An Enchanted Christmas Collection : Regency Romance

by Wendy Vella

  Harry rolled his eyes but only said, “She mentioned her life was about to change in some way.”

  “In what way do you think, Harry?”

  Harry had thought long and hard about that very point, and he had not liked his conclusion. “I had wondered if she was to marry.” The words tasted foul in his mouth.

  “We shall find her, Harry, even if we must wait now until our return to London to do so.”

  He hoped his brother was right but more than anything he hoped she would still be unwed when he did. His thoughts were consumed by her. Was she in danger? Was she being mistreated? The questions were endless until he feared he would go mad if they did not stop.

  She’d led him to believed she was a widow, or had he just come to that conclusion himself? He couldn’t remember every word they had spoken in that room, but his belief had definitely been that she’d been married.

  “Stop thinking, I am trying to sleep.”

  “Pardon?” Harry looked across at his brother.

  “When your thoughts are troubling your foot taps on the floor, and it is stopping me from sleeping.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Harry lifted his feet and braced them on the opposite seat, just in case his brother was correct.

  They journeyed through the day, alternately arguing with each other and sleeping huddled in blankets and their coats, as it was bitterly cold, until finally they pulled into the inn they were to stop at for the evening. Harry, who was more than ready to wrestle his brother to the ground and beat him to a pulp, leaped from the carriage first.

  “Lord, that feels wondrous.” Phillip followed, arching his back.

  Harry made for the door, through which would be warmth, food, ale, and a bed, uncaring if his brother followed. It was not a large establishment, but one they always frequented when journeying to his estate. He stepped inside and heard raised voices as he approached the reception.

  “My cousin specifically sent his man on to request three rooms, and was assured they were booked.”

  The woman who was talking wore a long deep green coat and matching bonnet, and was rigid with displeasure. He could tell nothing else about her as her back was to him.

  “I understand that, madam, however, there has been a mix-up, and now Lord Radler only has two rooms. Perhaps if I may suggest, the ladies share one and the men could take the other.”

  “Yes, yes, I had worked that out for myself already, thank you, but that is hardly the point is it, sir.”

  The proprietor was looking harassed. His cheeks were red, eyes flitting from Harry to the woman and back again.

  “Unfortunately mistakes do happen, Miss Partridge, and I’ll be glad to recompense Lord Radler with a fine bottle of our best wine with his evening meal.”

  “And do you believe that will make up for this inconvenience!”

  Harry was not at all surprised that it was she making a scene. The woman was not a comfortable one, and the few encounters they’d had, had left him feeling like he’d had a tussle with a hedgehog. She had a sharp tongue and never failed to state what was on her mind. He’d avoided her after their first meeting at a poetry evening, when he’d told her the flowery prose and drivel was not at all to his liking. She’d answered by saying that it took a depth of character and a strong mind to see the nuances within the story.

  He had nearly declined the invitation to attend her wedding to Lord Crickley purely because he could not abide the woman, but as he was traveling to his estate, and that was only an hour away from Crickley’s, he felt it would be rude to do so. Besides which, Phillip was friends with her cousin, and he had accepted before Harry could decline.

  “If you would step to one side, Miss Partridge, I wish to see to rooms for myself and my brother, as we have been traveling all day and are cold and hungry.”

  She spun on her heel, glaring up at him with her deep brown eyes.

  Harry had never thought her a beauty, perhaps because she was so bloody irritating and that had overridden everything else, but with her face framed in that green bonnet and a flush in her cheeks, he had to revise his opinion. Not a classic beauty, but there was something extremely appealing about Miss Jemma Partridge at that moment. He knew her hair was blond, and the golden-brown sweep of her brows arched perfectly, her lashes tipped with gold. She had a sweet little nose, and seeing her mouth still, not a common occurrence, he noted the bottom lip was fuller than the top and had a curve that looked eminently kissable.

  Christ, where did that come from?

