The Earl's Christmas Consultant

by Bianca Blythe

  “I thought we could use it as a Christmas tree.”

  He blinked. “What on earth is that?”

  “The royals have it.”

  “I did not know you were acquainted with the whims of the royals.”

  “Well, I am acquainted with the whims of Germans, and it was popular in Bavaria to bring trees indoors and decorate them.”

  “I see. The regent also favors making his pavilion look like the Taj Mahal, but that doesn’t mean we have to do that.”

  “I didn’t know you were so fond of his pavilion.”

  His face blushed.

  “I’m not here to discuss the finer architectural details of the pavilion,” she said.

  “Why on earth would people want to bring trees indoors?” he asked.

  She swallowed hard, for a moment not quite sure why it was so very popular to bring Christmas trees indoors. Perhaps it was an odd notion. Perhaps he was correct to be skeptical.

  “The tree will survive with just a bit of water,” she said. “If we can find a way to prop it up, it will be quite pleasant to look at, and we can hang all sort of baubles on it.”

  “I’m not sure I’m convinced.”

  “You don’t have to be. You’re paying me to know what to do.”

  His face definitely seemed to be ruddier.

  “Now, do you know where to find an ax, or should I find your woodman?”

  He cleared his throat. “You may ask the housekeeper for help in locating the woodman tomorrow morning and instruct him on which tree to cut.”

  She blinked. “Of course. You’re quite busy.”

  “Yes,” he said curtly.

  THE DAY HAD TURNED awkward, and he lengthened his strides. The snow crunched beneath them, sounding awkwardly into the air. How had he come from suggesting skating to almost kissing her?

  He quickened his strides to the manor house.

  He’d had such an urge to kiss her. If she hadn’t fallen, he would have. He could still imagine how her lips might taste, how it might feel to run his hands through her hair and he could still remember how it felt to clasp her dainty waist in his hands.

  He couldn’t go about kissing her. She worked for him. The thought of kissing her was preposterous.

  He was not going to be one of those men. He’d thought he would ask her to dine with him. Her position was different from that of a mere maid. Sometimes he dined with Harrison, but now Harrison was gone, still finalizing things at Hades’ Lair. Dining alone wasn’t something he embraced, and they still had a lot to talk about. It would practically be a business meeting.

  And yet... He turned to her. All that he thought about was the shape of her small nose, the smoothness of her cheeks, and the manner they had pinkened because of the frosty temperature.

  When they returned to the manor house, he did not invite her to dine with him.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I should have asked her to dine with me.

  He’d felt bound by a propriety he hadn’t known he subscribed to.

  Since when had she become so beautiful? She’d seemed ordinary in London, a poor testament to his powers of observation. Now he was conscious of the particular energy she brought and recognized it as improper. The night before though they’d dined at the public house together.

  The following afternoon, when he next saw her, he did not hesitate to speak with Flora. “Have dinner with me.”

  “Truly?”

  “I don’t have anyone else to have dinner with,” he said hastily. “Besides, we can make it a business meeting. You can tell me about your ideas for the ball, and we can see how we can have it.”

  She nodded. “Very well.”

  AN ADVANTAGE OF NOT having many clothes was that Flora did not have to worry about what to wear. She chose her nicest dress, the one she’d planned to wear at the ball. Not that she would be dancing. She would be speaking with the servants and making certain the ball was going smoothly.

  She washed first, and then she took off her morning dress and slipped on her best dress. It was a respectable black, though the color had long ago faded. In certain lights it appeared blue, and in others brown. It would have to do. She placed a lace collar around her neck that she hoped improved it, and then she swept her hair up into a knot.

  Her hair appeared harsh, and she frowned. Perhaps she could do something more elegant. She always wore a stern knot, but she knew how to do many hairstyles. Perhaps she could do one on herself.

  She borrowed some curling tongs. She was unused to using them at this angle, but she found the procedure somehow relaxing. It was nice to have something else to concentrate on, and she smiled when she saw herself in the mirror.

