by Carla Kelly
‘Yes, of course. I am sorry, I had forgotten about your inheritance. Does it make you much work?’
‘Some.’ His smile was rueful. ‘Not as much as I fear it will cause me when I finally have my hands on it. Everything has been much neglected.’
One of those inheritances which come with dereliction and debt, I suppose.
She watched the lean figure take the stairs, two at a time. Drew would probably do well to sell whatever he could—perhaps that was what would take the work. He didn’t seem anxious to confide in her about it, but it was, after all, none of her business.
Ellie went to sort the post before indulging herself in an orgy of silver paper, ribbon and little boxes. Wrapping presents was one of the things she enjoyed most about Christmas.
Chapter Seven
Drew retreated to his room, checked that Theo was not lurking in the dressing room that had become his bedchamber, and scanned the letters and documents that had arrived in the post. Everything was going well, his lawyers wrote. The delay because of the festive season was unfortunate, but the keys would be his after Christmas. Any cheer that brought was dampened by the report sent by the agent he had hired to inspect what he could of the house and estate without access to keys or legal authority. The man apparently had an imagination. To appalling and overgrown he added and more fitting for a Gothick novel.
There was no point in becoming depressed about it now. This was Christmas and he owed it to Eleanor to join in with the spirit of the season. Drew took the parcel from the bottom of the clothes press and opened it.
He had shopped in a small store run by a charity that sold the work of disabled ex-soldiers. There he’d found a whole range of simple wooden boxes that had been decorated with split straw, dyed and cut and fashioned into patterns, much like marquetry work. There was enough variety to find unusual presents for men and women and without depleting his resources too far.
Claire had given him paper and scraps of ribbon and he did his best not to make a hideous mess of wrapping them. He carried them downstairs and added them to the decorated tables that were already scattered with labelled parcels, positioning his offerings so the lumpier sides and rather uneven bows were hidden.
‘You’ve bought presents?’ Ellie joined him, her arms full of artistically wrapped gifts. ‘You shouldn’t have.’
‘Not bought gifts for my hosts and my betrothed? It would have seemed very strange not to. Here, let me.’ He took the topmost from her pile and added them so it further disguised his failures in parcel-tying. ‘Considering that when I last wrapped a Christmas present I was probably younger than Theo, I suppose my efforts are not too bad, but I think they are better disguised until people have had several glasses of wine.’
Ellie’s gifts were all shapes and sizes, some soft and floppy, others tiny boxes, some clearly books. ‘There,’ she said, stepping back at last. She linked arms with him and leaned against his shoulder a little as she surveyed the effect. ‘Thank you.’
Drew looked down at the top of her head and managed not to give in to the urge to kiss the glossy brown waves. He was becoming too fond of Eleanor for comfort. ‘What for?’ he asked instead.
‘For being here, for joining in as one of the family. For helping make this Christmas even though we aren’t in the home we grew up in. For being the older brother Theo needs and for being...’ Her voice trailed away into a murmur.
‘For being what?’ Drew bent down so that her curls brushed his cheek, so that his nostrils were filled with the elusive scent of jasmine and warm woman that he was coming to recognise as Eleanor.
‘For being you,’ she whispered.
He kissed her as something clenched in his chest, even as every sensible instinct in him screamed No. He had thought he recognised the dangers inherent in this charade—the embarrassment of being found out at best, a suit for breach of promise at the worst. It had not occurred to him that sensible Miss Jordan might fall for him, that he—No. This time it got through to his willpower and he lifted his head. ‘Eleanor.’
‘I know.’ She took her hand from his arm and went to the table, not looking at him as she fussed with labels and bows. ‘Don’t get fond of you. That was what you were going to say, wasn’t it?’
‘Something like that,’ Drew admitted. She was too perceptive not to tell if he was lying to her. She still had her back to him, her bent head exposing the tender, vulnerable nape of her neck. Drew clasped his hands together.
Don’t touch.
‘Can we not be friends after this is over?’ she asked.
‘That would not be—practical.’
