by Anna Bradley
The first sight of Wickling Manor always filled Thomas with awe. The Elizabethan house, built in 1560, had been purchased by his father some thirty years ago. Outside the house was a lovely walled rose garden, wide lawns edged by yew hedges, a lily pond, and a summerhouse to enjoy.
His father had been newly wealthy and in need of a wife to help him gain entrance into polite society. He’d fallen in love with the third daughter of an earl, married her, and bought an ancestral estate.
Thomas loved Wickling Manor. It was a beautiful sight to behold after a disappointing trip to London and York.
Now he stood, being dressed by his valet, the momentary lightness of his mood having disappeared.
“That girl,” Thomas muttered under his breath. “Daring to upbraid me in my own home.”
His valet paused in assisting him into a clean shirt. “Sir?”
“Just thinking aloud, James.”
The valet went back to his duties with a nod of understanding.
The problem was that Lady Rose really wasn’t a girl any longer. She was the same age as Emma. Nineteen. Nearly nine years younger than himself. It was difficult to remember her youth when he’d seen her standing so commandingly at the top of the steps of the manor. A tall woman, she had resembled an Amazon queen as she stood there, waiting to confront him for his absence. Her ruddy cheeks and flashing brown eyes reflecting the passion of her indignation.
He’d known Rose from birth. Once he thought he might marry her older sister Iris. Not that he’d been in love exactly; it had been a short-lived infatuation years before as the two shared a fondness for antiquities.
Freshly washed, shaven, and attired in clothing suitable for an afternoon at home, he dismissed his valet.
When Thomas descended the staircase, he was not at all surprised to see Lady Rose waiting for him in the entry hall. When the lady was at Wickling Manor, she had a knack for knowing his every movement in the house.
“Lady Rose.” He inclined his head briefly and walked past her.
The minx followed him. “I would like a quick word, Sir Thomas.”
He nodded in resignation and ducked into his study. Rose followed, leaving the door wide open. They might have known each other for years, but propriety must be maintained. He sat on the edge of his desk with the hope that the coming diatribe would be of short duration.
Before he could speak, Rose said, her chin lifted, “Emma wants me to stay on through Christmastide. I assume you plan to remain in residence at the manor through Twelfth Night as the roads are nearly impassable.”
Whatever he’d expected her to say, it hadn’t been that. A calm and collected Lady Rose was not a person he was overly familiar with. To regain his equilibrium, he would endeavor to put her off balance. He smiled and let his gaze lightly roam over Rose’s slim form. “That would be highly improper, my dear. I am a single gentleman and you are. . . well, young, innocent, and attractive.”
“You have known me since I was in leading strings, Sir Thomas,” she replied rather unevenly although her head was still held high. “You have withstood my allure for many years. I’m sure you can do so for another few weeks.”
“The fact still remains that you are unchaperoned in my home,” he said with a raised brow. He would ignore the urge to tell her that he hadn’t been immune to her charms as much as he wished to be.
“Emma has a solution. My aunt Abigail will stay at Wickling Manor as chaperone.” She didn’t bother to keep the smugness from her voice.
“So, I am to have two guests plus a dog foisted upon me for Christmas?” Visions of Livingston running through the house with a pilfered Christmas goose from the dinner table in his jaws flashed through his mind.
“It is what Emma wants,” Rose replied complacently with a shrug.
The movement brought his attention to the neckline of her day dress. The deep V-shaped bodice of the long-sleeved gown hinted at the creamy flesh beneath. He shook himself. This was Rose, the same young woman who had held a torch for scores of men, for anyone that had a kind word for her.
“I will speak to Emma. You shall have my decision tonight.” He removed himself from the desk, a signal their conversation was over.
“Your sister has already sent a note to ask my aunt to stay.” Her eyes danced. “Aunt Abigail has accepted.”
That was wonderful. Lady Markham was at least fifty years of age and deaf in one ear, and she was always staring at him without speaking.