  She should be thinking about the food, that promised to be more delicious than anything she encountered in the servants’ quarter, but the thoughts in her mind were not of the food, but of dining with the earl.

  Finally, she entered the dining room.

  The man was handsome, unnervingly so. Candlelight imbued the room with a warmth she did not associate with the manor house. She wondered what it would look like when the candelabras also had Christmas decorations. There wasn’t any music, and it was just them, but it still seemed wonderful.

  The earl appeared regal. He seemed more somber, and his smile was less wide than before. He’d also dressed for dinner, even though she was just a servant, and surely it would not have been strictly necessary. Silver cufflinks gleamed under the candlelight.

  WHEN WOLFE SAW HER enter the room, he knew dinner was a bad idea after all. It had seemed to make sense at the time. He had wanted to prolong the joy of the day, and they did, after all, need to talk. Why not when they were eating?

  It was a simple practicality. A mathematical solution.

  And yet, nothing about her reminded him of mathematics. She was beautiful. She’d worn a different gown, though equally plain, embellished by a simple lace collar around her neck that made his chest tighten. He considered whether it had been expensive for her. It might be nice to buy her something beautiful. He imagined visiting the haberdashery, but rather than selecting ribbons for candelabras and chandeliers, they would select ribbons for her.

  Her hair was arranged beautifully. No earrings, no necklace, and no fan obscured her. She didn’t sparkle by other means, but solely by some light within her. It was odd that he’d had dinners with dozens of beautiful women over the years, often in his private apartments, and yet he wasn’t sure they affected him in the same manner as she did.

  He jumped to his feet, conscious he’d been too late in greeting her, lost in his own thoughts. He helped her into a seat. Something flickered on the footman’s face, but then the food arrived.

  The food was probably delicious, but he couldn’t taste it. The only thing he concentrated on was Flora herself. She appeared beautiful.

  He directed the conversation to the Christmas ball, lest he continue to compliment her. Such a thing might cause even the most stalwart footman to raise his eyebrow. He was having dinner, that was all.

  “Why are you hosting the Christmas ball?” Flora asked after a while.

  “You think it unusual for an unmarried man?”

  “I wasn’t dwelling on the fact that you were unmarried,” she said.

  “My sister is also unmarried,” he said. “My friend, the Duke of Vernon, was supposed to marry her. But she ran off with—”

  “My mistress,” Flora said, and her cheeks pinkened. “I know.”

  “Unfortunately, my sister did not know until after they were married.”

  Flora looked down. “That must have been painful.”

  “Presumably,” Wolfe mused.

  Flora tilted her head. “You don’t know?”

  “She expressed anger.”

  “Tears?”

  “I wouldn’t tell you that.”

  “Of course. Forgive me.”

  He sighed. “Actually... There weren’t any tears. She knew him only as a childhood friend who seemed terribly inefficie
nt in setting a date.” He shrugged. “Marriages have been built on much less.”

  “They’ve also been built on much more.”

  “Well. She can have her pick of people at the ball.”

  Flora smiled.

  “Why does that amuse you?”

  “Lady Isla has been to balls before. And from everything I’ve heard, she has no problem shining at them.”

  “She is a good McIntyre.”

  Flora continued to scrutinize him.

  “What are you thinking?” Wolfe asked, even though he was not certain he wanted to know.

  “I think you want to have her here. I think it’s not about getting to marry her off at all.”

  “Nonsense.” He shook his head rapidly.

  The footman took away their plates. They’d finished dinner.

  It was time for Wolfe to excuse himself, but he found himself lingering. “May I see the ballroom?”

  “Naturally,” she said. “I’ve been adding garlands to it.”

  They left the dining room, and he followed Flora through the corridors toward the ballroom. She moved gracefully, and her form was delicate and shapely.

  Flora opened the heavy wooden door to the ballroom.

