Marchwood laughed. “Yes, we are not so much in the wilderness that we lack a local assembly. They even,” he whispered, as though it were a secret, “dance the waltz there.”
“Hally says they don’t do the waltz at the Winchester assemblies. I suppose it is that no one knows how.”
The viscount looked questioningly at his hostess, who said, “Well, perhaps some of them know how to waltz, but it isn’t done here. If it were, we should have to learn it.”
“I’ll teach you,” he suggested, smiling lazily at her. “Perhaps Miss Viggan would play the pianoforte for us.”
The governess gave her ready assent. Hally regarded him with keen interest. “Would you teach Mary Rose as well?”
“Of course. And John. With Sir Thomas’s approval...”
Sir Thomas smiled benevolently. “I see no harm in it. You’re very kind. Lord Marchwood.”
“It will be my pleasure,” Marchwood said, his eyes once again on Hally and sparkling with good humor.
“Humph,” she said.
Chapter Three
Hally was not surprised to see the Nichols’s carriage come rolling up the drive at shortly before eleven o’clock the next morning. Mary Rose was a conscientious young woman, and she would have been up early and ready to start her journey of twenty-two miles before most households were wide awake.
As the footman let down the carriage steps and handed Mary Rose down to the snow-covered ground, Hally watched with satisfaction from the window of the breakfast parlor. Yes, indeed, Mary Rose would be the perfect addition to their house party. In her emerald green cloak and wide-brimmed bonnet she looked as fetching as any woman of eighteen years that Lord Marchwood was likely to have set eyes on in his perambulations about London or Somerset. If the viscount was wife-hunting, Hally was about to present him with the perfect woman.
Mary Rose took dainty little steps in her matching emerald green half boots toward the stairs leading up to the entrance hall. Her blond curls peeked out from her bonnet, framing her heart-shaped face quite perfectly. Hally grinned with mischief, quickly wrapped a shawl about her shoulders, and hastened out to greet her guest.
“You must be chilled to the bone!” she cried as she hugged her cousin to her. “I’m so glad your family could spare you to come, Mary Rose.”
Since Mary Rose’s family spared her quite regularly to every relation known to them, this was almost a piece of impertinence, but Mary Rose knew Hally well enough to realize it was not meant unkindly. “Papa gave me a locket before I left, since I would miss the holiday there. Mama sent several jars of marmalade. And my sister Martha insisted I wear the traveling outfit her godmamma gave her. Isn’t it splendid?”
“Absolutely delightful. Shall I see you up to your room for a bit of a rest before luncheon? You may be fatigued from your journey.”
“Me?” Mary Rose laughed gently. “I think traveling well is my most special talent. No one I know travels so easily as I do.”
Hally took the parcel of marmalade from her cousin’s hand. “You’re a great gun as Ralph would say, Mary Rose. Come, let me introduce you to our guest.”
The delicate features drew into something of a frown. “I didn’t know you were to have other guests. Dear me, I scarce brought anything out of the ordinary to wear. It’s not someone of fashion, is it, Hally?”
Hally laughed. “Today he seems to have dressed like the rest of us, but yesterday he appeared something of a Tulip, I believe. Perhaps he’s being on his best behavior, though it is hard to know what his best behavior is. Come, I’ll introduce you.”
Mary Rose had given up her cloak and bonnet to the waiting footman and now pushed ineffectually at the blond curls. “Do I look presentable?”
“You never look anything less than lovely,” Hally assured her, guiding her by the elbow toward the winter parlor, where she flung the door open dramatically and announced, “Mary Rose is here.”
Sir Thomas struggled to his feet and made the girl a deep bow. “We’re honored, my dear Mary Rose. Let me present Viscount Marchwood, who is the son of a very dear friend of my late wife’s. Lord Marchwood, Mary Rose Nichols, our cousin.”
Mary Rose, surprised by the title of the viscount perhaps, dropped her eyes modestly to her half boots and curtsied. “My lord.”
“Miss Nichols. A pleasure to meet you.” The viscount’s gaze swept over the newcomer and then back to Hally with an appreciative grin.
