Have Yourself a Merry Little Secret : a Christmas collection of historical romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 2)

by Collette Cameron

  She stepped back to watch him pass. As he drew closer, the wheels of his carriage began to tip the verge. Wary now, she took another step back and tripped over, landing on her behind into a cold puddle. She sat, eyes closed with defeat, enveloped in wet clay and muddy water, watching the back end of a clinging groom disappear into the distance. The worst day of her life now topped by being cold and wet, she slowly rose to her feet. Dazed for a moment, she stared down at her waterlogged gown. After gulping back more stupid tears, she wrung out her skirts, rearranged her hat, and began to march home.

  She reached the end of the long, curved driveway leading to her brother’s manor house, and noted the mud-splashed phaeton. Before she could find an iron bar to beat one of the wheels to death, the front door opened, framing the butler, Franning. He stood, waiting for her. She crossed the threshold while he removed her wet coat and hat with two fingers. Although he caught her furious gaze, he wisely didn’t say a word. At least he had sense enough not to make matters worse.

  Trailing water, she passed a footman on the landing of the stairs. He murmured needlessly, “My lord has a visitor.” He glanced downward at the muddy hem of her gown.

  Her shoulders lifted with the deepest breath she could manage. She absolutely did not want to meet Eden’s churlish caller. She would much prefer to have a hysterical fit and lock herself in her bedroom. Since she rarely lost her temper, she had no idea where to start, or even who would either notice or care. Entering her bedroom in the main wing, she wished she had one of those horrible brothers that other people seemed to have, one who didn’t continually invite friends to stay and make use of his hospitality. Unfortunately, people loved being with Eden, because he knew how to make money, and every stinking person in the whole wide world wanted more money. She kicked her wet shoes into the corner.

  Although, like everyone else in the world, she loved Eden, who had been described as a golden god, she wanted to live in home of her own with a husband and children. Despite the fact that he was rich, her dowry would not come from his estate, but from her mother’s small inheritance from Mary’s wastrel father, which meant she had the tiniest pittance in the world. Without marriage, she would be a burden, or one of those useful aunts who took care of everyone’s children.

  She tossed her hat onto her bed. She left her coat on the floor. Her eyes moistened again. Flinging herself onto her bed in her damp gown, she added enough angry tears to drown her sorrows.

  When she had finished, she blotted her face and rang for a maid, who brought her a cup of hot milk. Slightly revived after finishing the drink, she chose a muddy green gown to wear. In the village shop, she had liked the color of the fabric, which she thought matched the color of her eyes. Lucy had described the color of her eyes as ‘sooty blue’ but Lucy had been in a good mood that day. Colors didn’t particularly interest Mary, who didn’t mind what she wore, as long as she was adequately covered.

  Some years ago, Della, who had an eye for colors, had helped her buy suitable gowns to wear, but Della’s concentration span resembled that of a hen once the grain had been consumed. Mary now left to choose her own, went back to buying any old color that would hide her behind the veil of anonymity.

  Grabbing up a shawl whose pattern included muddy green as well as blue, she wandered down the hall, reluctantly heading for the drawing room, knowing she had to greet Eden’s churlish guest.

  The footman opened the doors to the low hum of conversation. Della, Lucy, and Mama sat grouped around a central figure, an elegantly dressed gentleman with magnificent shoulders and one of those brushed forward, fashionable hairstyles. Her heartbeat sped up and her cold cheeks flushed. She stood, frozen to the spot.

  When he noticed her, he stood, a polite, questioning smile on his face. Clearly he didn’t remember her. The humiliation cut deeply.

  Eden also rose to his feet. “Ah, the youngest member of my family. Mary, I’m sure you remember my friend from Oxford days, the highly travelled earl of Westerham?”

