Probably because she’d anticipated seeing Everleigh and couldn’t resist inflicting more wounds.
Known for her pleasant temperament, Theadosia pinched her lips together and a slight scowl wrinkled her forehead. “Given her reputation for histrionics, I feared she might say things better left unsaid and cause an ugly scene if I insisted she leave at once.”
“Since Uncle Frederick died, she’s been hopping from relation to relation, like a starving flea looking for an ever-fatter dog.” Rayne made a rude noise and wrinkled her nose. “She wears her welcome out in a hurry.”
Arnold’s ward, and a welcome ally against the Chattertons, Rayne had soon become like a sister to Everleigh. After his death, it was only natural the two continue to live together, but at Fittledale Park, the pleasant estate Everleigh purchased outside Colchester. That other house, where she’d experienced nothing but misery, was sold and the monies donated to a children’s home.
Caroline had nearly had an apoplectic fit when Everleigh turned her out. Not penniless, as she deserved—and claimed to all who would listen—however. She’d blown through the five thousand pounds in short order, sold the modest but comfortable house in Kent Everleigh had gifted her, and, henceforth, relied upon the goodwill and generosity of her numerous kind-hearted relatives.
“Thank goodness the Moffettes are off to their daughter’s to spend the holiday with their first grandchild.” Gabriella’s hazel eyes rounded in distress, and she sliced a glance over her shoulder. “She won’t stay on when they leave, will she?”
“Only an utterly gauche bacon-brain would do so.” Ophelia—an exact replica of her sister tonight, except she wore the palest blue gown and Gabriella the softest green—also slid Caroline a covert peek.
Nicolette edged nearer, murmuring, “That sounds precisely like something Caroline Chatterton would do. I’m not above shoving her in the lake and hoping she catches lung fever.”
Everleigh laid her hand on Theadosia’s forearm. “Forgive me, but I’m afraid I’m off as soon as my carriage is readied. I shan’t subject myself to that woman’s animosity. Two years of her enmity was more than enough.”
“No. Please don’t go.” Theadosia shook her head, her strawberry blonde hair glinting gold in the candlelight. “You are one of my dearest friends, and I so want you to celebrate Christmastide and Twelfth Night with us.”
“And your birthday too,” Gabriella said, slipping an arm around Everleigh’s waist.
Everleigh had hoped thirty-one December might pass without marking her four-and-twentieth birthday.
“Besides, do you have any idea how hard it was to convince Grandfather and Grandmother to allow us stay at Ridgewood for weeks?” Eyes wide, Gabriella bobbled her head in a silly fashion and grinned at her twin. “When we live but four miles away?”
Ophelia chuckled as she adjusted her glove on her arm. “That did indeed take a great deal of finagling, and they only permitted it if you act as our chaperone. Else we’ll have to go home and miss part of the festivities. Grandmama and Grandpapa are ever so stuffy. Why, they snuff the candles at precisely nine o’clock every night.”
Poor darlings.
They’d lived with their paternal grandparents since their parents had died of typhoid when they were five. A widow, Everleigh’s mother didn’t think she could provide for them, nor was their room in their modest cottage. Still, the girls had visited one another often.
“Everleigh, you deserve some joy and happiness,” Nicolette said, and the others agreed with overly bright, encouraging smiles and nods.
“I shall make it clear to Caroline she is not invited for the duration. I don’t care if that’s unchristian or impolite. She’s just mean-spirited and will put a damper on the house party.” Theadosia regally inclined her head toward the butler.
Grover acknowledged the sign with an equally noble dip of his chin before leaving the room.
Everleigh must’ve been the last to arrive downstairs. Now dinner could be served.
Theadosia touched Everleigh’s elbow. “I understand if you’d rather a tray were brought to your room tonight, but please don’t leave. I have ever so many wonderful things planned for the yuletide. I don’t want you to spend it alone again and . . .”
She glanced round the circle of women, then took Everleigh’s hand in both of hers. “And . . . we know what day tomorrow is, dearest.”
The day Meredith had died.
Tears blurred Everleigh’s vision, and she dropped her gaze to her hand clutching the fan.
