His Housekeeper's Christmas Wish

by Louise Allen

  The clock struck ten. He knocked and entered. ‘Good morning, Father.’ He would not give way to the urge to say my lord. The man was his parent.

  ‘Sit down.’ His father sat behind the great mahogany desk that still looked vast, even from an adult’s viewpoint. ‘Let us not beat about the bush. Your mother would have me understand that you are not the effeminate pervert I accused you of being.’

  ‘Well, that is certainly to the point.’ Alex settled himself in the chair opposite. ‘Let me be equally clear. I have never been attracted to my own sex. I have never been with a member of my own sex. However, I do have—and had—friends who have that sexual inclination and I will not stay in this house to hear them insulted in the terms you have just used.’

  His father’s pale face flushed an unhealthy red. ‘It is a hanging offence.’

  ‘Indeed it is. And let us be clear about something else, as well. You accused Peter Agnew, my best friend, of being my lover.’

  ‘He was older than you, he had a reputation—’

  ‘He was my friend. Never my lover.’ Alex fought to keep rational, not to shout and rant, throw all the anger that had seethed inside over the blind prejudice that had led his father to leap to conclusions. ‘We had grown up together and he was like an older brother to me. He knew very well that I was attracted to women, and only women. God, I must have bored him to tears, pouring out all my youthful infatuations with this girl and that, confiding all the things that worried me before the first time.

  ‘He would have no more tried to seduce me than any man of honour would attempt to seduce the daughter of a friend. In my ignorance, I had no idea how he felt about me until I read the letter he sent me before he blew out his brains. And he did that because you’d broadcast his name around the neighbourhood. Would you have had the restraint and the decency to suppress everything you felt for someone because it was for their own good? Would I? That keeps me awake at night sometimes, wondering. I have no idea if I can ever forgive you for it.’ Somehow he had said it without losing his temper, without raising his voice.

  He had never spoken of it except to his four friends at university. He had fled back to Oxford, angry, guilty, racked with shame and grief. They’d listened, Cris and Grant and Gabriel. Cris had simply flung his arms around him in a bear hug and then Gabe handed him a large brandy and Grant had said, ‘Whatever you want to do, we’re with you.’ He knew then he could stand on his own two feet and that they would always have his back, just as he would have theirs.

  His father was still glowering. Strangely it made it easier to stay calm. ‘I really do not understand why you feel I had to fit into the mould of hunting, drinking, wenching masculinity you favour in order to be an adequate heir to the earldom. I was bookish, interested in art. That was, apparently, enough to label me less than manly.’ Alex shrugged. ‘If you had taken the trouble, you might have discovered that I am an excellent fencer, a more than adequate rider and that I actually perform quite well in the boxing ring. I just tend to do it all rather quietly and while dressed with elegance.’

  His father glowered at him. ‘You had no idea about young Agnew? Damn it, rumours were flying about his behaviour at Cambridge. I assumed…’

  Alex stared back at the red face opposite him. If his father was going to bluster and rant, refuse to accept he had been wrong, then he was going to walk out of this house and never come back.

  ‘I was wrong.’ Gradually the hectic colour in his father’s face subsided.

  Alex let out the breath he had been unaware of holding, unclenched his hands from the arms of the chair. You stubborn, thickheaded old devil. Why not just ask me? Alex got up, poured a glass of brandy and set it by his hand. ‘You look as though you could do with that.’

  ‘What are your debts?’ the earl snapped.

  ‘Debts? None at all. I am a rich man, Father. I don’t need your money. I most certainly do not need this aggravation.’

  ‘So doing your duty is an aggravation, is it?’

  ‘Certainly. I doubt I’ll have any time for my own business or for travelling, not if I’m to do this properly.’

  ‘You’ll need a wife. Time you were setting up your nursery.’ He narrowed his eyes in calculation. ‘Not that young woman you’ve brought with you. Pleasant chit, unspoiled, I like that. But no family from what I could extract from her.’

