The Christmas Countess

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The Christmas Countess Page 19

by Adrienne Basso


  Vowing to be more vigilant, Rebecca diligently checked the next batch several times, removing them when they were crisp, but not too dark. She was silently congratulating herself on her success when the earl entered the kitchen.

  “Papa! Come and see what I have done.”

  “Are you cooking?” he asked in an astonished tone.

  Rebecca looked up. He was watching her with an expression of amusement that might have been considered patronizing if not for the genuine warmth in his smile.

  “Baking!” Lily corrected him.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, Miss Rebecca is teaching me.”

  “Extraordinary.”

  Rebecca could feel her face heat and knew it wasn‘t just from the hot oven.

  “And how is my little angel, today?” the earl added. Lily giggled. Lord Hampton moved closer and whispered to Rebecca, “Just to clarify, I was referring to her part in the play, not her behavior.”

  “I am glad to hear that, my lord. I for one believe your change in attitude and actions toward Lily will serve you in good stead.”

  “And hopefully assure peace for the rest of the household,” he added. “And the surrounding community.”

  “Gracious, she isn‘t that bad!” Rebecca removed a ball of dough from the large bowl and began to slowly knead it. “Try to think of it this way. If you cannot control her at six, you will never be able to control her at sixteen.”

  His face paled. “Suitors and young bucks sniffing around my little girl? You are giving me heart palpitations.”

  The earl leaned close. When he spoke again, she felt his breath caress her cheeks. Rebecca‘s wits scattered and she barely comprehended his question.

  “Pardon?”

  “Did Lily truly behave herself this morning?”

  Rebecca blinked. “Yes. There was a small problem with where she was standing on stage, but she held her temper and behaved properly. I was very proud of her.”

  “A good start. After all, one cannot expect miracles in a day. We must celebrate the small victories. And brace ourselves for the defeats.”

  “My lord!”

  “I thought we agreed you would call me Cameron.”

  “Only when we are alone.”

  He was watching her intently, with an expression that caused her breath to quicken. She deliberately turned her attention to the cookie dough, dipping the metal cutter in flour and then carefully cutting out the shapes. She put them on the metal sheet, then walked them to the oven.

  Rebecca transferred the hot cookies they had previously baked onto a platter. The earl scooped one up and popped it in his mouth.

  “Wait!” Rebecca warned. “They haven‘t cooled,”

  She saw him gasp, and realized it must have scorched his tongue. But he valiantly managed to chew and swallow it.

  “Do you like it, Papa?”

  “It‘s delicious,” the earl choked out.

  Lily‘s eyes widened. “Really? Do you really like it?”

  He swallowed again. “‘Tis most assuredly the very best Christmas cookie I have ever eaten, Puss. My compliments to the chef, or rather, the baker.”

  “We are going to wrap them and put them in the Christmas baskets. For the tenants.”

  “I am certain everyone will enjoy them.”

  Lily smiled. “I want to give some cookies to Mrs. Hargrave too, as a special present.”

  “What a lovely idea,” Rebecca said. “As a baker herself, she will doubly appreciate your efforts.”

  Lily nodded her head enthusiastically. “I can‘t wait to go back to London and tell Jane Grolier that I baked cookies myself and gave them to everyone as a present. And they were wonderful.”

  The earl raised an ironic eyebrow at his daughter.

  “Her intentions are good,” Rebecca interjected.

  “Hmm, we just need to work on her modesty. And her motivation. I shudder to think what other deeds will come into her mind when the need to impress Jane Grolier is foremost in her thinking.”

  “Perhaps when Lily sees the genuine appreciation that others feel from her efforts, it will make a more lasting impression.”

  “We can only hope.”

  He reached for another cookie and Rebecca felt oddly pleased to see him enjoy them so much. Lily, having grown bored with the work, wandered off to the other side of the kitchen. Crouching down, she was trying to coax the calico cat who had moved under the large wooden cupboard.

  Seeing Lily with Horace solidified the thought Rebecca had been tossing around in her head. “I have an idea for a Christmas gift for Lily I would like to discuss with you,” Rebecca whispered to the earl.

