The Earl's Snow-Kissed Proposal

by Nina Milne

  ‘It doesn’t always work like that.’ Gabe figured that one mum like Etta completely topped two parents like the Duke and Duchess in the parenting stakes. ‘Cathy won’t want a dad like Tommy.’

  ‘Tommy knows how to turn on the charm. I know that all too well. And it’s not only that. I’m not excusing any of his behaviour, but he did have a rough time himself—everyone knew that his dad was an evil man who beat up his wife and his kids. Tommy got the worst of it—it was like his dad hated him. Cathy will feel instant sympathy for him. I can picture it all now. Tommy will present himself as the reformed convict or the wronged rebel. He’ll admit his sins, tell Cathy he wants to make it up to her, and Cathy is susceptible.’

  ‘Maybe so. But Cathy loves you—her bond is with you. You won’t lose her to Tommy.’

  Etta shook her head and the sadness on her face twisted his chest.

  ‘Bonds break, Gabe.’

  Her voice vibrated with emotion and Gabe wondered exactly what bonds she meant.

  ‘Especially around me,’ she added, so softly he wasn’t sure he’d heard the words. ‘But you’re right. I won’t lose Cathy—if I have to run to the ends of the earth, I will.’ She lifted her glass to her lips and drained it. Then she rose in one lithe movement. ‘Thank you for having my back with Tommy, and thank you for the drink. Now it’s business as usual. I’m heading to my room and I’ll be back to work first thing.’

  Relief that she was backing away from further confidences mingled with his frustration that she would give up her hard-won life. But he had to back off—Etta was not someone who had come to him for advice, not one of the kids he tried to help. She was an adult, and so far she had done fine without him. Yet it took enormous effort to hold himself back from holding forth.

  ‘OK. I’ll be next door. Any problems, bang on the wall.’

  * * *

  Two weeks later Etta glared at the wall—exactly as she did every night. Right now she was suffering a veritable multitude of problems.

  Not so much in the daytime, because then she could throw herself into work. The Derwent family tree fascinated her during waking minutes; the only niggle to her absorption was a nagging feeling that somehow Gabriel was orchestrating her work. There was nothing she could pinpoint as such, and it might well be that her thoughts were skewed by her constant awareness of him. An awareness she loathed for that very reason—it made her lose perspective.

  As did her inability to sleep. Every night—every time she closed her eyes—Tommy loomed behind her lids. With every creak she imagined him sneaking through the darkness of the house. Worse, though, were the images of him finding Cathy. In the depth of night the scenario spun out... Tommy getting ever closer to the cruise ship, boarding...

  And as each nightmare wove its dark spell the urge to bang on the wall grew ever larger. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Every instinct warned Etta that Gabe represented danger—and yet he made her feel safe, and she wanted him to chase away the shadows and the spectres of her imagination.

  Not happening.

  Instead she would do the mature thing—get up, get dressed, make a soothing cup of herbal tea and get an early start. Especially as she had unearthed some very interesting facts in the past few days.

  Five minutes later she tiptoed to the door, holding her breath as she pulled it open.

  One step onto the scruffy carpet of the hall and she stopped short as Gabe’s door opened and he stepped out. Etta nearly swallowed her tongue. Dark blond hair sleep-tousled, blue-grey eyes fully alert, he pulled a dark grey T-shirt over his head, allowing her a glimpse of the glorious expanse of his chest.

  There it was again—that stupid spark that she couldn’t seem to douse. Wrenching her eyes from the golden skin, Etta turned away.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  Questionable. ‘I’m fine. I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d make myself a cup of herbal tea and start early.’

  ‘OK. Give me a second and I’ll come with you. You can give me your daily update early.’

  ‘Sure.’

  Etta glanced at him, further convinced that there was something odd about all these updates; they seemed out of character. She’d watched Gabe over the past weeks and the man worked like a demon. But what she had also noted was his ability to delegate, not to micromanage but to trust his staff to carry out the tasks necessary to convert the manor into a Victorian Christmas masterpiece. Yet with the family tree he seemed interested in every minute detail.

