by Reid, Stacy
Their mother lowered her book, and when she looked toward the earl, he hurriedly glanced away. Letty giggled infectiously, and Callie smiled.
“How silly they are being,” her sister cried. “What are we to do about it?”
“They only need a little nudge!”
“How are we to do that?”
“Perhaps with a few well-placed notes and twigs of mistletoe.”
They shared a glance, and then dissolved into laughter.
“Oh, Callie, this is recklessness on our part. And surely too improper and wicked of us.”
Miss Barrows chose that moment to slip and cry out. The earl attended to her with urgency, and soon afterward swung Miss Barrows into his arms and marched toward the main entrance.
“That lying wretch,” Letty cried. “There is nothing wrong with her ankle. She has pretended to be hurt to be in the earl’s arms.”
“Do you believe me now that Mama needs our help?” Callie said, a lump forming in her throat at the expression of loss and mortification on her mother’s face. “Will you be my helper?”
Letty took a steadying breath. She had always been the more modest of the two sisters, much more like their mother in her temperament and appearance. Gentle and kind, and demure, especially in the presence of others. Whereas Callie had always been ‘frightfully improper and too much like your papa,’ which was a common refrain of their mother’s.
“Yes!” Letty said.
With her sister behind her, Callie hurried from the private parlor and rushed down the long hallway, grateful they did not encounter any other guests. The scent of lemon wax and pinecones was redolent on the air, and in the distance, someone played a lively tune on the pianoforte in the music room.
“I will write a note, one to Mama and the other to the earl. See that they are delivered with the utmost discretion, Letty!”
“I will ensure it,” her sister promised.
Callie ran up the stairs and made her way to the chamber she shared with Letty. Once there, she sat before the small escritoire, withdrew a sheaf of paper from the drawer, and dipped the quill in the inkwell.
Dear Lord Deerwood,
I’ve long admired a man of your amiable, good-natured, and passionate qualities. I’ve often imagined we might stroll by the lake and indulge in artful conversations about our mutual likes and dislikes. While games of charades, whist, and music in the drawing-room promise lively fun, perhaps we might meet in the conservatory after dinner this evening? I will await you at half-past nine. I do hope to see you there, my lord.
A lady of sincere affections.
Chapter 2
Graham George Wynter, Viscount Sherbrooke, stared at his father, the Earl of Deerwood, in mute amazement. The man appeared decidedly flushed, and from how he repeatedly raked his fingers through his black hair and patted his top jacket pocket, he was utterly agitated. Graham stretched his legs and leaned more against the cushion of his chair.
“Does your note bear unpleasant news?” he asked, taking a careful sip of his brandy.
Graham had been at a newly purchased country estate in Hampshire, which its former owners sold due to bankruptcy. He had been working alongside the architects on the renovations, when he had opened a rambling letter from his father, one that had been bloody difficult for him to decipher. Certain phrases had caught at his mind and had filled him with alarm. And he was not a man prone to an excessive display of emotions.
“I’ve met the most wonderful woman.”
“I think it might be time I marry again, except I cannot tell if she is indifferent to me or interested.”
“I’ve asked Alice to plan a house party for Christmas, and I mean to invite Lady Danby and her charming daughters.”
“I’ve taken the liberty to procure a special license, but I do not believe she might have me.”
Those were the phrases that had stuck with him as he rode in the ghastly weather as fast as the road conditions allowed for several days while overnighting at inns. Perhaps the most alarming bit in his father’s hasty letter was this plan to marry a lady who seemed indifferent to his affections. His father was a man who fell easily in love. Graham scowled, recalling the last fiasco and the scandal it had wrought.
Within a few weeks of meeting one Lady Wilma Prescott—a celebrated beauty in the ton—his father had declared himself besotted and had offered for the lady. She was twenty years his junior and had happily accepted. Then she had the temerity to slip beneath the sheets of Graham’s bed, all with the plan that they would have a rousing affair while she was married to his father.
He’d kicked her from his room with the threat he would ruin her should she try to further entrap his father. She had tearfully apologized, but Graham had been immune to her pleas for his forgiveness and silence. Because at four and twenty at the time, he had endured over the years many women trying to marry his father for his title and wealth. But that lady had been the boldest and most scandalous one. Graham had informed his father of his fiancée’s duplicity, and his father had withdrawn into himself, but at least he had forced Lady Wilma to officially end the engagement. That had been two-and-a-half years ago, and his father’s letter had been the first since then to mention he had a recent love interest.
“Father,” he said in a carefully composed voice. “You are out of sorts.”
The earl folded the letter, placed it in his top pocket, and turned to face him. “I did not expect you to travel down because of the weather. I know you have little patience for house parties and the sort.”
“We’ve always spent Christmas together.”
His father, still a handsome man in his prime, smiled. “We do, my boy, but I still thought you would have sent down some excuse to not attend.”
Graham took another sip of his brandy. “Your letter warranted me making the trip.”
His father cast him a probing, considering glance. “You are familiar with our neighbor, Lady Danby, and her two daughters?”
