Not, she added to herself, that she would ever see the light of such sentiment from Lord Kirtland.
Noel’s hand tightened on the log he was straightening. “I-I beg your pardon, Lady Emma,” he said after a moment or two. “It is a most thoughtful idea. If your cousin is agreeable to the plan, he and his friend are welcome to come by whenever they wish.”
Moving with great deliberateness, he finished arranging the rest of the wood in a neat order, then rose and left the room without a further word.
The pine needles suddenly felt like hedgehogs beneath her fingers. Was the baron always so prickly, or was it only her presence that brought out such behavior? Despite the occasional lowering of his spines, he seemed determined to treat her as naught but an unwelcome intruder. Blinking back the sting of tears, she began to fashion a festive bow for one of the garlands, even though her spirits had been sadly flattened.
The devil take it! Noel threw down the chisel and rubbed at his scraped fingers. It seemed he was all thumbs at everything he attempted this morning! Not only was the groove for the larder hinge now looking a bit crooked, but once again he had shown himself incapable of behaving with even a hint of gentlemanly civility.
Emma must think him an idiot.
Shoving aside the rest of his tools, he rose and stalked toward the kitchen door. Perhaps a spell outside chopping wood might help relieve some of his pent-up frustration—as well as cool the heat that was coursing through his veins every time he thought of the lovely young lady temporarily marooned under his roof.
It was one thing to ignore her when she seemed no more than a willful brat, but now that she had shown herself to be thoughtful and perceptive and kind to boot. . .
He swore again under his breath, reminding himself that to let his mind stray in such a direction was unwise.
Thwack. The ax split the log neatly in two. No, it would be best to keep both his thoughts and his person well away from the young lady. Surely it should not be so difficult to avoid her—or at least feign indifference to her presence. After all, she would be gone in another day or two.
But he feared she would haunt his dreams for a good deal longer than that.
“. . . and don’t forget, there are a number of things that I want you to bring along when you return with Edgar.”
Charles regarded his cousin with bemused amazement. It was not merely the sight of the pine needles sticking to her fingers or the faint smudge of red across her cheek or the scraps of cut ribbon and paper clinging to her elegant gown that had rendered him momentarily speechless. Rather it was the striking change in her demeanor since the accident.
“Have Larkins fetch down the box of lead soldiers from the attic, for I know Toby will be in alt at having his very own army to maneuver,” continued Emma. “And gather up the last few issues of La Belle Assemblee, for Anne will greatly enjoy seeing the very latest fashions from Town.”
She tapped at her chin. “Oh—and ask Mrs. Hawkins for a tin of her special wood polish, along with the recipe, for Lord Kirtland. . . “ Her voice faltered a little. “That is, Lord Kirtland no doubt has his own preferences, but perhaps he might find it useful.”
Was this the same headstrong young lady who had sat there only twenty-four hours ago beseeching him not to leave her in such a dreadful place?
Repressing a grin, Charles couldn’t help but wonder whether she had suffered a severe knock on the head as well as a nasty twist of her ankle. If so, he found himself hoping the effects would be a good deal more lasting than the damage to her leg. But he wisely forbore voicing such thoughts aloud.
Giving a slight cough, he merely nodded. “Is that all?”
“Actually it’s not.” She smiled. “Please have Cook make up a basket of her cakes and perhaps a pigeon pie and a crock of her stewed mushrooms. And why not include a bottle or two of Papa’s favorite claret! We are busy enough here without Anne or the housekeeper having to make supper.”
At this remark, Charles couldn’t resist an arch of his brow as he regarded her slightly disheveled state. “Hmm, yes. Busy, indeed.”
Emma gave a rueful grimace as she brushed a strand of hair off her forehead, then looked down at her grubby hands and the scraps clinging to the folds of her gown.
“I suppose I hardly look like the proper lady, but there is much to do to get this house ready for Christmas, and it was clear they could use an extra hand.”
“So, it does not appear as if you are suffering from the ennui or deprivation that you feared,” he murmured.
