A Lady’s Christmas Rake

by Andresen, Tammy

  Stanhope’s eyes widened. “You expect me to allow her to return with you? Again, without a chaperone?” He shook his head. “I could not do so in good conscience.”

  Wesley’s hopes sank. “Then what do you propose?”

  “As long as you refuse to provide me with her actual identity,” Stanhope said, annoyance in his voice, “so that I may call upon her relatives to retrieve her, I’m afraid I must insist on her staying at Stanhope Grove. Here, at least, my mother’s as well as my sister’s presence shall assure that no harm come to her reputation.”

  Closing his eyes, Wesley sighed. This was worse than expected, and yet, he probably shouldn’t be surprised at all for Arthur Abbott, Earl of Stanhope, had never met a rule he didn’t like or felt compelled to obey.

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Seven − For a Lady's Reputation

  “If you’ll promise to stay for luncheon,” Eleanor beamed, almost tripping over her words in her eagerness to gain Christine’s acceptance, “I shall show you the mask I had fashioned for the ball. It is quite splendid, I assure you.”

  “I’m certain it is.” Awfully tempted to stay at Stanhope Grove for as long as possible, Christine glanced at the door through which Wesley and Lord Stanhope had left. Now, that her warden had found her−not that she could blame him for it certainly had been her doing−she had very little hope of an extended stay, and so she did not dare accept Eleanor’s kind invitation. “I most certainly would love to stay on,” she admitted, “however, I am unaware of Mr. Everett’s current plans and can, therefore, not accept without conferring with him first.”

  “I understand,” Eleanor said, her spirits a little subdued but still hopeful. “Then we shall ask him as soon as he returns.”

  Glancing at Lady Stanhope, Christine thought to detect more than just a hint of disapproval in the older lady’s watchful grey eyes. They seemed like those of a bird of prey, clear and sharp, able to detect every movement in their surroundings, and currently, they were trained on Christine.

  From the slight crinkle of Lady Stanhope’s nose as well as the way she had raised her chin when looking at her, Christine was fairly certain that Lord Stanhope’s mother did not approve of her. Was it just a general dislike? Christine wondered. Or did she suspect something untoward? Remembering the manner in which she had shown up on their doorstep as well as her made-up explanation for her presence, Christine could not fault her for thinking the worst.

  Sighing, she felt like hanging her head. It wasn’t even noon yet, and already at least two people had looked at her with disregard, thinking her a man’s mistress!

  Christine knew it bothered her more than she liked to admit especially since she could not defend herself. After all, whenever people would accuse another of something, it was rarely done to their face but rather whispered about behind their back.

  And yet, despite the uncomfortable feelings Lady Stanhope’s disdainful looks stirred within her, Christine’s heart wilted at the thought of returning to Sanford Manor and being locked away in that sad, little room. She’d much rather spent the remainder of the day at Stanhope Grove, conversing with young Eleanor. Especially after Wesley had made it perfectly clear that he had no intention of…accepting her proposal.

  “Eleanor,” Lady Stanhope said, rising from the settee, “I believe you have not yet finished the embroidery on…that cushion.” Glancing at Christine, she stepped toward the door, her eyes narrowing. “I suggest you take your leave.”

  “But, Mother,” Eleanor began before her shoulders slumped and she turned to Christine, an apologetic and openly regretful look in her pale blue eyes. “It’s been such a pleasure to make your acquaintance, and I truly hope that Mr. Everett’s schedule allows you to extend your visit.”

  “As do I,” Christine replied whole-heartedly.

  Ushering her daughter out of the room, Lady Stanhope fixed Christine with a last, hard look before she almost imperceptibly shook her head in open disapproval that left no doubt in Christine’s mind just how low her opinion was of her.

  Finding herself alone in a room once again, Christine sighed. This was truly an unfortunate Christmas season; as uneventful as any she had ever experienced. She could only hope that her thoughtless behaviour hadn't ruined it for her sister as well. Oh, if only Lord Stanhope hadn't been out that early! What had the man been thinking? Come to think of it, all this was actually his fault for…for…

  Christine cursed under her breath, knowing only too well that there was no way she would be able to convince even herself that none of this had been her doing. If only Wesley hadn't proposed! If only she hadn't found herself tempted!