“I shouldn’t have come. I’ll only dampen everyone’s spirits with my doldrums.”
“Nonsense, darling.” Nicolette hugged Everleigh. “We only all agreed to inundate Thea and Sutcliffe for weeks because we care so much for you.”
Despite her shameful past, her friends loved her. “Thank you, but I’m just not—”
“Papa?”
A child’s frightened voice called out.
Everleigh, along with her friends, swung their heads toward the doorway.
“Papa?” Sobbing echoed in the corridor.
“I want my Pa-pa!”
At once, Griffin straightened, bent on preventing one of Sarah’s shrieking tantrums.
Why wasn’t she asleep?
Another nightmare?
What was she doing out of the nursery?
And how the devil had she managed the stairs and not become lost?
He’d barely found his way to the drawing room this evening. But then again, though he’d been friends with Sutcliffe for years, Griffin had only stayed here once prior at Sutcliffe’s wedding ball.
That was also the first time he’d laid eyes on the Ice Queen, Everleigh Chatterton.
Even her unique name appealed in a way that made no logical sense.
By all that was holy, she was exquisite tonight.
From her intricately styled gardenia-white hair to her eyes, the arresting green of the Scottish Highlands in spring, and her soft raspberry pink mouth, pressed into a severe line at the moment. Her milky gown, trimmed in muted black lace and purple velvet, emphasized her bountiful breasts without revealing their lushness. She was, in short, a brilliant white diamond amongst vivid gemstones.
He’d no business noting those particulars about her.
Sutcliffe, Pennington, and Bainbridge had made it brutally clear; Mrs. Everleigh Chatterton was not on the market. Would never be if her avowals could be believed.
Griffin, however, was on the marriage auction block.
Sarah needed a mother. But not just any mother. She must be a warm, tender-hearted woman who’d accept and love the child as her own. One who didn’t care a whit about Sarah’s origins. That had proved much harder to achieve than he’d anticipated.
That was why he’d attended dozens of balls, soirées, and musicales, the theater and opera, and house party after house party these past months, seeking the perfect duchess.
He couldn’t drag Sarah about with him forever, but until he had a duchess to look after her, he wouldn’t leave her when he traveled, sometimes being absent for months. He had no plans to cease his explorations and voyages until well into his dotage, so a wife had become essential. His hosts knew in advance if they wanted him present, she and Nurse must accompany him. Sarah had suffered enough trauma in her young life.
“Papa?”
Attired in her nightclothes, cute pink toes peeking from beneath her gown and her riot of untamed sable curls falling over her shoulders, the ebony-eyed child toddled into the drawing room, clutching a one-eyed, almost bald raggedy excuse for a doll. A pathetic memento from her former life.
“Papa?”
He maneuvered around a settee, but the expression of utter delight blooming across Everleigh Chatterton’s face hitched his step.
Squatting to Sarah’s level, she gave a gentle closed-mouth smile and held out her arms.
“Who is your papa, darling? I shall help you find him.”
Not so frigid after all.
&n
bsp; Or was it just him she disliked?
Griffin braced himself for Sarah’s wail of outrage upon having a stranger speak to her, let alone attempt to touch her. In the year the almost three-year-old had lived with him, he still hadn’t quite grown accustomed to her spine-scraping vocal outbursts.
Thank God they’d become less frequent. Those first few weeks, his ears rang even in his sleep, such was the force of Sarah’s screams.
Instead of screeching at the top of her lungs, Sarah tottered into Mrs. Chatterton’s arms.
His jaw came unhinged for an instant, and something behind his ribs wobbled.
Sarah touched the shimmering platinum curls framing Mrs. Chatterton’s face.
Rather than get annoyed at having her coiffeur mussed, wonderment widened Everleigh Chatterton’s pretty smile.
“Are you an angel?”
Starry-eyed and breathless with awe, Sarah gently fingered an iridescent snowy curl.
After being introduced to Everleigh Chatterton last summer, Griffin had asked his Uncle Jerome DuBoise about the entrancing widow who wouldn’t set foot in London and barely spoke to men. Chatterton had been one of Uncle’s competitors, and there’d been no love lost between them, yet Uncle had been remarkably guarded in what he revealed about the widow.