  “It’s wonderful,” Wolfe murmured.

  He’d always intended to compliment her, knowing she’d been working hard on it, but it truly was magnificent. The once plain room was transformed. Perhaps the fireplace did not have any carvings in its stone, and perhaps the walls were not paneled with elaborate wood designs, but it didn’t matter. Mistletoe, holly and ivy hung from the ceiling.

  He inhaled the scent of cloves and cinnamon, oranges and all manner of greenery.

  “It’s spectacular,” he murmured.

  “I’m glad,” she said. “Some people consider it bad luck to hang greenery before Christmas, but I was hardly going to have the servants do it right on Christmas.”

  She was so beautiful. Golden light from the candles flickered over her skin. It danced in her hair and over her cheeks, and he wanted to touch it. He wanted to touch her.

  “I think I have sufficient luck.” He hesitated and then moved closer.

  FLORA WAS DISTRACTED by his presence. His lips were so near hers.

  “After all,” the earl said, pulling her closer. “I’ve met you.”

  “You don’t mean that,” she said.

  “I do,” he said, more seriously.

  His eyes locked hers, and everything changed. The world shifted.

  The earl wasn’t supposed to be staring at her like that. His eyes weren’t supposed to be softening, and he wasn’t supposed to be closing the distance between them.

  “I must be the luckiest man in Scotland. The moment I needed assistance with this ball, you put up that advertisement.” He pushed a wayward curl behind her ear causing her to flush. “I’ve never been one to celebrate Christmas, but I think I’m beginning to believe that Christmas may be magic.” His eyes bore into hers.

  This can’t be happening, Flora thought as Wolfe leaned down, and she closed her eyes and lifted her chin to meet him.

  He kissed her. The word was insufficient at describing the bliss that she experienced. She’d heard people praise the action of kissing, but she’d never known mere lips could make energy thrum through one’s being.

  Their lips danced, even though Flora had never realized dancing was a function lips could have. Wolfe’s lips seemed to be the absolute master at it though, and she could feel his hands on her neck.

  Finally, Wolfe pulled back, and Flora released him immediately, feeling a hollowness as he stepped away.

  “Forgive me.” Lord McIntyre broke away. “That was uncalled for.”

  She stared at him. Her heart beat madly.

  “I should go.” The earl moved, and his footsteps sounded heavy on the wooden floor. The noise reverberated in the room, a testament to its emptiness.

  DEVIL IT.

  He shouldn’t have kissed her.

  And yet he’d almost kissed her before. Not kissing her seemed a difficult task.

  He frowned. What sort of man couldn’t keep their hands off a servant? Not a good one.

  One wasn’t supposed to desire one’s maid. It was practically a cliché. One expected perhaps older, tottering aristocrats to occasionally succumb to mistiness when viewing their maids, but that could be attributed to the fact that tottering old men did not generally go out. Carriage rides were unpleasant even when one had one’s full health. Wolfe was hardly tottering, and he’d been referenced frequently as one of London’s top rogues.

  Hiring Flora had seemed like a good idea, but he was wrong: it was the very worst one he’d ever had.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  She’d been kissed.

  Flora would have preferred if the man giving her first kiss had not looked horror stricken immediately afterward and she certainly would have preferred it if he had not rushed from the room.

  Apart from those events, the kiss had been nice.

  Exceedingly nice.

  She stared at the mistletoe. Perhaps people said it was bad luck to refuse a kiss underneath it, but now she’d accepted a kiss, and nothing good had come from it.

  She strode upstairs, removing the pins from her hair. She shouldn’t have bothered trying to look pleasant. It hadn’t taken the earl more than a few seconds to remember who she was, and why kissing her was a terrible matter. She wondered if he’d ever fled from any other woman he’d kissed. She suspected he had not.

  She climbed into her bed. She’d thought it luxurious to have a single room when she arrived, but now she would be happy to have some company. Her heart continued to beat a nervous rhythm, not calmed by the frigid sheets.