  ‘No.’ No family that would acknowledge her, that was certain. The heir to an earldom did not marry an unknown miss straight from a convent. He certainly did not marry the illegitimate offspring of the daughter of a near neighbour. It had not struck him that he might want to marry Tess until he had seen the evidence of her parentage in black and white in the Peerage. Foolish that, to be so attracted to a woman, to feel so protective of her, so aroused by her and not realise that he was developing feelings that went far deeper than affection. Foolish and damnably painful.

  It was tempting to announce that he would never marry and to stick the knife in that way, but that, too, was foolish. He had to wed; he knew that now. All he had to do was accept it.

  ‘I’ll squire Maria around for her Season. That will expose me to all the eligibles.’ It would make him feel like a buyer at a cattle market. How the devil did you come to know a woman that way? He knew Tess right through to her heart, and after last night he thought he probably knew her soul deep, as well.

  He couldn’t just abandon her, not after she had given him everything, and all because she saw him as another stray to care for, like Dorcas and Annie or that damned kitten. Somehow he had to get her to accept an allowance.

  ‘What’s making you look so sour?’ The earl tossed back a mouthful of brandy.

  My guilty conscience. And this damn pain round my heart. ‘The thought of Almack’s.’ Alex looked at his father and dug deep into his reserves of patience and diplomacy. He was far from forgiving, an infinity from accepting, but he had to make this work for the sake of his mother and sister, for the earldom. ‘Tell me what needs doing and we’ll work this out.’ Somehow.

  *

  Tess made her way to the drawing room, feeling absurdly conspicuous. No one had observed her whispered consultation with MacDonald, Dorcas and Byfleet, but she was sure Lady Moreland would thoroughly disapprove. What she would think about how her son had spent the previous night, Tess shuddered to think. The shudder turned into a frisson of remembered delight at the thought of Alex’s hands on her body, just as she turned a corner and walked straight into him.

  ‘Alex.’

  He pulled her close and bent his head. ‘I need you.’

  ‘Alex, we can’t—not here.’ Yes, please, right here. Kiss me… ‘But we must talk, urgently.’

  ‘What is wrong?’ He opened the nearest door and bundled her into what proved to be a small, cold sitting room. ‘We shouldn’t be disturbed here, it was never used except in the summer.’ He sat down on a settee and pulled her on to his lap. ‘Snuggle up, you’ll get cold. Now tell me what is wrong. Is it about last night? I can’t regret it, although I know I should. Are you sorry this morning, Tess?’

  ‘No, certainly not. It was very…’

  ‘Nice? Adequate? Alarming?’

  ‘Stop fishing for compliments.’ She curled into his embrace and butted him gently under the chin. ‘It was surprising and wonderful and I feel very womanly this morning.’

  ‘Hmm.’ He nuzzled against her neck. ‘I think you feel very womanly, too. So what is concerning you?’

  ‘Christmas and our—your—staff. We had promised them a whole day to themselves—now what do we do? The staff here seem to expect to have to spend the entire day looking after the household.’

  ‘I suppose they do.’ She could hear the frown in Alex’s voice. ‘I never thought about it as a child, or a thoroughly selfish youth. Christmases just happened and they were crowded, noisy and involved a lot of people who spent most of the time arguing and eating and drinking too much. Are you sure you want to bother with this?’

  She sat up s
traight and frowned at him. ‘I thought you’d accepted that we were going to celebrate Christmas. You bought presents, you let us decorate the house…’

  ‘That was back in London. You could have your Christmas downstairs, do what you like. If we start something here, goodness knows where it will end—the entire family glowering at each other around the dinner table while the carol singers serenade us, I expect.’

  ‘It might help bring everyone together,’ she ventured.

  ‘I don’t want bringing together.’ There was silence. ‘I suppose you are going to be disappointed.’

  ‘Yes.’ She was not letting him wriggle out of this.

  ‘Very well. I’ll talk to Mama. In fact, we’ll both talk to her. I’ll explain that you were organising it for me because Hannah was sick.’

  He did not seem to be in any hurry to move. ‘Alex?’

  ‘Wriggle like that again.’ His huff of laughter tickled her ear, his good humour apparently resorted. ‘Come on, then, let’s find Mama.’

  *

  Lady Moreland was in her sitting room with her household accounts spread out before her. ‘Alexander, can you explain why we appear to be consuming three times more wax candles than this time last year?’

