*
Miss Selden was not seeing the earl in a better light. Oh, the light was better, thanks to the new chandeliers Mr. Mactavish had installed at Selden House, and the countless oil lamps on every surface. And the earl was looking bang up to the mark, as her brother would say, in his formal evening dress, with his black hair combed back, except for one dark lock that fell on his forehead. That forehead might as well have sprouted horns when she heard his latest offer.
“A kitten for the horse, that Squire owns, but might trade for your daughter’s governess? That’s…that’s diabolical!”
The earl studied his manicured fingers. If Miss Selden thought this negotiation was demon-spawned, he prayed she never heard the rest of the bargain. Charleen had agreed to give up the pearls if he produced an expensive bracelet, a new protector, and a kitten. So he had to get the horse from Squire, so he could trade Miss Selden for a kitten, which he would give to Charleen, in order to get the pearls for Sir Eustace, who was then supposed to get another kitten for Samantha. And everything hinged on musty Miss Musgrove surviving a week of Squire’s sons. Deuce take it, why couldn’t Miss Selden just give him the blasted cat before his wits went begging altogether? And why did she have to look so deuced pretty with her hair done up in a crown-like coil atop her head, held by a ribbon that almost begged a man to tug loose, so he could see the brown locks flow down across her shoulders, across his pillow. Lud, where had that come from? He was supposed to be thinking of exchanging livestock with the woman, not heated kisses!
“It’s a trifling matter,” Brett lied. “I have something you want; you have something I want. A simple transaction among friends.”
They weren’t friends and nothing was simple. Except perhaps her brother, for acting the mooncalf over Miss Ginger. Mactavish was furious, dinner was a disaster, and Gerry had the headache.
The first catastrophe was the cook’s tantrum in the drawing room where the company was taking sherry before dinner. No, that wasn’t even the first crisis. The first calamity was Boughton bringing his mistress to Selden House for supper! Ginger was tongue-tied, Stacey’s eyes never strayed above Lady Trant’s inadequate neckline, and Gerry was outraged. How dare he! Then the old auntie tripped over the kitten, which by rights should not have been in the parlor and for which Mactavish loudly berated his daughter and Gerry both, in front of the company. The shout sent Lady Trant’s aunt careening into the end table, spilling the sherry.
Ginger started to cry, naturally, clutching Bandit to her—compared to Lady Trant’s expanse—girlish bosom. Her eyes, already red, started to overflow. Stacey went to her, out of kindness, and removed the kitten from her grip to make sure it had taken no harm, handing over his own handkerchief. Whether it was his gentle smile, despite her being quite out of looks, or the way he held the kitten without the least regard for his dark coat, Miss Mactavish was smitten. Anyone listening hard enough could have heard Ginger’s heart fall at Stacey’s feet, which were five feet off the ground by this time. He’d received a timid smile from an angel, and he was lost. He never even looked at Lady Trant’s bosom again.
And Ginger never thought to send for a servant to clean up the mess, so Gerry had to, and asked that dinner be set forward, which caused the irate chef to appear, which sent Ginger into strong hysterics, which led Stacey into putting his arms around her, which led Mactavish to turn even redder in the face than his daughter. And which caused the dastardly earl to wink at her!
A downy one such as Lord Boughton had to have known Mactavish’s ambitions to snabble him for a son-in-law, just as he had to notice his mistress eyeing the lavish appointments—added to Selden House by Mactavish—with an appraiser’s eye. He found it amusing! He even smiled at her throughout the longest dinner of Gerry’s life, as if asking her to share the joke. Some joke, when she would lose her prize pupil at the best, and they might lose Mactavish as a tenant at worst. There was no way he would tolerate an alliance between his princess and a pockets-to-let baronet. Gerry would not have been surprised if he’d ordered them from the house, instead of ordering the next course, when Ginger neglected to do so.
Seated at the foot of the table as hostess, Ginger had eyes—and words—for Stacey only. Heaven knew what they found to talk about, as Gerry hadn’t wrung more than a few sentences out of the girl all week, unless they spoke of cats. Perhaps that’s what Stacey had found to amuse the heiress, tales of the family pets. Either way, the girl ignored her other, intended dinner partner, the earl. Gerry was too far away to kick her under the table, so could only pray Mactavish did not notice his daughter’s rag manners.
