Mother’s curious voice stole his attention. “I cannot understand why you haunt such cheap, gauche places as that, Andrew.”
“It was worth the trip today. I had the fortune to meet—”
“Goodness me!” Mary exclaimed, reaching for her glass and knocking it over. Wine shot from the glass and splashed across the table, dripping down Andrew’s cheek and bleeding over his cravat.
He froze, stunned.
“Oh, how clumsy of me!” Mary rose at once, her cheeks scarlet. What was clumsy was how she made her exclamation before her hand had even reached the glass. Was her calculation not obvious to anyone else? It was clear as fresh-fallen snow to Andrew.
Mary rounded the table, her napkin in hand. Her eyes spoke of concern, but Andrew saw right through it.
“Finch!” Lady Sanders called.
The butler stepped from the antechamber, took stock of the situation, and spoke to the footman standing beside the door. They moved into action, cleaning up the mess.
Andrew stepped back, leaning against the wall, and Mary paused just before reaching him. He hoped she felt silly. If anything, her diversion had only heightened his need to inform his mother of the situation.
No person would blackmail his little sister and get away with it.
“I have eaten enough. Shall we return to the drawing room?” his mother asked, eyeing him. “I assume you would like to excuse yourself from our company to replace your cravat.”
“Give me a minute to change, and I will happily join you.”
Mary’s intake of breath was audible. Hesitation nipped at him, but he shoved it aside. She’d seemed so utterly guileless earlier that day. But if Mary was innocent, she would not be trying to keep their initial introduction quiet.
“But first,” Andrew said, and his mother paused at the door, Mrs. Hatcher beside her. Four sets of eyes blinked at him, and Andrew focused on Mary. “I would like—”
“I am truly so honored to be welcomed in your home, Lord Sanders.” Mary stepped closer to him. Her long, dark eyelashes framed such extraordinary, round green eyes it was hard for him to focus. The pink dress she wore flattered her, revealing a creamy neck so bare, he could see her swallow in her agitation. “It is a kindness that I promise I shall repay.”
The way Mary stressed the words caused him to pause, to search her gaze. She pleaded with him, he could see that. But why? She looked again to his sister, and Andrew closed his mouth. He supposed there would be time to reveal her true character later that evening. For now, he wanted to change into something less…wet.
Chapter 3
Andrew’s cravat took most of the brunt of the spilled wine, and he was able to change it out for a new one—after washing off his face and neck—in less than a quarter of an hour. He left his bedchamber, making his way downstairs in haste. Mary was up to something, and he was determined to figure out precisely what it was.
His mother’s cheerful voice sounded from the drawing room, grabbing his attention, and Andrew’s mouth fell into a grim line. Mother and Anne were so happy with their company here, it was a shame he would need to expose Mary to them all.
Perhaps he could have saved them the hassle had he only accepted his mother’s invitation to spend Christmas at Brightly Court in the countryside. He was certain it was his deferral that had led her to London to spend time with him. Even if she wrapped her trip in the guise of bringing her friend to Town.
“My lord?”
He stilled in the dim corridor, the voice sending pleasant shivers down his spine.
Mary stepped away from the wall, carefully avoiding the beam of light spilling out of the drawing room. Where were the servants, and why hadn’t they lit the wall sconces yet? The sun had long since disappeared for the night, and it was darker than typical.
“Yes?” he asked, hesitant.
Mary stepped forward again, her round eyes worried, her expression reaching Andrew’s heart. She was either very cunning or shockingly innocent. “I hoped to speak with you somewhere more private. Perhaps we can go—”
A scoff tore from Andrew’s throat. Cunning it was. He was disappointed to have been so utterly wrong about her. Surely she was doing her utmost to trap him now that she’d learned who he was. His status, title, and fortune had made him the object of many a woman’s aim.
“If you think you can trick me into—”
“Trick you?” Mary asked, a disgusted curl to her mouth. “I have no such intentions.”
He spread his arms. “Then speak to me now. Here.”
“Very well.” She spoke without hesitation. “Please do not tell another soul that we met earlier at the fair.”
“Not even my mother?”
“Especially not your mother.”
Andrew chuckled without mirth, resting his hands on his hips and shaking his head. “You believe you can come into my home, blackmail my sister, and convince me to lie to my own mother? The cheek of it.”
Mary likely could not look more appalled if she tried. “What in heaven’s name are you talking about? I have never blackmailed a person in my life, let alone Lady Anne.”
He quirked an eyebrow, leaning close. “I heard it with my own ears. She paid you for your silence regarding that fair, and I will not stand for it.”
She seemed to take a moment to think, her eyes searching the sweeping staircase behind Andrew. He wished she wasn’t so lovely. It would be immensely easier to remain angry if her thinking face wasn’t so sweet. He could tell the moment she lit upon a thought, for her eyebrows rose, and her eyes widened. “You are speaking of the chocolate, are you not? It was not real blackmail but a simple jest.”
Chocolate? All Andrew had heard was his sister asking what sort of inducement would keep the stranger quiet. Surely he had not been so wrong.