‘No?’ She did turn then, her smile a little forced. ‘No, I suppose not. Imagine explaining to your wife when we met. Dearest, this is Miss Jordan, we pretended to be betrothed one Christmas.’
‘I have no intention of marrying, not for some time. I was thinking of your relatives.’
‘Oh. I see. No doubt you are right. The girls will be disappointed, they have quite fallen for you, but I expect their beaux will distract their minds when they come out.’ Her smile seemed normal now. Perhaps he was imagining things, the sweetness in her kiss, the glint of moisture in her eyes, the tension that hummed between them.
He was no longer Captain Stanton, able to marry where the fancy took him, provided that fancy involved a young lady willing to live on army pay, possibly to follow the drum. Now he was a viscount with responsibilities and a mountain to climb before he could seek a suitable bride.
‘Will you come to church this evening?’ Eleanor asked, pulling him out of thoughts of a cold, empty house filled only with draughts and ghosts and into the warmth of this one. The twins’ laughter echoed down from the floor above and he smiled at Eleanor.
‘Of course. Which church?’ He followed her out into the hallway.
‘St George’s, just along the street.’
‘The lion and the unicorn church?’
‘What can you mean?’
‘You obviously keep your eyes chastely lowered on your way to services,’ Drew teased. ‘Have you never seen the etching of ‘Gin Lane’ by Hogarth?’
‘Yes. Horrid thing.’
‘You can see the spire of St George’s in the background, with the lion and the unicorn at its base.’
‘Then Gin Lane is a street near here?’ Eleanor shivered.
‘In the rookery of Seven Dials. The worlds of poverty and privilege are never far apart in London.’
‘No. I must speak to the vicar about what he does to help the poor. I have neglected charity works since we have been in London.’
‘You’ll not go near Seven Dials.’
Eleanor blinked at his tone. ‘Is that an order?’
‘Yes, I rather think it is. I do not have to be fond to care what happens to you.’ He moved towards her as he spoke and she put out a hand. That strange tension seemed to make the air shiver—
‘Ellie! Have you seen my velvet muff? The one that goes with my new pelisse? Oh. I’m sorry, am I interrupting?’ Claire stopped on the half-landing and looked at them.
‘No, not at all.’ Eleanor turned to her sister, all brisk reassurance. ‘Drew was just warning me about venturing into the area south of the church. Apparently it is where Mr Hogarth drew that awful “Gin Lane” picture. And didn’t you put your muff in a hatbox? I’ll come and help you look.’
* * *
Ellie found the muff, exactly where Claire had put it. ‘There you are.’
‘Oh, thank you. Ellie, don’t go.’
She turned back. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘That was what I was going to ask you. Have you and Drew quarrelled? You both seemed so tense just now.’
‘Quarrelled? Goodness, no. It is just that...’ Ellie sat on the end of the bed and searched for the words. ‘It is rather difficult pretending to be in love with someone when you aren
’t.’
Claire scrambled up and sat with her back against the other bedpost. ‘Actually, what you mean is that it is difficult to pretend to be in love for half the people in the house and pretend not to be in love for the other half.’
‘What?’
‘Is my addition wrong? Pretending to be in love for Aunt, the uncles and Cousin Joan. Pretend not for me and Maddie and Theo. Oh, and Drew of course. Yes, half and half.’
‘Claire, I am not in love.’
Yes, I am. I’m not just fond of him, I’m not simply tormented by desire for him. I love Drew.
Her sister snorted. ‘No?’
‘No...yes. He doesn’t want to marry me. And Drew is not a fortune hunter.’ But not being a fortune hunter was a very good reason why he might not allow himself to think and feel beyond those kisses. Was that a tiny flutter of hope she felt just then?
Claire’s lower lip stuck out in a mutinous pout. ‘I think you are being idiotic. This is Christmas. Magic happens at Christmas. Tell him you love him.’
‘I almost did,’ Ellie confessed. ‘But he was embarrassed. He certainly made it very clear that this is a business arrangement. He is very honest.’