She needn’t have worried. At the other end of the mahogany table, Lady Trant was serving up a generous display of bare flesh for the merchant’s delectation, and Mactavish was seasoning his conversation with talk of investments, when he wasn’t pouring the butter boat over the dashing widow. Across from Gerry, the aunt dipped her hand in the soup instead of the finger bowl. Gerry prayed for dessert.
When the ladies finally withdrew, after the butler had to remind Miss Mactavish to lead the women from the room, Lady Trant made much of the kitten, who hadn’t ought to be in the Green Salon, either, sharpening its claws on the Aubusson carpet, and asked Gerry for one of her own.
“For it’s sure to make a splash in London, don’t you know. I’d like to be the first to have one of the newest breeds.”
Gerry wasn’t sure about the kind of home the kitten would have, or what would happen when Lady Trant grew tired of the latest fancy.
“And don’t think the little darling would be left alone. Auntie is home most of the time. She would love a kitty on her lap. Wouldn’t you, Aunt Forbish?”
“Eh?”
“Cats, I said. You love cats, don’t you?” Charleen shouted.
“Eh?”
Lady Trant then offered to do Gerry a favor in exchange: “I’ll convince our host that his chit is never going to do better than a baronet, not even with all his blunt greasing her way, and that he’ll never find a lad who’ll treat the gal better. Just seeing the pair of them makes me want to weep.”
Gerry, too. “You’ll never convince Mr. Mactavish. He has his heart set on a viscountcy at least.” Charleen pulled up a dangling curl, and pulled down the lace at her bodice. “You just watch, my dear. At the least I can distract him for a bit. Otherwise he’s liable to toss you and your delightful brother out before the tea tray is brought in.”
When the men returned, Stacey went straight to the heiress, the nodcock, leading her and the kitten to the pianoforte. Giving Gerry a grin, Charleen draped herself over Mactavish’s arm and begged him to show her the collection of carvings he’d brought back from India, in the other direction. The aunt was snoring. And Gerry was alone with the earl.
Rather than permit him to bring up the issue of the cats again, she waved toward Lady Trant’s departing trills of laughter. “Your, ah, friend seems to have abandoned you.” Then she felt her cheeks flush with her impertinence.
“Greener fields, don’t you know.” The earl brushed her embarrassment aside, as if he made a practice of speaking about his ladybirds to ladies of quality. Or as if Gerry were a mature, intelligent female who understood the ways of the world. She understood nothing, except that his broad shoulders were close to hers on the sofa, and his well-muscled thigh was almost touching her leg. Good grief, she could not be attracted to such a here-and-thereian! Although her opinion of him was changing with each report Stacey brought home from The Boughs about the number of worthy charities that his lordship supported, and how he was having Stacey make lists of needed improvements to his tenants’ holdings. And how his daughter thought he’d hung the moon.
“I did not invite Lady Trant to The Boughs,” he was saying. “I encouraged her to leave, in fact.” He wasn’t sure why he felt he had to explain away his onetime inamorata, present-time houseguest, but he’d given over wondering why he’d wish to look better in this woman’s eyes. Big, beautiful brown eyes they were, eyes
a man could get lost in. He caught himself leaning closer, bending lower, breathing in the scent of her. Roses and something else, perhaps evergreen, from all the garlands around the room. He put another inch of distance between them, for safety’s sake. “I just gave my blessings for Mactavish to hunt on my coverts anyway.”
“Hunt on your…? Oh.”
“I had thought she’d be more eager to return to London if she had one of your kittens to show off.” Along with the diamond and ruby bracelet he’d ordered. “But now I doubt if she’d go, until she’s got her claws firmly into the wealthy Cit.”
“You don’t mind?”
“What, that she’s finding a new protector? That’s why I asked to bring her tonight. It was either Mactavish or Remington. I am relieved.”
So was Gerry.