Head canted, a crooked finger against his mouth, Griffin observed her interacting with Sarah.
Had Everleigh Chatterton married her elderly banker husband for his money, then had an affair with his son as the tattle-mongers whispered? Had the Chatterton men’s shootings truly been a robbery gone wrong or actually assassinations as a few still dared to conjecture?
“Nurse says angels have white hair.” A fragile, sad smile tilted Sarah’s little mouth. “My mamma lives in heaven. Her name is Meera. Have you seen her?”
“Hardly an angel.” Caroline Chatterton’s nasty muffled laugh lanced through the air. “More like a soiled dove.”
How dare that immoral hellcat cast dispersions on Everleigh?
Uncle had also shared some unsavory tidbits about the other Mrs. Chatterton. Of course, Griffin had no way of knowing she’d be here tonight or that he’d have the misfortune of meeting her. That was an unlucky coincidence.
In two strides he was beside her.
“That’s beyond enough, Mrs. Chatterton. I’ll remind you an innocent child is present.”
“So I see, though why some nitwit presumed it appropriate to bring what is obviously some sort of half-breed by-blow to an exclusive ton gathering does boggle the mind, does it not?”
Caroline Chatterton arched her back, thrusting her barely clad breasts ceilingward as she cast her sultry glance around the room.
If that was for his benefit, she’d wasted her time. He preferred women who didn’t feel the need to blatantly display their wares.
Expression coy, she ran her finger around the rim of her glass. “Whose brat do you suppose she is?”
“Mine.”
Her jaw sagged. The rouge on her cheeks standing out like candy stripes against her ashen face, her chagrinned gaze darted here and there.
Her bigotry inflamed Griffin’s fury. Rage tunneled hotly through his veins, but he casually adjusted a cuff link.
“Which means, Mrs. Chatterton, that half-breed urchin brat outranks you.”
Caroline’s mouth snapped shut, and after she speared him a murderous glare, she stalked off.
James Brentwood chuckled and spoke quietly into Griffin’s ear.
“God save the King, hail Mary, and hallelujah, someone has finally rendered the sluttish shrew mute. Now if you could please find a way to encourage her departure . . .?”
“Good riddance,” the Dowager Duchess said with a satisfied nod. “The only nitwit present tonight just flounced away.”
“Hear, hear,” Uncle Jerome agreed. “Not a pleasant sort at all. None of the Chatterton’s were. Except that one.” He slanted his head toward Everleigh. “There’s more to being a lady than breeding, and Everleigh Chatterton is quality through and through.”
Everleigh stood straight, then rested Sarah on her hip. Her black lace shawl slipped off, exposing a gently sloping ivory shoulder. She shifted Sarah to one arm, and gathering the folds of the shawl, tugged if off.
The Duchess of Sutcliffe stepped forward and accepted it from her.
The ladies who’d swooped in to protect Everleigh Chatterton when she’d arrived exchanged covert glances, their expressions a mixture of compassion and concern.
Sarah promptly laid her cheek against Mrs. Chatterton’s bosom, stuffed her thumb in her mouth, and began twirling a strand of hair with her other hand.
Now it was Griffin’s turn to gawk like a country bumpkin come to Town for the first time.
Sarah was not a docile child.
What spell had the Ice Queen cast over the minx?
Everleigh’s clear bottle-green gaze roved over the guests, no doubt searching for the child’s father.
Face flushed, Nurse scurried into the room a few moments later. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace.”
Ten noble heads swiveled toward the door.
“Oh, dear me. So many dukes.” She choked on a giggle as she fanned her face with her hand. “I meant the Duke of Sheffield, if you please.”
Even more flustered, she twisted her apron, her rounded cheeks candy-apple red.
“Ten dukes under the same roof for weeks.” The dowager chuckled as she slowly scrutinized the guests. “I suggest when we’re gathered, we address their graces by their titles to avoid further confusion.”
A few others murmured their agreement.
Uncle Jerome tucked her hand into his elbow, beaming down at her as if she’d solved world poverty. “Excellent idea.”