  Tea in hand, they entered the records room and Gabe pulled a chair up to the desk. Etta braced herself, inhaled the now so familiar tang of citrus soap and pure Gabe—almost as necessary as her first coffee of the morning.

  Focus, Etta.

  ‘I’ve discovered something really interesting. I haven’t mentioned it before because I wanted to be sure, and now I am. I’ve found a whole new branch of the family. It’s one I originally thought had died out, but in actual fact this man here—’ she pointed at a name ‘—married again and had a son. Very soon after that he died and his wife remarried. I think everyone must have thought this son was actually from her second marriage, but he wasn’t.’

  ‘Are you absolutely sure?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve done extensive research, and I’ve got copies of various records. Although he took his stepfather’s name, and inherited his property, I’m sure that he actually belongs on the Derwent family tree.’

  Gabe scanned the enormous rough diagram Etta had put together. ‘Looks good.’

  ‘It’s better than good.’ She tugged a piece of paper towards her and skimmed her finger down the line of names. ‘His line goes all the way to the present. I mean it’s pretty convoluted—he’s your cousin practically a million times removed, and I doubt he even knows he is even distantly related to you, but he is. Linked directly back to the 5th Duke.’

  His body stilled and for a heartbeat a blaze of heat streaked across his eyes, gone so fast she wondered if it had been a mere trick of the light.

  ‘Fascinating,’ he stated. ‘I’ve never so much as heard of this branch of the family tree. You’re doing a fantastic job. Next I’d like you to follow the branch we discussed yesterday. I want to find out more about my Great-Great-Great-Aunt Josephine—she sounds like a real character.’

  ‘Sure. Anyone who singlehandedly fought off a band of desperate ruffians with a borrowed sword is worth a mention.’

  Etta frowned... Had there been a hint of strain in his voice? Plus, surely her discovery warranted a bit more discussion and considerably more interest. By her reckoning, given the intricacies of peerage inheritance laws, this distant cousin could well be next in line to the Dukedom after Gabe. ‘Will you do anything about the distant cousin?’

  ‘As you said, it’s unlikely he has any idea who the Derwents are.’ Gabe’s voice was dismissive. He rose from his chair. ‘I wonder if you’d like a break from the family tree today? In your other role as fair consultant I need your help with the Christmas decorations, and you have been holed up in here for days.’

  Etta hesitated, sensing his reserve, wondering if she’d hit some sort of nerve. But if she had it clearly wasn’t a nerve he wished to discuss. Perhaps her reference to this new branch of his family tree had reminded him of his need to settle down, to abandon his playboy lifestyle and find his suitable wife. Maybe he regretted turning away Lady Isobel...

  And maybe this was Gabe’s personal business and as such none of hers. ‘I’d love to.’

  Relief tinged his smile. ‘Good. Come with me. I need you to cast an eye over the tree, and also I’m setting up some stalls so people can make their own Victorian wreaths and ornaments...’

  It was impossible not to admire the dedication he’d given to tackling the Victorian theme, and admiration filled her at how much he’d achieved in so short a space of time.

  As she followed
him into the Great Hall she slammed to a stop as she gazed at the Christmas tree and her jaw dropped. She gawped. It was the most enormous spruce she’d ever seen, but what held her speechless were the ornaments that hung from it.

  ‘They aren’t actually antique Victorian—they’re vintage Victorian-style.’ Gabe’s voice held satisfaction and appreciation. ‘But they’re beautiful, aren’t they?’

  Etta stepped forward and gently touched a stunning angel decoration. ‘This is incredible...’

  The balloon-shaped ornament contained a Victorian-style chromolithographic angel holding a candle. Its lavish trimmings included vintage tinsel ribbon as well as narrow chenille, antique beaded ribbon and more beautiful spun glass. Further up the tree a vintage-style Santa Claus with a frosty glittery beard hung, framed inside a gold paper medallion.

  ‘Forget incredible. Each one is exquisite.’ She glanced round the room. ‘You’ve outdone yourself.’