“You are speaking of the chocolate,” Mary said, her voice flat. “I will have you know that it was Lady Anne’s idea to sneak to the fair without our mothers’ knowledge, and I only went along to make certain she was safe. She is much too young to truly know the dangers in the world.”
“And you are old enough to know danger, are you?’
“My age is none of your concern, my lord.”
Andrew lowered his voice, acutely aware of Mary’s rising irritation, the steady quickening of her breathing. “My sister and her welfare are my concern, however.”
“Which is why you have been utterly absent since our arrival in London, yes?”
He had to give her a point, there.
“I have never claimed to be perfect.” Indeed, he was the first to admit to being vastly flawed. He’d grown up in the shadow of a great man and knew what that entailed.
Andrew was nothing like his father. He fell short in every regard.
Mary held his gaze. “We do not need to agree, Lord Sanders. But for Lady Anne’s sake and her strong desire to attend a ball, can we not come to an accord on this matter? Her outing at the fair garnered no injury to her body or mind, and she has promised that she will be the model of decorum from now until Twelfth Night.”
“Why Twelfth Night?”
A whisper of a smile lit her lips, and Andrew’s gaze was riveted by the gentle curve of them. “That is when the ball takes place that she so deeply wishes to attend. I have only known your sister for a week, my lord, but even I can see that she will only be well-behaved as long as she must.”
He chuckled. The observation was astute. “You did not know her at all before coming to Town?”
She shook her head. “Our mothers have been friends their whole lives, you know, but this was our first time meeting that either of us can recall. I’ve heard stories of when your mother visited when I was young, but I can hardly be called upon to recollect that.”
“No, of course not.” Andrew felt a fool. Trust did not come easily to him, but he could see how very misled he’d been with Mary. Her initial reaction to lying beside him on the ice should have proved her innocence. His neck heated, and he rubbed the back of it to dispel
his discomfort. “Are you returning to the drawing room?”
“Yes, the moment I have your assurance that you will keep this to yourself.”
“This means a lot to you.”
She spoke quietly, resolute. “I am nothing if not a woman of my word.”
He could very well believe it. “Then you have mine. I will speak to my sister about minding my mother, of course, but I will not betray your indiscretions from today.”
“And you will forgive my…theatrics?”
“Which are?” He knew, of course. But watching Mary squirm was entertaining. He had to assume that spilling her glass of wine to cause a distraction had gone against her nature.
She looked at the floor, her long lashes fanning over porcelain cheeks. When was the last time he had met a lady so seemingly humble about her beauty? He was hard-pressed to recall it.
She glanced back at him, and he stilled, working overtime to swallow against a sandy throat. “I spilled that wine on purpose. I could think of nothing else to stop you.”
“You are forgiven.”
“If your man cannot remove the stain from your cravat, I will gladly purchase a new one.”
“Think nothing of it. I have many.”
She glanced at his neck, and he was acutely aware of her piercing look. Had he tied a decent knot? He could hardly recall. But given his haste, he quite doubted it.
“If the stain will not come out, then I will replace it.”
“Let us save that conversation for another day.” His hand came under her elbow, and he turned her toward the drawing room. “I assume our mothers are waiting for us. What excuse did you give them for your disappearance?”
She glanced up quickly. “That I needed to select a new novel. Your mother has allowed me use of your library.”
Of course she had. His unaffecting, trusting mother was part of the reason ladies found it so easy to trap Andrew alone in his own house. But this was the first woman to do so successfully and retain both his attention and his interest.
“You’ve forgotten something,” he said, allowing himself to step closer. A warm, floral scent tickled his nose, and he had to force himself not to lean in further and breathe deeply. She would most certainly find that odd.
“Yes?”
“A book.”
She chuckled softly, her smile pleasantly curving the edges of her mouth. “You go ahead of me,” she said quietly. “I will select a novel and return to the drawing room quickly.”
He watched her walk down the corridor in the direction of his library, and he ran a hand through his hair. He was in trouble. This woman was not only beautiful, but she was smart and had an affinity for humor. She was loyal—her dedication to helping Anne proved that—and honest, as far as he could tell. And given the opportunity twice now, she hadn’t tried to try to trap him, an earl, into marriage.
Andrew’s interest was certainly piqued.
He stepped into the drawing room, but his mind remained with the graceful woman in the library. Mrs. Hatcher was speaking to his mother about a dressmaker they had visited the day before, and Andrew slid onto the cushion beside Anne as the women’s conversation moved onto the unrelenting fog they’d experienced the previous few days.
“I’ve never seen so much snow in my entire life,” Anne said. “It is absolutely magical, is it not?”
Mother shook her head. “The snow is lovely, but the cold is horrible. If the weather persists, it will be a true miracle if we are able to make it out of London before February.”
“We’d better.” Mrs. Hatcher’s arched eyebrow rose, nearly disappearing under her lace cap. “I will not miss my Mary’s wedding for anything in the world. And more importantly, I cannot allow her to miss it.”
“Unless we move the wedding to London,” Mother said, a conspiratorial glint in her eye.
Wedding? Surely Andrew had misheard them. He glanced between the women, but they continued speaking about the difficulties the snow had caused for many of their friends.