It was true. She had been so involved in helping the baron’s family that her thoughts had been far too occupied to dwell on her own imagined travails. Unsure of how to respond, Emma turned to avoid his inquiring gaze.
“In fact, you and Edgar will be able to help Lord Kirtland move the cupboard in the kitchen. I overheard Anne say that she wished for it to be shifted to the other side of the room, but it requires more than one man.” Her brow furrowed in thought. “And no doubt there are a number of other heavy tasks that might be done while you two are here.”
“I shall warn my friend that we are expected to provide more than just our scintillating presence.” Charles took up his hat and gloves. “Well, I had best take my leave now.” There was a slight pause as he tugged the soft York tan leather over his fingers. “How fortuitous for all involved that you landed here.”
Emma felt a small pinch in her chest. Though her cousin might not have noticed, it was quite evident to her that not everyone at Hawthorne House would agree with that sentiment.
Noel sat off to one side and stared into the crackling fire. A burble of laughter came from the ladies as Charles finished another humorous anecdote concerning the surreptitious addition of a bottle of brandy to the ratafia punch at Lady Atwater’s ball. He forced a smile as well, though he had not really been listening.
It was proving nigh on impossible to ignore Lady Emma. Throughout the afternoon, she had required his presence as one task after another had been drawn up to prepare for the evening visitors. Her animated banter and gay laughter had kept everyone in high spirits—including himself.
But perhaps tonight, if he kept his gaze averted from her mesmerizing beauty, he would not feel so much like a lowly moth being drawn toward a flame.
It was, of course, too late to keep his heart from being singed.
How ironic, he thought with an inward grimace. The seasoned officer, who had come through countless battles unscathed by bullet or saber, had been brought to his knees by Cupid’s arrow. He was, however, determined to nurse his wound without becoming the object of amusement or pity.
No one would have reason to guess the true state of his feelings.
Another laugh from Anne caused his expression to soften for an instant. The undisguised change in her behavior was cause for silent celebration, no matter his own depressed spirits. Noel slanted a quick glance at her animated face and shy smile. She had clearly made the first tentative steps toward emerging from her shell, encouraged by the kind attentions of Emma and the two affable gentlemen.
Why, Anne had even managed a coherent conversation with Mr. Harkness while the two of them had been engaged in hanging one of the pine swags. Although the talk had been mainly about the sorts of mischief young children were apt to create, it was a start.
He took a sip of his wine. Perhaps Toby’s innocent observation had been correct—perhaps Lady Emma was indeed a Yuletide angel sent down from the heavens in answer to his prayers.
No matter that she would bedevil his peace of mind far longer than the holiday season.
“I hope that we might be permitted to call on the morrow and offer further assistance,” said Mr. Harkness, rising reluctantly as the clock on the mantel chimed the lateness of the hour. “I heard mention of chairs needing to be moved down from the attic, and there is still the Yule log to be cut.”
“And you may bring more jam tarts!” cried Toby. He shot a pleading look at his mother. “Oh, do say yes, Mama!”
“Why, not at all,” interrupted Mr. Harkness quickly. “In fact, the Manor is rather quiet as the duke and Robert have been delayed in London. We would much prefer the company of two charming ladies to another endless round of billiards, wouldn’t we, Charles?”
“Of course,” agreed Emma’s cousin.
“Well, in that case. . .” Anne turned to Noel.
“I should be glad of any help you care to offer,” he replied politely. Then he, too, gave a glance at the clock and rose abruptly. “Now, if you will excuse me, there are some matters I must attend to before it grows much later.”
“Dear me,” murmured Mr. Harkness after the door had fallen closed. “Did I say something amiss?”
“Oh, it’s not you, Edgar,” said Emma with a forced smile. “It’s me. I’m afraid Lord Kirtland has formed quite a low opinion of me—”
Charles coughed. “Well, he did have ample reason.”
“—and now he finds it difficult to be in the same room with me,” she finished softly.