  “I am attempting to correct this man’s assumption that a bottle of wine makes up for the inconvenience of his mishandling our room bookings, Lord Harrington. I will ask you to have patience while I do so.”

  “No,” he said, wondering why he suddenly felt a pain deep in his chest. Was his heart giving out? Had the stress Phillip put on his life and this business with Hero finally culminated in the organ giving up?

  “No?” she queried, raising a brow.

  “No, I will not wait, Miss Partridge. You have already secured rooms, and no amount of haranguing this poor man will change them from two to three. Now I suggest you apologize to him and go and inform the rest of your party of their situation, and let him see to me and any other poor individual who has had the misfortune to travel on this godforsaken day.”

  Her mouth now formed a perfect round, and Harry had the urge to kiss it again, which shocked him enough to take a step backward.

  “I do not like your tone, Lord Harrington.”

  “Imagine how upset that makes me,” he muttered.

  She turned away from him to face the proprietor once more.

  “Lord Harrington is right in one thing, sir, I was indeed rude to you, so please accept my apology. The day has been a long and arduous one, but that is no excuse for my behavior.”

  Surprised as he was at her words, Harry watched color flood the man’s face.

  “Thank you kindly, Miss Partridge.”

  She turned then, and the smile she had given the proprietor fell away as she glared at Harry once again.

  “Pig of a man,” she said directly to his face, then brushed past him and walked away.

  “Shrew,” Harry said, loud enough for her to hear.

  “I have a room for you and your brother, Lord Harrington, if you’ll sign here,” the proprietor said quickly as Harry stepped up to his desk. “And you’ll understand Miss Partridge’s behavior, my Lord; ’tis not an easy day to travel for anyone.”

  Harry did not reply for fear he would say something cutting regarding Miss Partridge’s personality.

  Once in his room, he washed and changed before heading down to eat everything that was put in front of him. Of Phillip there was no sign, and he had a terrible feeling that was because he’d encountered his friend, Lord Radler, who just happened to be that vixen Miss Partridge’s cousin. Entering the small private parlor the proprietor directed him to confirmed this for Harry.

  “You’ll not believe who is staying here, Harry.”

  “Given you are talking with Radler, I think that it is very likely he?”

  “Miss Partridge also, and Lord and Lady Partridge.”

  “Wonderful,” Harry said, trying to conceal the lack of enthusiasm in his voice. He would take his meal then retire to his room with all haste before he got into round two with that bloody woman.

  “Good evening, Harrington.”

  Thomas Radler and Phillip had become firm friends on a drunken night out in London and been that way ever since. The events had been recited vaguely, but Harry gathered Radler had saved Phillip from a beating after he had said something unflattering to a young man about his sister.

  He was fair like his sharp-tongued cousin, and now Harry took the time to notice, they could be siblings, their coloring was so alike.

  “Radler.” He shook the man’s hand.

  “You know my aunt and uncle, and cousin?”

  “Of course.” Harry bowed to the elderly Partridges, who were seated at a ta
ble, before looking at Jemma Partridge.

  “Lord Harrington and I met when he first arrived, Thomas. He called me a shrew.”

  “As I know you would have incited that comment from a man who is usually all that is gentlemanly, cousin, I am agog to know what you called him.”

  “She called me a pig of a man.” Harry felt the need to defend himself now that every eye in the room was cast his way.

  “Well then,” Thomas said, “Sounds to me as if you thoroughly deserved the label, and as I constantly call you just that, Jemma, you can’t have been insulted.”

  Harry looked to her parents, who merely smiled and nodded as if he had not insulted their daughter. Miss Partridge then laughed, which drew his eyes, and he felt that pain again, deep in his chest. She really was beautiful, he realized. The smile softened her features and made her eyes twinkle.

  “Forgive me, my Lord, for my earlier behavior. You were right to censure me, as I do tend to speak my mind far more than I should.”