A vague image floated through his thoughts, then a pair of bright brown eyes and a dimpled smile came into sharp focus. Ah yes…he’d met a Miss Callie Middleton several months’ earlier. She had been walking through the woods, which abutted their estate. Though she had been in a simple white day dress adorned with a yellow ribbon, her prettiness had stuck him. He’d watched for several minutes, charmed by the animation of her features as she’d read her book. Her face had expressed a unique reaction with each page she’d turned—a furrow of brows, irritation perhaps, then that biting of her bottom lip as if nervous, then that wide smile. At one point, she had gasped, screamed a bit, and pressed the book to her chest, and the happiest of sighs had escaped her. That oddity had amused and charmed Graham.
The young lady had looked up then, and her eyes had ensnared him with their expressive beauty. She had dipped into a curtsy; unaware he had watched her for near thirty minutes. He’d tipped his hat in a polite gesture and walked away. When he’d glanced back, she had stood there, staring at him, her face one of surprised contemplation. He’d seen her a few times since then in the village, but he had made no effort of introducing himself.
“Are you referring to the widowed viscountess?”
A flush worked itself over his father’s cheekbones, and he glanced into the fire. “A most…pleasant, and amiable woman, if I’ve ever met one. And kind with such considerate manners. And so beautiful.”
That bit resonated with such reverence, Graham sat straighter in the high wingback chair. “I see. And it is her you are wondering if you should…make your new countess?”
His father sighed. “I suppose you think I am a fool over love.”
Graham winced. The very words he had roared at his father a few years ago when the earl had planned to offer for another woman, Lady Fairclough. Graham had struggled to understand how his father had considered marrying at least three different women in the last ten years. It seemed a bit inconstant to Graham. With each new lady love, the earl informed his children of his intenti
ons, making them a full part of his decision-making. With each failed arrangement, his father had kept searching, and it seemed his entire concentration was on getting married.
It had baffled Graham, for his father already had his heir and a beloved daughter. What use was marriage to the earl at this stage? Then he’d realized his father was lonely and wanted more than just the comfort of a mistress to warm his bed. The shock of that awareness had left Graham restless for weeks, and he had tried to spend more time with his father and ignored the pursuit of frivolities in Town. He’d been at his father’s side for the last several months learning estate management and helping him with his motions for the opening of Parliament. He’d recently taken over most of the duties of the earldom, leaving his father to live a more leisurely life and to be assured that when Graham inherited, all would be well.
But he had still sensed his father’s dissatisfaction with life. “I do not think you are a fool father…you are simply searching for something.” Something that I want you to find.
A singularly attractive smile crossed the earl’s face. “And I believe I have found it.”
“You have?”
His father’s features softened even more. “Yes! She is wonderful, and I am certain she is the one for me.”
Graham grimaced. “So you have said…at least twice before.”
His father flinched, and regret burned in Graham’s gut. Surging to his feet, he stepped toward him. “Father, that was tactless—”
His father held up a hand, cutting off his words. “No. This time…” the earl took a deep breath. “This time…it is like how it was with your mother. Maybe even deeper.”
Guilt and something unfathomable darkened his father’s blue eyes. Graham relaxed his fingers, which had tightened around his glass. Never had his father compared the women he’d courted to the great love he’d had for Graham’s mother. He was unsure how to feel about it. “I see.”
His father cleared his throat. “I would like you and Emma to spend time with Amelia…Lady Danby.”
Spend time with the viscountess? His father had never requested such a thing before. It flummoxed Graham for several moments. “Is our approval necessary, father?”
A sight frown creased the earl’s face. “No, but I would still like to hear my children’s valued opinions. If…if it works out, she will also be a part of your life and Emma’s.”
Graham nodded, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “And the note?”
His father hesitated before plucking it from his pocket and handing it to Graham. He scanned the letter asking for a clandestine meeting. An elegant flowing script scrawled the words, but it was not signed. Whoever it was, wanted his father to meet them in the conservatory in less than an hour. That hint of deception had anger curling through his gut. Why did it not similarly annoy his father?
Who are you?
“We are at a house party. I hardly think such subterfuge necessary,” he scoffed, rather irritated with the author. “Surely you must suspect their reason for wanting such a meeting.”
The earl seemed contemplative. “Someone…a skilled waif, slipped this note in my pocket! How alarmed and intrigued I was to find it. Except I…I am uncertain the author of this note is who I am dearly hoping it is!”
“The viscountess,” Graham said. “You are hoping it is from Lady Danby.”
“Yes,” his father snapped on an aggrieved sigh. “I do…I hope it is from her! For it would tell me clearly she has some feelings for me that are beyond friendship and neighborly courtesy.”
“Is she the sort to send such letters?” Though the wording was innocent enough, it could be a trap by anyone of the marriage-minded ladies in attendance. Twice now, his father had almost gotten caught by a woman of dubious standards and with only greed in their hearts.
His father tugged at his cravat looking distinctly befuddled. “She is shy but comes alive within minutes of conversation. Then I see no shyness, only her good-natured charm, and vivacity for living…and blushes,” he relayed this with a bit of wonder and a smile on his lips. “Lady Danby blushes so prettily if I stare at her too long, or if I pay her the sincerest of compliments which she deserves. I am uncertain she would be this bold.”