“Surely you exaggerate,” exclaimed Mr. Harkness with an odd quirk of his lips. “From what I observed this afternoon, my impression is that Lord Kirtland does not find your company unwelcome.”
“I assure you I do not exaggerate.” She wiggled the toes of her bandaged ankle. “You are quite mistaken. He trying very hard to be polite. But the truth is, he can’t wait for me to be out from under his roof.”
Her cousin tactfully refrained from further comment.
Anne, too, remained silent, though a pensive expression drew her brows together for an instant as she stared first at the closed door, then at Emma.
“If you don’t mind, I should like to be taken up to my room,” said Emma after an awkward pause. She lowered her head so that none of the others could see her expression. “I am suddenly feeling very fatigued.”
Charles was quick to comply with her request and carried her upstairs without indulging in any more of his usual teasing. He returned in time to catch Anne’s puzzled sigh as she rose to accompany the two gentlemen to the door.
“I can’t for the life of me figure out what has Noel acting so strangely,” she murmured. “He is not usually given to such unaccountable shifts of mood.”
“Emma, too, is behaving quite oddly,” remarked Charles.
Mr. Harkness gave a short cough. “I am, of course, a stranger to them both, but it seemed to me that, well, maybe. . . if you take my meaning.”
Charles stroked at his chin. “By Jove, do you think it possible?”
“Are you saying. . .” Anne’s eyes lit up. “Oh, wouldn’t that be wonderful!”
“Wonderful, indeed,” repeated Charles, a sly grin stealing to his lips. “Though it appears that the two parties involved are being deucedly stubborn about the whole matter.” He pursed his lips. “Hmmm. We’ll have to see what can be done to help things along.”
The next few days were filled with a whirlwind of activity that somehow required Noel to spend a good deal of time in consultation with his injured guest. The others seemed to need both of their opinions in making the final decisions for a number of minor details. The result, however, was that the inhabited wing of Hawthorne House was looking more like a true home with every passing moment. Every room had been scrubbed and polished, right down to the last nail head, and a profusion of Christmas greenery in gaily beribboned crocks enlivened the freshly dusted chintzes. Even the hallway leading to the kitchen bore a fresh coat of paint, as volunteered by the visitors from Telford Manor.
The project had engendered quite a few giggles from the ladies, as it seemed that more of the pigment had ended up on the two gentlemen and their small helper than on the plaster itself. But all agreed that the end result was a vast improvement over the former dingy shade of soot gray.
Charles and Edgar—everyone had asked Mr. Harkness to drop the more formal use of his last name—insisted on bringing hampers of food prepared by the duke’s cook for when the work was done, so suppers turned into a shared affair as well. Fortified with an ample supply of excellent champagne from the cellars of His Grace, the meals passed in an effervescence of good spirits. If Noel and Emma were a trifle more sober than the others, it was not remarked upon—at least not aloud.
That evening, Toby had been put to bed, and the adults had moved to the parlor for a celebration of sorts. The cast-iron stove had finally yielded to the ministrations of three muscular gentlemen and now burned without filling the kitchen with a cloud of smoke.
Noel, as had become his habit, took a seat slightly apart from the others and allowed the others to carry most of the conversation, though Charles and his friend took great pains to draw him out.
“Was that Dr. Dumberton’s gig that I spied leaving as we were returning with the last load of cut holly?” asked Charles, after recounting the latest bits of news from the London newspapers. His eyes had strayed to Emma’s ankle, which was propped up on a hassock. Showing from beneath the folds of fine merino was evidence of a new—and much less bulky—bandage.
“Yes.” She took pains to study the myriad tiny bubbles fizzing to the surface of her drink. “In fact, he says that I am recovered enough to return home on the morrow.”
“Well, now, that certainly calls for a toast, doesn’t it?” he replied with great heartiness.
She raised her glass, a crooked smile upon her lips. “Yes. Of course.”
The others joined in with murmured congratulations.
Noel was the last to speak. “What good news, indeed,” was his enigmatic comment. He swallowed the contents of his glass in one gulp, then reached over for the bottle and refilled it to the brim.