  Closing her eyes for a moment, an image of her sister’s tear-streaked face appeared before Christine's inner eye, and a pang of guilt ricocheted through her. She truly ought to be more grateful for the trifles that bothered her in life compared to the desperate fear that threatened to consume Catherine. If only she knew how things were going at Harrington Park!

  However, Christine had little time to dwell on such musings for only a moment after Lady Stanhope and Eleanor had left, the door opened once more and Wesley as well as Lord Stanhope stepped inside. While the young lord stayed back, taking up position in the corner by the door, his eyes averted, and yet, glancing in their direction, Wesley walked over to her, his face pale and his shoulders tense.

  Rising from the armchair she had occupied for the past hour, Christine stepped toward him, a lump in her throat as she met his eyes. “Is something wrong?” she whispered, eyes shifting to Lord Stanhope.

  Wesley sighed. “It most certainly is.”

  A cold shiver ran down Christine’s back as she saw the hint of torment in his eyes. “What happened? Why is he here?”

  Wesley chuckled. “He is here to assure that no harm comes to your precious reputation.”

  For a moment, Christine merely stared at him. “What? What did you tell him?”

  “What did I tell him?” Wesley snapped, fighting to keep his voice down. “What were you thinking leaving as you did? Do you have any idea how much trouble we’re in right now?”

  Christine sighed. “I’m sorry, but I just…I had to get out of the house. I never meant to come here. I assure you, and I hope that you can believe me.” Remembering her dream, she took a step backward, suddenly all too aware of his presence. “I needed a little bit of distance.”

  Gritting his teeth, Wesley took a slow breath. “Whatever the reason, coming here changed everything.”

  “What do you mean? Are we not returning to Sanford Manor?” Once more, Christine glanced at Lord Stanhope. His eyes shone in a clear grey, just like his mother’s. However, while his mother’s had been cold and calculating, the young lord’s held concern and compassion.

  “Unfortunately, not.” Shifting his eyes to his friend for but a moment, Wesley sighed. “The situation is as follows: my dear friend, Lord Stanhope, is a very enthusiastic advocate for maintaining proper etiquette at all times. Therefore, he refuses to allow us to leave together−unchaperoned as we are−because he fears for your reputation. Despite your refusal to give your real name−-”

  Christine’s eyes widened.

  “Yes, you’re not as good a liar as you thought you were,” Wesley chided. “Well, as I was about to say: despite your refusal to give your real name, he is convinced that you are not…let’s say, without morals, but a proper lady. Therefore, he is determined to protect your reputation at all cost.” A devilish grin came to his face. “Looks like you found another knight in shining armour ready to protect your honour.” He shook his head. “If he only knew how little it means to you.” A hint of pain rang in his voice, and Christine felt his hurtful remark like a stab to the heart. Simply because she had…Did that mean she had no honour? Apparently, not as far as society was concerned.

  Today was truly a day she wished she could forget.

  “What does that mean?” Christine asked, determined not to allow his words to dampen her spirit. “Am I to st
ay here?”

  Wesley nodded, a touch of sadness in his eyes.

  Christine took a slow breath as she realised the implications of his words. Oh, how thoughtless she had been! Although she could not have anticipated precisely this outcome, she admitted−at least to herself−that she ought to have done as he had asked and stayed at Sanford Manor. Then, at least, she would not have been parted from…

  Again, she took a deep breath as sorrow filled her heart. Despite their continued arguing and her earlier desire to avoid him, Christine could not imagine spending the next few days or even weeks without him.

  After all, Wesley was…he was…

  “As his mother and sister are in residence,” Wesley continued, “he believes that you are safest here.”

  “I see,” Christine mumbled as she gazed up into his eyes; eyes that looked into hers in a way that made her feel safer than she ever had while at the same time had her catch her breath as her body itched to feel his arms come around her and his lips cover hers.