  She was looking at him with that smile still dancing around her lips, and Harry wondered if perhaps he should not have dismissed the woman so readily when first they met, simply because she did not agree with him and had told him so. It was a failing of his, he had to admit, that he rarely gave a person a second chance, if on the first one they earned a black mark in his little mental book.

  “As Harry is exactly the same, I cannot believe he dared to censure you, Miss Partridge.”

  “Yes, thank you, Phillip, there is no need for you to enter the conversation,” Harry said to his brother.

  “Oh but there is every need, Lord Harrington, as I do believe that we got off to a bad start in our acquaintance, and today’s episode did little to help that.”

  Her eyes were really rather lovely framed by those gold-tipped lashes. Rubbing his chest, he wondered at the odd feeling inside him. Was he coming down with something? Harry found a smile on his face, and when she blinked, he wondered if perhaps it was the first one she’d ever seen him give, because she certainly looked as surprised as he.

  “Harry is very quick to pass judgment on any number of things. His is the only view that matters, you see; the rest of us are imbeciles.”

  “I’m sure everyone has no wish to hear my entire list of failings if you please, brother.”

  “Unfortunately, Lord Harrington, as that is a failing of mine, I cannot censure you for it.”

  He gave her another smile, and she responded.

  “Then shall we call a truce, Miss Partridge?”

  She got to her feet and held out one slender hand. Harry found himself taking it instantly, enjoying the feel of her touch.

  “My name is Miss Partridge, how wonderful to meet you, Lord Harrington.”

  Everyone laughed as he was sure she’d wished them to. Harry managed a soft chuckle, but it was around a large obstruction inside his chest. He may need to see a doctor when he arrived at his estate tomorrow; he was certainly ailing for something.

  “A pleasure to meet you also, Miss Partridge.” Harry wasn’t sure what possessed him to do it, but he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the soft pale skin of the back of her hand. He felt the shiver of awareness that rocked through her body because it matched his own. Their families laughed, enjoying the gesture, but the smile died from her eyes, just as it did his.

  “We are to have a merry party tonight, Lord Harrington,” Lady Partridge said, and Harry had to make himself release her daughter and look away.

  “So it seems,” he said, taking the seat furthest from where Miss Partridge was now reseating herself. He shot her a sideways look as she settled the skirts of her rich brown-and-cream striped dress. He’d never liked the color on woman before, but on her, it seemed to make her eyes look darker, and her skin….

  What the hell is the matter with me? She was betrothed, and before today he could not stand the woman.

  “Please allow me to congratulate you on your betrothal to Lord Crickley, Miss Partridge. My estate is nearby, so my brother and I shall be attending the happy event.” Harry said the words as much to remind himself of her soon-to-be wedded status as to offer his felicitations.

  Her face clouded briefly and then she was smiling.

  “Thank you.”

  She said nothing more, no gushing about her groom-to-be, or how she was overflowing with happiness. Harry knew she’d had three seasons, and during this time must have received offers, and wondered why it had taken so long for her to accept one. Why now and to a man like Crickley who was old enough to be her father. A well-known skirt chaser and gambler, the man was a snake, and neither Harry nor his brother liked him. Not many knew his real nature, as he confined his more licentious behavior to his estate, but they did, as they lived nearby, and Harry’s butler was brother to a woman who had once worked in Crickley’s home.

  He gave her one more look. It was, of course, no business of his whom she married, but still, he did not like to think of this woman in the hands of such a man.

  The meal progressed over beef and ale, and Harry spent most of it observing the Partridge family and answering questions when he was called upon to do so. The parents seemed pleasant, if a little simpleminded. He’d heard a rumor that Lord Partridge was inclined to gamble, but to what degree Harry had no idea. Lady Partridge tended to not say a great deal, but seemed sweet natured, and her daughter appeared to care for her very much.

