Christmas Brides

by Suzanne Enoch

  “Valentine and I were arguing who should escort you to supper,” Hawksword explained in a cheerful manner that revealed that she did not have to worry about them coming to blows. “I told him that I deserved the honor because of our long-standing friendship.”

  “You pressed my face into the mud the first day I met you,” she reminded him. Ellen noticed her mother’s regard and waved. During her absence, Lord Ravens and Lord Swainsbury had joined her. Her mother gave her an encouraging smile. Perhaps she was hoping either Valentine or Hawksword were swearing their undying affection to her wayward daughter.

  “I have different recollections of that day. I recall you planted your tiny fist into my eye and slipped spiders into my shoes when you challenged me to wade into a pond,” the marquess replied without rancor. “You were always such a fierce little thing, determined to have your way.”

  Ellen laughed, her heart lightening as they reminisced. “If I had had my way as a six-year-old, you would have gotten more than your feet wet.” Before Valentine could mention the kiss she preferred to forget, she said, “Hawksword may claim a longer association with me, my lord, but he is not the only one I thought deserved a good dunking so you will have to make your decision without me. I have neglected my mother and I seek to remedy my error.”

  How long had Lord Ravens and his companion been sitting with Lady Netherley? Two handsome gentlemen would give her mother all sorts of ideas that did not bode well for her.

  “If you wish to settle the argument between you, the rules of precedence apply. Hawksword outranks you, Valentine.” She fluttered her eyelashes flirtatiously. “Until later, gentlemen.”

  She ignored Valentine’s soft appeal to stay. It was likely she had tarried too long, she mused. Mama was looking too pleased with herself. Lord Ravens and Lord Swainsbury immediately stood at her approach.

  “I pray you are behaving yourself, Mama.” To take the sting out of her gentle scolding, she leaned down and kissed the elderly woman’s cheek. Ellen straightened. “Good evening, Lord Ravens.” Her gaze switched to Lord Swainsbury. Unknowingly, her voice softened. “So we meet again, my lord.”

  “Please, join us.” Lord Swainsbury stepped aside and offered his seat next to her mother. “You must be weary after Pountney’s long farewell.”

  Lord Ravens snorted, but he swiftly bridled his amusement at his friend’s not-so-subtle insult. He sat down, and the earl mirrored his actions by selecting the chair closest to Ellen.

  “What’s this about Lord Pountney?” Lady Netherley asked. “He’s such a sweet and attentive young man.”

  Was the earl implying that she had slipped away in order to kiss Lord Pountney? “The viscount had no time for prolonged farewells,” Ellen said, her explanation directed at Lord Swainsbury. “I was detained by my brother and Frost in the library.”

  His right brow lifted at the name. “Another suitor?”

  “No, another annoying, overprotective brother,” she said, her tone revealing her fondness for the gentleman. “You probably have met his wife, Lady Chillingsworth.”

  “Did something happen with Lord Pountney?” Lady Netherley inquired, sounding concerned. “And why on earth would Christopher and Frost escort you to the library when I distinctly told them to…”

  “Told them what, Mama?” Ellen asked, when her mother did not finish her sentence. “Well, there is nothing to worry about. They wanted to ply me with brandy.”

  “They did what?” exclaimed her mother.

  Lord Swainsbury’s face darkened and his mouth narrowed with disapproval.

  Lord Ravens was the only one with a sense of humor. He deduced almost immediately that Ellen was baiting her mother to repay her for sending her brother to watch over her.

  “Naturally, I refused,” she blithely added, which appeased her mother. Lord Swainsbury, on the other hand, was not persuaded. It was time to change the subject. “Lord Ravens, will you be joining in on our family celebrations? Mama predicts our Twelfth Night masquerade ball will be remembered for years to come.”

  Lord Ravens acknowledged her deliberate attempt to sway the conversation with a quick grin. “I was expressing my regrets to your lovely mother. I received word that my presence is required at my northern estate, and I will be leaving at dawn.”

  “How disappointing! Will you be gone long?” she inquired out of polite concern.