  “Thankfully,” Wesley continued, the ghost of a smirk on his face as he held her gaze, “considering that the need for a chaperone is met, he granted my request to stay in one of the guest rooms.”

  Christine drew in a deep breath as relief flooded her, and for a moment, she closed her eyes. Then a deep smile spread over her face, and looking up at him, she delighted in the mischievous twinkle that suddenly lit up his eyes. What had happened? He had seemed so disappointed in her only a moment ago, had he not?

  “I hope you do not mind my presence here,” Wesley teased, the sparkle in his eyes telling her that he knew she did not.

  Christine smiled. “I never minded your presence, only your proposal.”

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Eight − Lady Eleanor's Demand

  Their first day at Stanhope Grove passed in quiet comfort or rather discomfort as far as Lady Stanhope was concerned.

  After Eleanor had dragged Christine upstairs in order to show her some kind of accessory−as far as Wesley could remember−Wesley had found himself on his way to his friend’s study when the door had suddenly opened and Lady Stanhope had rushed out, her face a twisted snarl.

  Upon seeing him, she had stopped in her tracks.

  With a polite smile on his face, Wesley had bowed to her, deciding it would be far easier on all of them not to antagonise the lady of the house.

  However, all his attempts had been in vain as the lady in question had glared at him through narrowed eyes, her nose twitching with disgust, before she had strode past him, barely glancing at him with her head held high as though he were a lowly servant.

  Wesley guessed that Lady Stanhope doubted Christine’s story as much as her son. However, while the son had made assumptions−correct assumptions, Wesley had to admit−in favour of Christine, his mother had done the opposite.

  Wesley could only hope she would refrain from spreading any rumours for fear of staining her own family’s reputation should it become known that their hospitality had at one point extended to such a woman.

  For the millionth time, Wesley cursed Christine for her ludicrous idea! Or ideas as it were for she appeared to stumble from one to the next as easily as other people changed the topic of their conversation.

  “Do not worry,” his friend spoke out behind him as Wesley was still staring after Lady Stanhope, wondering if there even was a way to fix all that had happened in the past few hours. “She will not say a word even if only for Eleanor’s sake as well as my own.”

  Turning to his friend, Wesley sighed, “I hope you’re right.”

  “Will you not tell me what’s going on?” Lord Stanhope asked, stepping aside to allow Wesley to pass. Then he closed the door behind them and took the seat behind his desk across from his friend. “I give you my word, I will not speak of this to anyone.”

  Again, Wesley sighed. If there was anyone in the world whose word was beyond the shadow of a doubt, it was Stanhope’s. “To tell you the truth,” he began, rubbing his temples, “it’s fairly complicated. Every once in a while, I feel as though even I do not understand what’s going on.”

  Stanhope snorted. “I’ve never seen you relinquish control to anyone.” Then the amusement left his face, and for a long moment, he regarded his friend with open curiosity. “You care about her, do you not?”

  Cringing slightly, Wesley met his friend’s eyes. “I’m afraid so.”

  Stanhope laughed. “Do you consider it unfortunate to be in love?”

  Wesley took a deep breath. Was he in love? He shook his head. He would dwell on that question later. “Not generally so. However, Christine is…” Again, he shook his head, at a loss for words.

  “Then her name truly is Christine?” his friend asked, his hawk-like eyes watching Wesley’s every move.

  Wesley nodded.

  “And her family name?”

  Wesley swallowed. “Dansby.”

  Stanhope’s mouth dropped open before a spark of understanding came to his grey eyes. “Catherine’s sister.” He shook his head. “I knew she looked familiar. I cannot believe I did not see it right away.” Leaning back in his chair, he regarded Wesley, his brows slowly drawing down in confusion. “However, I must admit that knowing her true identity, I feel as though I am even farther from understanding what’s going on.”

  Shrugging his shoulders, Wesley snorted. “It all began with another one of Christine’s ludicrous ideas,” he started as his friend rested his head against the back of his chair, listening intently.

  * * *

  “It is exquisite!” Christine exclaimed, delightedly turning the mask in her hands. The golden ornaments sparkled in the sun shining in through the window, giving it a magical glow. “And it matches your dress perfectly.”

