The Christmas Heiress

by Adrienne Basso

  But when she opened her eyes, he was still there, regally perched upon his horse, coming ever closer.

  Edward Barringer, Earl of Worthington!

  "What in the name of all that is holy is he doing here?" Charlotte asked herself in alarm.

  There was a moment of sheer panic when Charlotte thought her grandfather might have planned this, but she quickly realized that she had been the one, not her grandfather, to insist on accepting the countess's holiday invitation this year.

  Charlotte knew the countess and her son were estranged. She had been told, by several very reliable sources, that the earl never visited the manor.

  And yet here he was.

  For an instant she was paralyzed by something that felt like fear. It seemed to take all of her strength just to keep breathing. The sight of the earl reminded Charlotte vividly of the pain she had felt at his rejection of her, but even more distressing, it reminded her that long ago she had possessed the capacity to love unconditionally, uninhibitedly and recklessly.

  And now she no longer did.

  Charlotte told herself it did not matter. Six years ago she had been a foolish young girl, unaware of the disappointments and heartaches of life. Now she knew better.

  Yet try as she might, Charlotte had never been able to forget how it had felt to be in his arms. The gentle erotic pressure of his mouth on hers, the compelling pleasure of his kisses, the knee-weakening promise of utter fulfillment. With sheer force of will and strong determination, she had consigned the memory to her past, burying it deep, but it had haunted and shaped her future.

  For six years she secretly feared he was the reason she had never been able to accept any of the several worthy men who had courted her and begged for her hand in marriage. If only she understood why it had been so different kissing him. Then perhaps she could at last move forward with her life.

  The riders were coming closer. In a matter of moments they would be at the front portico. Pulling herself together, Charlotte straightened her spine and thrust back her shoulders. Then she lifted her chin and met the earl's gaze, staring at him with cool disregard.

  At first his face was blank, as if he was having difficulty remembering exactly who she was or why she might seem familiar to him. Boldly, Charlotte took a step forward, noting his color heightened.

  Apparently, he did remember her. Yet judging by the astonished expression on his face, it was clear he had not expected to see her.

  The years had been kind to him. He was still an attractive man, sleek and elegant in his finely tailored riding clothes. The dark hair peeking out from beneath his beaver hat was thick, yet highlighted by a few streaks of silver at the temples.

  Age and maturity had added character to his face along with a potent masculine virility. Charlotte was angry with herself for noticing.

  "Good afternoon, Charlotte." Jonathan's greeting was warm and friendly, a reflection of his good humor and innate kindness.

  "Hello, Jonathan. How wonderful to see you again," she replied truthfully.

  "Miss Aldridge." The earl lifted his hand to his hat and tipped the brim. His face was impassive, save for the frown indentations between his brows.

  The contrast between the two brothers could not have been more striking. Jonathan was all relaxed smiles and joviality while the earl's manner was unbending, lacking even the merest hint of a smile on his lips or in his eyes.

  "My lord," Charlotte replied. Good manners dictated that she should curtsey, but Charlotte discovered she could not bend her knee to him.

  The earl seemed on the verge of saying something more, then checked himself and mumbled softly beneath his breath. His horse stomped and snorted impatiently, but he controlled the animal effortlessly with his strong thighs.

  Where were the footmen? Or the stable hands? The normally efficient servants were nowhere to be seen. Charlotte wished she was close enough to the front door to pull the bell, but she was not and it was too presumptuous even for her to bellow for another man's servants in front of him.

  "I'll go and see what's happened to the staff," Jonathan said with an easy grin. "These horses deserve a fine meal and a long rest. As do the riders."

  Before Charlotte could protest, Jonathan turned his horse and trotted from the forecourt.

  Drat! She was just beginning to get her nerves under control. The last thing she needed was to be left alone with the earl. She briefly considered declaring herself chilled and rushing for the front door, but acting the coward went against her nature.

  Endurance and patience, two of the great assets of life. She had always possessed the former in abundance and was learning to court the latter. She certainly had need of both emotions at this moment.