“Oh, and I put in a good word with Mactavish about your brother. Told him I thought the lad would do well in politics, with the right backing. And that Prinny was handing out titles like tea cakes, to those who made significant contributions to the regent’s coffers. No reason a baronet couldn’t be elevated to baron or some such. I agreed to use my influence in Town.”
He hadn’t only hung the moon, but the stars along with it. “You did all that? For Stacey?”
“No, for a Christmas kitten for my daughter.” And one for Charleen.
7
Miss Geraldine Selden wished she had more time, alas. With Christmas right around the corner, there were never enough hours for all the shopping, sewing, baking, and decorating, much less choir rehearsals, children’s parties at the orphanage and the school, and informal gatherings at the neighbors’. Every year she vowed to start earlier, and every year she enjoyed every minute of the frantic rush. This year, however, she truly needed a few more weeks to try to earn enough money to reclaim Stacey’s horse. He would be so disappointed when Mactavish banned him from Selden House as a suitor for the heiress, he’d need cheering more than ever. The mare couldn’t take the place of Miss Mactavish’s hand in marriage, of course; then again, Jigtime wouldn’t soak his shirtfront with constant tears, as Miss Ginger seemed wont to do.
Gerry decided to make one more attempt to bargain with Squire Remington. Sadly, he no longer owned the horse, but he did want a kitten. Under no conditions would Gerry give one of her darlings to a house full of unruly, uncivilized little heathens, to say nothing of the hard-drinking squire and his flea-bitten hounds. He said he wanted the kitten for his sister in Bath, however, a poor invalid who could never travel. That was the excuse she gave for never visiting Remington Manor, at any rate. Gerry said she’d think about it.
*
Squire wished he had more time, blast it. With that confounded ball coming faster than a bull with a burr up his nose, Remington needed help. He put on his Sunday clothes, having washed his hands and face and behind his ears, and took himself off to Boughton’s place. At The Boughs, he made Miss Musgrove a handsome offer, which she handily accepted. The governess moved into the manor; Jigtime moved to the earl’s stables. Suddenly there was peace and quiet.
Suddenly the servants were not threatening to leave. Suddenly Squire could take a nap in his own book room without barricading the door and hiding the key to his gun cabinet or his wine cellar. Glory! And the woman had done it all in…jig time. Squire slapped his knee. Damn, things were looking up. He was feeling so in charity with the world, in fact, that when Miss Selden called, he asked for one of her infernal cats. Silly creatures, they were, all hair and no nose, with enough airs to shame a duchess, but if she was too stubborn to trade with the earl, Squire decided, he’d see they both got what they wanted. They might even get a bit more than they bargained for. He slapped his knee again, which a mangy brindle dog named Squeaky took as invitation to join him on the couch.
*
Miss Musgrove wished she had more time, by heaven. The whole county was invited to Squire’s ball and she’d barely begun to get the little savages in hand—a hand which incidentally held a birch rod—much less the servants, the sty of a manor, and Squire himself. The dogs had to go, as soon as she had a firmer grip on the reins, but at least Miss Musgrove was only sharing her quarters with unmannered mongrels, not mistresses.
*
Charleen, Lady Trant, wished, once again, that she had more time. But there was another wrinkle in her mirror every day, so she dare not wait much longer. She was no closer to melting Boughton’s heart, if he had one to melt, and her bills were no closer to being paid. Most likely she’d never had a chance of bringing the top-sawyer up to scratch, no, not even if she’d managed to get one of those curtain-climbing cats for his sickly little brat. His gratitude would extend only so far. So far he had presented her with a necklace she wouldn’t be ashamed to walk into a pawn shop with, and the promise of a check waiting for her in London—if she left, and left him the pearls. His patience was growing as thin as Charleen’s hair, from all the bleaching. Aunt Forbisher’s kissing the antique armored knights, hoping for one of the footmen under the mistletoe, wasn’t helping. So Charleen powdered her nose and rouged her cheeks, and went to see Mr. Mactavish. The bald old man couldn’t hold a candle to the earl, but he did hold a king’s ransom in Consols.