  “Does it not?” Eleanor asked, gazing almost lovingly at her lavender ball gown reserved for the Christmas Ball. “I’ve never owned anything so beautiful.”

  Setting down the mask, Christine stepped closer, her eyes gliding over Eleanor’s glowing face. Eyes distant, the young woman barely seemed to see the dress. Her gaze appeared directed inward as she pictured something…or rather someone beloved, and a deep smile came to her face.

  Brushing a hand down Eleanor’s arm, Christine said, “Who is he?”

  As though startled awake, the young woman flinched, her eyes restless as she brushed past Christine and strode toward the window. “Who do you speak of?” she asked, her voice, however, hitched slightly, and a crimson red came to her cheeks.

  “The young man who seems to be occupying your thoughts,” Christine said, coming to stand next to Eleanor. “Will he be at the Christmas Ball?”

  Eleanor swallowed, then slowly turned her gaze to Christine, the corners of her mouth straining upward as she fought the smile that threatened to light up her face. “I must not speak of him,” she whispered, then clamped a hand over her mouth as though she had already said too much.

  Christine laughed. “I dare say you do appear quite taken with this young man…whoever he is. Will you not give me his name?” she asked, and a teasing tone came to her voice as she went on. “Or are you afraid that speaking his name will conjure him here?”

  Eleanor’s face turned white as a sheet, and she shook her head vehemently.

  “What’s the matter?” Christine asked, all amusement gone from her voice. A blind man could see that Eleanor had lost her heart to the young man she didn’t dare speak of. But why didn’t she dare? What on earth could be the matter? “Is he not a suitable match?” Christine asked when Eleanor remained silent.

  A large tear formed in the young woman’s left eye, then spilled over and slowly ran down her cheek as she tried to blink it away. “Mother does not approve of him,” she cried, trying her best to suppress the heart-wrenching sobs that escaped her throat.

  “Oh, dear,” Christine mumbled, pulling the young woman into her arms.

  Doing her best to calm her, Christine pictured Lady Stanhope’s glaring eyes and determinedly set chin
as she had regarded their unexpected visitor−namely her−with disapproval. Indeed, with a mother like that, there was very little hope for a happily-ever-after for Eleanor. If Lady Stanhope was dead set against the man who had captured her daughter’s heart, no one on this earth could change her mind.

  Christine’s heart wept for the young woman. “Your mother is not here,” she whispered. “Tell me about him.” If nothing else, she could let Eleanor speak her mind and listen to the troubles of her heart. Unfortunately, all Christine had to offer was her sympathy.

  Sniffling, Eleanor sank onto the settee. “His name is Henry Waltham,” she whispered, her eyes darting to the door as though her mother would barge in any second.

  “Henry Waltham?” Christine asked, taking the seat next to Eleanor. “He’s not one of Lord Caulfield’s sons, is he?”

  Dabbing a handkerchief to her eyes, Eleanor nodded. “The youngest,” she sobbed, “which is one of the reasons Mother disapproves.”

  Trying to remember what she knew of Lord Caulfield’s sons, Christine frowned as nothing good came to mind. In fact, her path had occasionally crossed those of Stephen and Andrew Waltham, and as far as she could remember they were wastrels, drinking and gambling and spending their father’s money wherever they could.

  Considering that Lord Caulfield and his baroness had always been well-thought of members of society, their sons had always seemed a harsher than deserved punishment for some unknown faux pas. In recent years, society at large had speculated about the potential skeletons in the baron’s cupboard.

  Shaking her head, Eleanor looked almost pleadingly at Christine, who wished with all her heart that there was something she could do to help. “Mother was quite put out when I did not procure a husband during my first season,” Eleanor admitted, a touch of embarrassment in her eyes. “I tried to find someone I could see myself marrying, believe me, but no one even compared to Henry.” Her hands began to tremble, and new tears formed in her eyes. “And now, she insists that I choose a suitable husband next season. She’s made it perfectly clear that anything less is not an option.”