  “Worried over losing one of your suitors?”

  Ellen gasped in disbelief. Lord Swainsbury’s bland delivery had been so careless that she had not felt the sting for several seconds. “Not at all! Lord Ravens is not one of my so-called suitors.” She sounded so appalled at the notion that she felt the need to apologize. “No offense.”

  Lord Ravens placed his hand over his heart. “None taken, my dear lady. I am, after all, an utter scoundrel. I have no redeeming value. Do you not agree, Lady Netherley?”

  “Indeed,” her mother heartily concurred. “You would be a terrible husband for our Ellen.”

  Lord Swainsbury sat rigidly in his chair. Ellen was tempted to demand an explanation for his outlandish behavior. It was not her fault that her father was determined to see her married. He had no right to judge her.

  Lord Ravens seemed immune to the growing tension between her and the earl. “I do not leave London without a few regrets. Take Swainsbury, for example. Alone during Christmastide without friends or family.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Lord Swainsbury muttered, his expression silently informing his friend to hold his tongue.

  “Never fear, Ravens, I will not allow your friend to sit alone in a hotel when I can do something about it. Lord Swainsbury will stay with us at Netherley House.”

  Lord Ravens’s eyes gleamed with approval. “An excellent and most generous offer, my lady.”

  Ellen’s lips parted at her mother’s announcement. “What? Mama, I do not think…” She cast a wary glance at the man seated next to her.

  Lord Swainsbury was shaking his head. “I do not wish to intrude.”

  “Nonsense,” her mother said, dismissing his protest. “The staff is already preparing for overnight guests. What’s one more?”

  “And Father?” Ellen pressed. “What do you think he will have to say about all of this?”

  “Nothing at all. Lord Swainsbury will not be the sole bachelor residing under our roof, and Lord Netherley is an indulgent husband.” Leaning forward, she confided to the gentlemen, “He spoils me dreadfully.”

  Ellen had little choice but to surrender gracefully.

  Chapter Five

  “I owe you,” Derrick said solemnly, hours later when Ravens had proposed that they end the evening at Nox. His companion had managed the impossible. Not only had the earl introduced him to the Courtlands, but he had secured a coveted invitation from Lady Netherley, allowing him to watch over Lady Ellen.

  “No words of thanks are necessary,” Ravens had assured him. “One day, however, I would like to hear the real reason why you are so interested in that family.” Derrick had been tempted to assuage Ravens’s curiosity, since their association had proven advantageous. However, he was a man who had learned to keep his own counsel.“The dowry isn’t enough,” he countered, thinking of Lady Ellen’s reaction. She had not been overjoyed by her mother’s impulsive decision.

  After a few minutes of contemplative silence, the earl slowly shook his head. “Not for you.”

  Lord Ravens’s astute observation still echoed in Derrick’s head the next day, when the Courtlands’ butler escorted him to his bedchamber. Lady Netherley had not been exaggerating when she mentioned that he was not the only overnight guest. Many of the people he had met the previous evening would eventually show up at the Courtlands’ town mansion in coaches laden with their bags and trunks. There were already indications that every room would be filled by the eve of Twelfth Night. He had recognized the Marquess of Hawksword as he strolled past the music room. No doubt his friend who had been flirting with Lady Ellen was in residence. Squires had also
mentioned the recent arrival of a Mr. Giddings. He had no idea who the devil the man was, except that it was another name to scribble down in his journal.

  Derrick was unaware of Lady Ellen’s whereabouts. He was not arrogant enough to believe that she was deliberately avoiding him, but he was certain that she had been told of his arrival. He spent the afternoon casually exploring the interior of the large house and the vast collection of antiquities. It bespoke of what he assumed was generations of wealth and influence.