His sister fixed him with an odd look before turning away. A small sigh slipped from her lips. “ It will seem very. . . quiet without you here.” A flicker of hesitation stirred beneath her lashes. “All of you,” she said added softly.
“As to that. . . “ Edgar cleared his throat. “Er, seeing as, er, you might have a bit of free time, I thought you—and Toby—might like to go for a drive tomorrow afternoon. My daughter has finished the visit with her grandparents, and is coming to join me in the morning. I. . . well, I should like very much for you to meet her. Assuming, of course, that you would care to.”
Anne’s cheeks took on a very becoming shade of rose. “Oh, I would. Very much so.” She darted another quick glance at her brother. “That is, if you are sure there is nothing pressing?”
“Not at all.” Noel smiled. Then, as on the previous evenings, he made to rise and quit the room before the others, leaving one of the other gentlemen to assist Emma upstairs.
But this time, Charles forestalled his exit by getting to his feet first. “Edgar, we really must be off now,” he announced, making a show of consulting his pocket watch. “Uncle Ivor is due to arrive sometime later tonight, and it would be quite rude if we were not there to greet him.”
His friend shot up too. “I shall pack up the hampers and help you take them out to the carriage. No doubt Cook will have need of all her platters now that the holidays are beginning in earnest.”
Anne quickly followed their lead. “It has been a long day, and I am sure all of us are quite ready to retire.” Without further ado, the three hastened toward the door.
The devil take it! Noel shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his gaze riveted on the dancing flames. Taken aback at being left alone with Emma, he was still trying to compose his thoughts when she stirred from her seat and lowered her ankle from its resting place.
“It has been a long day,” she murmured, echoing Anne’s words. “I believe I shall follow her suggestion and bid you good night, sir.”
“Lady Emma, just what do you think you are doing?”
She hesitated. “Why, I am going upstairs. The doctor said—-”
&nb
sp; Before she could finish, Noel rose from his seat and lifted her up in his arms.
“T-that is quite unnecessary, sir,” she stammered. “I am permitted to move about on my own, if I exercise a modicum of caution.”
“Since caution does not seem to be your strong suit, I prefer to ensure there are no further accidents.”
There was no sting to the words, as they had been uttered with an unexpected gentleness.
Emma glanced up in some surprise, then she quickly looked away. “What you mean is, it would be your worst nightmare were a slip to delay my departure.” Though she tried to keep her tone light, there was a small catch in her voice.
Ha! The only nightmare that promised to plague his dreams was the thought of never seeing her angelic face again!
Noel knew he would be treading on dangerous ground if he ventured a reply, but suddenly his steps stilled on the stairs.
Perhaps it was because he had imbibed more of the champagne than usual that prompted him to speak. “You think I shall be glad that you are gone?”
“O-Of course,” she replied in a small voice. “You said yourself that my leaving on the morrow was good news indeed.”
“We seem to be in the habit of misunderstanding each other’s words, Lady Emma,” he murmured, his face only inches from hers. “What I meant was, it must be good news indeed for you. I remember quite clearly how, on the morning of the accident, you lamented being forced to miss all the fun.”
He drew in a ragged breath. “Well, rather than being stuck in this isolated house any longer, you will soon be back in the whirl of fashionable balls and dinner parties, surrounded by your ardent admirers—who are all, no doubt, a good deal more charming and amusing than a grim-faced ex-soldier.”
“Perhaps I have come to realize that it is much more important to be surrounded by people who truly care for each other than to be flattered with flummeries by a crowd of fawning strangers,” replied Emma.
Her cheek came to rest against his shoulder, then she spoke again, in hardly more than a whisper. “Just as I have come to recognize that you possess a good deal more than charm and bon mots, Lord Kirtland. You are all the things a true gentleman should be. Y-You are caring, compassionate, forthright, and unselfish. Due to your efforts, Hawthorne House has become a true home, and I shall miss. . . everyone here.”
Christmas By Candlelight: Two Regency Holiday Novellas Page 12
