What he did know was that it was hard to find fault with the lush fullness of her lips, even when they were pursed in a pout. As for the spark in her eyes , it was intriguing.
To his dismay, he found it impossible to banish the picture of a mass of spun-gold curls and the way her chin came up in a saucy tilt when she was angry. He supposed it was only natural to feel the stirrings of physical attraction for a beautiful lady, but his reaction to this particular one only caused his mood to turn blacker.
It grew even worse when a careless swing of the hammer caught a sharp blow to his thumb. Swearing under his breath, Noel gave it a shake, then clenched his jaw. No doubt Lady Emma already had a legion of besotted young men making cakes of themselves over her.
He would not add to their ranks.
And yet, whatever the young lady’s faults, she radiated a certain vitality. Lord, if only a single spark of Lady Emma’s lively fire might be rekindled in Anne .
The kitchen door opened, and his sister and her young son came in with a basket full of fresh-cut pine boughs.
“Joseph says there has been some kind of accident,” she said in concern as she fumbled with the knots of her bonnet.
Noel pulled a face. “It’s nothing serious. Telford’s daughter has taken a tumble from her horse and twisted an ankle. The doctor and her cousin are with her now.”
He stood up and ran his hand through his hair. “The bad news is that it appears we are to be saddled with the lady until she is well enough to be moved.”
“Oh, dear, I had best go see if there is anything I can do to be of help.”
“Anne!”
His sharp tone caused her to stop in mid-stride.
“The chit is not at death’s door. Much as she might wish it, she’s not in need of someone to wait hand and foot on her.”
“But I don’t mind—”
“That’s not the point,” he continued doggedly. “You are as much a guest under my roof as she is. It’s bad enough that you must help with household tasks until I see what staff we can afford, but I won’t have you reduced to serving as a maid for some pampered aristocrat.”
Anne’s brow furrowed. “Surely the young lady cannot be as bad as all that.”
“Ha,” he muttered, then added another expression for good measure.
His young nephew had been listening to the exchange with great interest.
“The Devil take it?” he repeated. “What is he taking, Uncle Noel? And where is he taking it?”
“Tobias!” chided his mother. “You are not to use such improper language.”
“Sorry,” growled Noel with an apologetic shrug. “I shall try to set a better example.” Reaching out, he ruffled the lad’s tousled curls. “The Devil is taking me to task for using such horrid cant in front of your mother. Let it be a lesson of what you should not say in the presence of a lady.”
His nephew gave a solemn nod.
“Now, I need another man to give me a hand in fixing the stove. Will you help hold my tools while I work at this bolt?”
Toby gave a delighted grin and turned away to take up the hammer.
“I could not wish for a better example for my son, Noel,” said Anne quietly, a wistful smile stealing across her pale features. “Save of course for. . .” Her voice broke off, and she looked away.
“Well,” she continued after a moment in a brisker voice. “While you two are occupied here, I best see about setting one of the extra bedchambers in readiness for our guest.”
“I vow, Charles, I would rather hop back to Telford Manor on one leg than stay here,” grumbled Emma as the doctor left the small drawing room. She looked at her cousin through lowered lashes and gave a long sigh. “Orion’s gait is smooth as silk. Surely you could take me up behind you without any trouble.”
“Oh, no, you don’t.” He crossed his arms. “You may wrap half the young bucks in Town around your little finger, but I know you too well to succumb to your wiles, Em. One disaster is enough for the day.”
He paused for a fraction as she fixed him with an imploring look. “You heard the doctor. It would be foolish to risk further damage, so I’ll not be swayed by any pleading or wheedling. The baron is right—several days of quiet recuperation here will not be an undue hardship.”
“But he is an odious man!”
“Because he stands firm in the face of your entreaties?” Charles countered with a glimmer of a smile. “Unlike any other gentlemen of your acquaintance.”
“Wretch,” she muttered. “So you truly mean to abandon me here with an ill-tempered martinet and a grieving widow?”