*
Mactavish wished he had more time, by George, time to show his little girl off in London and time to make a noble match for her. But she was getting her heart set on young Selden more every day. And turning into a blotch-faced watering pot, besides. With her looks so off, it was a wonder even the baronet came to call. Mactavish wanted her married, he wanted her a lady, but more and more, he wanted his mewling daughter and her meowing cat off his hands. Especially now, when he could wrap his hands around the tidiest bit of willing woman he’d encountered in years—if his daughter were not underfoot. That was why he got so excited when Lord Boughton came to make an offer. Unfortunately, the offer was for Ginger’s cat, not Ginger.
“What, part those two? Be easier to part the Red Sea, my lord. The widgeon ain’t been the same since she got the puss, but I’ve got enough woe trying to get her mind off young Selden without sending her into a decline. But happens I might be able to persuade Miss Selden to give me another, to sweeten me toward the family, like. I could say I got so used to having the little blighter underfoot that I want one of my own, for when Ginger goes off on her wedding trip.”
“You get the cat for me, Mactavish, and I’ll get Selden a higher title, even if I have to give him one of mine.”
*
The earl wished he had more time, by Jupiter. Christmas was just days away and he was no nearer to getting one of the wretched little beasts for his daughter than he was to flying. He’d even inspected every litter of kittens in the shire, it seemed, in hopes of finding one that looked peculiar enough to pass for one of Miss Selden’s misfits. He had his London solicitor make inquiries at the Royal Feline Fanciers Society, with no luck. Drat the woman for being a pig-headed prude when it came to giving away the Malukistan mousers. And drat her for intruding on his dreams, too. She was not mistress material, and she sure as the devil would not make a comfortable wife, if he were in the Marriage Market, which he was assuredly not. Therefore, she had no business in his thoughts, his imaginings, his Christmas wishing. Brett vowed to put Miss Selden entirely out of his mind—as soon as he’d gone to the gatekeeper’s cottage one more time.
*
Sir Eustace wished he had more time, hang it. At first he worried that Mactavish would scoop Ginger off to London for presentation to every fortune hunter in town, or arrange a marriage for her with some ancient aristocrat. He didn’t think the merchant could outright ban him from the doorstep of Selden House, since Stacey still owned the pile, but he could make sure Ginger wasn’t home to receive him. The old man seemed to be leaning toward favoring his suit, though, with the earl’s influence, Stacey didn’t doubt. At least he’d stopped slamming doors and throwing things, according to Ginger, who was adorably ablush as she offered him tea. Before the old crab could change his mind again, St
acey meant to make a formal offer for his darling Ginger. He was fairly certain she’d accept, too, if her father gave permission. She’d whispered to him after church that she missed him. What joy! Stacey had walked into a tree, waving goodbye. Lud, he wanted his sister to know such happiness. Furthermore, he wanted her to have a comfortable future, without having to share the cottage with him and Ginger. Even if Mactavish let them all move back to Selden House, the baronet knew Gerry would not be content as a poor relation in another woman’s home.
Sir Eustace desperately wanted his sister to shine at Squire’s ball, his last hope that a particular nobleman would take notice. He wanted her pearls.
Gerry was out delivering baskets to the needy when Boughton called, but Sir Eustace was glad to see his employer, even if he was a shade embarrassed to have to wipe cat hairs off the chair before he could invite the earl to sit. Once he’d poured a glass of brandy, he put forth his new offer. As he explained to the earl, if Stacey could gain Mactavish’s blessing, then the bank would surely make him a loan against future expectations, with which he could pay Lord Boughton back for his sister’s necklace. Not that he was interested in Miss Mactavish for her father’s money, he made sure the earl knew.
“I never supposed such a thing, not with the two of you making sheep’s eyes at each other across the church aisle all through vicar’s sermon.” He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a velvet pouch. “No, the pearls should never have been sold. I understand the need at the time, and I only blame your father for that, not you. But they belong to Miss Selden. So, here, take them, for her. You’ve worked hard enough to earn them. They’re yours, no strings attached. The only thing is, if you could see your way clear…”
“You still need a kitten for your daughter.”
So Stacey asked his sister for one of the cats as soon as she returned home. “You just have to trust me on this, Gerry. You know I’d never do anything to hurt one of them.”
Greetings of the Season and Other Stories Page 24