“I guess my decision has been made for me,” he replied grimly.
“You weren’t here to be consulted.” Rose smiled, turned, and left the room. Her backside sashayed becomingly as she approached the door.
Her citrusy scent hung in the air, as fresh as the lady herself. The comely minx would be underfoot for at least a week, possibly two.
“Heaven help me,” he said under his breath.
CHAPTER TWO
Emma was seated in the drawing room in her invalid chair. Livingston sat on the floor near her. When the dog saw his mistress enter the room, he padded over for his customary pat.
“Your cheeks are very pink, Rose. Are you feeling all right?” Emma asked with a frown.
“Never better.” Rose smiled at her friend and took a seat on the settee near Emma’s chair. Livingston lay down on the floor between the two women. To change the subject she said, “Camellia sent more of my clothing over from Marcourt today.”
Marcourt was the adjoining estate where Rose had grown up. Her brother Ambrose was the current Marquess of Norfolk. Camellia was his wife.
“How is Lady Norfolk? You said she is expecting another child?”
Rose nodded. “From all accounts she is very well. After two sons she and my brother have high hopes for a girl.”
Sir Thomas entered the room, his gaze skimming over Rose and her dog before he made a sweeping bow and said to his sister, “I have washed off the dust of the road and pray that I am now presentable.”
“More than presentable, Thomas.” Emma grinned at him. “As you well know, you are the handsomest man in the county. Is he not, Rose?”
“Yes, of course,” she replied lightly with a vague smile. It would not do for the gentleman to know how much she agreed with his sister or how his teasing in the study had set her heart to racing.
Thomas wore tan woolen trousers matched with a figured silk waistcoat in shades of tan and gold. His hazel eyes looked more gold hued today. His light brown hair was tousled in the prevailing fashion, his sideburns blessedly short. He and Emma had little resemblance to each other than the light-colored eyes they’d inherited from their mother.
Sir Thomas was handsome and she could not deny it.
“Thank you, ladies,” the baronet replied with a crooked smile. “Although I am sure at least one of you is biased.”
He took a seat in a tall hard-backed chair on the other side of his sister. A tea tray arrived. The maid set it on a low table in front of Rose. The servants were aware Emma had long since ceded the task of pouring to Lady Rose.
Rose added a splash of cream to Emma’s cup. Thomas took his tea black while she added copious amounts of milk and sugar to her own. She caught Thomas’s eye and wrinkled her nose. He grinned. Her family was wont to tease her about the way she took her tea. She would not censure Sir Thomas for laughing at her as she’d promised Emma to behave in a friendlier fashion toward him.
“What is the news from London?” Emma asked.
“The Thames is frozen, and nearly everyone of interest has left the capital,” Thomas replied dryly.
“Then I wonder you did not come to Wickling Manor well before now,” Rose said sweetly, her eyes wide. So much for her promise.
Emma rolled her eyes at Rose and released a heavy sigh.
“I was consulting with William Buckland on his next paper,” Thomas replied smoothly. “It seems Mary Anning has found a new type of fossilized animal in Lyme Regis.”
“You have your work, Thomas. I have always understood that.” E
mma nodded to her brother and sent a frown to Rose.
“You have missed your brother these last few months, and I think you should tell him so,” Rose said insistently, indignant for her friend.
Emma looked down at the teacup in her hand. There was near silence in the room, the only sound the crackle of the fire and a soft rumbling noise from Livingston.
Her dog was snoring.
She braced herself for an indignant reply from Thomas. Instead, he merely said softly, “I’m here now, Emma. Tell me about your plans for Christmastide. Lady Rose tells me Lady Markham will be joining us.”
“Oh yes!” Emma looked up then, her face wreathed in smiles. “I want a proper Christmas this year. You and Rose will help me with the decorations and parlor games. I have invited Rose’s siblings and their spouses for Christmas dinner.”
Thomas looked stunned at her words. “Lady Rose only mentioned herself and Lady Markham.”
