh was unsure how to answer. "I suppose so. Does Estelle not know what she has paid for?"
"Mrs. Bexley was quite specific, sir. She sent us the box for mending and cleaning, with clear instruction that you must approve our work before we will get paid."
He supposed this made sense, considering the likely cost of the item. He gave it a closer look, testing the lid and touching the downy-soft velvet that lined the box interior. It was a pleasure to behold and he took his time, appreciating the surprisingly lifelike petals of the pink enameled full-bloom rose that adorned the inside of the lid. Very feminine and lovely, indeed. It was everything a lady of quality could want.
"It appears quite exceptional," he declared, much to the young man's delight. "My sister will be most pleased."
"Excellent. She instructed us to use great care as it will be a gift for someone dear."
Her daughter, Liza, no doubt. It seemed an extravagant gift for a five year old, but Myserleigh was not here to critique his sister's spending habits. If her husband authorized such things, it was none of his business. He was simply the delivery man in this matter.
"And," the young man continued, just slightly hesitant. "She said you would pay."
"She said that I would...?"
"It is an exquisite box, sir
, and it was in particularly dire need of refurbishing. She assured me you would be happy to cover the cost—as it is such a special time of year and will obviously bring much joy to the recipient."
Botheration. Estelle assumed too much of him. Then again, the young man had done excellent work and ought to get paid for it. And it was Christmas. This lovely box would no doubt bring happy smiles when it reached its new owner tomorrow.
It was exactly the sort of thing a young lady might ooo and aah over when presented to her. Not only was the box itself a thing of beauty and a stunning gift, but the enameled rose inside spoke of the fulfillment of hopes and dreams. He had to admit, when Estelle presented this box she would be met with a most joyous response.
Pity Miss Liza was so very little, though. He knew his niece to be interested in dolls and brightly colored playthings she could hold in her hands and carry under her arm. Those were the gifts he himself had got for her and had tucked up in his wagon—dolls and trinkets for Liza, tops, fishing poles, and a tiny bow for the boys.
This beautiful box, though, seemed entirely over done for an energetic young child. In fact, as he studied it, this was clearly the gift for a grown woman, and someone more than just a family member, at that. Indeed, this was a gift for a lover.
Yes, the red velvet interior and the wide petals of the secret rose spoke far more of passion and romantic entanglement than it did of childhood trinkets. For a certain, if he were trying to gain some fair creature's esteem this would be the gift he might chose. And he'd be enthusiastically rewarded, he could well imagine. A man could win a woman's heart with a gift like this. Then he would give her the jewels to put in it.
What on earth was Estelle thinking to commission this for a child? But again, he was not here to judge. He was merely gathering the gifts then getting on with his journey. No matter how overgenerous this parcel was, at least it would bundle up and be stowed nicely in his wagon. At this point he should be happy it was not a giraffe.
The Earl's Christmas Delivery Page 2
