He’d spent hours in one of Belle Towers’s towers as a boy, memorizing the planets and constellations, forgetting his mother’s final illness, his father’s reckless investments, his brother’s restless spirit. He could not give Miss Haney diamonds and pearls, but he could give her the moon and stars, in gratitude.
*
The journey to Ravencroft would have been a nightmare on Gregory’s budget, with bad horses, bad food, and bedbugs, to say nothing of a bored child. Instead, the trip was a pleasure. And why not, with Lord Handbury footing the bill? Miss Haney told Gregory he could settle with her brother later, but that everything for her and her cousin’s comfort was arranged and paid for in advance. They had a modern, well-sprung carriage that easily seated the two Haney ladies, their maid, Hannah, and him, though the maid chose to ride up with the coachman, her beau, when the weather was nice. Lord Handbury’s own horses were waiting at the stages, and the finest accommodations were reserved when they stopped for the nights.
Hannah was a good traveler, despite never having been out of London before. She liked to watch the passing scenery, but liked to hear Miss Haney’s cousin’s stories more. Cousin Maudine knew every Minerva Press novel by heart, it seemed to Lord Bryson, who took his own turns sitting up with the driver, instead of listening to the overly dramatic tales. Luckily Cousin Maudine napped a lot. Then Hannah was happy to sit with the picture books or the pencils and drawing paper that Miss Haney had been wise enough to bring, experienced as she was with traveling with her nephews. Other times Hannah stitched together her pen wipes, with Claire’s help, or she slept, usually in Gregory’s arms, where she could be protected from the jouncing of the carriage.
During those quiet intervals, Claire did her needlework while Gregory read aloud from the book of poetry she’d brought, or they played backgammon, or simply talked. Or even more simply, did not, comfortable enough with each other now that silences were not awkward.
The viscount could not help comparing his current companion to his previous one. Lud, a mere jaunt through Hyde Park with Lady Susannah had been more of an ordeal than days spent in a coach with Miss Haney. The heiress had constantly whined about the cold and the wind, fussing with her furs, the hot bricks, and the lap robe. Miss Haney, comfortable, competent female that she was, never complained. And when she slept, he could watch her for hours.
For her part, Claire was satisfied that she’d done the right thing, taking Lord Bryson to her godmother. Despite her sister-in-law’s ravings, the viscount was no rakeshame, not with a little girl asleep in his lap. He was courteous and caring, intelligent and good-humored. He’d even charmed Cousin Maudine, who was a confirmed romantic until it came to actually speaking with a gentleman. Surely, Claire prayed, the duke and duchess would find some way to help the viscount and the precious child sleeping so trustingly next to his broad chest. She told herself the twinge of jealousy she felt was over Hannah’s adoration of her new papa, not the child’s secure place against his heart—and in his heart.
When they reached Ravencroft, Hannah took one look at the huge, sprawling edifice that encompassed acres and centuries, and refused to get out of the carriage. “It is so big, Papa.”
“Do not worry, puss, I will not let you get lost,” Gregory told her, lifting Hannah out of the coach despite his own apprehensions. He had only Miss Haney’s word that they would be welcome here.
The duchess dispelled his misgivings as soon as he’d made his bows, as best he could with Hannah clinging to his legs. Her Grace accepted Hannah’s uncanny resemblance to him without a blink, then nodded. “Your brother Gordon was a gudgeon. Your father was a flea-wit. You, on the other hand, appear to be making something decent of yourself, my boy. You are already a better man—and a worthier peer—than either of them. Welcome to my home.”
The duke was too eager to have his old friend’s son listen to him recount the Indian wars to cavil about yet another infant in the nursery. Gregory could have brought Miss Chiswell’s entire academy, and His Grace would have deployed them as Maratha soldiers to illustrate his maneuvers. He’d never had much to do with his own offspring. What did he care what Viscount Bryson did with his, as long as they left his maps and his books and his stuffed tiger alone?
Only three other children were yet in residence in the third-story nursery wing: two infants Hannah was better at soothing than their nursemaids, and an older boy with spectacles, who was happy enough with a little girl who admired his butterfly collection, instead of his soon-to-arrive, bullying older cousins. Lester shared his books and toys and puzzles and secret paths to Cook’s pantry with Hannah, who shared her versions of Cousin Maudine’s stories.