Mary came into the room, a book tucked under both of her hands, and she sent Andrew a fleeting smile before claiming the chair beside Mrs. Hatcher.
He wanted to ask her exactly what their mothers meant when they spoke of her wedding. Did they desire her to wed a particular man? Had they schemed to connect Mary to Andrew? That would certainly explain the pleading note his mother had sent to his club, begging for his presence at home one night this week. Or did they have hopes of engaging her to another man while they were in London? Or…no, it could not be. Surely she was not already engaged to someone else.
Andrew cleared his throat, and the chatter in the room died down. His mother looked at him expectantly. “And when is this wedding meant to take place?” he asked, hoping he concealed his immense curiosity.
“The end of January, my lord.” Mrs. Hatcher’s thin face betrayed a pleased smile.
Lady Anne bounced excitedly on her cushion. “Mary is engaged to marry Mr. Lockhart when he returns from India. Is it not so romantic? She has had to wait nearly two years for his return.” She sighed. “We’ve done nothing but shop for dresses and shawls and bonnets these last few days for her trousseau. It has been heavenly.”
His stomach dropped, and he glanced up, hoping to catch Mary’s eye, but she was looking at the book in her lap, already reading the first page as though the conversation around her was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing special.
Of course she had not attempted to trap him. She was already spoken for. He’d finally met the woman of his dreams, and she could never be his.
Mary turned the page of the book of poetry as though she was actually paying attention, but it was difficult to read any of the poems while Lord Sanders watched her so closely. Her eyes skimmed over the words, blurring the letters together until they formed one large, inky mass on the cream paper.
Lady Anne faced her, bubbling over with delight. It was no wonder the girl loved her brother so dearly—he was inordinately protective of her happiness. “Mary, have you settled on the ivory silk or the sage green for your wedding?”
She swallowed. “I have yet to decide. They are both so lovely.”
Lady Anne nodded in agreement. “They are…but I do wish you would have added the lace overdress.”
Mary wished the same thing. The lace had been exquisite—but even the sale of her beloved emeralds hadn’t been able to cover its cost. She had chosen to hold onto the extra money in the case that she and Mama found themselves in need of it. There was a fortnight at least until they planned to leave London—the day after Epiphany—and another few weeks before her wedding was set to take place.
She need only last another month, and then her family would want for nothing.
“That lace was divine,” Mama said. “I still do not understand why you chose against it.”
Of course she failed to understand. Father had sheltered her from the depths of their financial devastation. Mama might know they needed to economize, but she did not know how desperately each and every ha’penny in their possession mattered.
“It is not too late to return and add it to the order,” Lady Anne said, the hope of another trip to the modiste shining in her grin. Their shopping excursion had lasted three days but surely would have gone on much longer had Lady Anne and her purse ruled the day.
“It is done. We won’t have time to wait for another item to be made.” Mary turned another page, hoping the women would converse about anything other than her trousseau and impending marriage. Her stomach wound up in knots when she thought on it for too long, and she had exceeded her limit for the day. The dresses alone were a purchase she had been loath to make, but Father had been perfectly clear about the necessity of keeping up appearances. She could not marry Mr. Lockhart in a four-year-old gown, and he would expect her to bring a trousseau. But she’d done her best to keep costs down and her new gowns to a minimum, only acquiring the least of what was expected of her.
Mr. Lockhart and his mother were entirely
aware of the state of the Hatchers’ finances—certainly more so than Mama. They’d agreed to the connection solely for the doors in Society which would open to them; in their minds, appearances mattered a great deal. Father had promised that Mary would do nothing to disappoint, and she had agreed. This was a business arrangement after all.
“Is that what brought you to Town?” Lord Sanders’s deep voice penetrated her thoughts, causing every particle of Mary’s body to go still. It was bad enough that she’d felt attraction to him earlier at the fair. Now that she learned she was staying in his house, she needed to tamp down the draw she felt to him at once.
“Miss Hatcher?”
She lifted her gaze to meet his curious one across the circle of chairs, the room quiet but for the soft chatter between Mother and Lady Sanders. “Forgive me, my lord. I was distracted.”
“It is I who must know better than to bother a person when they are lost in a good book.”
She gave him a fleeting smile. “I wish it was the book that took my attention. You asked what brought my mother and me to Town? Indeed, it was for the purpose of building my trousseau.”
Lady Anne clutched her brother’s arm. “And to spend Christmas with us, of course. Is that not grand? We’ve only recently met, but I believe Mary to be one of my most precious friends.”
“It was just as I expected,” Lady Sanders said, turning back to them with smug satisfaction. “When Fanny wrote to me of Mary’s engagement and their need to come to London, I absolutely knew I could not let the occasion pass without being part of it. I would be remiss in my duties as godmother otherwise, would I not?”
“Of course not,” Mama argued. “But I admit to appreciating your hospitality. It has been far too long since we’ve been in one another’s company in such a way.”
All is Mary and Bright: A Christmas Regency Romance (Belles of Christmas: Frost Fair Book 2) Page 3