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

by Collette Cameron

  After the household retired for the night, Westerham slept like a log. At dawn, his valet clattered a washing bowl onto the window table and pulled open the curtains. Within half an hour, Westerham sat in the breakfast room with Lady Mary and Thornton, who was also an early riser.

  After hastily consuming a few bites to eat, in that way avoiding the presence of the rest of her family, he handed his betrothed and her maid into Thornton’s travelling coach. Westerham’s valet and tiger would follow in his phaeton. Before he sat beside her in the forward seat, Westerham leaned over and said in Lady Mary’s ear, “I hope you don’t mind that we didn’t wait to hear more of your mother’s instructions?”

  She gave a soft laugh. For the first time she showed him an open face, one free from tension. The loss of the lines on her forehead and the slight dimpled impressions beside her lush mouth eased his mind. “I stopped listening after the sixth time,” she said, her bright eyes sparkling with mischief. “Mama does tend to emphasize her points. But, oh dear. I can’t remember if she wants me to send her a note if I arrive safely.”

  “I expect not,” he said, following her lead with a straight face. “Surely any mother would trust her daughter to a man she met two days ago, who wants to take her away from her family instantly.”

  “But she trusts Eden. She depends on his judgments, and Eden trusts you.” She gave a casual shrug and again her mouth curved with mischief. “I have Alice to protect my reputation while I am travelling.” Lady Mary untied the ribbons of her brown felt bonnet, settled it between them on the seat, making a barrier between him and her. Her hooded, fur-lined cloak should keep her warm enough for the short trip to London.

  The two carriages passed through numerous tollgates, and the trip remained without incident, until being held up by a locked gate for half an hour while Westerham’s driver negotiated a fair price. After five minutes, with the rain drizzling down, Westerham had stepped out, willing to pay the inflated price to save time, but apparently a principle was at stake, according to Lady Mary, whose obstinately crossed arms showed her willingness to sit with the carriage blocking the way until doomsday.

  Therefore, half an hour later than he had expected, Thornton’s mud-splattered coach pulled up outside his town house. The butler opened the door to a sharp rap on the knocker, his face a picture of surprise. “We were not expecting you, my lord.”

  “I have brought my betrothed, Lady Mary Thornton, with me.” He stepped back and indicated Lady Mary.

  The butler eyed her and her maid, and turned rigid with amazement. “Yes, my Lord,” he said in a faint voice. “I’ll send a footman to notify your mother.”

  Westerham escorted Lady Mary into the small salon where a fire had been lit. His mother used this as her sitting room when she was alone. However, she hadn’t yet come down for dinner, and the room hadn’t had time to warm up. He added two more logs to the flames. Still wearing her fur-lined cloak, Lady Mary moved closer the heat to warm her hands. Her maid sat nearby, staring around the room at the framed paintings of various flowers.

  Meanwhile, the butler left and came back with a maid carrying hot chocolate and a plate of biscuits. “Should I bring forward dinner tonight, my Lord?” he asked, before he left, possibly noting Lady Mary’s pinched face.

  “Do so, please.” Westerham experienced the odd desire to take Lady Mary into his arms and warm her with his body. Which thought led to blatant thoughts of her body close to his, naked. He leaned back in his chair and concentrated instead on her chaperoning maid’s presence.

  Minutes after the hot chocolate had appeared, his mother threw open the doors. “Beldon, wherever have you been? I expected you home a week ago,” she said rushing toward him, stopping short when she spotted Lady Mary and Alice.

  “May I introduce Lady Mary Thornton, to you, mother? Lady Mary, do meet my sweet mother.”

  Lady Mary stood and managed a low curtsey with grace. His mother, who really was sweet, rushed over to snatch her up into her arms. “You would be one of Lord Thornton’s sisters. I see the good looks run in the family.” She kissed her on each cheek.

  “Yes. Unfortunately, not Eden’s looks, but our father’s.” With another dimpled smile, Lady Mary glanced at Westerham.

