“Not all better. Not yet,” Gwen said as she approached the table. “But he should be well soon.”
“Before Christmas?”
“It takes longer than that for bones to mend, I’m afraid,” she replied. “However, he should be feeling better before Easter.” She nodded at the bowl. “What’s that? Bread?”
William grinned widely. “We’re making the Christmas pudding!”
The earl gave her a look that was a delightful mixture of sheepishness and pride. “I always helped Mrs. Jones make the Christmas pudding.” Then his pleasure faded. “Until recently.”
“I’m hungry,” Teddy murmured from his cot.
“Teddy!” William cried, scrambling down from the table. “We’re making Christmas pudding, the earl and me.”
Grateful for this other sign that Teddy was improving, and thinking she might need to protect him from his little brother’s enthusiasm, Gwen hurried to the cot.
“I’ll get him some stew,” the earl offered.
That explained the delicious aroma, and if the stew tasted as good as it smelled, the earl had indeed learned something watching Mrs. Jones.
“He puts lots more nuts in the pudding than Father does,” William said as he skidded to a stop beside Teddy’s cot. “And he put in something else that he brought from the manor. Whissy, or something. It’s going to be the best Christmas pudding ever!”
Gwen’s brows rose. “Whiskey?” she asked as the earl ladled out a very rich, thick stew from the pot into a wooden bowl.
He gave a little shrug. “There was no brandy, so that had to do.”
Teddy gave a little cry of pain and Gwen turned back to see William sitting on the end of the cot.
“Don’t sit there, please, William,” she cautioned the younger boy. “His leg should stay as still as possible.”
William looked horrified as he carefully got down.
“It’s all right. Can you please fetch the pillows from your father’s bed? Teddy will have to be propped up to eat.”
William eagerly did as he was asked.
The earl set the bowl on the table and, when William returned with the pillows, helped her raise Teddy to a sitting position and make him comfortable. He fetched the stew and a towel and, after handing her the bowl and spoon, laid the towel over Teddy’s chest.
“I can do it myself,” Teddy whispered, blushing.
“You’re going to be a bit shaky from that medicine she gave you, and the bowl’s hot,” the earl said. “No man wants to be treated like a baby, I know, but no man wants to dribble all over his chin, either. And this man doesn’t want his culinary efforts going to waste.”
Teddy’s blush deepened.
“Speaking for myself, I’d enjoy the opportunity of having a lovely young woman help you while you can.”
Gwen flushed as she assisted Teddy. She’d had more flattery in the past two days than she’d had in years. No wonder truly pretty girls were vain, if they had such comments made to them often.
No wonder he was. And no wonder the loss of such attention was devastating. She might feel something similar if she was told she could no longer care for her children.
“What’s ‘culinary efforts’?” William demanded.
“My cooking,” the earl replied. “Now, wee Willie Mervyn, this pudding is nearly ready and I haven’t forgotten that you challenged me to checkers. Set it up and I’ll be ready in a moment.”
“I’m a good checker player, aren’t I, Teddy?” William asked his brother.
The older lad nodded.
“I fear no opponent!” the earl cried, brandishing the wooden ladle like a rapier. “Make haste, young Mervyn, that I may defeat you and boast of it to all and sundry!”
Teddy grinned, William giggled and Gwen had to smile. Looking at the Earl of Cwm Rhyss now, she could almost forget that he lived in a manor house and was a peer of the realm. She could almost believe that this was their cottage, and they lived here together, sharing their days. And their nights.
She could almost believe that. But not quite.
“One more time, and then no more.”
The earl, up in the sleeping loft with William, sounded adamant, but Gwen had already heard him say that before he began the previous rendition of “Deck the Halls.” At least this time, William’s request was said wearily, as if he was on the verge of sleep.
Teddy had fallen back to sleep after his stew, and was slumbering as peacefully as one could expect. So far, he was doing well, but that didn’t stop her from praying that the doctor would be able to ride up the mountain tomorrow.
The earl’s deep, beautiful voice drifted down to her. The spruce boughs on the mantel filled the air with their scent. The windows were still cloaked with frost, but inside it was warm and comfortable. The kettle sat on the hob, ready for another cup of tea. Teddy wasn’t in serious danger and for the time being, she had fewer responsibilities than she’d had in years. This must be how it was for many happily married people with children.
Such domesticity was not likely to ever be her lot. Yet she had much to occupy her and give her joy. Her work was important, and she had a host of children who needed her love. If there could be no husband for her, she could accept that, because of all the other compensations she had. And yet…
The earl fell silent, and in the next moment, she heard him making his way to the ladder leading from the loft. Wiping her hands on the apron she was wearing, the same one he had, she watched him make his slow progress downward.
“Is your knee hurting you?” she asked when he reached the floor.
“A bit,” he answered without looking at her. “I thought I’d never get that boy to sleep.”
“You sing beautifully.”
“I’m rather rusty. It’s been a long time,” he said, still not looking at her as he limped to the window. He reached out to clear a spot with the heel of his hand. “By God, I don’t believe it. It’s stopped snowing.”