Yet hope lingered in his voice that the lady had indeed decided to be daring.
“Why not ask the viscountess how she feels?” Graham suggested. “She is not a debutante who needs to be protected from such advances. She is a woman of sense and mature years; such a question will hardly send her running.”
A tic jerked in his father’s cheek. “I tried,” he said with a gruff voice. “She loved her husband very much. Only…she has only lost him these past five years. Whenever we speak, the viscountess always find a reason to slip him into our discourse. I admire how much she loved him, but it almost makes me believe she might not be willing or open to the idea of me courting her.”
Graham recalled the rumors which had surrounded the viscountess’s move to Gloucestershire. She was without funds, her widowed portion only enough to maintain the appearance of bare gentility. Her older daughter had her come out some years ago, which had not netted her any new connections or a match, and the younger girl had never had a Season in London. Now there was little opportunity for the viscountess to secure respectable matches for them.
The lady must be desperate for marriage into a well-connected family. Either the viscountess or her daughters would do for an earl. He glanced down at the invitation to a tryst in the conservatory once more. How far would the widowed viscountess be willing to go?
“If you wish to see for yourself, Father, go, but be mindful of the lady’s intentions.”
His father sighed. “I will be. Once I see that it is not Amelia…I will politely extricate myself from the situation and hope no one is around to witness what they might perceive as misconduct!”
And without a doubt, the identity of the author would be revealed, and Graham would know who to keep a close watch on, for this person would most likely be prone to more mischief for the remainder of the house party. Was his father walking into a compromising situation that might prove difficult to extricate himself from?
I’ll be damned if I ever allow that to happen!
Chapter 3
Almost thirty minutes after speaking with his father, Graham stood in the conservatory, positioned behind some large fir trees which had been cut to be decorated and placed in the drawing-room, music room, and the entrance to Holliwell Manor. Ever since they had spent Christmas in Germany with one of their uncles, his father had adopted the tradition of decorating such trees in the yuletide season. It had made his mother, who was German, thrilled, and as a family, they had continued the tradition after she had gone on to her rewards. Graham was closer to the door which opened into the garden, and from his discreet vantage point, he observed the lady who had entered moments ago.
His heart jolted, and a heavy unexpected disappointment lodged in his gut. It was Miss Callie Middleton still garbed in the bright pink dress she had worn to dinner, her hair piled in a riot of becoming curls, with several wisps dancing about her face. She was petite, the top of her head would probably brush his chin. Her skin was pale, her lips lush and sweetly curved, her figure, though slender, had more than a handful in all the right places. The lady held a basket in her hand. She rested it on a table revealing fresh-cut roses from the hothouse and a pruning shear. She rifled through the contents of the basket, and he arched a brow when she withdrew several sprigs of mistletoe.
Good God. Her intention was apparent. How many ladies had he dodged since his arrival who attempted to use those damnable mistletoe berries to request a kiss or be bold to take one? Even last night, the squire’s daughter had knocked on his door, and he had tugged her into the room after hearing footsteps in the hallway. Miss Vinnette Brampton was the sister of his close friend Thomas. Graham had been amused and appalled in equal measure at her surprising brazenness. But the girl had been suffering from a case of jealousy
and heartbreak when the man she loved shifted his attention to another. After drinking several glasses of pilfered sherry and armed with a fistful of mistletoe, Miss Vinnette had planned to soothe her wounded pride with kisses from him!
Even now, the memory of her silliness had a sigh of exasperation escaping from Graham. It was befuddling how everyone seemed to accept that piece of twig was an excuse to throw caution and propriety to the wind. He wasn’t the sort to seduce his friends’ sisters, so after lending a listening ear for several minutes, he’d ensured she reached her room undiscovered.
A sharp grunt snapped his attention to Miss Middleton. She was dragging a wrought-iron chair from near the grate to the door. She hopped onto the chair and then took it a step further by balancing on the chair’s armrest. It rocked precariously, and she muttered a word no lady should know before making a soft triumphant sound. She mounted the leaves and berries above the door, and with a wide grin, jumped from the chair. Graham marveled she had not slipped. She looked up at her work and did a happy little twirl.
He felt mesmerized. Perhaps it was the sense of happiness and expectation in the air. She dragged the chair from out of the way, then strolled to the windows with a frown on her pretty face. The lady reached into the deep pockets of her dress and fished out a pocket watch. She leaned forward, almost pressing her nose against the glass. Unexpectedly she lurched upright and to his amazement clapped her hands in unmistakable glee. She rushed toward the exit that would lead her to the side gardens. The lock refused to budge, and her expression of excitement eased to annoyance. After childishly kicking the door, she hurried in his direction.
Graham stepped behind one of the fir trees. It barely hid him, and he expected her to see him right away. Instead, when she was almost on top of him, she turned and peeked around the tree. It seemed the lady, too, was hiding. His curiosity mounted. An entrance to the conservatory opened and closed with a quiet snick. Miss Middleton held her breath, impatiently tapping her feet.