  ‘No idea, I’m afraid. Mama, I brought my household staff with me as you know. I had promised them the whole of Christmas Day off for their own celebrations, now I find myself in a difficulty because we are here.’

  ‘The entire day? You are very generous, Alexander.’

  ‘I normally just have a cold meal that day. Miss Ellery and Mrs White profess themselves willing to make do, as well.’

  ‘We wondered,’ Tess ventured, ‘if perhaps a hot luncheon would be sufficient for above stairs, with a cold buffet laid out for the evening. All of the downstairs staff could then celebrate together.’

  ‘We could forgo dressing for dinner, just this once, Mama,’ Alex said. ‘An afternoon and evening doesn’t seem too extravagant, once a year.’

  ‘Unless that would be too disruptive for Lord Moreland?’ Tess said, suddenly wondering how that sickly and irritable despot would take to the idea.

  ‘If Alexander can persuade his father, then I have no objection. To tell you the truth, a quiet Christmas would be a blessing just now.’

  ‘Forgive me, Lady Moreland. I do not wish to presume, but would it be helpful if I speak to the staff about it—provided we have his lordship’s consent? I would wish to be of assistance.’

  The countess looked at Tess, a small, considering smile on her lips. Tess shifted under the gaze. Was no longer a virgin emblazoned on her forehead? Or perhaps she was allowing her feelings for Alex to show. But his mother was definitely smiling. ‘Thank you, my dear. I think that would be very…appropriate. Alexander, tell your father I am in favour of this scheme.’

  Tess glanced at Alex, relieved, but surprised, and found that he was looking at his mother with a quizzical expression as though he, too, was taken aback by those smiles and her agreement. She shrugged inwardly. Provided no one found out that she was sharing Alex’s bed and no one discovered who she was, then there was nothing to worry about.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘We will go and find Garnett and take his advice on how to proceed with our party.’ Alex steered Tess in the direction of the main hall.

  ‘Your mother… I expected her to be reluctant,’ Tess confessed. ‘And yet she seemed quite approving of it.’

  ‘I suspect the approval is for you rather than the scheme,’ Alex said.

  She wished they were in private so she could rub away the lines from between his brows. It took her a moment to realise just what he was frowning about. ‘For me? She thinks you and I… But surely she knows I am a nobody?’

  ‘Does she? Besides, you are not a nobody, you are very much yourself.’

  How could he pretend to make light of it? ‘I mean, does she realise that I am quite ineligible?’

  ‘Probably not,’ Alex conceded.

  So there goes that foolish little daydream, the one where your King Cophetua falls for you, the beggar maid, marries you and defies all convention. Of course Alex has more sense than that. ‘Then, you had better tell her before she comes to any embarrassing conclusions,’ Tess said, more snappishly than she intended. It wasn’t Alex’s fault that he was heir to an earldom and she was the illegitimate child of a scandalous liaison. Not that he knows that, she mused as they came out into the hallway. He knows I am ineligible enough, even if he believes I am legitimate. No money, no connections…

  ‘Alex! What in blazes do you think you are doing?’ Matthew thudded down the staircase, his boot heels like thunder on the old polished oak.

  ‘Organising Christmas dinner, since you ask,’ Alex drawled, coming to a halt under a trophy arrangement of swords and rapiers that fanned out across the entire wall.

  ‘To hell with Christmas dinner. What do you mean by thinking you can exile me to the other end of the county, give away property—’

  ‘You will kindly mind your language in front of Miss Ellery. I have neither the power nor the inclination to exile you anywhere and I certainly do not have the ability to give away any of the lands, although why you are objecting since they would end up in your hands, I have no idea. I merely suggested to Father that as you wanted to set up your own estate, he give you one of the unentailed properties to the west.’

  ‘To get me out of the way? And the old fool thinks that because you boast about your swordplay and your riding that you’re a fit heir all of a sudden?’ Matthew was pacing up and down, hands clenched, shoulders hunched, for all the world like an angry bull, Tess thought.

