by Mary Balogh
She was standing in front of a full-length pier glass in her dressing room a little more than half an hour later while her maid hung up the garments she had worn during the morning. Perhaps, Christina thought, she should wear black just for today after all. It would make her look more elegant for receiving visitors. It would make more obvious to them her role in the household as the widow of the former earl. And perhaps...
But the door from the corridor was flung back after the briefest of knocks and Margaret rushed inside.
“There is a carriage approaching,” she said, her voice breathless with excitement. “Much earlier than any of us expected. And I am not ready, Christina. Just look at my hair.”
She was wearing a pale blue dress, a color that became her well. But true enough, her hair was a disaster. Her maid was of the unfortunate belief that the more ringlets and curls she coaxed into her mistress’s hair, the more elegant the resulting creation would be. She had outdone herself on this occasion.
“Perhaps a brush through the ringlets would create soft curls that would look very well for the afternoon,” Christina suggested even as her heart pounded with the news that the first of the guests were fast approaching. “You have such pretty hair, Meg. Sophie will do it for you, will you not, Sophie?”
Her maid looked dubiously at Margaret’s head. “Sit down on the stool, Lady Meg,” she directed, “and I will see what I can do.”
“It really is not essential that you be downstairs for everyone’s arrival, anyway, Meg,” Christina assured her. “You will meet everyone at tea. However, I promised his lordship that I would go down. I had better go without further delay.”
But Margaret, the promise of Sophie’s superior services having calmed her somewhat overwrought nerves, was staring wide-eyed at her sister-in-law.
“Oh, Christina,” she exclaimed. “You look beautiful!”
It was a dress deceptively simple in design, only slightly scooped at the neck with slim long sleeves. It flared into soft pleats to the ankle from its fashionable high waistline. It was quite unadorned. It was without question the most elegant dress in her pattern book, Miss Penny had declared, and Christina had agreed with her. But she felt herself flushing now. Beautiful? But all beauty was vanity, Gilbert had been fond of saying, and trying to look beautiful was playing into the devil’s hands. Had she been trying?
But there was no time now to change back to the comfortable black. Or to change her mind about wearing a cap. Sophie had dressed her hair in a smooth chignon, but it was too high on the crown to allow for a cap.
The countess’s rooms overlooked the terrace and the front lawns. Before she could rush from the room she heard the distinctive rumble of carriage wheels moving from the paved driveway onto the cobbled terrace. There was no time even to think further. She left the room and hurried along the corridor and down the grand staircase. The front doors, she could see as soon as she stepped through the stairway arch into the hall, were already open. The Earl of Wanstead was standing near them, about to step outside. He turned to watch her approach.
He dressed usually for comfort, she guessed. But today, in a form-fitting coat of blue superfine, gray pantaloons, shining Hessians, and gleaming white linen, he looked very elegant indeed. Handsome.
But the impression, barely formed in her mind, was soon driven out by acute embarrassment. He stood very still, and his eyes moved with slow deliberation down her body from head to toe. Without her customary blacks she felt naked. He made her a formal bow, which was quite unnecessary since they had seen each other at luncheon.
“My lady,” was all he said, but there was something in his eyes that brought heat to her cheeks.
She wished—oh, how she longed for her blacks!
The Earl of Wanstead had several times over the past week regretted his decision to host a house party. As a bachelor he had rarely entertained on any grand scale even for a single evening. But all the preparations appeared to have gone smoothly, thanks, he admitted, to the servants—-and thanks to the countess. Now that the time had come he was feeling rather excited if the truth were known.
It was impossible to tell who was arriving in the first carriage, but since it was not a private coach but a hired conveyance, he guessed that it might be Andrew Campbell and Jeannette. It would be like them to come early. He hoped they would be first. They reminded him of home—or of what had been home for ten years—and they were particularly close friends of his. He had missed them. It seemed much longer than a week since he had seen them last.
By sheer good fortune the day was bright and sunny. Nevertheless it was cold—the grass and the bare branches of the trees had been white with frost when he had gone riding just before dawn. He certainly did not want to stand around on the terrace longer than was necessary. Even so, he was about to step outside when a movement to his left alerted him to the fact that the countess had come downstairs to help with the greetings, as she had promised to do. He turned his head to look at her.
She looked so startlingly different without her mourning clothes that he forgot all about good manners and stared. No, he did worse than stare. He let his eyes roam over her. Both the design and the color of her dress were inspired, he thought. They emphasized the tall, slim elegance of her figure and accentuated the darkness of her hair and eyes. She looked sheerly elegant. More than elegant. She looked stunningly beautiful.
“My lady,” he said, making her a deep bow just as if it were she who was the one arriving.
“Someone has come?” she asked in her usual imperturbable cool manner. He immediately felt foolish.
“The Campbells, if I am not mistaken,” he said. “Shall we go outside to greet them?”
She preceded him through the double doors and down the horseshoe steps without another word. A groom had just opened the door of the carriage and put down the steps, and a young man was vaulting out, not making use of them. He was smiling cheerfully and looking about him with open appreciation. Yes, Andrew, of course.