  In one fluid motion, the earl dismounted from his horse, standing a mere hairsbreadth away from Charlotte. She glanced discreetly at him and found herself looking up. It made her feel slight, almost delicate, an unusual occurrence for a woman of her height.

  He was taller than she remembered, his shoulders broader. He bore himself very straight, like a soldier, even when he made a rigid half bow in her direction. Fortunately, he seemed not to notice the way she stiffened at his proximity.

  "Did you have a pleasant journey?" Charlotte asked, thankful the words came without effort, without real thought. She was acutely aware of him standing but a few yards away, large, lean and vital, his gaze on her.

  "Yes, thank you." He shifted the reins methodically from one gloved hand to the other, then back again. "The weather seems pleasant enough, though there is a definite chill in the air."

  The conversation continued along the same vein for several moments. Charlotte was amazed that they were able to indulge in small talk, yet by some unspoken agreement they had each decided it was preferable to waiting in awkward silence for Jonathan and the stable hands to appear.

  After what seemed like hours, when in reality had only been a few minutes, Jonathan returned with two eager young lads on his heels. They apologized for not coming sooner, bowed respectfully, then led the horses away.

  Charlotte unintentionally found herself standing beside the earl when they reached the front door. It opened a mere second after his loud knock. As they stepped into the marble foyer, a ripple of something passed through him, but his expression was a mystery to her. She could read nothing in his handsome face.

  "My lord! Welcome home!" The usually stuffy, proper family butler, Harris, was grinning from ear to ear. In all the years she had been to the manor, Charlotte had never seen him so animated.

  "Thank you, Harris. 'Tis good to be here." The earl's mouth was faintly smiling, his expression one of self-directed mockery. "'Tis good also to see you."

  "Thank you, my lord." Harris grinned and bobbed his head enthusiastically, then signalled for the footman to come forward and lend assistance. Charlotte tried not to be impressed as she observed the earl interacting with the staff, calling each by name, asking after their health and their families.

  "My lord, you've come back!" Mrs. Hobbins, the plump, white-haired housekeeper, came rustling across the polished marbled floors, the large ring of keys signifying her station in the household jingling loudly with each step. She skidded to a halt in front of the earl, barely stopping short of hugging him. "'Twill be a fine Christmas indeed, with you home to celebrate."

  "I can hardly wait to feast on the Christmas goose, Mrs. Hobbins," the earl replied with a more relaxed smile. "Do you think you can persuade Cook to bake a few extra mince pies? They are my favorites, and as I recall the recipe is one passed down from your own family."

  The housekeeper's face lit up with pride. "Aye, we will have mince pies on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day this year!"

  The sudden sound of clattering footsteps drew all eyes to the top of the stairs. Charlotte half expected to see a bevy of servants pushing forward to catch a glimpse of the earl, but instead it was the countess who came into view.

  Short, slender, with iron-gray hair and a pale complexion, the countess carr
ied herself with the regal bearing of a queen. Her mouth was thin, set with grooves close to the edges of her lips, and a web of lines radiated from the corner of her eyes, none of which were caused by an overabundance of humor.

  Despite the large number of people crowding into the foyer, there was barely a sound to be heard. Head high, the countess glided down the curved steps, halting when she reached mid-staircase. She lifted the quizzing glass she wore on a gold chain 'round her neck up to her left eye and peered through it.

  "Is that you, Jonathan? I had not expected you to arrive until late tomorrow." She spoke in a bracing, faintly exasperated tone, pointedly addressing her younger son, yet all the while staring at the earl.

  Charlotte saw the earl lean close to his brother and heard him whisper, "You did warn her I was coming?"

  Jonathan's lips twisted. "She knows."

  The earl made a faint nod of his head, but said nothing. They all waited for the older woman to complete her decent. Her back stiffened perceptibly when she reached the final step.

