The Earl's Christmas Pearl

by Frampton, Megan

  As it turned out, Pearl was good at faking knowledge she didn’t have, a skill she hadn’t known she possessed until now. She led the earl to Regent Street, and then to some of the streets that ran alongside it, where aspiring merchants were hoping to catch the eye of the most wealthy shoppers.

  “Oh, we need to get some of this,” Pearl said as she spied a cart heaped with holly. The man in charge spotted them immediately and walked forward, an eager look on his face.

  “My holly is the best, my lord, my lady. Sure to decorate your home as prettily as anything you’ll find.”

  “We’re not—” the earl began.

  Pearl elbowed him, and he stopped speaking.

  “Thank you,” she said with a smile. “We want at least five branches.”

  She elbowed him again when she heard him draw a breath.

  The merchant gathered the branches, handing them to her after glancing at the earl.

  She began to dig in her pocket for the money to pay him, shifting the branches so she could cradle them against her chest.

  “I’ll pay,” the earl said in a gruff voice. He withdrew some change and handed it to the man, whose expression indicated that the amount was far more than expected.

  “Let me get your change, sir,” the merchant said.

  “No need,” the earl replied. “Happy holidays to you and your family,” he added in a stilted tone.

  The merchant’s eyes widened, and he bowed as they walked away, Mr. Shorty straining at the leash.

  “You didn’t need to pay for them, you know,” Pearl said in a low voice. “I am perfectly capable of paying my own way.”

  “And cracking your own eggs,” he said in a voice that was far less gruff than before. Nearly amused, if she had to describe it.

  “Precisely.”

  “How does your family celebrate Christmas?” she asked. “Actually, no,” she said before he could reply.

  Did she not wish to know after all? That thought bothered him far more than it should.

  “First I need to hear about your family. You haven’t said anything about them. Except that your godmother is Lady Robinson.” She hesitated. “And tell me. Is Lady Robinson . . . pleasant?”

  He nearly barked out laughter at how discreet she was trying to sound, even though the way she’d phrased her question told him everything he needed to know about how she felt about his godmother.

  “She is very forthright in her opinions,” he said in a neutral tone. He felt her shift, as though dissatisfied. “And no, she is not pleasant at all. That is why I like her so much.”

  She froze, and then twisted to the side to glare up at him. “Please do not tell me you like me then.”

  “I won’t,” he said, without thinking.

  Oh God.

  “I mean, I wouldn’t presume to say anything about my feelings.” Which was true in general, not just about how he felt about her. “You asked about my godmother, and I told you. I did not mean to imply that I did not—” Damn it. He was mucking this up. How had he managed to succeed in the world thus far being so poor at human interaction?

  His sisters would point out he had not succeeded.

  He heard her make a noise. Was she upset?

  “So the only way I will know that you feel anything about me is if you say nothing at all.” She sounded far too amused for the chagrin he had in his chest. And then she confirmed her amusement by giggling.

  “It is not funny. I greatly apologize for my offense.”

  She nudged him in the side. “I’m not offended. I believe I mentioned I have a twin, Olivia? She is constantly saying things that could be taken as offense, but she means well. She is better, now that she is married, but—”

  “I have sisters too,” he blurted. “Three of them. Gwyneth, Bryn, and Nesta.”

  “Where are you? I mean, are you the oldest or youngest or somewhere in between?”

  “I’m in between Bryn and Nesta. Gwyneth is the oldest, she is married, but lives nearby.” And brings all of her unmarried young lady friends to visit. “Bryn is engaged to be married and Nesta is determined never to marry because, and I am quoting her, ‘men are foolish.’”

  She laughed. “Your sister Nesta and my sister Ida would have a lot in common.” She paused. “Or did have a lot in common. Ida is married now, so presumably she doesn’t think her husband is foolish.”

  He hadn’t thought of it until now, and it shouldn’t matter, but—And you? Are you engaged to be married? “Tell me about your sisters.”

  She gave an exasperated sigh. “They are wonderful, but they are just so much sometimes. That is why I was so pleased to be left behind.”

  Right. He hadn’t asked before, for fear of upsetting her, but he didn’t have that fear any longer.

  “I meant to ask,” he said. “Why were you left behind?”

  “I was found to be too insane to spend time with my family at Christmas.”

  He froze.

  “I’m joking!” she said. “Honestly, you are far too gullible.”

  It’s not that, he wanted to say. It’s just that I have so little experience actually having a conversation with someone who isn’t related to me that I don’t know what to do. Even worse is that it is a lovely young lady with a lively wit and a penchant for puns.

  I have no idea how to behave.

  “No, it is that my mother came to town to do shopping, and she was too engrossed in sorting out all the packages to remember to make sure I was in the carriage.” There was a hint of loss there. As though it hurt that she had been the least important package that day.

  And of course it would hurt. He had never had to feel that way—if anything, his mother and sisters treated him as though he were the most important person in their world, even Gwyneth and Bryn, who had their own gentlemen in their lives.

  That’s why it was such a relief to be here, away from the noise of their demands and constant prying into his life alongside the constant exhortations to take a bride—as though any woman he married would possibly pass muster in their eyes.

