His Housekeeper's Christmas Wish

by Louise Allen

  She glanced at the other two women, engrossed with the baby. ‘You love it.’ It was not a question.

  ‘The river and the streams are my blood, the soil is my flesh, the stones of the house are my bones as they have been for generations of Tempests.’ He stopped. ‘And you have just caught me out in ludicrous sentimentality expressed in the most purple of prose. Forget it.’

  Tess bit her lip to keep herself silent and leaned forward to rub her cuff across the window. Before her was the sprawling bulk of a house that formed a rough arc around a paved forecourt. The central block was lit, but the flanking wings were two dark arms waiting to close on them. She shivered as their carriage pulled up at the foot of the double flight of steps.

  ‘Yes, it takes me like that,’ Alex said, then smiled at Annie, who was visibly overawed. ‘Nothing to worry about, it is only a house.’

  The stones are my bones… And what waits inside? His soul? Tess tied her bonnet ribbons and collected up her reticule. ‘Come along, Annie, make sure Miss Daisy is well wrapped up and stay close behind Mrs White all the time.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs…Miss Ellery.’

  The baby, mercifully, seemed settled and not inclined to grizzle. Tess imagined Alex’s reception if he arrived with not only a strange young woman but an entourage that included a wailing babe in arms.

  Light spilled down the steps as the double doors opened and two footmen ran down and opened the carriage door. Alex stepped out. ‘Lord Weybourn and party. My mother is expecting us.’ The second carriage drew up. ‘My people.’ Alex waved one hand in the general direction. ‘A wagon is also following. See to it that everything is unloaded.’

  ‘My… Yes, my lord. At once.’

  One footman stood by to hand down the other occupants of the coach; the other doubled away and up the steps. By the time Tess reached the top, her hand on Alex’s arm, a butler and two other footmen had appeared. The butler, she noted, had his expression perfectly under control; the two footmen were having trouble keeping the avid interest off their faces.

  ‘My lord, it is a pleasure to see you at Tempeston once more.’ The butler bowed.

  ‘Garnett, good to see you. Mrs Garnett well?’ Alex might have been away for a month, not ten years.

  ‘Very well, my lord, thank you for asking. James, his lordship’s coat. William, the ladies. John, see to his lordship’s people.’ Daisy woke up and produced a loud gurgle. ‘I see we must have the nursery readied. I will—’

  ‘Weybourn. Alexander, you came.’ A tall woman, slender and grey haired, came down the stairs, her hands outstretched. ‘My dear boy, I knew you would not fail me.’

  Alex stepped forward and caught her as she almost stumbled on the bottom step. ‘Mother, take care.’ He steadied her, then withdrew his hand. ‘Fortunately I was in the country.’

  It seemed to Tess that Lady Moreland made a conscious effort to control all emotion. She was more than slender, she was thin—her wrists seemed too fragile to support the weight of the rings that sparkled on both hands. The older woman looked past her son. ‘We have guests, how delightful.’ Tess could only admire the implacable mask of courtesy that enabled her to sound genuinely welcoming in the face of unexpected strangers at such a time. ‘Alexander, you did not tell me you were—’

  ‘Escorting Miss Ellery. Yes, indeed. I assured her that she could rely on your hospitality. This is Miss Ellery and her companion, Mrs White. I brought them from Ghent on behalf of a mutual friend. Unfortunately the arrangements in London fell through.’

  If anyone was going to lie to Alex’s mother it was going to be her, not him. Tess stepped forward, hand outstretched. She thought I was his wife, or at the very least, his betrothed. That mask slipped a little just then. ‘I do beg your forgiveness for my intrusion at a difficult time, Lady Moreland, but I found myself quite abandoned in a strange city with no hope of resolving my problems until the New Year. I hope I may be of assistance to you, and my companion, Mrs White, also. I am experienced in sickroom nursing.’

  Good breeding was obviously enough to prevent Lady Moreland demanding why Tess found herself in such a predicament. ‘Not at all,’ she murmured, darting a glance at Alex. ‘I thought for a moment that you were… Oh, and a baby, too?’ There was the briefest betraying flicker of pain and hope in the fine hazel eyes. Alex’s eyes.

  ‘Mrs White’s child, ma’am.’ The hope died, leaving only the pain. ‘I trust she will not disturb anyone. We have her nursemaid with us.’