Hannah still carried her doll everywhere, even when Gregory and Claire took her outside the sprawling mansion. The viscount stopped protesting, to no avail anyway, when Claire reminded him of how much upheaval Hannah had known in such a short life, away from everyone and everything familiar. The doll was an old friend.
Claire and Gregory were like old friends by now, too, calling each other by first names when in private. For the next several days, there were many such times.
With the houseguests due to start arriving shortly, the duchess had much to accomplish, so Claire helped wherever she could. In the afternoons, Her Grace rested, to face the evening’s entertainments. So did Cousin Maudine.
The Duke of Ravencroft invited Lord Bryson to follow along with him and his steward in the mornings, seeing how a great estate was run and how the home farms prospered, in case Gregory had a chance to restore Belle Towers to a profitable venture. After luncheon, the duke also rested, possibly with his duchess, which made Gregory envious of their long, happy marriage.
While their hosts were so occupied, Claire and Gregory collected Hannah, and often Lester, too, and went riding or driving or walking or exploring the ancient castle. The arrangement might not have been perfectly proper, but the two children made adequate chaperons, and who was to see or tell, anyway, when they kept to the vast Ravencroft grounds?
Gregory could not remember when he had last been so carefree, certainly not since before his father’s death, when he realized the precarious state of the Bellington holdings, and also realized he was the only one of the family to care. For this interval, he vowed, he would not think of those responsibilities. He swore to enjoy himself for a change, without fretting over the future. He had the Ravencroft stables at his disposal, one of the duke’s footmen to act as valet, and every comfort imaginable. The countryside was lovely and the company was…more so.
He found joy in giving Hannah new experiences: her first pony ride, her first try at milking a cow, her first glimpse of the nearly tame deer in the duke’s home wood. Sharing the sprite’s excitement with Claire only added to his own pleasure. She seemed to revel in the simple country pastimes, the companionship of children, the camaraderie of slipping away from duty and decorum for an enchanted holiday. She did not care that Hannah’s birth was irregular, nor that his nose regularly ran in the cold. She never even held it against Gregory that he was a former fortune hunter or a down-at-heels debtor. No, she was having fun. In London the young ladies had pleasant times, being seen at the correct balls and banquets. They enjoyed themselves at the theater and the opera, or broadened their minds at artistic pursuits. They did not have fun. They did not laugh out loud, grin at silly jokes, run, or sit on the floor playing jackstraws. Claire did.
The sound of Claire’s sweet laughter mingling with Hannah’s little girl giggles as they played hide-and-seek among the ancient sets of armor in the castle’s old wing was a memory Gregory would cherish forever, when this idyll ended.
End it must, although not because Miss Haney was promised to some rustic suitor or such, as Gregory had supposed. According to the duke’s dinnertime teasing about her unwed state, Claire was simply fussy, not fixed on any particular gentleman. To Gregory’s amazement, Claire was available then, which should have gladdened his heart even more than the sight of her sewing a cape for H
annah’s doll. Miss Haney was available, however, to a gentleman of means with a secure future and untarnished reputation, one who could support her in comfort. Gregory could not keep a six-year-old child in comfits, much less afford a wife. No matter how Gregory tried to act the gentleman of leisure, his Bellington forebears had borne that fatal gambling flaw. If only—
Ifs were only for fools. If Gregory were not at point-non-plus, he would be at Belle Towers, not Ravencroft, engaged in agricultural pursuits, not play. He would never have gone to London searching for a wealthy wife to pull him out of River Tick, and so he would never have found Hannah or Miss Haney. He would have been poorer by half.
Instead of mooning over the past, or mourning for a future that could never occur, Gregory forced himself to wish for snow, so he and Claire could take Hannah sledding and building snowmen, or ice, so he and Claire could teach her to skate. He and Claire— Perhaps this holiday was not such an idyll after all. And then the other guests arrived.