  He really had. In true Victorian-style greenery abounded—spruce, cedar, ivy and holly was draped and hung and garlanded over the furniture...the walls...the banisters and chandeliers in a beautiful sweeping display. The scent of cedar infused the air and made her tingle with the spirit of Christmas. Garlands of cranberries and popcorn, tinsel and paper chains streamed over the ceilings and coloured glass lamps shone in the darkness of the early December morning.

  ‘The Victorians really did know how to push a whole flotilla of boats out. But I couldn’t have done all this without my staff and all the helpers.’

  ‘Too right, Gabe,’ came the cheerful tones of a young man who had entered, laden with a basket of logs.

  ‘Sam. How did the match go?’

  ‘We won. It was a hard game, and I got me leg bashed in when a dirty b—’ He glanced at Etta and blushed. ‘When one of the opponents took me down. But he was too late. I managed to pass the ball, just like you said, and we got the try.’

  He deposited the logs by the fireplace and he and Gabe did some sort of complicated high five.

  ‘Oh, and Dad sends his regards and says to tell you that he’ll be here early for the fair. He’ll set up the lights and then he’ll be on standby, and Mum’s cooking up a storm.’

  ‘Sounds fabulous. I’ll drop in to see them later.’

  ‘Cheers, Gabe. Catch you later.’

  It was incredible, really. There was no side at all to Gabe’s interaction with his employees—no feeling of a social or class divide other than a difference in accent and no feudal spirit, as such. And yet she sensed that his employees felt a fierce loyalty to the man who would one day be the Duke of Fairfax.

  Everyone was working all-out on the fair—none more so than Gabe—and they worked with an easy camaraderie that indicated a long-term two-way friendship and respect. The kind instigated by a man with integrity and a genuine loyalty to his land—not a shallow playboy.

  Gabe headed over to a corner piled with boxes. ‘I’m going to set up some tables for people to make their own wreaths and decorations. Could you help me put together some samples?’

  ‘Of course.’

  He lifted a cardboard flap in one deft movement and looked at the contents. ‘I thought these were wreaths.’

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘Mistletoe balls.’

  Etta couldn’t help herself. Despite the knowledge that it was puerile she chuckled, and in response his expression morphed and his lips quirked up into a smile.

  ‘Oh, Lord. I am sorry,’ Etta said. ‘I’m behaving like a schoolgirl. Please show me your mistletoe balls.’

  With that his lips parted and he started to laugh, and Etta joined in. A full-blown, belly-deep laugh that only eventually subsided.

  ‘OK. Let’s try again,’ he said as he took various items out of the box, along with a set of instructions.

  ‘I’ve done this before.’ Etta pulled out a strand of wire and some string and handed it to him. ‘You need to bend the wire into a circle and then twist the string round and round in loops until it’s all covered. Then do the same again and join the two of them together to make a round shape. Twist the mistletoe around it, thread the berries and roses on and voila!’

  ‘You make it sound easy.’

  ‘It’s a little fiddly, but it’s a great idea for the fair. Kids and adults will enjoy it.’

  As she twisted the wire she cast one more look around the room. ‘For a man who doesn’t like Christmas you’ve really surpassed yourself.’

  ‘This is nothing to do with my feelings about Christmas. This is about making the event a success.’ His tone of voice was firm as he bent his golden head to the task. ‘This is a work project, aimed at maximising publicity and making money for the manor.’

  ‘But it’s not only about money—it’s about the celebration of Christmas. I don’t see how you can produce this and not have a tiny tendril of Christmas spirit buried somewhere.’

  ‘Nope.’ The sigh he puffed out was filled with exasperation. ‘Why does it matter to you?’

  It was a good question. ‘Because I don’t understand it. You have parents, siblings... Derwent Manor is an idyllic place to celebrate Christmas—you have everything I was desperate to give Cathy—and yet you say Christmas means nothing to you.’