  ‘I have ordered the nursery to be put in order and the fires lit, my lady,’ Garnett murmured. ‘Young woman, if you follow John he will show you the way. His lordship’s rooms are readied as you ordered, my lady. I thought the Chinese Bedchamber and the adjoining Rose Chamber for the ladies?’

  ‘Excellent. If you and Mrs…er…White would like to go with Garnett, Miss Ellery? Alexander, I must speak with you in my boudoir.’ She turned back up the stairs with a distracted smile in Tess’s direction.

  Alex turned to Tess, a perfectly pleasant, perfectly judged expression on his face. ‘Do ask Garnett for whatever you require, Miss Ellery. I will see you both before dinner.’

  ‘Thank you, Lord Weybourn.’ Tess dropped the ghost of a curtsy and turned to the butler rather than watch Alex’s erect back as he climbed the stairs behind his mother. He’s a grown man, he can cope. But at what cost?

  *

  ‘Alexander.’ His mother sank down on a chaise and pressed a scrap of lace and lawn to her lips. ‘I hardly dared hope you would come.’ She looked as though only the boning of her stays and sheer willpower were keeping her upright. ‘I missed you so much, my son. Your letters have been a godsend, but I so longed to write back.’

  His mother was fifty years old, he knew that, but looking at her now he could believe she was ten, twenty, years older. Her hair was almost entirely grey, she looked fragile to the point of breaking and the skin around her eyes was papery with a strain that was caused by something deeper and longer-lived than her husband’s recent illness. He had missed her with a deep ache he had learned to ignore as best he could, as he would an amputated limb. The realisation that she had been hurting, too, was a stab to his conscience.

  He had written to her once a month, knowing his father would have forbidden her to correspond with him and that he could expect no answer to his letters. It was desperation that had made her disobey now.

  ‘You look tired, Mother.’

  ‘I look old, you mean.’ Her chin came up. ‘And you look well. More than well. How you have grown, matured. Who is that young woman? I thought, no, I hoped, you were going to introduce her as your wife or your betrothed.’

  ‘Really? After what my father says about me?’ She winced and he bit his lip. She was not the one who deserved to be punished.

  ‘Your father can be a great fool,’ his mother said. It was the first time he had ever heard her utter a word of criticism of her husband.

  ‘And a stubborn one. But, no, Miss Ellery is just what I told you, a young lady adrift in London because the arrangements made for her reception went awry.’ He shrugged. ‘At any other time of the year I could have found half a dozen ladies of my acquaintance to look after her, but you know what London is like before Christmas. And I could hardly deposit her in a hotel. And before you ask, no, the baby is not hers and most certainly not mine. The child is Daisy White. Now tell me what is wrong with my father.’

  His mother sagged a little, then straightened her spine. ‘The doctors say your father has a disease of the blood, one they cannot cure. He is deteriorating steadily.’

  ‘Has he asked for me?’ He kept the hope out of his voice, ashamed of the weakness.

  ‘No.’ She did not seem to realise that she was shredding the fragile Honiton lace of her handkerchief.

  ‘And Matthew?’ His brother, the perfect Tempest. Big, strong, physical. A hard rider, a hard drinker, a hard gambler, a hearty philistine. A man’s man and always the apple of their father’s eye.

  ‘
Matthew drinks, gambles, whores,’ his mother said, her lips stiff with distaste for the words. ‘He was never an intellectual.’ Her raised brow dared Alex to comment. ‘Now it is obvious that he incapable of taking up the work of the earldom. The agents do their best, but your father was always a man who kept his hand and his eyes on every aspect of all the estates, the business interests, the finances. He thought that Matthew took after him.’

  ‘And that—as he did not believe I would marry, let alone father an heir, then—Matthew, or his son, would one day inherit it all. When did he realise?’

  ‘That Matthew was incapable of managing a great inheritance? Not until he became so ill and even now he will not admit he needs help.’

  ‘Of course not. That would mean calling me back.’ Alex settled back in the chair, took a deep breath, found some sort of control of his voice. ‘And possibly apologising. I imagine he is a very angry man.’

  ‘You must be angry yourself.’ His mother met his eyes. ‘You must be angry with me.’

  ‘You were in an impossible position.’ He had known that right from the beginning. His mother was of a generation that would support their husbands whatever kind of tyrant they were. It was simply how she had been raised. ‘Do you believe I am what he says I am?’ Lord, the last thing to discuss with one’s mother.