  Jonathan moved forward, hesitated, then moved back, remaining at his brother's side. The countess let the quizzing glass she held drop down to her bosom, the gold chain it dangled from glittering in the sunlight.

  "You are looking lovely this afternoon, Mother," Jonathan said. "That shade of blue becomes you."

  She grinned briefly at her younger son, then glanced at the earl. No smile crossed her lips as she beheld her older son.

  "Good afternoon, Madame." The earl bowed slightly, then met his mother's gaze without blinking. "I must agree with my brother. You are indeed looking well."

  She did not reply and her expression grew even more stony. Charlotte had never realized what a proud, humorless, almost morose woman the countess could be. For one absurd instant she was seized with the need to reach out and take the earl's hand. He seemed much in need of some comfort and support.

  "If you care to rest before supper, I am certain Mrs. Hobbins has prepared your rooms," the countess said.

  "Yes, my lady, all is ready." Mrs. Hobbins bit her lip. "Shall I have His Lordship's luggage brought to the earl's suite?"

  The countess's jaw went slack. She looked from the housekeeper to her son, acute discomfort on her face.

  "I prefer my usual rooms, Mrs. Hobbins," the earl said. "It will feel like even more of a homecoming for me if I reside in those chambers."

  "Very good, my lord." The housekeeper sighed audibly with relief.

  "Perhaps it would be best to adjourn to the parlor," Jonathan suggested.

  "Would you care for tea?" Harris asked.

  "Yes." Jonathan turned toward the countess. "Mother?"

  "If you insist I shall come," the countess replied, tightening the shawl around her shoulders. "Will you join us, Miss Aldridge?"

  For one wicked moment Charlotte was tempted. She suspected the high drama of watching the earl and countess interact was going to be much better than many theater productions she had attended.

  "Thank you, no," she finally answered, good mantiers winning out over curiosity. This was a family matter and none of her concern. "I will see you all later this evening."

  The countess turned. Back ramrod straight, she marched from the foyer. The earl did not immediately follow, but instead spoke to his butler. As she walked slowly toward the staircase, Charlotte clearly heard his orders.

  "Bring a large decanter of whiskey with the tea, Harris. I have a feeling I'm going to be needing something stronger to make it through this afternoon."

  CHAPTER 6

  As he entered the parlor, Edward noted that it had been refurbished, and judging by the quality and opulence of the furnishings it had been a significant expense. How bloody ironic! His mother might vehemently object to the way he made his fortune, but she clearly had no reservations when it came to spending it.

  They took their seats on the pair of tapestry sofas that faced each other in front of the hearth. A roaring fire blazed there, keeping out the wintery chill. But, alas, it offered no protection from the coldness of his mother's glare.

  Edward sat opposite the countess, leaving Jonathan to make a choice. His brother barely hesitated as he settled himself beside him. A sardonic grin touched Edward's mouth. Jonathan had pledged his support and he meant to keep his word.

  Edward appreciated the gesture, especially with his mother looking at him like she wanted to rend him limb from limb. No small task for so slight a woman.

  "There is no need to act as if I am here to steal the silver, Madame," Edward said, summoning a smile. "Or that you wish to set the hounds on me."

  "I do not believe we keep hounds anymore," Jonathan said with a nervous laugh. "We haven't been fox hunting in years and years. I'm afraid most of the dogs on the estate are spoiled pets, eager to lick your hand in exchange for a tasty morsel or a good scratch behind the ears. Even Father's wolfhounds, those enormous beasts, wiggle frantically for attention whenever anyone is near."

  The countess scowled, not at all amused by her younger son. "You are the earl, Edward, now that your father is gone. The silver belongs to you. As do the dogs." She offered him a smile that held more than a hint of bitterness.

  Edward forced himself not to retort. He had learned over the years that treading lightly was the best way to deal with a woman's resentment.

  Harris arrived, with several liveried footman in tow. They carried in tea and scones, crumpets with butter and jam, pastries and finger sandwiches, plus the requested whiskey decanter and two crystal goblets.