“John asked your pardon for his not being here when you arrived,” the baronet explained. “He promised to join us for luncheon.”
“Oh, please do sit down, Sir Thomas!” Mary Rose begged, and then added, a little diffidently, “John always works so hard.”
“Well, he’s going greenery hunting with us this afternoon.” Hally patted the chair beside her. “Here, sit by Lord Marchwood and let me ring for some tea to warm you.”
She watched with satisfaction as the viscount settled down to bring the shy young woman out. Mary Rose, owing to her own family’s size and lack of funds, had not been properly presented to society and thus had never been made aware that her beauty was remarkable and her gentility captivating. Surely, aside from her lack of dowry, an excellent match for any young man of breeding. And what could a lack of dowry mean to a man of Marchwood’s situation? Absolutely nothing, Hally felt sure.
“Eight brothers and sisters!” Even Marchwood looked startled. “And where do you fall in the family?”
“I’m the second oldest,” Mary Rose said. She blinked somewhat sheepishly at her questioner. “My sister Elizabeth has married and left home, but the rest of us are at Chalford. It’s a little crowded.”
“Well, we’re delighted to have you here,” Sir Thomas insisted as Hally tucked the blanket back around his legs. “We have plenty of room.”
“You’re to have my bedchamber,” Hally explained. “I’m going to take the room next to Miss Viggan.”
“Oh, no, you mustn’t!” Mary Rose turned to her hostess with an alarmed look. “I wouldn’t for the world dispossess you of your room. Let me sleep on the second floor.”
“And be something less than the perfect hostess?” Hally scoffed. “Certainly not. What would his lordship think of me?”
Mary Rose flushed with embarrassment, and the viscount considered his hostess with a doleful expression. “I tried, too, Miss Nichols. She told me that Miss Viggan’s reputation would be destroyed were I to occupy the room on the second floor.”
“And so it would. No arguments, please. I shall be quite content there, I promise you.”
A servant came in with the tea, and Hally moved closer to her companions to pour. “Lord Marchwood has brought us a new holiday tradition, Mary Rose. We are putting candles in the windows each night, and one evening I thought we might take a sleigh ride to get the full effect of them from outside at night. Does that not sound like fun?”
The girl’s large eyes lighted with pleasure. Yes, Hally thought, she is a very taking thing and the viscount seems to appreciate her loveliness. Hally was rather pleased with her endeavors thus far and sat back to allow their guests to get to know one another better.
* * * *
Hally had organized their expedition to the home wood with her usual skill. Refreshments were ordered, tools for cutting the boughs and holly branches sought out, the sleigh for carrying them to the woods and two servants to bring the trap were arranged for.
A light snow was falling as they set out in the sleigh. Brigid and Ralph were seated with Hally on the driver’s seat, while Mary Rose, Marchwood, and John squeezed together on the seat behind. When John had arrived for luncheon, he had been a little stiff with their newest guest. Hally hardly understood this, since they had all known one another all their lives. Mary Rose had seemed slightly awkward with him as well, saying nonsensically that she thought he was taller than he used to be, which was certainly not the case.
Well, it was probably the excitement of the day. The younger children were certainly in tearing s
pirits, unable to stop chattering for even a moment as the sleigh glided toward the woods. Mary Rose regarded them with delight, just as though her own younger brothers and sisters did not give her quite enough of that sort of entertainment every day of the year.
“Miss Viggan says we may make bells to go on the green boughs in the hallway,” Brigid chirped. “Paper bells out of special silver paper she brought back from her trip to Winchester last week.”
“How lovely,” Mary Rose said, “I have brought some ribbons that I thought we might use as well for decorating.”
Perfect, Hally decided, smiling. The viscount would see how good Mary Rose was with children. She glanced behind to see if he had noted this. The viscount winked solemnly at her. Really, he was too exasperating. Hally looked sharply away.