  Every Christmas she’d felt that surge of guilt, wished that Cathy had kind, loving grandparents, thought about the adoptive sister she’d barely known. Rosa... Small blonde Rosa—Etta’s sister, Cathy’s aunt.

  ‘It doesn’t feel fair.’

  There was a silence, and then he picked up a piece of mistletoe, his movements deliberate. ‘Things aren’t always how they seem.’

  Before he could elaborate his mobile phone shrilled out and he picked it up.

  ‘Kaitlin.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  PHEW. RELIEF HIT him at the sound of his sister’s voice. The last thing he wanted to do was swap Christmas memories with Etta. The obvious choice was to lie and back up the misleading articles the Derwent publicity machine rolled out every so often. Extol the supposed virtues of an aristocratic Christmas complete with family traditions and a sumptuous tree.

  But he didn’t want to fib to Etta—not when she clearly had a few Christmas demons of her own lurking...a fact betokened by the wistfulness, sadness and guilt that had skimmed over her expression. Yet the idea of sharing the details of Derwent Christmases didn’t sit well with him—the awkwardness, the stilted conversations, the knowledge that his parents had little to say to their children other than homilies, the lack of joy or fun...

  ‘Gabe?’

  His sister’s voice pulled him back to the present.

  ‘You OK, Kaitlin?’ It occurred to him how rare it was for him to receive a call from his sister, especially in the past year.

  ‘I’m fine.’ Her voice was flat. ‘I wondered if I could come back while the fair’s on. Maybe help out?’

  ‘That would be great. The only reason I didn’t ask you is that Mum and Dad said you wouldn’t be around because you had commitments with Frederick.’

  Kaitlin’s romance with Prince Frederick of Lycander was well-documented, and the tabloids were poised, waiting for an engagement announcement.

  ‘Are you both coming?’

  ‘Nope. Just me, if that’s OK?’

  Gabe frowned. There was an almost desperate undertone to Kaitlin’s voice—a far cry from her usual serenity.

  ‘Of course it is. This is your home and you can come here whenever you like. You don’t need my permission or anyone else’s.’

  Though maybe that wasn’t strictly true—he had little doubt that his parents were as avid as any reporter for news of an engagement, and would barricade Kaitlin from the manor until it came, if necessary. An alliance with royalty would have whetted the Derwents’ ambition.

  ‘Thanks, Gabe. I’ll
let you know my ETA.’

  ‘OK. But I should warn you: April Fotherington will be here covering the fair.’

  A sigh of resignation travelled over the miles. ‘Please don’t tell her in advance that I’ll be there. I’ll talk to her, but I’d rather do it off the cuff. I don’t suppose you could announce your engagement, or create some sort of diversion? Something to take the heat off me?’

  His frown deepened as worry kicked in—his sister usually revelled in the heat of the public’s glare, shone in the spotlight with an even brighter glow than he did.

  ‘Hold on, Kait. Is there something I should know?’

  ‘Everything’s fine.’

  ‘You don’t have to say that.’

  ‘Yes, I do. I don’t think you’re fine—I don’t even know where you’ve been the past nine months—but you won’t tell me what’s wrong, will you?’

  ‘No.’

  The laugh she gave was brittle. ‘There you are, then. I’m fine. But you can give me some advice.’

  ‘Shoot.’

  ‘Do you think I should marry Prince Frederick?’

  Talk about a loaded question... But Gabe sensed that if he didn’t answer now Kaitlin would never ask again. ‘He has a lot to offer. He’s a prince, and he seems like a nice guy. You would have a more than comfortable life, and you were brought up to be a princess. You’d do an amazing job. Your children would be well off and privileged. You’d have fame and fortune and the opportunity to do some good.’

  ‘In other words you think it would be a good alliance?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thank you, Gabe. I needed to hear that.’

  Her voice had regained a level of serenity, yet he felt a qualm twinge.

  ‘I’ll see you soon.’

  Gabe dropped his phone into his pocket and dismissed the doubt. His reasoning was spot-on—an alliance with Prince Frederick of Lycander would ensure Kaitlin’s happiness.