But I could tell him how I feel, tell him I know that he isn’t a fortune hunter, that I think we should let ourselves find each other once this charade is over, give whatever this feeling is a chance to grow.
‘Then you are both idiots. I hope I never fall in love because it is obviously bad for the brain. There’s the luncheon gong.’ Claire began to scramble down, stopped halfway and hugged Ellie. ‘But I love you.’
* * *
Ellie avoided Drew all afternoon, which was easy enough as the men seemed to gravitate to the study. What the four of them were finding to amuse themselves she could not imagine, but as there were no raised voices she sent in a tea tray. She managed somehow to chat to her aunt and Cousin Joan at the same time as daydreaming about Drew and about a version of herself who was bold enough to tell a man she wanted him to court her.
The ladies went up to change for dinner, leaving Hobson with strict instructions to send the men up in plenty of time, too. Ellie’s fantasies about Drew were detailed enough for her to imagine him in his shirt sleeves kissing her passionately under the mistletoe and declaring that he didn’t care about her birth or her money, only her. That he had loved her at first sight, that—
‘Ellie, that is a divine gown!’
‘Um? Oh, sorry, Maddie. Yes, it is, isn’t it?’ She smoothed down the rose-pink skirts with a smile. It was new and expensive and perfectly simple with a low neckline edged with brilliants and tiny puff sleeves. ‘I will have to change before we go to church, I can’t go out on to wet streets in this, but it is worth it.’
She went down arm in arm with her sisters, their skirts brushing the decorated spindles on the staircase. There was the mistletoe still hanging in the hallway and there was Drew.
Her imagination had been so full of him, tousled and coatless, his shirt open at the neck, his eyes heavy with smouldering promise, that she almost gasped as the man crossing the hall turned and looked up.
His dress uniform was immaculate, scarlet and black, gold lace and bullion, shining leather and crisp linen. His hair had been trimmed, his shave was close and his eyes... Drew looked at her as if there was no one else on the stairs, as if there were no other women in the world.
And then he smiled and bowed and clicked his heels and Maddie and Claire squealed and ran downstairs to exclaim at his magnificence. Drew looked over their heads and smiled, but the heat was gone and the intensity. Or perhaps she had only imagined it.
Wishful thinking, Ellie told herself as Drew opened the door for them and they all trooped in to dinner.
‘This is our special Christmas meal,’ Ellie explained to Drew as he sat at her side, Uncle Gregory at the head of the board, her aunt at the foot. ‘The servants have Christmas Day off and we will be doing our own cooking tomorrow. Can you cook?’
‘Over a campfire,’ he admitted. ‘That is just about all. Oh, and toast.’
‘Then you will be relegated to kitchen boy, I’m afraid. You may have to pretend to be the scullery maid as well.’
He grinned, although she suspected he didn’t really believe her. Perhaps he thought the staff would have laid everything out for them to do a little pretend preparation by making the tea. A dose of reality had chased away her daydreams and now, sitting next to him, she wondered how she had ever imagined she would have the courage to risk another approach.
Then the pleasure of the Christmas meal took over and she found her aching heart eased as she looked around the table at the familiar, smiling faces lit by the flicker of candles, the glow of firelight.
The goose was delicious, golden-skinned and flavoursome. There was beef for those who preferred it and pies and savoury tarts and vegetables gleaming under melted butter or rich sauces. The twins were allowed one glass of white wine each and became giggly. Aunt Dorothea’s cheeks were pink and Cousin Joan was almost as overcome as the girls. The men ate as though they had been starved for a week, Maddie tactfully cutting up Theo’s meat for him so he managed to keep pace with his elders.
A plum pudding, flaming with burning brandy, provoked gasps of delight, but Ellie had room for only a sliver of damson tart.
Finally the last spoon scraped across an empty plate and they all sat back, a little flushed, decidedly full, very happy. ‘Please give my compliments to Cook and all the staff, Hobson. You have outdone yourselves this year,’ Ellie said. There was a chorus of agreement as the footmen cleared the table.