“Gerard!” he called, looking beyond the countess’s shoulder. “This is Thornwood? Should I salaam?”
It was good to see him again, to hear his slight Scottish accent. “A simple kiss on my signet ring will suffice,” the earl said with a laugh. But he had spotted Jeannette, who in typically independent fashion was about to descend the steps unassisted. She looked delightfully familiar and fetchingly pretty in a green velvet carriage dress. He hurried forward to offer her a hand.
But he changed his mind when she looked up and smiled at him, all sunshine and dimples and red hair and green eyes—and freckles. He set his hands instead on either side of her small waist and lifted her down bodily. The poke of her bonnet reached barely to his chin when her feet touched the cobbles. She was such a little thing, but she was always a perfect bundle of energy. She laughed up at him.
“Gerard,” she said, “we have been speechless with awe for the last few minutes. It is a veritable palace!”
He grinned at her and lowered his head to kiss her impulsively first on one cheek and then on the other. “Welcome to Thornwood,” he said. “How good it is to see you again—to see both of you.” But especially Jeannette. They had always been the best of friends, able to talk easily to each other on almost any subject under the sun.
But he became aware of the silent presence of the countess, and suddenly and for no discernible reason it seemed important to him that she should like his friends—and that they should like her.
“May I present the Countess of Wanstead?” he said. “My dear friends from Montreal, Christina—Jeannette and Andrew Campbell, brother and sister as I am sure you can tell from their similar coloring.”
Jeannette turned her head sharply to gaze at Christina and Andrew looked startled. The earl knew what was coming even before either of them spoke, but he was powerless to stop it. He should have been more careful in his introductions.
“The countess?” Andrew said, his voice all astonishment. “You have married, Gerard? But this
is—”
The countess clasped her hands together, lifted her chin, and thinned her lips.
“Her ladyship is my cousin’s widow,” the earl explained hastily. “She still bears the title, Andrew, as I do not yet have a wife of my own.”
It was an embarrassing moment, but Andrew merely chuckled and bowed over her hand.
“Lady Wanstead,” he said, “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“And I yours,” she said, smiling at them both, the perfectly courteous hostess.
“You must forgive us, Lady Wanstead,” Jeannette said, extending her own hand. “We knew of your existence but we expected an aged dowager. We should have remembered, of course, that your husband was Gerard’s cousin.”
Christina smiled as she took Jeannette’s hand in her own. “Do come inside where it is warmer, Miss Campbell,” she said. “And you too, sir. You will be eager to settle in your rooms and freshen up after your journey. Perhaps you would even like to rest before tea. There will be plenty of time. You are the first to arrive.”
“Are we?” Andrew Campbell grimaced. “It is a family failing, I am afraid.”
“I hope,” the earl said, “your journey down here was less eventful than mine. I had to stop to have a wheel repaired.” He was walking up the steps beside Andrew, the two ladies ahead of them. They were a marked contrast to each other, he thought, both lovely but in quite different ways. It seemed strange seeing them together, his past and his present—and perhaps his future? He had felt a more than usually strong rush of affection at seeing Jeannette again.
And being the Earl of Wanstead, he had realized with some reluctance during the past week, really had set a certain burden of responsibility on his shoulders.
But he would not think of that at present. He would consider it at greater leisure over Christmas.
There was a great flurry of arrivals after that. There was a constant to-ing and fro-ing from the terrace to the hall and up the staircase to the various guest chambers. And then mingled with it there was a steady descent of guests making for the drawing room even before it was teatime. A swell of sound came from the room as acquaintances greeted one another and exchanged observations on their journey and comments on the weather and on the beauty of Thornwood.
Lady Hannah and a brightly flustered Lady Margaret were acting as hostesses in there, Christina knew. Aunt Hannah was in her element as she had an acquaintance with several of the guests and was quite capable of greeting even those she did not know and making them comfortable. Lady Hannah and Mr. Milne, her late husband, had mingled a great deal with society right up to the time of his death. Though she had never grumbled since straitened circumstances after her widowhood had brought her back to Thornwood, Christina had always been aware that she found the absence of social life at her nephew’s home somewhat trying.
Margaret was clearly nervous.
“But I know no one in there except Aunt Hannah,” she had protested when Christina had found her hovering outside the door, unwilling to go in even though only three or four of the guests had descended at that point.
“But of course,” Christina had said. “How could you know anyone, Meg? Smile and go to Aunt Hannah. She will present you, and then you must simply keep on smiling and answer any questions you are asked and think of some to ask in your turn. It will all be far easier than you expect. Your hair now looks very becoming, by the way.”
Poor Meg—so unpracticed in the social arts despite her age and rank. Christina felt a familiar twinge of guilt She had not been able to help matters while Gilbert was alive, of course, or for the year following his death. But she had made no effort during the past five months or so to make life more interesting for her sister-in-law. It was almost as if she had been lulled into a sleep long ago and had been hovering on the brink of waking but had resisted doing so. Sometimes it was more comfortable to remain asleep than to be awake.