  ‘Excuse me. This is obviously a family matter.’ She stepped back into the passageway, then stopped behind the shelter of a screen. She did not want to eavesdrop, but nor did she like the edge of violence in Matthew’s ranting.

  ‘I am the heir. It is not a matter of choice.’ Alex was hanging on to his patience somehow. ‘I suggested he double your allowance, set you up with a good property in recompense for the fact you’ve been landed with all the work up to now. If you hate the idea, then stay here.’

  ‘And watch you mincing around?’

  ‘I do not mince.’ It sounded to Tess as though Alex’s patience was stretched to breaking point. Why his brother seemed to be constantly jibing about his masculinity baffled her.

  ‘Of course, I was forgetting you were a great swordsman. So show me.’

  There was the sound of metal scraping against metal, then Alex said sharply, ‘Take care, Matthew, there are no buttons on those foils.’

  ‘All the better to prick you with, brother dear.’

  Tess looked round the screen in time to see Mathew, foil in right hand, throw a second at Alex. He caught it by the hilt and pointed it at the floor. ‘Don’t be a fool.’

  ‘What, scared of a little sport?’ Matthew was in a fighting stance, feet spread, left arm out behind, the unblunted foil pointing directly at Alex’s heart.

  ‘Not at all, but do tell me, are you attempting to alter the succession?’ Alex enquired and lifted his own weapon, adopting the same position. Tess could not see his face, but his posture seemed dangerously relaxed. She recalled how he had looked just before he’d hit the sailor on the ship and felt reassured.

  ‘Alter the succession? No, you’re welcome to it, but I would be interested to see whether you bleed water or red blood.’

  ‘At this time in the morning, coffee.’ Alex moved suddenly, a flickering lunge with the blade, and Matthew jumped back. Tess winced at the clash of metal and the two stopped talking and began to fight, it seemed to her, in deadly earnest.

  Matthew was more aggressive, stockier and heavier and, to her ignorant eye, far more serious. Alex moved less, but with more grace, and he used his foil with an economy and accuracy that seemed to expend far less effort.

  His brother was panting now, with sweat on his brow. Alex, as the fight brought him circling round to face her, looked cool. Matthew lun
ged straight for Alex’s ribs. Tess clapped her hand over her mouth to stop the scream as Alex stood stock still, let the blade come, then sidestepped at the last moment. His left hand came down to fasten on Matthew’s wrist and with a twist the foil went clattering against the wall.

  In the ringing silence Tess braced herself for Matthew to lash out at his brother, but he straightened, his wrist still in Alex’s grasp. ‘Where did you learn to fight like that?’

  ‘Germany. Where did you?’

  ‘Father. We’ve been wrong about you, haven’t we?’ Matthew seemed half sullen, half embarrassed.

  ‘Because I can use the foils?’ Alex grinned. ‘You should get around more, little brother. The man who taught me swordplay fought, shall we say, for the opposition. So does the man who gave me that in Gentleman Jackson’s boxing ring.’ He touched a finger to the thin scar on his cheekbone. ‘But yes, you were wrong about me. I hate to break it to you, but an interest in the arts and a disinclination to slaughter everything with fur, feathers or fins is not a reliable indicator of very much, I’m afraid.’

  Tess wondered what on earth they were talking about. But whatever it was, it had changed Matthew’s attitude. ‘You’ve boxed with Jackson? The Jackson?’

  ‘There is only one.’ Alex stretched up to hook the foils back in their place on the wall. ‘Come on, let’s go and have a look at the maps, discuss which of those two manors you want and I’ll show you a really tricksy cross-buttock throw the Gentleman taught me.’

  He had certainly forgotten she was there if he was discussing buttocks.

  *

  Alex waited until Matthew closed the library door behind him and was looking at him before he knocked him on to his backside with a sharp right to the jaw.

  ‘What the hell was that for?’ Matthew stared up at him, rubbed his jaw, but seemed disinclined to get up and return the punch.

  ‘Swearing in front of Miss Ellery, fooling about with unguarded foils and generally being an ass.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ His brother grinned, then winced. ‘At least, for the first two, guilty as charged. But what am I supposed to think when Father loses his temper, throws accusations at you and you walk out and are never seen again?’