Not quite sharply enough, however, for the sleigh hit a hidden rock and its occupants bounced hazardously off their seats. Hally braced Ralph and Brigid on either side of her as the horses came to a halt. Turning to assess any difficulties behind her, she noted that John and Marchwood had likewise thrown their arms around Mary Rose. Color instantly flushed the young woman’s cheeks, almost as if an impropriety had been taken. John’s arm instantly withdrew, but the viscount’s remained long enough for him to assure himself that his companion was safely settled.
“Oh, thank you,” Mary Rose murmured. “I was caught off guard. That’s what happens with sleigh rides, isn’t it? You can’t see everything under the snow and you have these unexpected bounces. I’m fine now, thank you. Not at all shaken, actually.”
Inane chatter was so unlike her cousin that Hally regarded her with suspicion. Had the viscount perhaps allowed his arm to dwell a little too long and frightened the girl? Mary Rose was notoriously skittish with men, but Hally had every confidence that a man of Marchwood’s address would have no difficulty in allaying her fears. It might, in fact, provide just the sort of challenge his lordship needed.
Certainly it was Marchwood who handed Mary Rose down from the sleigh when they reached their destination. He handed Hally down as well, and Brigid very nearly jumped into his arms when he attempted to gallantly see her to the ground. Amused, he laughed and swung the child around in a wide circle, making Brigid squeak with delight. Mary Rose smiled approvingly at him. Hally felt almost smug.
Lord Marchwood had not, after all, had the opportunity earlier in the day to see Mary Rose in her delightful emerald cloak and bonnet, with her blond curls peeking out. Now he walked with her to the spot where John was already spreading out the hot cider and chocolate. He helped Brigid, Ralph, and Mary Rose to chocolate, while John poured cider for Hally and Marchwood.
John lifted his own cup in a toast. “To the greenery, which will make the Hall smell rich with pine and glow from the holly berries.”
“Very poetic,” Hally proclaimed, before downing the better part of her cider in a single gulp. This was something of a tradition, too, but she neglected to inform the startled viscount.
John, however, frowned at her. “That’s for the men to do, Hally. Not the women.”
“I’ve done it every other year,” she protested.
“Yes, well, we’re far too indulgent of you.”
Hally snorted and picked up a saw. “I can drink you under the table, John.”
Which was true enough. For some reason spirits never seemed to have the least effect on her, whereas her brother became slightly foxed with even small amounts. She was not, it was true, in the habit of imbibing, but that was another thing the viscount needn’t concern himself with. Let him assume the worst if he chose.
But the viscount apparently assumed nothing. He walked between her and Mary Rose to the holly bushes where he insisted that the two ladies would not wish to tear their gloves on such sharp leaves. “Let me do the cutting. My gauntlets are old and scarred from driving. One more scratch won’t do them a bit of harm.”
Hally wouldn’t yield the saw. “It’s part of the fun,” she insisted, reaching into the thick of the prickly leaves and aiming for the base of a branch. “I do it every year. Ouch! See, even Brigid takes a turn.”
Not far from them John was indeed allowing Brigid, who had put on his enormous gloves, to hack away at a holly branch. Marchwood took the opportunity to insist that Hally put on his own gauntlets, which were infinitely more protective than her gloves. Not really relishing the pain of continued pricks and scratches, Hally submitted to his request. Marchwood pocketed her gloves with a faintly triumphant air.
Hally drew on his gauntlets, feeling the warmth of his hands still in them. It was a strange sensation. She felt protected and somehow cherished. Looking up into his alert eyes, Hally grudgingly thanked his lordship and returned to her task. But the gesture had made her, surprisingly, feel feminine and fragile. How ridiculous! As though she were a ninnyhammer of a girl. Nothing could be further from the truth.
For the next hour the small troop of gatherers chose the most heavily laden holly branches, and the bushiest greenery to take back to the Hall. Hally watched as Marchwood even climbed a tree to reach a branch Brigid insisted was quite the loveliest they had seen all afternoon. She stood with her heart in her throat as he leaned out to slice at it, and thought that Mary Rose must be quite terrified for him.