  “And there was a moment there where I could have run after the carriage and stopped it,” she continued. “Only I thought it might be nice to be alone for the first time in my life.” She squeezed his arm. “And it is, only it’s not good to be alone when you have no idea how to make food for yourself, and you have to make your own fire and such. Until yesterday, I had no idea how to stoke a fire, for goodness’ sake.” She sounded outraged. “Much less cook for myself, as you know. I am very grateful for your help, my lord. Thank you.”

  Grateful. He realized, in a white-hot moment of clarity, that he did not want gratitude.

  Not that he knew what he wanted, but he strongly suspected what it might be, even though what it appeared he wanted was entirely untoward. And inappropriate.

  His sisters would not recognize him at this moment.

  She would not be grateful if she knew where his thoughts were going.

  “When someone says ‘thank you’ it is customary to respond with ‘you’re welcome.’”

  “Damn it,” he blurted. She froze, clutching his arm tighter. He stopped as well, screwing his eyes shut in horrified embarrassment.

  “I’m sorry,” he said in a whisper. “I can’t seem to say anything—”

  He felt her hand on his mouth. The warmth of her palm against his lips. “Hush,” she replied in a soft voice. “It is fine. I know what you mean.”

  I know what you mean. Nobody had ever said that to him before. Because nobody had ever known what he meant, as much because he didn’t allow himself to say anything—for obvious reasons—as that what he did end up saying was always misunderstood.

  He reached up and removed her hand, opening his eyes slowly and turning to face her. “Do you?” he asked, his fingers going to her face to cup her jaw.

  Her mouth curled into a smile, and she nodded. “I do.” She rose up on tiptoes and pressed her mouth against his. “Do you know what I mean?” she murmured against
his lips.

  Chapter Five

  On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me

  Five branches of green holly

  Oh. Well, she hadn’t precisely planned to kiss the exceedingly attractive Welsh earl while shopping a busy London street, but it seemed to have happened.

  She drew back, her eyes wide, staring up at him in shock. Shock at her own actions as well as shock at how much she wished to continue the shocking action.

  But they were on a busy London street, and what’s more, she was holding five branches of holly, which had already poked her neck when she leaned up to kiss him.

  “Uh . . .” she said, feeling her cheeks warm. Feeling her whole body warm, in fact—perhaps she should have kissed someone rather than trying to learn how to stoke a fire. It definitely had the same warming results.

  He blinked, and then shook his head as though he wished to clear it. “That was—” he began, then shook his head again.

  “I know. I am sorry.” Could one die of mortification? She didn’t think so, but at this moment she rather wished it were true.

  “Don’t be sorry,” he said quickly. “It was unexpected. You were just trying to make me feel better.” And then a wry smile curved his mouth. “And I do, so thank you.”

  She couldn’t help but smile back, at how his obvious awkwardness dissipated when he was just speaking his mind.

  “You’re welcome,” she said pointedly.

  “You make it sound so easy,” he replied, but she heard only humor in his tone.

  “It is easy. You just open your mouth and speak,” she said. “Oh! I asked you about how your family celebrated Christmas. That’s an excellent opportunity to practice.”

  Silence for a long moment. She was almost about to nudge him when he spoke.

  “It’s like any other family occasion,” he began. “Everyone comes to the estate, and we have an enormous meal, and exchange gifts.”

  He didn’t sound as though it was a particularly pleasant memory. Or that it had any emotional resonance for him at all.

  “But before, when my father was alive, it was different.” He paused again, only this time Pearl knew he was merely gathering his thoughts.

  “My father gave each of us an ornament one year. A dragon, which you probably don’t know is representative of Wales. I have no idea why,” he said as an aside. “I must have been about seven years old, and I carried that ornament around for months past Christmas. We put it on the tree every year since then.” He gave an embarrassed chuckle. “I brought it with me here, actually.”

  That was so sweet it made her heart hurt. And he still insisted he didn’t care about Christmas?

  But she wouldn’t question him on any of that. She suspected he would only retreat into his grumpy earlness.

  “Shall we go home and decorate?” Pearl said, raising the holly branches. “Although I think we might need some ribbon.” She shifted to peer around him. “I think I see a woman selling some up there. Just the thing we need.”

  If she hadn’t wanted to kiss him before—which she had, clearly, since she’d done it—his story would have made her.

  She was even more glad she’d acted on her impulse.

  “Why do we need so much ribbon?” Owen queried as she sorted through the basket.

  “For decorating the holly, silly.”

  He looked confused. “But I thought the holly was the decoration. So we’re going to decorate the decoration? Where does it stop?”

  She laughed, then picked up a plaid ribbon and reached up to drape it on his head. “My sister Ida would likely be able to work out the mathematical equation on where, precisely, the decorating would stop, but for me the answer is when we think the house will be decorated enough.”

  He took the ribbon off and held it out to her, a serious expression on his face. “Then I think we need more ribbon. And are we decorating both houses? Or just mine?”