He didn’t budge.
“It seems a poor way to inspire any spirit of Christmas merriment,” she went on. “Whatever shall I do, since Lord Kirtland seems incapable of civil conversation and forbids me any more congenial company?”
“You might spend some time giving thanks for the fact that you were not seriously injured,” said Charles mildly. “After all, Christmas is not just a season for frivolity and fun, but a time to consider our blessings.”
As a slow burn rose to her cheeks, Emma suddenly felt a prickling of shame. “Do you really think me so shallow?” she asked in a small voice.
“I am beginning to think that any female is unfathomable for a poor simpleton like me.”
“Please don’t jest. It’s just that. . . it’s obvious that Lord Kirtland doesn’t like me above half. He looks at me as if. . . as if I was a lump of coal, come blacken the holidays for his family.”
Charles laughed. “Then, I shall bring a pair of spectacles for him, along with your things.”
Before she could make further protest, he rose and took up his hat and gloves.
“That should ensure that he will not pop you in the stove to warm up the cold winter night.”
“Charles!” Her tone became even more plaintive.
“Cheer up. It won’t be nearly as bad as you think.”
Emma bit back a caustic reply—which proved fortuitous because no sooner had her cousin left the room when another person appeared at the half-open door.
“I understand there has been a dreadful accident,” said Anne, venturing a step into the room. “I do hope you are not in too much pain, Lady Emma. You must tell me if there is anything I can do to make you more comfortable.”
She quickly bent to fuss with the pillow, gently propping up Emma’s freshly bandaged ankle. “I am Noel’s—that is, Lord Kirtland’s—sister, Mrs. Hartley.” A twitch of embarrassment played on her lips. “I am still getting used to the notion of his being a titled gentleman.”
Relieved that someone was showing a little sympathy for her plight, Emma managed a wan smile.
Although Mrs. Hartley was dressed in somber black, there was a warmth to her expression, especially in her soft hazel eyes, which were now crinkled in concern.
She was, Emma judged, some years older than herself, though not far past the first bloom of youth. Indeed, with such lustrous raven hair accentuating her delicate features and porcelain complexion, the baron’s sister was likely to be thought a very pretty lady by anyone making her acquaintance.
“How kind of you, Mrs. Hartley,” she murmured. “I should very much like a cup of tea and some toast. Then, perhaps you might spare some time to sit with me and read—”
“No, Lady Emma, she cannot spare the time.” Noel paused by the open doorway and added, “I warned you, we are all quite busy enough as it is around here, without having to cater to the whims of one used to being waited on hand and foot.”
“Noel!” cried Anne in some surprise. Biting her lip, she then dropped her voice to barely above a whisper. “There is no need to speak so harshly.”
Emma noted with dismay that his expression became darker.
“I told you, Anne, I’ll not have you forced to play nursemaid to our exalted guest.”
The emphasis he put on the last two words made it clear he was even less pleased with the situation now than he had been at their first encounter.
“I know you are anxious to choose the material for Toby’s room, and there is no reason for you to put it off,” continued Noel. “I, too, have some errands that cannot wait, so I have had the gig brought around for a trip into the village.”
Emma took pains to hide her embarrassment as he turned her way.
“Our housekeeper will bring you some refreshment when she is done putting fresh linens in one of the spare bedchambers,” he said brusquely. “Later, she will fix you a light nuncheon as well. But from this evening on, you will have to take your meals when the rest of us are served, though the fare may be not to your taste.”
Goaded on by his rudeness, Emma could not keep a rein on her own tongue. “You need not bite my head off, sir. I wasn’t expecting Mrs. Hartley to wait hand and foot on me—I was merely asking if she might be free to help distract me from the pain in my ankle.”
Noel’s eyes narrowed for a moment, then his glance fell on his sister’s workbasket. He took it up and dropped it none too gently within Emma’s reach. “You need some distraction? Then pray, why not make yourself useful and mend one of my nephew’s stockings.”