Her cousin, she found on turning around, was not even looking at the viscount, but helping John decide on whether to discard a slightly crushed pine cone. Probably Mary Rose, tender hearted as she was, could not bear to witness such a callous act. Brigid and Ralph and Hally applauded the viscount as he bowed from the tree, then leaped to the ground in front of them, did a somersault and landed on his snow-covered boots.
“By Jupiter, I think he could perform at Astley’s,” Ralph said, all admiration.
“He was much better than Will Dudly at the fair,” Brigid agreed.
Hally walked over to scold the viscount. “You are shamelessly intent on winning them over, aren’t you, my lord? An easy victory. They’re just children, after all.”
He grinned. “But they are your brother and sister. How could I not want to encourage them to like me, any more than I would encourage you, my dear Miss Porchester? Though I do admit that they are a trifle easier to please than you are.”
“I’m sure I like you well enough, Lord Marchwood.”
“You relieve me. My mother would be disappointed indeed were I to return to Millway Park with the sad news that her namesake held me in the greatest aversion.”
Before Hally could respond to this patent attempt to bribe her, her hand was clasped by her brother Ralph, who was the last of the line that Mary Rose led, singing a round as they began to wind themselves in and out through the trees. Well done, Mary Rose, Hally thought, as she allowed the viscount to grasp her hand in turn and bring up the rear of their line. Usually it was she who began the chain, because John, though he would join in, found it somehow too childish to do.
Their voices echoed through the woods as they marched and danced to Mary Rose’s leadership, following her every move and tone with an exact mimicry that made Hally laugh with sheer exuberance. When Mary Rose gestured to Lord Marchwood to reverse their direction and become the leader in turn, Hally was surprised at the ease with which he joined in the activity. He had them hopping in the snow and jumping over logs and doing bird calls. She laughed until her sides ached at his attempts at whistling.
“I never could do it,” he grumbled, wrinkling his nose at her amusement. “Watch your head now,” he instructed as he took her under a low-hanging branch. Her bonnet caught the side of it, and a pile of soft, wet snow landed directly on her neck, causing her to squeal with the shock. “Serves you right,” he declared as he made an attempt to brush the icy slush away.
Hally found the closeness of his face disconcerting, and the warmth of his hand on her neck startling. His lips seemed almost close enough to touch hers, but he made no attempt to move away when she protested that she was quite all right. “No, you must let me clear all this snow away. I don’t wish you t
o take a chill.”
She could bear his ministrations only for a few moments. Not that he repulsed her. Quite the opposite. She found that his touch sent a decided thrill through her, that the closeness of his lips made her wonder what it would be like to kiss him. Where did such a thought come from? Hally could not remember any such serious consideration in her life, especially when some local lad had attempted to steal a kiss. Ugh! Such clumsy oafs they’d been. Well, it was no wonder she wanted nothing from them.
But Marchwood. Somehow she knew he would not be the least bit clumsy. That he would, from undoubted great experience, know quite how to kiss a lady so that she knew she was being kissed properly. Hally shrank back from the viscount, scarcely able to meet his eyes. “Thank you, sir. I feel not a trace of snow left upon me.”
“Wonderful. Then we shall proceed.”
Only then did Hally become aware that the others had been waiting for them, that John and Mary Rose and Brigid and Ralph had watched this strange little interlude. And probably thought not a thing of it, she assured herself, lifting her head high. “Lead on, Lord Marchwood,” she insisted.
Chapter Four
For the better part of the next twenty-four hours she managed to avoid him. Oh, there was plenty to do, what with decorating the Hall and going into the village, alone, to see if she could not find the perfect gift for her father. She had already found something special for each of her brothers and her sister, but her father, and Mary Rose, were more difficult to truly please. Hally had no intention of getting a gift for the viscount. He was not, after all, one of the family.
The viscount himself had reminded her that they were to go skating. This happening within Ralph and Brigid’s hearing, there was nothing for it but to accept his challenge and prepare for an expedition to the pond. But Hally was in uncertain spirits. She was beginning to find the viscount intriguing, and she realized that she rather liked his smile, and the way he seemed to understand her, and his good-natured acceptance of her attempts to palm him off on her cousin.
The Viscount and the Hoyden Page 3