  As one Della, Lucy, and Mama turned to stare at her, while the earl of Westerham strolled toward her. Her mouth dry, she took a step back. In looks, Eden had no competition, but this man, with his even features, and his air of confidence, would confuse anyone into thinking he was an extremely handsome man. He wore a brightly patterned waistcoat in green and gold with a jacket that had been tailored by a master to cling to his wide shoulder and emphasize his narrow waist. Before she had time to take a deep breath, he carefully lifted her hand, and bent over as if he meant to kiss her knuckles. He missed, but only because she tugged her stiff fingers out of his grip.

  “I’m sure we must have met before, Lady Mary,” he said without a glimmer of recognition on his face as he arose to his full height, more than six feet tall. He would be at least thirty now, Eden’s age.

  So, he was sure, was he? Clearly he hadn’t remembered her. Since he didn’t, she decided she wouldn’t remember him, either. “I doubt that.” Mary’s lips curved with what she hoped was polite disbelief. Handsome or wealthy, insincere men used polite words as a mere formality, and not a true statement of fact.

  Normally, she didn’t mind polite insincerities, but had met the earl before he was an earl, while Eden was at Oxford. She’d been so impressed by all his charming friends that she lumped them into a group she silently named ‘The Incredibles.’ Although she would never believe any teasing word that came from their lips, handsome males always made a huge impression her, being so plain herself. Individually, they were each in their own way highly attractive, and none of them would ever be likely to say the same about her. Mainly they discussed their tutors, gambling, horse racing, and another subject spoken in lowered tones. She assumed this modicum of discretion was used when they talked about their female friends.

  “I’m sorry for being late, but I had to change my gown.” She aimed an accusing stare at the thoughtless earl, who narrowed his eyes and stared back at her.

  Her mother appeared astonished, as well she should. Mary rarely bothered changing her gown for visitors. “You didn’t need to do that, dear.” With a smile, she motioned Mary to sit beside her on the large couch, even going to the extent of moving a cushion.

  “I had no choice,” Mary said in a loud voice, for once in her life trying not to be overlooked. “I took the main road home and a phaeton passed so close to me that I fell into a muddy puddle.” She shot a narrow-eyed glare at Lord Westerham.

  He rubbed the back of his neck and lifted his eyebrows, staring down at her in a silent admonishment. But not a single word of apology came from him. Apparently he agreed with the common opinion—that her complaints were not worth acknowledging.

  She glowered at him, knowing full well that he had been the driver of the phaeton. Not that she had proof, but she didn’t need to be a genius to recognize that the phaeton outside was the same one that had passed her on the road. “My best walking gown is now ruined,” she said in more definite voice.

  Westerham’s eyebrows lifted. “Do you normally walk alone along a main road?” he asked her in an autocratic voice. “Perhaps the driver didn’t notice you, not being accustomed to seeing ladies unaccompanied.”

  “Mary!” her mother said in a cross voice. “You know you should take the hills’ path. It’s much safer.”

  Her day had been bad enough without being downgraded into the servant-class by Westerham and chastised by her mother. She had the urge to saunter insolently out of the room. Instead, she dropped her gaze and sighed, not about to leave the scene of the crime. Her awkward presence would discomfort the earl far more than a quick retreat.

  She sat in her designated place, and accepted her designated role as the dull sister who would leave the other to shine. Lucy did her best, because she had been angling for Westerham for the past two years, but even she couldn’t compete with Eden’s insights, which the earl clearly found fascinating. Strangely enough, although he was polite to everyone, he didn’t single out Lucy.

  During the conversati
on, he mentioned that he accepted Eden’s offer to have him stay for a few days, his excuse being that he would like to see Eden’s method of planting the fields, ‘if it wasn’t too much trouble.’ Since Eden loved educating anyone, his handsome face expressed his pleasure.

  Dinner that night would be full of interesting conversations if the two began discussing Eden’s theories, rather than weddings and funerals, which were the usual topics in this household full of women.

  Chapter 2

  Beldon, the earl of Westerham, climbed into a warm bed that night, glad to be out of London and not having to listen to the usual witless conversations. Instead, he’d been highly entertained by Thornton and his delightful family.