Chapter Seven
Claire was worried. With the advent of Advent, her holiday from her sister-in-law’s harangues was over. She’d be tossed, willy-nilly, back into the matrimonial pond, with all the eligible young chubs and older lampreys come to ride the duke’s horses and drink the duke’s wine. She would rather stay out of those waters altogether.
She was also concerned for Lord Bryson. What if, contrary to his words, his feelings were still drawn to Lady Susannah? He might just take Claire’s previous advice and renew his suit of the heiress. Worse, what if he pursued the beauty anyway, without affection for the female, or dangled after another well-dowered if not so comely daughter of the nobility? Claire could not bear to see her friend—for that was what they were, was it not?—either disappointed again, or proven a cad. If he did form a sincere attachment, not solely with the lady’s purse, then he’d be leaving to restore his estates, taking Hannah away, and a part of Claire’s heart, too, she feared. So she spent more time in the nursery with Hannah and the other children, away from Lady Handbury and away from the company, and away from Lord Bryson and his pursuit of heavy-pocket happiness.
Hannah was worried. She did not fear the boy bullies nor the silly befrilled girls now sharing the nursery wing. She had heard taunts all her life, and knew how to retreat to her own world, with her own doll for company. Besides, Miss Claire, called “Aunt” by half the children present, spent hours there, showing the others that Hannah was her particular friend. If they wanted to hear stories and play games with Aunt Claire, they had to be nice to Hannah. If that was not enough, bespectacled Lester seemed to have grown taller and stronger when one of the Handbury brats threatened to use Valentina as a croquet ball No, Hannah was not afraid for herself during the house party; she was worried that her new papa might leave her here. Ravencroft was not her home, and never could be. She was sure that every young lady at the party was trying to trap him into marriage, for that was what Lester said his older stepsisters were always attempting to do to eligible gentlemen. Then Lord Bryson would go off with someone, like that tight-lipped lady in the park, and forget all about Hannah. She hugged the doll close and wished Miss Haney would return to the party, to watch out for Papa.
Gregory was worried, too, that Miss Haney’s reputation had been blackened by association with him, that Hannah would be slighted, that Lady Susannah might expect him to renew his courtship.
No one needed to lose a moment’s sleep over the situation. The earl’s daughter gave Gregory the cut direct, at which he laughed out loud and continued down the steps to greet his aunt Elvira. Before dinner, when the children were brought down, the duchess herself declared Hannah the prettiest chit she’d seen in years, and the best behaved. No one dared whisper about her parentage after that, not to her face or Gregory’s, at any rate.
They all had a good laugh at his expense the next evening, though, when Hannah ran into the drawing room in tears, begging the viscount to tell that nasty Master Harold that they did have a house of their own, only they were raising toadstools there.
“No, poppet, I am letting Bellington House to mushrooms, the Murchesons, not letting them grow there.”
“What about Belle Towers, cousin?” Floyd asked loudly enough for most of the company to hear. “What are you growing there, except deeper in debt?”
Gregory did not answer, escorting Hannah back to the nursery instead. Let them have their smirks and snide remarks. He was not finding any pleasure in the duke’s guests anyway. The young men were idlers, the young ladies insipid. The older men were hardened gamesters like his cousin Floyd, drunks, debauchees, or dodderers. The older women were hard of hearing like his aunt Elvira, or hardened flirts, pea-hens, or harridans. Lord Bryson would much rather spend his time with Claire in the nursery, or with the duke and his steward.
He was not given the choice, however, as he could not offend his hosts by playing least in sight. No, he had to play at charades, and at whist, and at doing the pretty among the unattached females, the ones whose parents had not warned them away from a penniless viscount.
There were enough young ladies, or their mamas, willing to overlook his debts and his supposed daughter in favor of his title and his looks. Now that the duke’s own valet had cut Lord Bryson’s hair, Gregory was more in demand as a dinner companion or a dance partner, with a few invitations to dalliance thrown his way from older women. He could have picked the wealthiest one and secured his future, but he had lost interest in a marriage of convenience. Creatures like Lady Susannah were raised to expect an arranged match, and he would not have felt guilty offering one. The wife he wanted, the only woman he could envision spending his life with, was neither coldblooded nor calculating—and he had nothing to offer her.