  “Really? What is it?”

  “I can‘t speak of it here,” Rebecca replied. “I wish for it to be a surprise.”

  Lord Hampton nodded in understanding. “Fine. We will meet later and discuss it somewhere private.” He flashed her a conspiratorial grin.

  Rebecca‘s heart skipped. He looked boyish and young and happy. Shaking her head, she turned back to the gingerbread dough, pressing too hard as she rolled out the next batch, simply refusing to identify the reason that thrilled her.

  Chapter 12

  “A kitten?”

  Rebecca nodded as the earl frowned. They had but a few moments alone together until evening tea was served and she wanted to share her idea of a Christmas gift for Lily.

  “She adores cats. She had fun baking cookies this afternoon, but spent half her time chasing after Cook‘s cat, Horace,” Rebecca explained. “Plus, I thought having her own kitten would give her a sense of responsibility. And the best part is that cats require a minimum amount of care.”

  “Whatever will Apollo think?” the earl asked with a grin.

  Rebecca‘s own smile faded. She had not considered the earl‘s large dog. “Surely Apollo is used to seeing cats about the estate?”

  “Yes, and he likes nothing more than to chase them. Cook bars him from the kitchen, so Horace is safe.” The earl crossed his arms over his chest. “Apollo might think of a kitten as a breakfast treat.”

  “Gracious!” Rebecca gulped back her alarm. “That would be most disastrous. But if you honestly believe the two animals won‘t get on together, then I suppose I need to come up with another idea.”

  “It is unnecessary for you to give Lily a gift.”

  Disappointment slammed into Rebecca‘s heart. She had thought of little else but the kitten since the idea came to her, but was willing to forgo the notion if the earl deemed it unsuitable. Yet being denied the chance to give Lily something, anything, for the holiday was deeply upsetting.

  “It would mean a great deal to me to give Lily something to celebrate the season,” Rebecca stated. And perhaps remember me by, she thought with longing.

  “Cameron, Miss Tremaine,” Lady Marion interrupted. “We are forming teams for a game of charades. Will you play?”

  “We will join you in a moment,” the earl answered. Turning back to Rebecca, he added. “I shall ask my steward to find out which of my tenants currently have feline litters. With so many farms in the vicinity, I am sure there are several.”

  His remark drew a glance of startled disbelief. “I may get Lily a kitten?”

  “I am not a complete villain, Rebecca. Clearly, it would please you to give her one and I admit you are correct in your assumptions. Lily will be thrilled.” He smiled slightly. “I only wish I had thought of it myself.”

  “I would like to choose the animal,” Rebecca added quickly, delighted and a bit stunned.

  “I assumed that would be the case. I will accompany you. Now, let us join the others. If Marion finds out about Lily‘s gift, the surprise will be in serious jeopardy. My cousin has never been able to hold a secret for more than twenty minutes.”

  “Ah, you fear if she knew, Lady Marion would let the cat out of the bag?” Rebecca could not resist asking.

  He groaned at the obvious pun, but the spark of teasing in his eyes made her pulse jump.


  ———

  As good as his word, the earl told Rebecca at breakfast the following morning that they might find what she was seeking at the Braggs‘s farm. They rode out together on horseback directly after luncheon. The air was cold, the sky a milky gray. Rebecca found the journey invigorating.

  Their conversation was safe and innocuous and Rebecca told herself she preferred it that way. This bond of peace between them was too fragile to risk with serious discussions and highly felt emotions.

  After a little more than an hour they arrived at their destination. It was a well-kept property, with a house that looked like a stone box perched on the top of a gradually inclining hilltop, surrounded by several smaller buildings of a similar design.

  Mr. Bragg greeted them cordially, his manner reserved and respectful. Rebecca could not help but note that the earl went out of his way to put the man at ease, remarking several times how much he appreciated Mr. Bragg‘s assistance.

  The litter was cozily housed in the barn. The kittens were sleeping on a thick bed of straw, jumbled atop one another in a single ball of fur. With a slight bit of urging, they awoke and began exploring the area.