  She’d taken pride in her work as a maid. If she hadn’t been good at her position, she never would have become the duchess’s lady’s maid. The earl had only complimented earlier on fulfilling her role as a Christmas consultant well, but any accomplishment did not matter: in the end, she was simply a servant.

  She supposed there must be some honor for him in the fact he didn’t desire to take advantage of her, but she’d known him when she was a young girl. He was the only person who’d heard her music. And yet, he’d fled.

  She attempted to sleep, and when she finally awoke, she was surprised that she’d managed any sleep at all. Last night’s experience continued to course through her, and she dressed hastily, eager to concentrate on something, anything else.

  Perhaps she could find the woodman after breakfast to ask him for help in cutting down a tree, and she marched down the stairs.

  Miss Potter was already in the kitchen. “Good morning, dearie.”

  “Good morning.”

  Miss Potter’s eyes glimmered. “The butler told me that you dined with the earl.”

  “Oh.” Flora’s heart tightened. “We did.”

  Miss Potter seemed to be always smiling, but Flora was certain her smile became even wider.

  “Only to discuss Christmas matters,” Flora said hastily. “It was quite dull.”

  “Mm...hmm.” Miss Potter seemed to now be flicking meaningful glances at Flora.

  “There are quite a lot of details,” Flora continued.

  Miss Potter rested a hand on her waist. “I’ve been working for the earl for years, and not a single time did he suggest that we dine together. And I assure you, there are quite a few details that he needs to be involved in as well.”

  Flora felt her skin warm.

  “In fact,” Miss Potter continued, “he’s never even asked the butler to dine with him, though that may be because they’re both men.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” Flora said.

  “I think it was precisely like that,” Miss Potter said, her tone more serious. “The earl is a good man, but you should be careful, dearie. He’s not going to marry you.”

  “N-naturally not,” Flora stammered.

  She wanted to confide everything to Miss Potter, but after Christmas, Flora would leave for C
ornwall, and Miss Potter would continue to work for the earl.

  “Does the woodman still live in the cottage by the lake?” Flora asked.

  “Yes, my dear,” Miss Potter said.

  “I wanted to call on him,” Flora said. “I need his services to cut down a tree.”

  Miss Potter’s eyes widened. “Is there a problem with one of the trees?”

  “Oh, no, they’re all magnificent,” Flora said. “He evidently does a wonderful job maintaining the grounds.”

  “We all do what we can,” Miss Potter said. “We don’t have many visitors, but we do like the place to be nice.”

  Other manor homes had elaborate gardens attached to them, but that hadn’t been Lord McIntyre’s father’s way. There were no mazes in which to be lost, and no rose bushes to smell, not that even the most fragrant flowers would be emitting any scent at this time of year.

  “But I’m afraid Mr. Duncan is visiting his brother in Dundee. He’s apparently taken sick, poor thing.”

  “Oh.”

  “That’s nice that he was able to travel,” she said.

  “There’s not that much work here,” Miss Potter said, “what with the late earl and countess having passed on. Their children don’t much care for this region. But it’s good the new earl has kept all of us old staff on. We do appreciate it, even if we don’t see him every year. It’s not what other people would do. Some people just have their staff travel with them to save on expenses. No one would blame the earl if he decided to do that.”

  The earl was kind and thoughtful.

  If the woodman was gone, she would have to cut down a tree herself. Flora put on her coat and boots after breakfast, and strode down toward the woodman’s cottage. She’d done the same walk yesterday, and the countryside had seemed more beautiful than any other place. It remained lovely, but the wind seemed sharper than the day before. The earl’s and her footsteps from the day before had been covered by new snow, and her feet seemed to sink deeper into the snow.

  No matter.

  Just reason why she had to get the tree today. Perhaps she could have asked a groom for assistance, but Flora wasn’t wary of doing work. She could cut down a tree as well as any man. A groom or footman wouldn’t have any more expertise than her.