There were enough other females at the gathering, the ones like Lady Susannah who turned their backs on his attempts at conversation, or who drew their skirts aside when he stepped close, that Gregory became uncomfortable, as well as bored. The duchess’s party seemed to be dividing into enemy camps, with the high sticklers on one side, the hopefuls on the other, with hecklers like Cousin Floyd in the middle.
It was time to leave. Gregory was not enjoying himself, never got to see Claire or spend time with Hannah, and was causing dissension at the duchess’s do. His holiday was almost over, anyway, and he should see what funds he could squeeze out of Belle Towers before the bank took over. He’d thought to spend this season in luxurious surroundings, amid gay companions, drowning his despair in wassail and covering his cries with carol singing. Now he only wanted to go home, to spend this last Christmas under his own roof, leaky as it might be.
He could not take Hannah. She was happy here, well looked after, with friends of her own. Claire would see to her, he knew, but that was an imposition. The child’s welfare was a matter of family, so he asked his aunt Elvira.
“What’s that you say, Gregory? You want me to climb those stairs twice a day to look in on an orphan we have no proof is our relation? Oh, my joints ache at the very notion. I could send my maid, I suppose, but the lazy creature complains if I so much as send her to the kitchens here for a tisane, they are so far away.”
As for taking Hannah home with her to Bath after the house party ended, Aunt Elvira was even more adamant. “What, keep a child? I am barely keeping household as it is. Besides, the house is hardly large enough for me and my maid and Floyd when he comes to call, which is seldom enough, I admit, yet I do need to have a bed for my dear boy, do I not?”
Gregory knew his cousin only visited Bath on repairing leases, hoping to winkle a few guineas from his mother until the dibs were in tune. Aunt Elvira could not afford a larger house, much less a little girl, but Floyd could afford rooms at the Albany and an expensive way of life. Not even the freshly cut evergreens could remove the stench of that.
Already feeling at fault that he could not lessen his aunt’s burdens, Gregory had to humble himself further by begging his host’s indulgence, leaving a child in his care while Gregory went off to conduc
t his business.
Surprisingly, Ravencroft made the viscount an offer of a loan. “No blame on you for the situation, I say,” the duke declared, proposing to pay off the Belle Towers mortgage. “Asides, she’s a sweet little thing, one of my favorites. I’d like to see the chit happy.”
Gregory hoped His Grace was talking about Hannah, and not Ravencroft’s goddaughter Claire, or else the feelings he’d been at such pains to conceal were obvious to everyone. Lud, that did not bear thinking on. Nor did accepting a loan he had no hopes of repaying.
“Well, think about it, my lad. Consider the offer for a few days more, just till Christmas, else the ladies will be upset if you leave. It never pays to disarrange a duchess’s seating arrangement, you know. Now, did I ever tell you about the time that Punjab native went—”
Floyd had another offer, another loan in mind. Bellington’s mother might be boiling her tea twice, but Floyd had enough blunt to pay Gregory a handsome sum—to leave the country. “You will never get to keep Belle Towers anyway, you know, cousin. The bank will have it before you can say jackrabbit. I am sure you would rather see the old pile stay in the family.”
And Floyd would rather see himself there, as viscount. He’d pay Gregory to emigrate and renounce the title.
Gregory was astonished that his cousin had enough bold-faced brass to offer money in exchange for Bryson’s heritage, and that he had enough of the ready to redeem the vouchers on Belle Towers, once it left Gregory’s possession.
Floyd shrugged his padded shoulders. “The cards have been lucky. Too bad you did not have my talent for the baize tables, or good fortune at snabbling heiresses. I have half a mind to try for Lady Susannah myself, once I have a title to offer the Incomparable and her incredibly wealthy father.”
“You have half a mind, period,” Gregory said, “if you think I will accept your offer. Once I am quit of the succession, you will sever the entailment and sell the place off anyway, leaving the tenants and the retainers to starve while you seek your pleasures in London. You are no farmer, and you will not be master of Belle Towers. You will not be viscount while I have a breath in my body, no matter what I have in my bank account. I never wished to succeed my brother, but I did, so I will be Bryson until the day I die, and my sons after me.”
An Enchanted Christmas Page 11