Aunt Dorothea prepared to rise, but sat again at a gesture from her husband.
‘I have an announcement. As you are all aware I had intended accepting Admiral Torrington’s offer to find Theo a midshipman’s berth in the New Year. However, I have been listening to what Captain Padgett has to say on the matter and also to my good friend Jenkins.’
Uncle Tal, who had kept hold of the dish of sugar plums and was sharing them with Cousin Joan, blinked in surprise.
‘The Navy does not seem to me now to be the best use of Theo’s talents and the Captain may well be correct that he would do better in the artillery,’ Uncle Gregory said. Under the table Ellie groped for Drew’s hand and found it already reaching for hers. ‘However, given that his advancement in whatever field he enters depends upon his mathematical skills, I have decided he should attend university before deciding his future path.’
Theo had gone so white that Ellie thought he might faint. Uncle Tal’s mouth was open, Aunt Dorothea was nodding sagely and Cousin Joan looked confused.
Ellie found that she was speaking. It was that or get up and dance a jig around the room. ‘That sounds very sensible, Uncle,’ she managed to say staidly. ‘I am sure you know best. Theo?’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Theo said, then turned a beaming smile on Drew. ‘I will do my best to make you proud.’
‘May I have my hand back?’ Drew whispered and she realised she was holding it in a fierce grip.
‘Sorry.’ She looked at him, embarrassed that she should have reached for him in the first place, but he was smiling.
‘Don’t be. We have accomplished our mission,’ Drew said. ‘And see, I still have the use of my hand.’ He was smiling as he raised his glass to her.
‘Thank you.’ She returned the toast.
Magic happens at Christmas, Claire had said. It seemed she was right. Perhaps, just perhaps, more enchantment might follow if she wished hard enough.
Chapter Eight
They walked through the snow to the church, well bundled up. Sir Gregory went first, his wife on his arm. Dr Jenkins escorted Cousin Joan, Theo was flanked by the twins and Eleanor and Drew brought up the rear.
‘Just enough snow,’ he said, tucking his hand into the crook of her elbow. Like her sisters Eleanor was carr
ying a muff, both hands snuggly inside. It was a good thing, Drew told himself, because he wanted to hold her hand. She had reached for him at the dinner table without realising it, he knew, just as he had reached for her. He could still feel that fierce grip, the thrum of her pulse.
His reaction told him more than he wanted to accept about his feelings for the woman at his side. He was falling for Eleanor. If he asked her to marry him, would she say yes, or would she have thought better of it after the way he had snubbed her before? If he told her he was a viscount, that might weigh with her because it would help her sisters’ prospects, although that reaction was not what he wanted. But if he didn’t she might think him the hunter he feared he was.
Or I can leave and set about reclaiming the estate, get on an even financial footing and then seek her out. But what if someone snaps her up first? Some confounded vicar, some country squire. Some other fortune hunter.
‘Just enough snow?’ Eleanor queried and he realised he had been lost in his thoughts.
‘Enough to make everything look magical, not enough to be dangerous.’
‘Magical,’ she echoed. ‘You see the magic, too?’
‘Of course.’ He smiled, although she could not see his face. ‘I’m secretly a romantic.’ Perhaps he imagined her sigh, but they had arrived at the church and it was too late to query it. ‘We can’t see the lion and the unicorn now,’ Drew said, glancing up. ‘Look in daylight.’
After I’ve gone.
Drew sat beside Eleanor, the rest of the family around them, listened to the familiar words of the Christmas story and joined in the singing. He watched as Claire yawned and was nudged in the ribs by her sister and Theo found the right place in the prayer book for his cousin and blushed when his aunt nodded her approval. When he glanced down at Eleanor he saw she was looking at them herself, dabbing at the corner of her eye with her handkerchief.
‘Are you all right?’ he whispered.
‘Just happy,’ she whispered back and leaned against him a little as he held the hymn book for her and the choir launched into the soaring glory of ‘Adeste Fidelis’. It wasn’t deliberate, he thought. She was not being provocative, simply feeling comfortable with him.