  “My dear, you are lovely. You don’t have his coloring, Thornton’s I mean, but you look very much like him, in more restrained way.”

  “She will be staying with us until Christmas.” Westerham leaned back, confident that his mother would question him closely the moment she got him alone.

  “Of course she will. How wonderful. Now, is this your maid?” Mama said, glancing at Alice.

  Alice arose and curtsied. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Mama rang for the butler, who promised Lady Mary that her maid would be settled in nicely, and she turned back to Westerham with a querying glance at him.

  “Lady Mary consented to be my bride. You are now meeting your daughter-in-law to be, for the first time.”

  His mother froze, but in his whole lifetime, her social poise had never slipped. He hoped for the same in his bride-to-be, but at this stage he didn’t know her grown-up persona well enough to predict her behavior.

  “You could have told me when I raced into the room. Now I’m sure your fiancé thinks she is marrying to a mad house.”

  “No such thing. I’ve never had such a warm welcome in my whole life. When we told my mother, she almost had conniptions.”

  “I can’t imagine why. My son is wealthy, handsome, and kind to his family. I would have thought any mother would want him for her daughter.”

  Lady Mary nodded. “She did, but for her other daughter.”

  “But he fell in love with you, instead? How romantic.” Mother still didn’t ask why Lady Mary had been brought to stay with her instead of being at home and preparing for her wedding. “It’s so good of her to let us have you for a while, and let me get to know you first.” She pulled Lady Mary down to sit on the couch with her, still holding her hands.

  Westerham decided not to tell her that he planned a quick wedding. “I shall have my secretary post a betrothal notice in the paper within the next few days.”

  And that seemed to be that as far as his mother was concerned. She ordered dinner to be served as soon as possible and, regrettably made sure that Lady Mary’s bedroom was close to hers and not his.

  Chapter 7

  Mary glanced around her new bedroom in the family wing. The room had a tall window curtained with blue velvet, which would let in the early morning light. A matching blue satin coverlet lay on the bed. The maid who had escorted her, told her that the countess would be right next door, and Lord Westerham at the top end of the hallway. Although she hadn’t thought of visiting her betrothed’s room, she was glad to know that the countess would be close by to guard her virtue. She had no plan to bed the Earl, although she would happily tease him with hints about her willingness as long as possible. One life lesson she had recently learned was the men only cared for women until they had them.

  Her hairstyle refreshed, she dressed in her best evening gown. Finally ready, she made her way down the curved staircase to the formal sitting room, aided by the careful guidance of a liveried footman.

  Westerham rose to his feet, and smiled at her when she entered. As usual, he looked breathtakingly handsome in his evening blacks. Her heart took a moment or two to settle into a normal rhythm. She managed to return his smile, but only with a slight quirk of her lips, absolutely certain that not appearing too easy to please increased his interest in her.

  The countess wore a lilac gown that Mary’s mother wouldn’t dream of buying, and would describe scathingly as unsuitable for a woman of her age. A single layer of dark purple covered the red underskirt. The countess clearly knew which colors and styles suited her.

  Mary dropped a curtsy. “I think I shall enjoy shopping with you,” she said to her hostess with what she hoped was a charming smile.

  Apparently, her smile scale had been adequately weighted, f
or the countess returned one of her own, taking Mary’s arm to escort her into the dining room, a large and draughty area containing an enormous table set with a king’s ransom in silverware. Since only three people expected to eat, the settings had been arranged with the earl taking his place at the head of the table, his mother on the right, and Mary on his left. As food on aromatic platters began to enter the room the room, the countess said, “We must put an announcement in the paper about your betrothal, Beldon. It would look odd if I began shopping with Lady Mary without anyone knowing who she is.”

  Panic narrowed Mary’s throat. “Oh, no, please don’t put an announcement in the paper yet.”

  The countess stared at her, her eyebrows drawn together. “I presume your family knows you plan to marry my son? I certainly hope he didn’t abduct you and bring you here with a forged letter.” She showed that she was serious by glaring at Westerham.