She colored prettily under his praise.
If Griffin wasn’t mistaken, his uncle would propose to the dowager before year’s end. They were well-matched, and he expected she’d accept.
Would that Everleigh Chatterton was similarly minded, but le bon ton knew the Ice Queen viewed marriage with the same favor as simultaneously acquiring the pox and the clap.
Griffin made his way to where she held a drowsy Sarah.
Mrs. Chatterton’s winged brows arched high, and her pretty eyes fringed with gold tipped lashes rounded when she realized whose child she held.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace.” Her face rosy from exertion and chagrin, Nurse gave Sarah a fond look, as she dipped into a clumsy curtsy.
“Little Miss was having trouble going to sleep. I brought her below, and we had a cup of warm, honey-sweetened milk in the breakfast room. With all the extra people in the house, I didn’t want the staff to put themselves out on our behalf. She must’ve heard the adults and come in search of you when I returned the cups to the kitchen.”
More likely Mrs. Schmidt had dozed off again, and Sarah had escaped the kindly woman. He’d need to see to hiring a governess sooner than anticipated. Sarah wasn’t an easy child to mind, and Mrs. Schmidt was simply too advanced in age to keep up with her.
“Come, cherub. I’ll see you to bed now.” He reached for Sarah, but instead of launching herself into his arms as was her habit, she burrowed deeper into Mrs. Chatterton’s pleasantly rounded chest and wrapped a thin arm around her neck.
“No, Papa.” She shook her head against Mrs. Chatterton. “I want Angel Lady to tuck me in.”
He smoothed a hand over her dark, silky head, vainly trying to tame the curls.
“Darling, we cannot inconvenience Mrs. Chatterton.”
“I don’t mind.” Everleigh’s face softened in the way only a mother’s does, and she touched a cheek to Sarah’s crown. “Truly.”
The Duchess of Sutcliffe’s gaze swung between him and Everleigh. “I’ll ask Grover to delay serving dinner.”
“No, please go ahead, Thea. I’m sure we’ll just be a few minutes,” Everleigh said.
She met Griffin’s eyes, hers almost shy, and in the deepest depths of those pools he saw an unspoken need.
; “Not more than ten,” he assured her. It would likely take that long for everyone to be seated. “Mrs. Schmidt, please make sure the nursery is readied. I don’t want to delay Mrs. Chatterton’s return any longer than necessary.”
With another little bob, Mrs. Schmidt scurried from the drawing room.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to carry her?”
Griffin spoke quietly into Everleigh’s ear as they entered the corridor.
She gave a slight shake of her head as she gazed at the sleepy child nestled against her.
“I don’t think she’d approve.” A tender smile curved her mouth. “I’m rather shocked she’s taken to me so.”
So, by thunder, was he.
A short while later, after pulling a crocheted coverlet over Sarah and tucking it around her shoulder, Everleigh brushed the back of her fingers against the girl’s cheek.
“She’s so precious. You are very blessed.”
Had her voice caught?
Here was the kind of woman he desired for Sarah’s mother. A woman who recognized children were gifts to be treasured, no matter their birth.
“I am indeed.”
Forefinger bent, he caressed the sleeping child’s satiny cheek too, and he accidentally bumped Everleigh’s hand.
An electrical jolt shot to his shoulder and across his chest so strong, it froze him in place for an instant.
Everleigh stiffened and moved away the merest bit, almost fearfully.
“She’s adorable when she sleeps, but has a stubborn streak a mile wide when she’s awake.” He removed her pathetic stuffed doll with few remaining strings of dirty black yarn for hair from her clasp. “She doesn’t like to be told no.”
“I wonder which parent she gets that from?”
The merest hint of sarcasm shaded Everleigh’s murmur, and she slid him a teasing sideways glance.
Wonder of wonders.
All it took for the Ice-Queen to thaw was a child.
“Surely you don’t mean me?”
Affecting a wounded expression, he held his hand with the doll to his chest.
She rolled a shoulder and stepped away, gazing ’round the quaintly furnished nursery. She appeared wistful. Sad.
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