  He marveled at its beauty, and wondered if Vanewright pondered the weighty mantle he would one day inherit from his father or if he simply accepted his birthright. Derrick had not been raised in impoverished circumstances, however, his father had been the second son of the Earl of Swainsbury. Everything his father owned, he had labored for it. When he had been five-and-twenty he had purchased his first top-sail schooner. It had been barely seaworthy, but his father had taken that single sailing vessel and turned it into a prosperous fleet. When he had something to offer a good woman, his father had married and sired a son and daughter. Even as a boy, Derrick had worked alongside his father. No task had been too menial because their hard work fed and sheltered his mother and sister. It had provided him with an education that rivaled any nobleman’s son.

  Derrick hesitated at the entrance of what he assumed was a connecting arched enclosure to the conservatory. The butler had revealed earlier that the flora within was Lord Netherley’s passion. Curious, he walked down the short chilly passage and opened the door to peer inside.

  Humid warmth blasted his face. He did not know much about hothouses; something more complicated than sunlight kept the room heated.

  “Stay or go, but shut the damn door, if you please!”

  The gruff order came from the left, beyond a row of potted citrus trees. Derrick stepped inside and closed the door. “Lord Netherley? Forgive me for intruding. I was exploring your marvelous house and—”

  “I cannot hear a word you’re saying. If you want to apologize, do it properly and give me a hand with this.”

  A man with a weaker disposition might have turned and fled. Derrick followed the narrow maze to meet the elderly Lord Netherley. The marquess’s harsh tone was reminiscent of his own father. He discovered the man sitting on a stone bench. His breathing was labored and his complexion was pasty.

  “Perhaps I should summon your physician.”

  “Leave me be.” The man waved him off and pointed at the trough of rotting vegetation. “If you would be so kind to dispose of that for me. I cannot … I cannot…”

  Derrick removed his frock coat and placed it on the bench. “Say no more. Just point me in the right direction.”

  “The wall … left of the entrance.” Lord Netherley nodded and gasped for air. He gestured in the general direction Derrick had emerged from. “There is a worktable. You will understand when you see it.”

  “Just rest while I take care of this for you.”

  The scraping marks on the stones told their own story. The marquess had tried to lift the four-foot-by-two-foot wooden trough filled with dirt and decaying plant material. When he lacked the strength to raise it, he had attempted to drag it.

  God save him, it was heavier than it appeared. Derrick gritted his teeth as he put his back into his task. He staggered a few times as he made his way to the workbench. His shirt was ruined, but he’d soil a dozen more to prevent the elderly gentleman from lifting another pot.

  “There are three more,” Lord Netherley said, his color improving with each passing minute. His hand shook as he pointed out their hidden locations. “Over there … and another set in the next section.”

  “Very well, my lord.”

  With a brisk nod, he was striding toward the next trough. By the time he was finished with his task, his thin linen shirt was clinging to his skin. His manservant, who he had left behind in Ferrystone would have mourned the condition of his waistcoat.

  When he was finished, he sat down next to Lord Netherley on the stone bench.

  Instead of thanking him, the man asked, “Which one are you?”

  “Derrick Hunt, Earl of Swainsbury.” He removed a handkerchief from the inner pocket of his frock coat and wiped his hands.

  “Swainsbury?” He squinted as he inspected his companion’s face. “I thought he died years ago. Are you his son?”

  “His nephew. My uncle passed away six years ago.”

  The marquess digested the old news. “I knew your uncle. A very disagreeable gentleman, if you want to know the truth. I assume you must have lost your father before your uncle or else I would have had the pleasure of issuing orders to him?”

  Derrick smiled, imagining the two gruff gentlemen bellowing orders at each other. “Yes. My mother, too, but I was still a boy when we buried her.”

  And my sister. God, Eloisa.

  His heart clenched as if he had lost her yesterday.

  Unaware of his companion’s sad musings, Lord Netherley gave Derrick a measured look. “So you have come to claim my girl, have you?”

  “I…” Derrick was uncertain how to respond to the blunt question. If he agreed, he might be giving the man false hope. If he lied and said that he had come because he was curious about the dowry and the lady who inspired it, then he would be no better than a common fortune hunter. In truth, he did not know what sort of reply the man was expecting. “I fear I have spent much of my time traveling. When Lady Netherley learned that I was in town alone, she generously invited me to join you and your family.”