  Rebecca took her time observing the brood. They were all sweet and adorable, but her eyes kept coming back to one in particular. “I think this one is perfect,” she decided, after Mr. Bragg had told them it was a female.

  “A gray cat with black eyes,” the earl observed. “Very pretty.”

  Rebecca reached down and scooped the kitten into her arms. The animal squirmed, then settled against the palm of Rebecca‘s hand, purring loudly. Rebecca tilted her head, peering into the kitten‘s face and laughed. “Her eyes are not black, my lord. They are green. The black you see is her pupils. She is simply wide-eyed with excitement.”

  “Is my household ready for such an excitable creature?”

  Rebecca laughed again. “The kitten will no doubt liven things up.”

  “Hmm, precisely what I need. Another spirited female living with me.” He scowled, but Rebecca could see he was teasing. “Is she ready to be weaned from her mother?” he asked Mr. Bragg.

  “Nearly. We can start feeding her right away, so you can take her in a few days.”

  “Excellent. Then I will send a servant to retrieve the kitten on Christmas Eve.”

  “Very good, milord.”

  The two men shook hands on the matter.

  “We‘d best be on our way, Mr. Bragg. I thank you again for your help.”

  The farmer glanced down at the ground, rubbing the toe of his boot in the hard earthen floor of the barn. “Mrs. Bragg was hoping you might have a moment to share some refreshments before you leave.”

  “We would be honored.” The earl turned to Rebecca. “Miss Tremaine?”

  “How very kind of you to offer, Mr. Bragg,” Rebecca answered, knowing it was a point of pride for the tenant and his family to extend this hospitality to the earl.

  They walked up the hill to the house. No sooner had they reached the top when the door of the cottage flew open. “Lord Hampton, how wonderful to see you,” a voice sang out. A plump woman stood at the front door, her face wreathed in a broad smile. “And you‘ve brought a lady with you.”

  Rebecca felt herself blush at Mrs. Bragg‘s implied tone that she had some sort of special relationship with the earl. Heaven forbid if anyone knew the real truth!

  “I am Rebecca Tremaine, Mrs. Bragg,” she said, trying to hold off any further speculation. “My brother and I are visiting Windmere for the holiday season.”

  “Miss Tremaine? Are you the lady who has been helping Mrs. Hargrave with the nativity play?”

  “She is indeed, Mrs. Bragg,” the earl answered. “And doing a fine job, from what I hear.”

  “Oh, my yes. My Jamie came home full of tales from the last rehearsal.”

  “That play is a lot of foolish nonsense if you ask me,” Mr. Bragg grumbled. “But his mother had her heart set on him being a part of it.”

  “Hush now, George. It is an honor to have our boy chosen.”

  “If you don‘t mind my saying, Mr. Bragg, young Jamie does you all proud,” Rebecca offered.

  Upon hearing that news, Mrs. Bragg positively beamed. “See, I told you. Miss Tremaine is a fine lady and she knows best.”

  Mr. Bragg mumbled a few words. Rebecca could see he was not entirely convinced, but he wisely let the matter drop.

  They were ushered through the doorway into a cozy sitting room. Mrs. Bragg insisted the earl sit in the only armchair while she and Rebecca settled on the settee. Mr. Bragg stood. The house smelled of wood smoke, cinnamon and freshly baked bread. Rebecca felt very much at ease.

  A young girl entered with a tray of refreshments. She was introduced as Anna, the Braggs‘s oldest daughter and baker of the delicious rum raisin cake they were served. It was a pleasant visit. The earl and Mr. Bragg discussed various local matters, including the fall harvest and plans for the new crops to be planted in the spring.

  Rebecca found she did not have to contribute much to the conversation with Mrs. Bragg. A simple question here and there and an occasional encouraging remark kept her talking for the majority of the visit.

  As they mounted their horses to leave, Rebecca noticed Lord Hampton discretely slip a few coins into Mr. Bragg‘s palm.

  “I should like to reimburse you for the money you gave Mr. Bragg,” Rebecca said the moment they had ridden out of the farm‘s front yard.

  “It is not at all necessary, yet I have a feeling you will not let this matter drop.”