  Once, he’d had a happy family himself. Now every room in his home echoed with silence.

  Four years had passed since the battle of Waterloo. He had been prevented from joining the army, being the heir to the Westerham estates. His youngest brother had been killed in the fighting and his second brother had been maimed. Many other families had suffered the same misfortunes, but two days after he heard about his brothers, his father died, leaving Westerham one of the richest men in England, a hollow gift he hadn’t wanted so soon.

  At first he had tried to drown his sorrows in drunken episodes, but reality had eventually brought him back to his responsibilities. His obligation to his family name meant he had to marry and produce the next heir. One young virginal lady after another had paraded before him hoping to tempt him into matrimony. Although he knew he had to take the plunge at some time, he had put off matrimony as long as he could. His current mistress suited him and kept him contented. She had no agenda other than to please him, and his money pleased her. However, the time had come to gather up any vestige of charm he had once possessed and try to begin a new life.

  During the past year, he had researched family lines, had attended balls, and been introduced to every debutante in society, hoping to find a suitable female on whom to confer the honor of his title and lands. She could have no more from him, since his heart had long since turned into a hole in his chest.

  Then some weeks ago, Thornton had mentioned his sister, Lady Lucy, had spent the past two years on the shelf. Westerham, of course, had met her. He had met every eligible young woman, unfortunately, without being able to see the merit of one more than any other. He decided a few days spent with his friend would serve two purposes. He could consider Lady Lucy in the comfort of her normal surroundings, and he could combine this with pacing out the fields with his friend, testing soils, and discussing crops or watering plans.

  Since his only need in a wife was to produce the next heir, the idea of having Thornton in his family appealed to him. Unless Thornton’s sister had turned into a witch, he could do his duty by her and give her a son or two. After that, she could live as she liked and he would supply her with a generous allowance. A marriage of convenience seemed to have worked well for his father. His mother had no complaints. If she had, she had never voiced a single one.

  After meeting the entire family, including Lady Lucy and her rather angry sister, Lady Mary, whom he certainly did remember, he changed into formal attire for dinner. Being the first to arrive in the drawing room, he busied himself glancing outside at the changing weather. He drank a very nice sherry while contemplating the dark clouds racing across the sky.

  Eventually, the door opened. Della, the current Countess of Thornton, stepped into the room, trailing shawls as usual. Thornton’s perfect match forgot everything except the precise order and timing needed to play every intricate melody she had ever heard on the piano. Her affinity for music even led to her creating her own melodies to play. The next to arrive was Thornton’s pretty, fair haired sister, who dressed in layers of pink, with a rose patterned shawl draped stylishly over one shoulder. The rest of the fabric drooped from her elbows. She greeted him with the schooled smile of a lady who expected to marry well.

  Next, the dowager Countess Thornton arrived, her shawl unwinding as she walked. Not at all stylish, the lady wore grey and blue. Everyone stopped chatting and stood, about to go into dinner, when Thornton said, “What about Mary? Isn’t she well?”

  His mother looked surprised and glanced about the room as if she had misplaced her daughter somewhere, but couldn’t remember what she looked like. Della blinked as if she just woken up. She wouldn’t notice if the Prince was missing when she had other things on her mind. Finally the doors opened one more time and Lady Mary entered. He sighed. The scruffy pest was dressed like a dust mop. Apparently, she was still determined to remain her sister’s background shadow, despite always having been far more interesting than Lady Lucy.

  Earlier, his dislike of her gown had caused his annoyed answer when she accused him of splashing her with mud. He couldn’t bear to see her still wearing other people’s old clothes in an attempt to shine the light on her sister. But worse than that was that she had said they had never met before. She couldn’t possibly have forgotten him when he hadn’t forgotten her. Long ago, he had thought that he had brought her out of her shell, but clearly not.