  “Yours. I am guessing my mother will be returning to fetch me soon.” She glanced up at the sky. Sure enough, the threat of inclement weather was becoming more pronounced, with a few early snowflakes starting to fall. “Though she will not travel in this weather.”

  “Is there anything I can do? I know you likely wish to spend Christmas with your family.”

  She opened her mouth to reply—of course I do—but then snapped it shut again. Because if she spent Christmas with her family, he would be alone for Christmas. And he might shrug it off as not important, but her heart ached at the thought of his being all alone in Lady Robinson’s house with only Mr. Shorty for company.

  “Nothing to do,” she replied instead, waving her hand in dismissal. The snow was coming down thicker now, speckling his dark hair with white. “Let’s go home and take care of our decorating equation.”

  She kissed me. Owen rolled the words around in his head as they walked back to his godmother’s town house. Lady Pearl had kissed him. It had been a quick kiss, the kind of kiss that would be customary between relations, but he felt anything but familial toward her.

  He wanted to kiss her again, and kiss her thoroughly this time. He wanted to bathe in the sparkle of her eyes, the warmth of her smile, her delightful sense of humor.

  And he’d shared the story of his father’s ornament. Not something he thought he’d ever reveal to anyone—his own family didn’t know he still had it. It was one of the few things he had gotten from his father besides tangled accounts and family responsibility.

  “I think we’re going to be snowed in,” she said, looking up at the sky. A snowflake fell on her nose, and she laughed as she brushed it off.

  “You should stay with me then,” he said, not thinking about what he’d just said. “I mean—” he said, then stopped when he realized whatever he’d say would be inappropriate. No wonder he only felt truly comfortable when he was talking to Mr. Shorty. “It makes sense to conserve fuel and food, and I don’t think you should be alone, and since I am more familiar with starting fires than you are, it makes sense for us to team up.”

  She would be totally within proper behavior if she slapped his face for his suggestion. And then this dream, this idyllic respite from constantly feeling under scrutiny, would fall away, and he would be himself again, not a gentleman who could share puns with a lady and ensure her well-being with food and warmth.

  Please don’t slap me, he pleaded silently as he waited for her reply.

  “I did promise myself an adventure,” she began. “And it is much more fun being adventurous with someone else, I’ve found.” She peered up at the sky. “It will take my mother at least two and three-quarters days to return to London from when she discovers I am missing. She’ll have to wander about our country home for at least half a day looking into canisters and under beds in case I’ve accidentally stuffed myself into something.” Her exasperated tone echoed one he had used on several occasions. “And then she’ll have to write letters to all of my sisters telling them I’ve gone missing, although she won’t necessarily tell them to look for me in London.” Another sigh. “So by my calculations, we have possibly two and a half, or even three days before I’m found.” She met his gaze and smiled. “It appears I will be accepting your kind invitation, Owen.” She bit her lip. “I will accept as long as you accept my apology for what happened earlier.” Her cheeks were flushed, and he knew it wasn’t entirely due to the cold.

  “There is no apology needed,” he said. “It’s Christmastime, isn’t it? The time for making merry and decorating your house with greenery, for some reason, and kissing people you’ve just met.”

  He heard her utter a sigh of relief. “Well. Yes. It is. And I think, Owen, that we are going to have a wonderful Christmas.”

  Pearl found after a time that she enjoyed telling someone what to do. She’d never had the experience before; usually, one of her more . . . strident sisters would make a demand, and then someone would scurry to comply.

  Pearl would just wait, balancing the need for something with the need to
be unnoticed. If she were noticed, then chances were good her mother would try to marry her off to some unpleasant gentleman, or one of her sisters would drag her into a situation she did not want to be in.

  But she wanted to be here with Owen. And be noticed by him. What’s more, she discovered she was absolutely engaged in wanting to decorate the house for Christmas so it was beautiful and he could have the Christmas she knew he should have. Even if he didn’t know it.

  And she would have the Christmas she wanted—one where she was the focus of attention, where she wasn’t thinking about when she could sneak away to have a moment for herself.

  “Are we finished yet?” He was wrapping holly around a glass above a fireplace, which was blazingly stoked. Apparently he already knew how to stoke a fire.

  They were in the largest of the sitting rooms, which they’d decided would be where they slept.

  Pearl couldn’t worry that if anyone discovered how she would be spending the next few days, she would be completely and entirely ruined.

  She would rather be warm, fed, and ruined than freeze and starve in her own house.

  Which she would tell anyone who dared to question her actions.

  Besides which, if she were entirely ruined she wouldn’t have to hear her mother rail against her spinsterhood. A bonus to being ruined. She knew several of her sisters had thought the same thing before surrendering their spinsterhood to their respective husbands, with whom they’d fallen in love.

  One thing she knew she would not do was marry him, regardless of any kind of pressure to do so. Even if it was from him, to preserve her good name.

  What kind of marriage would it be if it were based on her need for warmth and food rather than love?

  A terrible one, she could answer that herself.

  Plus he did not want to marry her. It was only yesterday that he’d been so rude. Now he was tolerating her because he couldn’t very well let her starve, not when she’d asked for his help, but that was a long way from swapping vows in front of a clergyman.