  “I most assuredly will not,” she replied. “The kitten is to be my gift.”

  “Very well. You owe me ten guineas.”

  Far from being appalled at the sum, Rebecca was pleased to note the earl‘s generosity. The farm had seemed prosperous and in good repair, but she had caught the reference to Mr. Bragg‘s eight children. With such a large brood to feed and clothe and care for, any additional income would be welcome.

  They rode across a pasture bordered by a stream, setting a comfortable pace for the horses. The sky had turned a darker gray, the air was heavy with moisture. Still, the storm swooped down so unexpectedly it at first seemed like a momentary apparition.

  “It‘s so pretty,” Rebecca exclaimed with amusement. She lifted her face to the sky, laughing as the damp snowflakes tickled her lashes and cheeks.

  “Viscount Cranborne will be pleased,” the earl commented. “He bet a tidy sum with Lord Bailey that there would be snow before Christmas Day.”

  Rebecca abruptly turned her head. “Is nothing sacred? Wagering on the weather. How absurd.”

  “Did you not know, Rebecca? ‘Tis a favorite pastime of bored aristocrats. Cranborne‘s snow wager is hardly the worst of it. The betting book at White‘s is filled with the most ridiculous predictions imaginable, along with some of the most scandalous.”

  “Such as?”

  “Which do you prefer? Ridiculous or scandalous?”

  “Ridiculous,” she answered honestly.

  “Well, there is Lord Alvanley‘s three-thousand-pound bet as to which of five raindrops would first reach the bottom of the pane on the bow window at White‘s.”

  Rebecca smiled. “That happened years ago. Believe it or not, I‘ve actually heard of that one.”

  “Then how about the Duke of Hampshire‘s more recent wager on which of two flies would crawl first up the window and reach the top?”

  “The members seem to have a fascination with windows,” she remarked.

  “I suppose you could call it that.” The earl shook his head and drew his horse next to hers.

  She thought she heard him mutter something that sounded like pompous asses, but wasn‘t certain. They continued their conversation in the same lighthearted tone, yet all too soon the falling snow thickened. Countless large, wet, fat flakes fell, seeming to form a curtain between them and the rest of the world. They slowed their pace considerably, yet Rebecca could still not see more than a few feet in front of her.
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  “Is it my imagination or has the storm gotten worse?” she asked, nearly shouting to be heard over the gusting wind and swirling snow.

  “Worse,” Cameron replied, grimacing at the sky. “We need to take shelter before we become hopelessly lost.”

  “Are we closer to the Braggs‘s farm or the manor house?”

  “Neither. We are somewhere in the middle.”

  A strong gust of wind nearly drowned out his answer. Her horse tossed his head, sending a shower of wet snow all over Rebecca. She sputtered and wiped it from her eyes, then reached over and patted the animal‘s neck reassuringly. He calmed noticeably. If only that was all it took to reassure her.

  The wind whipped her cloak and skirts and the wet precipitation seeped through her gloves. The snow fell so heavily Rebecca could barely see. They slowly climbed a hill. The frozen ground beneath the horse‘s hooves was slippery and the animal struggled to stay on its feet.

  Barely at a walk, they plodded through the storm. At some point, the earl grabbed her leading rein and Rebecca was glad to be secured behind him. She would not want to be out here on her own, with no idea of her direction.

  Ten minutes later a faint outline of a building arose through the white mist. Rebecca sighed with relief. She noted the earl sitting taller in the saddle and surmised he had also spotted the shelter. He urged their horses on and they soon trotted through the gate, which was swinging madly on its top hinge.

  Rebecca was so glad to see shelter she did not at first notice there was no smoke curling from the chimney, no light shining from the windows. They dismounted and fought their way through the swirling winds to reach the front door. The earl lifted the latch, but it did not budge.

  “Is it locked?” Rebecca asked, her teeth chattering.

  “No. Rusted shut.” He slammed his shoulder into the door.

  “Gracious!” Rebecca screeched.

  He ignored her outburst and shoved again. This time the rusty latch gave way and the earl went tumbling through the doorway. Rebecca hurried into the house and shut the door behind her.

 

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