She stared in confusion at the jumble of darning threads and needles.
“Or perhaps you can’t manage so much as a simple stitch.” He shrugged. “If not, then you will have to think of something else to amuse yourself.” He turned to his sister. “Anne, come along with me. Before we leave, I wish to know your opinion on what color is best for the trim in the dining room.”
The young widow shot an apologetic look at Emma before hurrying after her brother.
It was all Emma could do to keep from bursting into tears, more from anger than from any physical injury. Drat the insufferable man! Arrogant, sharp-tongued, uUnfeeling—it was not she who should be put to blush for boorish behavior!
Or should she?
Her throat constricted as she thought back on the events of the morning. Her cousin’s warnings had been eminently reasonable, and yet she had paid them no heed. Indeed, she had deliberately flaunted his advice. She swallowed hard. It was exceedingly lucky that a twisted ankle was the worst result of her actions. Her horse might have been seriously injured. Or Charles, who had been obliged to risk his own neck in giving chase to her.
And what about his other chidings?
Emma shifted uncomfortably against the faded chintz cushions of the sofa. It hadn’t occurred to her that any of her actions might have caused pain to anyone else. Surely he must know that she would never consciously seek to hurt.
Her chin dropped and she gave a small sniff. That, she suddenly realized, was exactly the point he had been trying to make. As she recalled his little lecture, she saw that he must consider her thoughtless. And no doubt just as arrogant, sharp-tongued and unfeeling as the odious Lord Kirtland.
A tear spilled down her cheek. It was not a pleasant thing to have to contemplate, and it set off a warring of emotions within her. A part of her wished to deny the truth of his words. Her behavior might be less than perfect, she reasoned, but it was wrong of him to bring up such serious matters during a holiday that was meant to be joyous. Nor did her own shortcomings in any way excuse the cold rudeness of her reluctant host.
And yet. . .
And yet, no amount of reasoning could chase away a most unsettling thought. Perhaps the effusive praise she was receiving from all the gentlemen seeking to curry her favor was indeed turning her into a spoiled brat. It seemed no matter what she chose to do—drive too fast, laugh too loudly, tease too sharply—everyone laughed and encouraged her, calling it a show of high spirits.
In a word, everyone told her she was perfect.
And deep inside, Emma knew all too well that she was not.
She bit her lip in confusion, uncertain on how to sort it all out. Here she was, with peace and quiet in which to think through the conundrum, and yet she wasn’t quite sure where to begin.
Between her own depressed state of mind and Lord Kirtland’s obvious dislike, how would she ever endure this confinement?
Feeling very small and very alone, she allowed her gaze to wander around the small room, hoping to find any sort of respite from such dismal thoughts. Perhaps there was a book or newspaper that might offer a brief distraction. Though how she would fetch it was another matter.
However, she spotted nothing.
Repressing a sigh, Emma rearranged the wool blanket over her lap and looked around once more. The room was, at least, a pleasant one, with light to stream in through the large mullioned windows, though the second glance did make it clear that the baron had not exaggerated—there was much work to be done to put things in order. The hearth could use another coat of beeswax, the draperies were in need of a good beating to rid them of the dust and the planked floor had a dull scuff of neglect to it.
Perhaps it was no wonder that Lord Kirtland was not in the best of humors, admitted Emma. Heddy looked to be correct for once in guessing that he had not inherited much blunt along with the title and house.
Still, it did not excuse the man’s execrable manners—
The thump of a cricket ball bouncing through the doorway drew her from her reveries. It was followed by a small boy, who was so engrossed with retrieving his toy that he nearly collided with the sofa before he noticed there was someone else in the room.
“Oh!” He pushed a shock of tousled hair back from his forehead, and his eyes grew wide. “Are you an angel sent down from Heaven as a Christmas present?” he asked, staring at Emma’s face and golden curls.