  The countess's brows raised at the last item, but she made no comment. At her command, the servants withdrew. She busied herself pouring tea and arranging the light repast on individual plates. Edward saw that even at such short notice Cook had tried to include as many of his favorite treats as possible, yet somehow his mother managed to place only the ones he did not care for on his dish.

  He supposed he should feel flattered his mother could recall what he liked, even if she remembered only to deny it to him. Edward ignored the cup of tea she had poured, placing it untouched in front of him, and eyed the whiskey decanter.

  "I thought today was to have been your wedding day," the countess said in a quelling tone. "And instead you have come to Farmington Manor."

  Edward's shoulder's went rigid. Despite his resolve not to, he felt himself flushing. "As a courtesy, I sent you a message explaining that the ceremony had been called off, even though you were not planning on attending the wedding."

  "'Tis difficult for me to travel at this time of the year." The countess sniffed with disdain. "Besides, I had no desire to meet the young woman you had chosen, who in my opinion was nothing more than a title hunter. She was no doubt an ambitious miss, ill-bred, graceless and unsuitable, without consequence or connections. I would never have approved or accepted such a creature into my family, one who would allow her father to try to buy her way into the upper classes by purchasing an earl for his daughter."

  Edward hooded his gaze. "I cannot understand why you would object, Mother. Henrietta was gifted with an impressive dowry. You yourself suggested that marriage was the only way for us to pay off all the considerable family debts and regain solvency after generations of financial mismanagement and extravagant living."

  The countess gave him a furious glare. "How dare you compare the two?" Fiercely, she set her teacup in its saucer. "Your father and I only wanted the best for you in marriage. We chose an aristocratic young woman with a flawless background, possessing a substantial fortune, who had been raised to take her proper place in society. We would never have done what you were so eager to do, allow your title to be purchased like a trophy by an ill-suited, inferior family."

  "My wealth exceeded George Menton's," Edward returned mildly. "Money was hardly the major factor when contracting the union between myself and his daughter."

  The countess recoiled as if he had struck her. She stared at him in astonishment, obviously trying to absorb the truth of his blunt pronouncement. "A
nd you are proud and boastful of that fact? You choose to defy your father and me by refusing to marry Charlotte Aldridge and yet you would willingly enter into marriage with a-"

  "They wanted you to marry Charlotte?"Jonathan interrupted. "Is that what started the quarrel in the first place?"

  "Yes!" the countess exclaimed in a hoarse voice. "Six years ago he refused to marry Miss Aldridge. Everyone agreed it would be an excellent match, but your brother would not even consider the union. What a wretched Christmas that became! It was mortifying for us to have to explain to Lord Reginald that an offer would not be forthcoming,,-

  "Fortunately, Lord Reginald is a gracious man of good breeding, and he forgave us. He has never again spoken of the incident, not even after Edward announced he would wed a woman who would never be able to ease the smell of commerce from her person."

  A muscle in Edward's jaw worked visibly. "Though she might not have been born with blood that was blue enough to satisfy you, Miss Menton was every inch a lady," he declared forcefully, his tone taking on a lethal softness. "She dressed as a lady, spoke as a lady and acted as a lady. And since you never had the good fortune to meet her, I must insist that you refrain from assassinating her character."

  "Her character? There is no need for me to comment upon it," the countess said scorchingly. "Miss Menton demonstrated her true breeding to one and all with her actions, running off and eloping with a nobody days before your wedding. She might have fooled you by dressing in expensive, fashionable clothes and speaking in sweet, dulcet tones, but blood will tell in the end."

  Edward rose from his seat and gave a disgruntled sigh. He reached for the whiskey decanter, splashing the amber liquid into two glasses. His mother's words had bitten into him, striking at the core of his insecurity and hurt.

  Silently, he handed Jonathan one of the goblets. Raising his arm in a salute, he said bitterly, "To Miss Menton and her new husband. May they live a long and happy life and be content in each other's company for the rest of their days."