Margaret, she saw twenty minutes later when she had a moment to peep into the drawing room, was in the very midst of a group of young people, both ladies and gentlemen, looking flushed and animated and very pretty indeed. If only Gerard really meant to give her a Season during the coming spring, Christina thought. If only he did not forget once Christmas was over and his thoughts turned back to Canada. She would forgive him a great deal if he would just do that for Meg.
But there was no time to dwell upon thoughts of her sister-in-law. There were guests to welcome and names to remember. She thought she remembered Sir Michael and Lady Milchip from her own come-out Season. She certainly remembered their elder son, Mr. Ralph Milchip, who had been a friend of Gerard’s. They had their younger son with them too, Mr. Jeremy Milchip, and their young daughter, Winifred, who blushed shyly as soon as she stepped down from her papa’s carriage and saw the earl and the countess standing there. Meg must be given the task of seeing that she was drawn into every activity over the coming days, Christina thought. And at the same time Meg could learn from the girl something of the wisdom of dressing and styling her hair with reasonable simplicity.
Lady Gaynor, a handsome widow in her forties, and her two young daughters, who were introduced as Lizzie and Susan, arrived at almost the same moment as the darkly handsome young Mr. Samuel Radway and his sister, Clara. And then, before Christina could be quite sure she would remember which name went with which face, Mr. and Mrs. John Cannadine arrived with their two young children, the younger of whom was fast asleep in his father’s arms while four-year-old Alice was cross and loudly wailing.
“She has missed her afternoon sleep,” Laura Cannadine explained apologetically. “I do beg your pardon, Lady Wanstead. Just when one wishes one’s offspring to be on their best behavior, they embarrass one beyond bearing.”
“I know,” Christina said, smiling in sympathy. “I have two of my own. Let me take you straight up to the nursery. Ah, your nurse is in the other carriage, I see. I shall show you where to set Alice down and my children’s nurse will help yours get settled. I know just how important a regular routine is for children.”
“How kind you are,” Laura said as her husband, grinning, transferred his sleeping son to the nurse’s arms.
Christina descended from the nursery ten minutes later in time to greet Lord and Lady Langan, who also had two children with them, both boys, both a little older than the other two. They would surely be splendid companions for Rachel.
Two gentlemen had arrived together while she was upstairs, she learned. She tried to remember from the list she had conned over the past few days who was still missing, and discovered to her dismay that she could no longer remember who had already come. After ten years of marriage, she thought ruefully, this sort of thing should be second nature to her.
The remaining two guests arrived just as she was about to give orders for the tea tray to be taken to the drawing room before going there herself to preside. They were two gentlemen, both in their forties, Christina estimated. Like the first arrivals, they were business associates of the earl’s, retired partners in his own fur-trading company. They were brothers, clearly gentlemen, whose Scottish accents would have betrayed their origins even if their names had not.
“Mr. Colin Stewart, my lady,” his lordship said, presenting them to her. “And Mr. Geordie Stewart, his brother.”
And that was everyone, she thought in bewildered relief. Now all she had to do was learn the trick of calling everyone by the correct name.
“Welcome to Thornwood,” she said. “I hope we can make your stay happy here over Christmas. Do come inside where it is warmer.”
At least, she thought as she entered the drawing room and set about pouring the tea, she did not have to face the task of making strangers comfortable with one another. With a few exceptions everyone seemed to know everyone else well enough—as was to be expected of people of the ton. It was she who was the peculiar one, though she had been happy enough, especially at first, to withdraw from society after her marriage. And she had been ready enough to believe that
the world of polite society was without merit, even wicked.
But there was something strangely seductive about this gathering of smiling, chattering people. Everyone looked amiable and harmless enough. And there was something delightful about looking around and seeing people dressed colorfully and fashionably. Perhaps she had been wrong....
She listened to a snippet of conversation during a few moments while she was alone at the tea tray. It involved Margaret and three gentlemen. One of them was Mr. Ralph Milchip. The other two must be the gentlemen who had arrived while Christina was in the nursery. She remembered one of them by sight and thought he must be Viscount Luttrell. At least his name was on the list of guests, yet she could not remember having been presented to him.
“What I want to know, Lady Margaret,” the third young gentleman was saying, “is why we have never yet seen you in London. It is a crime pure and simple, if you were to ask me.”
“Perhaps, sir,” Margaret replied, sounding downright coquettish, “because I have been too busy and too merry in the country to be able to spare a moment for London. Have I missed something of importance by not going there?”
Gilbert would have been horrified. The tone of the conversation was clearly flirtatious. Christina merely smiled to herself. Good for you, Meg, she said silently.
“One is made to think of flowers blooming unseen in deserts,” Mr. Milchip said.
“Except that the countryside is no desert, sir,” Margaret retorted.
“Have you missed something of importance, Lady Margaret?” the gentleman who was probably Viscount Luttrell said, his voice languid. He had a quizzing glass in his hand, Christina noticed, though he had not raised it all the way to his eye. “Certainly you have. You have missed me.”
Margaret’s delighted laughter mingled with the deeper guffaws of his companions.