  The marquess began to wheeze. Concerned, Derrick began to stand, but sat back down when he realized the man was laughing. “You are either richer than Croesus or a fool. What say you, daughter?”

  “Lord Swainsbury is not participating in your little game, Papa. Leave the man alone.”

  Startled, he raised his gaze to meet hers. Derrick had not heard the doors open or her footfalls on the paved stone and gravel. He reached for his coat, slightly embarrassed he was not presentable for a lady. For Lady Ellen.

  Standing, he slipped his arm into one of the sleeves, he shrugged into his frock coat. “My lady, if you wish some privacy with your father, I will take my leave.”

  She wrapped her arms around her body as if to ward off a chill. “Actually, I came looking for you. It’s Christmas Eve, and Mama thought you could help me prepare the games for the children.”

  Derrick was delighted to assist her. He glanced down at her father. “Of course, with your permission, my lord. Unless you have some other…”

  “No, I can continue on my own. Run along.” He gave Lady Ellen’s hand a hesitant pat when she bent down to kiss him on the cheek. “There, there … none of that. Save your kisses for your admirers.”

  Her cheeks were a vivid pink that had nothing to do with the chill in the corridor as they walked back to the main house.

  “How long had you been listening?” Derrick quietly asked, sensitive to the fact that Lord Netherley’s comment had upset her.

  Lady Ellen halted in front of the closed door. She placed her hand over his to prevent him from opening it. “Long enough to understand that you are a good man.”

  Derrick stared at their clasped hands. There was a rightness to it that worried him. “You are mistaken. I am not a good man. Do not fool yourself into believing a kind act toward an enfeebled—”

  Lady Ellen tenderly caressed his jaw with her free hand. “Hush.”

  He froze, fearing he would break the magic of the moment. Unexpected hunger rose up within him. In spite of her height, she seemed so delicate. Her pale, flawless skin reminded him of the finest porcelain. She made him feel clumsy and unsure of himself.

  “My father is dying, Lord Swainsbury,” she said, the admission clearly painful to her. “He often refuses to acknowledge his limitations. Your kindness gave him dignity. Do not belittle yourself in my presence. I will only call you a liar.”

  Lady Ellen reached up with her other hand and cupped his face. She tilted her he
ad as she studied his face.

  His gray eyes narrowed until all he could see was her face. “What are we doing?” His voice was flat and disinterested, but if the lady glanced down she would have had another excuse to insult him.

  Lady Ellen moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. Her blue-green eyes were alight with undisguised humor. “I believe we are about to kiss, my lord.”

  “What if we are caught? A scandal wouldn’t be good for your reputation.” He immediately regretted his words when the anticipation faded from her eyes.

  “My dowry will polish away any tarnish.” Her hands dropped away from his face.

  Lady Ellen was in full retreat. She had been so brave, so daring up to this point and he had ruined it with a few careless words. With a muffled denial, he pulled her into his arms and covered her lips with his. She tasted like sunshine and innocence. Derrick longed to bask in her warmth. His arm curved around her waist as his mouth explored her tenderly. He did not want to frighten her.

  A few minutes later, he lifted his face and was pleased to see that she appeared to be as dazed as he was by their kiss. The look she gave him had him reaching for her again. A few minutes later, she was gasping for air when she stepped away.

  “You … are … a very dangerous … man, Lord Swainsbury,” she declared as she pressed her hand to her heart. “And very distracting. I have games to plan.”

  She waited for him to open the door. He obliged, and followed her through the doorway.

  “A lady who kisses me is permitted to use my first name. And I have games to plan, as well, since I am supposed to be helping you,” he reminded her, amused that he had managed to scatter her orderly thoughts.

  Lady Ellen clasped her hand over her mouth as she gasped and whirled to confront him. Her blue-green eyes were so expressive and so damn sweet that he wanted to pull her back into the chilly corridor again. He could probably keep her there for another fifteen minutes before someone began to search for her.