  “Abductions being my usual style?” Westerham gave a throwaway shrug. “Only to hide in London, where everyone knows me? That would be rather foolish, Mother, don’t you think?”

  Mary kept her eyes on her plate, trying to hide the shakiness of her hands. “I would prefer to meet people as your mother’s protégée, before any announcement is made.” She took a breath, finding two sets of puzzled eyes focused on her. “No one knows me yet. I haven’t yet been presented, and to be suddenly brought out of the woodwork as the next Lady Westerham would surprise too many people. I really don’t want to be gossiped about, and that’s what would happen if no one had been introduced to me first.”

  The countess stared closely at her for at least a minute without speaking. “I think I understand,” she finally said, picking up her fork again. “You don’t want people to assume this is a forced marriage.”

  “After all I have done to deserve my reputation, I doubt anyone would believe I can be forced into marriage,” Westerham said with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

  Since Mary knew he had proposed to her because he thought she would be a biddable wife, she had no trouble believing his statement. “As a matter of fact, I would like to have a taste of my own season before I am wed.” She held her head high, telling the truth for a change.

  Westerham leaned across and closed his warm fingers over hers, as if to comfort her. “I agree. I don’t want to be known as a man who has snatched a wife from the nursery. Your season will be short, you know, a bare two months. I hope that will satisfy you.”

  “It shall, if I can buy a few new gowns.” She held her breath, hoping to take a shopping trip. If she looked neat, but not particularly fashionable, and nothing at all like the earl’s notorious mistress, no one would believe that he had any interest in Mary. That way, she would guard him from derision when she left to go back into seclusion.

  “You need more than a few,” he said, his eyelids seductively lowered. “As long as you are not tempted to be greedy.”

  “Beldon!” His mother sounded shocked. “You have money enough to buy her anything. Don’t begrudge your beloved this small request. And please allow me to enjoy the luxury of having a daughter to dress for a London season.”

  Mary sat, staring at her plate, her eyes unexpectedly prickling, scared she might show her true feelings. She was a dreadful person. These two had instantly and gracefully complied with her request, and not only that, the countess had been more than generous to say she would help her choose a gown. Because of this, Mary would be sure to be dressed tastefully.

  Promising herself that she would let them down without causing a scandal, she began to eat, forcing herself to swallow each wretched morsel that she didn’t deserve.

  “You have the best mother in the world,” she said to Westerham in a husky voice.

  “I think you have one of the best. Imagine being Thornton’s mother,” he said, aiming his words at his own mother with a delightful quirk of his lips. “She has nerves of iron. He would wear a parent down with his constant ideas and challenges. I remember him at school. The tutors would leave his rooms with their brains utterly depleted.”

  “Your habit of over-exaggerating everything is ...” Mary took a deep breath. “Interesting.” Lifting her head, she wished he wasn’t so genuinely nice. If only she had met him as a grown woman a year ago. If she had met him before she had messed up her life, she wouldn’t be messing with his, now.

  After a restless night’s sleep in her new bed, she awoke, glad she had a task for today, frivolous perhaps, but she couldn’t wait to shop with a woman of taste. Aided by Alice, she quickly dressed while Alice described her tiny annex next door in a pleased voice, speculating about all the servants in the house she had met so far. Apparently, the upstairs maids had little work since the master rarely lived in the family home. According to gossip, he slept ‘elsewhere’ most of the time, either that or stayed out until the early hours and then came back and shut himself in his bedroom until midday. The servant’s gossip said he would soon start showing signs of turning over a new leaf since he had met Mary, which was supposed to flatter Mary.

  She turned her head away, not wanting to hear this. Only a fool would believe a rake like Westerham would reform for the sake of a plain woman he barely knew. No one would. But if she hadn’t accepted his foolish proposal, she would have no chance of experiencing anything in her life other than within the tiny circle of her family.

  She wore the blue gown again. Last night’s green had received another frown from Westerham. She already knew he disliked the seaweed color but her only other evening gown was brown and she already knew he despised brown.