  Radler and Jemma Partridge were another matter entirely. Sharp-witted, their bond was that of siblings, and obvious to anyone seated at the table. They teased, laughed, and had a love for each other that he felt for his brother. Of course, he’d never tell Phillip that, but Harry rather thought his brother knew.

  “I heard from your cousin, Miss Partridge, that you have a particular fondness for horses,” Phillip said.

  Harry felt a ridiculous jolt at the word horse and guessed it was to do with the bracelet with horse charm attached that he still held in his breast pocket.

  “Yes, I love horses.” She smiled at Phillip.

  “She has a horse that is as badly behaved as her.”

  “Untrue, Thomas. Harry is far better behaved than I.”

  “Harry?” Phillip’s smile grew wide. “Your horse is named after my brother?”

  She shot him a look and by the sparkle in her eyes, Harry guessed this was only the beginning of his humiliation.

  “No, he is named after the dog I had growing up. Believe me, Lord Harrington, were my horse named after you, you would be quite proud of his prowess.”

  “And why is that, Miss Partridge?”

  “He can open any gate, and is often found in the cook’s garden or with his head in her door. It is quite some feat, I assure you. Once he managed to steal an entire pie from the windowsill.”

  “I feel so much better knowing that the horse sharing my name shows the same intelligence,” Harry drawled.

  “That horse would make an excellent companion for your dog, Harry,” Phillip said, and Harry knew what was coming next.

  “There is no need to continue, Phillip—”

  “Who is surprisingly called Jemma.”

  “You are making that up!” Miss Partridge cried.

  “Unfortunately, no, he is not,” Harry said.

  She threw back her head and laughed. It was loud and natural, and he rarely saw a woman in company doing so. As he looked at the pale, silken skin of her neck, he called himself a fool for having dismissed her so readily after their first meeting. Society events were often long and tedious, and spending time conversing with this woman could have been a pleasurable interlude amongst several hideously boring ones.

  “Harry’s Jemma can steal food from anywhere, and no one detects her doing so. I’ve watched, believe me, but she is quite remarkable in her ability to catch you looking away at just the right moment.”

  “Dogs,” Harry drawled, “are far wiser than people.”

  “As are horses, Lord Harrington.”

  He acknowledged her words, join
ing her in a silent toast, and suddenly it was just the two of them, eyes locked, almost as if everyone around them had faded into the walls. It was oddly disturbing how focused he was on Jemma Partridge in that moment.

  “Do you follow the racing calendar, Lord Harrington?”

  Lord Partridge drew Harry’s eyes, and he found he couldn’t breathe until he’d broken contact with the man’s daughter. This was all because of that woman. Hero had disturbed his existence, turned it on his head, and he was having a devil of a time righting it now. Suddenly he was aware of women, and not just any woman. The blond-haired and beautiful Jemma Partridge.

  Chapter Five

  Jemma looked at the side of Lord Harrington’s face and wondered at the tingling feeling in the tips of her fingers, and deep in her belly and toes. How odd that she felt this way around this man when before today she could not stand to be within a foot of him. She had felt it earlier when encountering him upon his arrival. He’d looked so large standing there in his heavy overcoat, hat in hand, hair standing on end. Large and disturbing.

  They’d never really conversed, not since that first evening when she’d insulted him, and who could blame him. But even if she’d wanted to apologize or extend the olive branch, she hadn’t, because everything she knew of the man she disliked. He was arrogant, pompous, and thoroughly disagreeable. Well, she’d thought he was. Had she been mistaken? Surely a man who had a dog named Jemma with stealth abilities when it came to purloining food could not be entirely disagreeable, could he?

  He had a strong jaw, and she noted the curl of dark hair at the back of his head. It was as black as Leander’s had been, although shorter. He was large in every way, and Jemma thought perhaps one of the reasons she’d kept her distance from the man, even though in all honesty he’d never attempted to approach her again, was that he intimidated her. Strong men were not easy to talk to, as in her experience they usually controlled the conversation, and Jemma did not like to be controlled.