She came to stand beside him, rising on her toes to look outside. He was right. The night sky was like black velvet, and dotted with the small, twinkling lights of the stars. In the east, the moon rose, full and pale, gleaming on the snow.
“There’s not a cloud left,” Gwen murmured, amazed.
“If it stays clear, the doctor and Bill will be able to come here first thing in the morning.”
For Teddy’s sake, she was glad. “Yes, and you must be anxious to get back to your manor.”
He cut her a glance. “As you are to get back to your orphanage.”
“I’ve lots to do before Christmas, my lord, and now even less time in which to do it.”
He faced her, and she was taken aback by his intensity when he spoke. “It seems ridiculous for you to call me by my title. My name’s Griffin.”
She was equally surprised by his request. “It would be presumptuous of me to call you by your first name, my lord.”
It was also a necessary reminder that they were from two different worlds, and to two different worlds they would return.
“It was presumptuous of you to barge into my study, but that didn’t stop you,” he noted with a wistful smile. “Can’t you call me Griffin while we’re here? Not many people call me that anymore. Think of it as a Christmas present.”
She couldn’t resist that entreaty. “Then you must call me Gwen.”
“All right, Gwen.”
Never had her name sounded so lovely to her ears.
His smile drifted away as he nodded at the window and the sky beyond it. “I’ve always thought this must be the way it was the first Christmas, when the angel came to the shepherds. A cold, clear night, with the stars twinkling like little diamonds. And then the star, so bright that it could light their way to Bethlehem, and lead the wise men, too. It must have been a sight to see—that star. Like something God saved from the first days of creation.”
He faced her again, and it was as if whatever intimacy had been between them just moments ago had disappeared. “I expect th
e doctor and Bill Mervyn will be making their way here first thing in the morning.”
She wondered if she was only imagining the disappointment in his voice.
She returned to the hearth, putting some distance between herself and the nobleman whose voice and presence seemed to weave such a dangerous spell around her, of need and desire and a foolish, wild, impossible hope.
“It’s been dam—very odd weather,” he said as he limped toward the chair on the opposite side of the fireplace and eased himself into it, keeping his left leg straight. “A storm prevented you from leaving my home, then let up enough that we could come here to help Teddy. Then the weather worsened so we couldn’t leave, and now it’s as fine as a winter’s eve can be. You would almost think Mother Nature was playing tricks on us, or trying to keep us together.”
Gwen shifted uneasily. That was a fanciful notion, and as ridiculous as the way she was feeling about the man seated opposite her. Such emotions would avail her nothing, and she should do her best to subdue them.
“Do you think Teddy will have lasting troubles with his leg?” Griffin asked.
“I’m not certain, but I hope not.”
“He’s lucky you were able to help him.”
“He’s fortunate his father braved the storm. If it had been much longer…”
“You seem to be very friendly with Bill Mervyn,” Griffin observed as he toyed with a loose thread at his cuff.
“He’s a very nice man.”
“Perhaps you ought to set your cap at him.”
That was not something she wanted to hear, especially from him. “I’m not looking for a husband.”
“Not one with two children, at any rate.”
“Not at all.”
“You don’t wish to marry? You’ve refused every man who’s ever asked you?”
She laced her fingers in her lap. “I’ve never been asked.”
“What, not at all?”
He sounded genuinely shocked.
“No,” she confessed. “Never.”
“Surely some wounded veteran of the Crimea must have fallen in love with his nurse.”
“Sometimes that happened, but not to me.”
The earl leaned back in his chair and regarded her steadily. “It must be your air of self-sufficiency,” he mused aloud. “Most men want to feel a woman needs him when he falls in love. That she requires help and protection.”
Mindful of what he’d said to her in his study, she raised an interrogative brow. “So it’s all very well for a man to want to feel needed, but if I do, I must be desperate to be loved?”
He rose and leaned against the mantel, staring into the fire. “I was an idiot to say that. I was angry and wanted to upset you.” He glanced at her, and in his expression, she saw genuine remorse. “I’m sorry.”
She, too, got to her feet, facing him. “You did upset me—because I do want to feel that I’m necessary. I do want to be loved. But don’t we all want to be needed? Don’t we all want to be loved? Don’t you?”
He kicked at a log and sent a flurry of sparks up the chimney. “Why else would I have got myself engaged to Letitia?” he muttered.
She’d forgotten about his former fiancée.
“Even I, the handsome, popular Earl of Cwm Rhyss wanted to be loved, and I thought Letitia loved me. What she loved was my title and my money. I suppose the fact that plenty of women were after me and I asked her to marry me flattered her vanity, too.”
He sighed wearily. “One night, my friends and I were in a tavern and some of them tried to enlighten me about her mercenary motives. Others joined me in denying the accusations and defending Letitia. Then a lamp got knocked over. If it hadn’t been for the landlord’s bravery, I’d have died for a woman who abandoned me seemingly without a second thought.”
Hearing his bitterness and his sorrow, Gwen yearned to put her arms around him, to offer him a comforting embrace, but she didn’t dare, any more than she would admit that if she discovered she was being forced into permanent exile here, with him, she wouldn’t feel it a punishment. Instead, she said, “I’m glad you didn’t die.”