“I want the house full for Christmas,” Emma replied as she reached out to take one of her brother’s hands. “I want laughter and happiness around me. The new year should herald a new beginning, Thomas. Please do this for me. It is the only gift I ask from you.”
After a year of helping Emma through her mother’s abandonment and her grief when she realized she would never walk again, Rose had thought she could not cry more than she already had. The sweet, pleading look on Emma’s face nearly brought her to tears. Surely Thomas could not deny his sister’s wish.
“You shall have the best Christmas ever, Emma,” Thomas replied, blinking rapidly. “It will be my gift to you. A gift for both of us.”
* * * * *
Thomas insisted on some time alone in his study to catch up on estate matters and correspondence. Evidently, Lady Markham would be arriving at any moment if the weather allowed. Lady Rose would soon have her chaperone. Plans for the coming festivities would not be discussed until the morrow.
“Give me a few hours of solitude before I am up to my elbows in Christmas baubles,” he replied when Emma suggested they discuss her ideas for decorations and entertainment that evening. “Christmas is almost a week away. There is plenty of time to make ready.”
What would it be like to have the house full of friends again? Ever since the accident there had been visits from Rose’s sisters to bolster Emma’s spirits, but never more than one or two ladies at a time.
According to his valet, there had been gossip in the village about what had precipitated Emma’s fall down the stairs. He didn’t know how much any of his servants knew. He himself had told his neighbor Ambrose what had preceded Emma’s fall.
“You did what you thought was right to protect your sister,” the marquess said in an effort to console him. “I would have done the same.”
But Ambrose would never be in his position. Although dead now, Lord and Lady Norfolk had been wonderful people, loving parents with no scent of scandal attached to them. His mother had admitted to not being sure which one of her lovers was Emma’s father. His father hadn’t been strong enough to endure the reality of his wife leaving him.
Thomas couldn’t change the past. Emma was right. It was time to begin again. Despite his frequent trips to speak with doctors in London and other parts of England, the most celebrated of physicians and surgeons could do nothing more to help Emma. He’d paid several doctors to visit Wickling Manor and all concluded there was a problem with Emma’s spine. His sister would never walk again. Emma had made peace with her prognosis.
Thomas could not accept it. He had copies of her medical notes, and he traveled all over the country for a second opinion, an opinion that would alleviate some of his guilt.
Lady Rose thought he was uncaring, that he neglected his sister because he was selfish. If only that were true. If he loved Emma less, perhaps he could brush off her disability and forget his part in causing it.
He wrote to his mother soon after the accident when Emma had been inconsolable over her injury. His letter to their mother asking her to come to Wickling Manor for Rose’s sake had solicited the response that infirmity was one thing the lady could not abide. She had no desire to see her crippled daughter.
Living with pain, the confinement of the chair, and abandonment by her mother, Emma flew into occasional rages. If it hadn’t been for Lady Rose sitting with Emma, listening to her cry and rant and scream, he might have gone mad himself.
Until one day Emma stopped crying, stopped cursing the world. She dispatched her nurse and announced she would care for herself. Her lady’s maid had been with her for several years and would help look after her.
“I can manage with Janet,” Emma replied when he protested the nurse being dispatched. “I am not sick, I am crippled. I do not need a nurse.”
A week later he agreed she had managed very well without a nurse. A week after that Emma asked for her studio to be relocated downstairs. She was ready to paint again. Willing to do almost anything to make his sister happy, the parlor was converted into an art studio.
“I must go to London for a while,” he had said the next week. “I have important business with my solicitor.”
“Do not worry about me,” Emma replied. “I will ask Rose to stay with me here at the manor. I will be just fine. You will see.”
Emma had looked upon his departure as a test. A way for her to prove she could take care of herself despite her disability. Lady Rose had seen his leaving Wickling Manor as running away from his duty to his sister.
“I will be happy to keep Emma company while you go to London,” Lady Rose said sweetly enough when he took his leave although her eyes had shot sparks at him.