  However, an abject apology about not noticing her on the road wouldn’t clean her gown, which more than likely resembled the one she had worn earlier. Even if she had no taste, surely she had a maid or a relative who would help her choose more suitable fabrics and colors than she wore? This one, in a decaying green, had been made with no style whatsoever. Since he knew he had been the one who had splattered her in mud, he would replaced her gown with one more suitable for her when he went back to London.

  As he moved toward her, meaning to begin a civil interaction, the butler threw open the double doors leading into the dining room. Precedence said that he should take her mother into dinner. With no other choice, he changed direction and moved toward the dowager Lady Thornton. As he passed Lady Mary, his cuff link caught in the fringe of her shawl. Providence had provided him an opportunity to spark an interesting confrontation with this young woman who was determined not to know him.

  He tugged and the shawl slowly slipped, aided by a downward movement of his arm. Taking a step back, he trod on the material. Caught between his cuff link and his evening shoe, the fabric ripped.

  Lady Mary put up a hand to try to keep him still but he was quite determined to finish what he had started, and managed lengthen the rip.

  “My apologies, Lady Mary,” he said with a sweeping bow. “I hope you will allow me to replace this.”

  “It’s old. It doesn’t matter,” she said through clearly gritted teeth. If a stare could kill, he would be stone cold dead. “I can repair it.”

  He doubted that. The fabric would always look darned, but he had another plan for tonight. Lady Lucy, sweet and pretty, deserved to have a husband who would cherish her rather than a man who would need nothing more from her after she had produced an heir. As the possessor of the required strength of character, her younger sister Lady Mary would cope with him without making a melodrama out of her whole life. His previous interactions with her had shown her to be a realist rather than a dreamer.

  He straightened, bundled her shawl and passed the balled fabric to the butler as he passed, before turning to Lady Lucy. Sliding the shawl off her right shoulder, he said, “I’m sure you don’t mind letting your sister have this. She has bare arms and needs a little more covering.”

  For a moment, Lady Lucy tightened her expression. She gave herself a moment to recover her aplomb before she said in a sighing voice, “Of course, my sister may borrow my shawl. If I notice a draught, I will send a servant for another.”

  “I thought you would understand.” Turning to Lady Mary, whose jaw had slackened, he put her sister’s shawl tenderly around her shoulders. Lady Mary swiveled around and stared blank-faced at him. With a polite inclination of his head, he said, “That color suits you much better.” More than likely the color could have been bettered, but he didn’t mind putting Lady Lucy further into the background, thereby offending her so much that she wouldn’t w
ant to hear a word of the proposal she expected from him.

  He hoped he had the reverse effect on Lady Mary, but if so, her face showed no gratitude whatsoever. Mentally shrugging, he strode back to their mother and escorted her into the dining room.

  From his position at the table, on the right of the dowager, he watched the byplay between the sisters. Lady Lucy tried hard to recover her poise, but her stiffened posture said that she had been put out, no matter what she said. Her younger sister sat, blinking hard, gazing at the pattern and tangling her fingers in the fringe.

  One unexpected benefit was that for a moment when she had glanced down at the shawl, she had sparkled like a raindrop caught in a flash of sunshine. More than likely, he was the only one who noticed, but since she didn’t glance around the table to if she had an effect on anyone else, he knew she was used to being ignored.

  Later, when the ladies had left him and Thornton alone in the dining room to sip port, Eden said in ruminative voice, “Mary looked pretty in Lucy’s shawl. Perhaps I should buy one for her instead leaving her to choose. She always chooses muddy colors for herself.”

  Westerham shrugged. He realized Lady Mary wanted to be overlooked, but rather than pointing that out to Eden, he said, “Why bother? She either doesn’t know, or doesn’t care, how she looks.”

  “She should, though. Don’t you agree?”

  “She is your sister. You would know her best,” Westerham said, wondering why he cared that Lady Mary seemed defeated. “But I see no reason why a star shouldn’t be allowed to shine sometimes.”

  Thornton stared at him as if he had just invented the slide rule. “A star?”

  “Or a hidden gem if you must be literal.”