  ‘That you are…not interested in women? Of course not. I have eyes in my head, I knew you went sneaking out of the house at night down to see Mary at the White Swan.’ For the first time something like a smile twitched at her thin lips. ‘I imagine I could tell you the date you lost your virginity. And while your letters to me contain nothing that might shock a maiden aunt, I do have my old friends in London. I hear the gossip.’

  Alex had thought himself beyond blushing like a youth, but it seemed he was wrong. ‘Does he know you sent for me?’

  His mother got to her feet, as elegant and feminine as he always remembered her. ‘I told him I would, but he did not believe me. I have never disobeyed him before, you see.’

  I never knew she had the courage. That I did not remember. ‘When will you tell him I am here?’ He got to his feet, went to take her arm.

  The door banged open with no warning knock. ‘Hell’s teeth and damnation.’ The man on the threshold stared at Alex and then laughed. ‘It really is you, my popinjay big brother, all grown up. Come to see if the old man’s dead yet?’

  ‘No. And do not swear in our mother’s presence. Do you not knock on her boudoir door, or are you perhaps no longer a gentleman?’ Alex found himself toe to toe with Matthew without realising he had moved. ‘I will see you at dinner, Mama. You come with me.’ He took his brother’s arm, twisted it and had him out of the door before he could get his balance. He closed it behind them and pushed Matthew down the corridor out of earshot before he let him wrench free.

  ‘Get your hands off me.’

  Alex held both of his up, palm out. ‘I imagine my appearance is a shock to you. Mother asked me to come.’

  ‘The hell she did! And Garnett says you’ve got women with you and a baby.’

  ‘There are two ladies. Gentlewomen, and you’ll do well to remember that,’ Alex said, keeping his voice soft, his hands by his sides. ‘The baby belongs to Mrs White, the widow who is the companion to Miss Ellery. They find themselves unfortunately stranded in London. Mother has kindly offered them hospitality for the Christmas season.’

  ‘We’ll see what Father has to say about this.’ Matthew turned on his heel and strode off towards the East Wing.

  ‘You do that, brother mine,’ Alex murmured as a door slammed violently in the distance. ‘I just hope your reflexes are good enough to duck whatever he hurls at your head.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘I am petrified,’ Dorcas whispered. ‘I’ve never been anywhere this elegant. I’ve never been anywhere except as a servant,’ she added with a tremble in her voice.

  ‘You told me your father was a doctor, Dorcas. You speak nicely, your manners are correct, your gown is perfectly acceptable. Besides, I don’t think companions are expected to do more than sit in the background under these circumstances.’

  ‘Good,’ Dorcas muttered, her eyes on the back of the liveried footman sent to collect them for dinner. ‘I’m glad we have an escort, this place is huge.’

  The footman stopped, opened a pair of double doors. ‘The Green Salon, ma’am.’

  Tess took in a breath down to her toes. I can do this.

  ‘Ah, good evening, ladies.’ Lady Moreland held out one hand, gloved to the elbow in lavender kid. ‘Do come and meet my younger son. Matthew, Miss Ellery, Mrs White.’

  ‘Mr Tempest.’ Tess inclined her head to the man who stood on the other side of the fireplace. She could see the resemblance to Alex, although he was shorter and stockier, but he had none of Alex’s elegance or air of sophistication. He looked, she thought, sulky.

  ‘I will leave Matthew to keep you company for a few moments while I make sure my husband has all he requires. I know you will excuse him eating in his chamber.’ Lady Moreland shared a brittle smile between them and left the room.

  ‘Miss Ellery. Absolutely charmed to meet you.’ Matthew Tempest’s gaze flickered over her figure, lingered on the bare skin exposed by the neckline of her simple evening gown. Tess felt her own smile congeal. She was not used to wearing anything so revealing and she was certainly not used to being ogled. Occasionally she caught a gleam of masculine awareness in Alex’s eyes when they rested on her—more than occasionally, if she were to be honest—but not this blatant assessment. ‘A bore for you to be landed with my brother’s company,’ he added.

  ‘You think so, Mr Tempest? Lord Weybourn has been all that is kind.’

  ‘He is hardly a ladies’ man.’ Mr Tempest appeared to find that an inordinately amusing remark.

  ‘He is, however, a gentleman,’ Tess said as sweetly as gritted teeth would allow.