She smiled faintly in spite of her bleak mood. At least one male of the household did not consider her a termagant. “I’m afraid not. I am simply your neighbor who is here in your drawing room because of a riding mishap.”
He looked rather crestfallen. “I thought maybe you had been sent to cheer up Mama,” he mumbled. “She cries a lot, when she thinks I don’t see her. Uncle Noel says it is because she misses Papa.” His lip trembled. “So do I.”
“I fear I am hardly cheerful company for your mother or anyone at the moment.” Seeing disappointment spread across the boy’s features, she quickly added, “But I will do my best to lift her spirits.”
That was, of course, assuming she could manage to lift her own. However, her own misfortune suddenly seemed rather insignificant, and she felt a twinge of contrition on recalling her earlier complaints to Mrs. Hartley.
The boy’s face brightened a bit, then his gaze fell on her bandaged ankle. “When I must stay abed, Mama always reads to me. Shall I get one of my books and read you my favorite story?” He looked up shyly. “You would only have to help a little with the words.”
Emma’s lips twitched. “I should like that very much, sir.”
He giggled. “I’m not a sir, I’m just Toby!”
“And I am Emma.” She smiled. “Fetch your book, Toby, and let us begin.”
If truth be told, she usually found her young nieces and nephews rather annoying, but at this point any diversion—even the company of a five-year-old boy—seemed preferable to sitting and stewing alone.
Chapter 3
Charles had to clear his throat to gain Emma’s attention. “Well, as usual, you have captivated the attention of every male in your vicinity,” he remarked dryly as he entered the drawing room and set down several bandboxes on the worn carpet.
Emma gave a low snort, but before she could answer, Toby shot him an aggrieved look.
“You are interrupting the best part of the story!”
“I beg your pardon.” Charles took a seat in one of the side chairs and grinned at his cousin. “Do go on.”
She finished reading the page aloud, then put the book aside. “We shall start the next chapter in just a bit,” she promised, taking in Toby’s mutinous expression.
“Oh, very well,” allowed the boy.
The grin on Charles’s face grew wider. “Perhaps tomorrow I shall bring along some of the picture books from the nursery to keep the two of you occupied.” He gestured a
t the boxes he had brought. “Your maid packed a few essentials while I took the liberty of adding a few books.”
He glanced at Toby. “Though the offerings from Minerva Press might not be exactly to your present audience’s taste.”
“Does the big brown horse I saw this morning belong to you?” interrupted the boy, the awe apparent in his voice.
Charles nodded. “And if you ask your housekeeper for an apple, I shall take you out when I leave and let you feed him the treat.”
With a squeal of delight, Toby scurried off as fast as his little legs would carry him.
“I told you it wouldn’t be so bad,” her cousin said after the boy had quit the room. “You have a gentleman hanging on your every word.”
Emma made a face. “You needn’t keep reminding me that you think me a vain and selfish creature, Charles.”
“I don’t—just a bit headstrong at times.” He toyed with a fob hanging from his watch chain. “Is there anything else you would like?”
“A ride home,” she shot back. “Despite your teasing, there is one gentleman here who, I assure you, is not enamored with my presence. I vow, I should not be surprised to find myself relegated to a bed of straw in the stable when night draws nigh. And grudgingly at that.”
His brow rose a fraction. “You exaggerate. Kirtland seems quite a solid fellow to me.”
She crossed her arms. “I do not.” He might be solid, she added to herself, recalling his muscular chest and the corded strength of his arms. But he was not very nice.
“Hmmm,” was the only answer her cousin made. After a brief pause, he changed the subject. “Robert is expected to arrive by Friday. He is bringing along a Lord Bryson from Devon. And my friend—you remember Mr. Harkness, from the Fernleigh’s ball—arrives this afternoon. ”
The conversation continued on for a time on the comings and goings at Telford Manor until Toby, who had been standing at the doorway, could no longer contain his impatience.
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