“Then you wouldn’t have had a way to get to Teddy, or a Christmas benefactor for your orphans.”
That was not the only reason she was glad. Yet she didn’t voice that thought, either. “I am truly thankful for your generosity, my lord.”
“Sincerely spoken.”
“Sincerely felt, from the bottom of my heart. And the children—”
“Have a most impassioned champion. I would that I had such a one, to upbraid the alleged friends who deserted me.”
“If they would desert you, they weren’t your friends.”
“I know that better than you, Miss Davies,” he said, turning back to stare at the fire. “I learned the hard way that the people I thought were my friends were mere acquaintances, or seeking to exploit my generous nature. They would flock to my parties and fêtes and musical evenings, and be wildly grateful for my gifts, but when I most had need of them, they wouldn’t come near me.”
“Did not one of them stand by you?” she asked.
“One, the Duke of Barroughby. But it was he who accidentally started the fire, so in my bitterness, I refused to see him. By the time I thought better of it, I was sure he wouldn’t want to see me. Thus I am alone, except for my servants.”
“You don’t have to be.”
He raised a brow and, afraid of revealing too much, she rushed on. “Teddy and William accept you as you are, and Bill, too. If you would try, others would as well.”
He tilted his head to study her. “You think the world would come to see me as a man, not a scarred monstrosity?”
“Yes.”
He shifted, inching closer. “You see me as a man?”
“I see a healthy, vital man with many years before him.”
He smiled as he reached out and caressed her cheek. “Have a care, Miss Davies. I don’t think you quite know what you’re doing.”
Perhaps she didn’t, but she knew he was touching her cheek, and as he did, a host of contradicting emotions stirred within her—hope, joy, fear, desire.
“You’re marvelous with the boys,” he said softly. “I’m sure your wards at the orphanage receive the same excellent care. I’m sure they love you for it.”
“I try to be more than a matron to the children who depend on me,” she said, barely resisting the urge to turn her head and press her lips to the warm palm of his hand.
“I can well believe that you’re much more than that,” he replied, lowering his hand. “You remind me of my favorite teacher at Harrow. He was stern, but fair.”
Stern? He thought her stern? Yet he meant those words as a compliment, and she would take them as such. “Children need rules and guidance.”
“And a motherly woman to do both, so that the rules are not seen as prison and the guidance gentle prodding, not enforced conformity.”
Again she should be flattered, and not feel…deflated…that he thought her so maternal.
“You’ll make an excellent mother. An excellent wife.”
He couldn’t have any idea how those words hurt her. They were stabs to her very heart, because he would never want her for a wife. “I’m not likely to marry and I have plenty of children to mother already.”
“But you do want to marry, do you not? What if some fine young preacher fell in love with you? Or a charming schoolmaster asked for your hand?”
“I don’t think either scenario is very likely. And there is a very serious drawback to your fanciful plans.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m neither young enough nor pretty enough to attract either. And then there is my headstrong, persistent, unfeminine nature, my lord. Those traits enabled me to get an education and stand me in good stead at Saint Bridget’s, but they are hardly the qualities a man looks for in a wife. No, my lord, I shall gladly content myself with my orphaned children and entertain no such ridiculous fancies.”
“A ma
n can come to admire and respect persistence and stubbornness, when the goal that provokes them is a worthy one. As for the traits men are supposed to want in a wife, they might be suitable if a fellow wants nothing more than a boring, agreeable creature as obedient and lively as a doll.”
He toyed with a piece of greenery on the mantel. “Or are you trying to say that you think hoping for love when the cards seem stacked against you is a foolish waste of time?”
“I’m a practical woman who has no time for silly, girlish dreams and desires.”
“Not even at Christmas?”
She hesitated for the briefest of moments before answering. “No.”
“Yet I am to have hope that people will accept me, despite my face.”
“That’s different. You still have much to offer the world.”
“I think you have much to offer to the man who can win your heart.” He held the greenery above her head, and she saw that it was mistletoe. “If your theory is correct, and I’m not as repulsive a fellow as I thought, you’ll let me kiss you.”
She flushed and glanced up at the mistletoe. Oh, God help her! What was happening? Why this? Why now, here, with this nobleman? Why couldn’t she have had these feelings years ago, for a carpenter or a bricklayer or a foot soldier?
Her feelings for him were doomed to give her nothing but misery. They could never lead to anything lasting between them. No matter what he said, or the desire and emotions he aroused in her, she must never forget that. She must and would protect her heart as best she could. “That hardly seems fair, my lord. I could have several reasons for not wishing to kiss you.”
“Name one, other than my ugly face.”
“I hardly know you.”
He dangled the mistletoe above her. “You know me better than many another person.”
She would be blunt, because there seemed no other way. “You’re an earl and I’m the daughter of paupers.”
“I’m a man, and you’re the most interesting woman I’ve ever met. You’ve intrigued me from the moment you charged into my study like a conquering general. I’ve had my fill of timid, simpering, giggling women. You’re direct and forthright, intelligent and determined. Any man should consider himself fortunate to have your good regard.”
The Christmas Visit: Comfort and JoyLove at First StepA Christmas Secret Page 7