  The morning beginning with a chilly frost, she wore her warmest pelisse, the brown. Her brown hat was awarded a long sigh from Westerham at first sight. She had little hope any of the London dressmakers would begin dancing with joy as she entered the premises, singing “How glad I am to be seeing brown worn this season.”

  The first dressmaker the countess recommended had premises in Regent Street. Westerham opened the door, causing a bell to tinkle. Mary had thought he would disappear rather than visit dress shops, but he seemed to know his way around. A tall, thin, female, dressed in black, who had turned from her close inspection of the delicate lace on the skirts of a white gown, greeted him by name before glancing at the countess and Mary. Her eyebrows almost shot through the ceiling. Mary couldn’t imagine why a dressmaker would surprised by seeing two female customers when clearly the gowns in the shop were made for women.

  “My mother and her protégé, Lady Mary Thornton.” Westerham used a casual tone of voice. He indicated his mother and Mary. “Mrs. Petersham, the owner of this fine establishment. ”

  Mrs. Petersham curtsied to the countess.

  The countess inclined her head. Mary copied her, but she wondered why he didn’t introduce his mother by name. The only conclusion that came to her mind was that Mrs. Petersham already knew who he was and therefore knew his mother was a countess. Interesting.

  “My mother would like to buy a few gowns for Lady Mary,” he continued. “Show her everything that might suit her.”

  The first armload consisted of mainly white gowns. Clearly Mrs. Petersham thought Mary, being introduced as a protégé, was a debutante. Although she would love to enlighten the woman, she could only look foolish if she said she wasn’t. While she was standing and dithering, Westerham did nothing more than scratch his eyebrow. Mrs. Petersham, glanced heavenward, turned on her heel, and took the gowns into the back room.

  The next armload brought forth a pink, a blue, and a yellow gown. “I think we ought to test the colors against Lady Mary’s skin,” the dressmaker said, glancing again at Westerham. “To see what suits her coloring the best.”

  “Have you anything in seaweed green?” Mary asked with the intent to provoke Westerham. “That’s my favorite color.”

  Westerham ignored her. “She will try on each of these.”

  Mary heaved a sigh. “Do you think I should bother with the pink?” she asked the countess.

  The countess
nodded, shooting Westerham a frown.

  The long mirror told Mary what she already suspected, that she looked like an idiotic maiden in pink: slightly embarrassed, slightly flushed. The coolness of the blue suited her, she thought, being demure and rather plain. The countess nodded her approval. The yellow emphasized her eyes, making the color look closer to green than grey. She could only afford one gown. Since she didn’t want her whole wardrobe to be in blue, she chose the yellow. “What price is this?” she asked Mrs. Petersham.

  Mrs. Petersham turned to Westerham. “A hundred pounds,” she said with a proud smile. “The lace was imported from Belgium.”

  Mary huffed out a breath. She couldn’t afford to buy a thing at that price. “Could you show me gowns with less lace and trimmings, before I decide.”

  “Lady Mary, when my mother is offering to buy you a gift, you don’t need to ask the price,” Westerham said tightly. “She knows her budget.”

  Mary pressed her lips together. “I can’t allow your mother to buy gowns for me. I have my pin money.”

  “Find more gowns for Lady Mary, with less lace,” he said in an autocratic voice to Mrs. Petersham. “She will need at least five.”

  Mary glared at him. “I will decide how many I need.”

  The dressmaker’s face began look strained. She glanced from Westerham to Mary again. “But if I can find more for, say, fifty guineas, wouldn’t you like to try them on.”

  “Find some.” Westerham had begun to sound annoyed.

  After the woman left the room, Westerham said to Mary, “We do not bargain about the price of gowns. Especially not when the gowns are intended as a gift.”

  Mary’s cheeks heated with embarrassment. She glanced at the countess, who had not said a word, and whose face remained a blank sheet. “Please accept my apologies, Countess. I have not a single social skill, and deserve the reprimand.” She stared down at her shoes, dying inside.

  A hand reached out and took hers. “I doubt my son is the person to correct a lady as to her manners. He has the manners of a complete boor, himself.”