  The laugh this time was a trifle forced. Not such a fool, Matthew Tempest, that he could not recognise an insult when it was offered. ‘No doubt you feel very safe with him.’

  Tess stared at him, then noticed the knowing smirk. He didn’t mean… He couldn’t. Yes, he did. She resisted the urge to box his ears and lowered her lashes coyly instead. ‘As safe as a lady wishes to feel with a handsome gentleman.’

  His jaw dropped and she strolled away to where Dorcas had perched on one end of a sofa. ‘That poisonous little toad,’ Tess whispered as she sat down beside her. ‘He is jealous of his brother.’

  ‘Oh, hush, Miss Ellery, he is coming over.’

  Matthew Tempest had, it seemed, recovered his temper, or at least his composure. Or else he thinks we are whispering about him and wants to find out what we are saying, Tess thought as he strolled over to their sofa.

  ‘May I fetch you ladies a glass of Madeira? Or sherry, perhaps? Ratafia?’

  ‘Nothing, thank you,’ Tess said as the door opened and Alex came in.

  ‘Miss Ellery, Mrs White, forgive my tardiness. Matthew, now I see you in good light, how you have changed.’

  ‘Hardly surprising, given that I was fifteen when you walked out on the family.’ Neither brother made any move towards shaking hands, let alone embracing, Tess noticed. ‘I had expected quite the court card, if not a fop.’ There was reluctant admiration in Matthew’s expression, Tess realised. Or perhaps envy. ‘Tell me, who is your tailor? Weston?’

  ‘Of course.’ Alex’s smile became more natural, as though to take the edge off the words. His clothing was so plain as to be almost austere. He wore black and white, his shirtfront with barely a ruffle, his only ornament the gold of his watch chain, the dull gleam of the intaglio seal ring and the glow of the amethyst in his neckcloth. ‘Do you get up to town much?’

  ‘No.’ Matthew’s voice was sulky. ‘I’m kept tied to this place, at Father’s beck and call.’

  ‘He is sick after all. I have no doubt you’re a help to him.’

  ‘Ha! He’s got perfectly good stewa
rds and agents, but nothing will satisfy him but that he has to have a finger in every pie, read every report, send me out to check on this and that, and then what I tell him is always wrong, or too short in some tiresome detail or I’ve missed the point. Again.’

  Tess felt a twinge of reluctant sympathy for the young man. His father must be seething with impatience at his own limitations and nothing Matthew did was going to be good enough. ‘What would you prefer to be doing, Mr Tempest?’ she asked him.

  He shrugged, then seemed to realise he was speaking to a guest and a lady and took the sullen look off his face. ‘Breed hunters. Hunt.’

  ‘Be a country squire, in effect,’ Alex said.

  ‘Nothing wrong with that. I’m the younger son after all.’ The aggression was back in his voice and Tess cast around for a neutral topic of conversation.

  ‘I am so looking forward to seeing something of the English countryside. I have lived in Ghent for years.’ From the hallway came the sound of raised voices and she broke off as the door opened.

  Lady Moreland came in, still speaking over her shoulder as she did so. ‘John, James, do be careful. Moreland, I do think—’

  ‘I am going to eat dinner at my own board and see what this nonsense about that popinjay Alexander coming back is about.’ The earl entered, batting irritably at the two footmen who were attempting to steady him on either side. ‘Get off, damn it, I’m not in my coffin yet.’ He stopped dead and stared. ‘My God, he really is here. I thought Matthew must have been drinking. Alexander?’

  ‘Father.’ Two syllables. Two perfectly civil drops of ice.

  Tess, her gaze flickering between the men, wondered if Alex was as shocked as his father. He had made a barely discernible movement when the earl came in. Now he was stock-still.

  It must be like staring into a looking glass, one that aged the viewer on one hand and stripped years away on the other. They were obviously father and son. Everything proclaimed it—their height, their bone structure with those high cheekbones and thin nose. Alex had his eyes from his mother, but that was all. Lord Moreland had once had the physique to match his son; now the broad shoulders seemed bony and, despite the careful tailoring, his evening clothes looked loose, as though he had lost a lot of weight recently. His hair was still thick, but faded into grey now, and the heavy eyebrows were almost white. How old was he? Fifty-five, sixty? He should be in his prime, and he certainly resented its loss as much as he suffered from his symptoms.