That was the beginning of their sparring with each other. Whenever he returned home again, Lady Rose would make sure he knew she was displeased with him for leaving his sister in the country.
He wondered if he’d not only run from Wickling Manor to escape his guilt but also to escape his dependence on Lady Rose. She’d brought some light into their dark days. He’d grown accustomed to her being in his home. He looked forward to seeing her when he returned from his trips despite her lecturing him so often.
Thomas would return to his estate with no miracle cure or treatment for Emma. A few weeks later he departed again. Rose stayed, and her dog Livingston came with her. A pattern developed until Rose returned home for the birth of Ambrose’s second son. Christmas was a month later. He and Emma had spent a gloomy Christmastide alone together.
The more he thought about that unhappy time, the more he agreed the house needed some life this year. He could withstand Lady Markham’s stares if it meant Lady Rose would be in close proximity for the next week.
Despite Rose’s frequent irritation with him, he looked forward to their bickering. Her sharp tongue was accompanied by a sharp mind. He felt invigorated when he was around the young woman. He was suddenly looking forward to Christmas more than he had in a very long time.
CHAPTER THREE
Emma chose to rest before dressing for dinner. Rose decided to take Livingston outside for some fresh air. They exited the house by the family entrance on the west side of the manor.
She’d fashioned a toy for the dog by tying together some rags. Livingston liked to play fetch, so she threw the toy several times for him to retrieve it. After one particularly long throw, Livingston chose to sniff the dying grass a while before returning to her with his toy.
She glanced at the house and saw Sir Thomas standing by the window of his study, watching her and Livingston. She looked away. Now self-conscious, she threw the toy once more before going back inside the house.
A few minutes later she was curled up on a chair in the library, writing the next book in her children’s series, Livingston asleep on the floor beside her chair. She heard a commotion in the corridor. The door flew open, and Aunt Abigail bustled in, a footman behind her.
“I know my way around this house,” the older woman muttered to the servant. “Now fetch us some tea and do not tarry.”
The cowed footman
rushed away to do her bidding.
“Do not get up, niece,” Abigail said to Rose when she would have stood. “Continue with your work. Lady Cairs writes me often from London to tell me how popular your books are.”
Rose’s family purchased her books to read to their children, of course, but Abigail was only convinced of Rose’s gift for writing when a dame of the ton pronounced Rose to be quite talented.
Abigail wandered the room, peering at the shelves of books, distracting Rose with her liberal use of lavender eau de toilette and her comments about several book titles.
“Thank you for coming to Wickling Manor,” she said to her aunt, putting aside her notebook. She liked quiet to write, and her aunt appeared to be in a chatty mood.
“How could I say no?” Aunt Abigail shook her head sadly. “If that poor wee girl wants you here for Christmas. . .”
Despite Emma being a few inches shorter than Rose, she wouldn’t have called her ‘wee.’ Rose and her sisters were simply taller than most women. Aunt Abigail was not one to show much empathy for others; her sympathy for Emma surprised her.
When the tea arrived, Rose took a cup to be sociable. She was not thirsty or hungry in the slightest.
“Did Lottie send along the supplies I asked for?” she asked her aunt.
Lottie was the only one of the three sisters who liked to garden. She was married to Lord Peake and had an infant daughter.
Aunt Abigail nodded. “There are several baskets full of assorted greenery. It looks as if she raided all of Ambrose’s glasshouses. The housekeeper here made sure the lot of it is stored in the still room.”
The still room was near the kitchen, beside the plate room. There was plenty of space there to work on the decorations. A stove situated at the end of the room would keep them warm.
“Sir Thomas doesn’t economize on heating the manor,” Aunt Abigail said with a glance at the roaring fire in the grate. “Always flush his family was, as I recall.”
Rose had never thought much about it. She couldn’t recollect hearing the family had ever had financial difficulties. Thomas’s father had made a fortune in shipping, then received a baronetcy. He’d sought a post in India and took his wife with him.