Holly had always known this moment would be coming; she just thought she had more time. “I... I’m not sure that’s what I want, Papa.”
“What, getting missish on me, Holly? Damn, you aren’t going to turn as particular as Joia, are you?”
“No, Papa.”
Lord Carroll patted her hand, the chess game forgotten. “Knew you wouldn’t. You’re the sensible one, thank goodness. You talk to young Rendell, think about taking over at Blakely Manor. You’ll have your books and your music, just what you like. You can still help your mother with the parish duties, and then there will be children of your own.”
But Holly wasn’t sure she wanted to be a mere chatelaine and childbearer. Papa had her best interests in mind, she didn’t doubt, for hadn’t he picked the right husband for Joia? Oh, Joia might have thought she’d chosen Comfort, but Holly knew better. The two were a perfect match, both beautiful, aristocratic ornaments of Polite Society. And Joia liked how Comfort was used to commanding respect and obedience. Why, her sister would have married awful Oliver if the viscount hadn’t come along to deal with the midden mole. Joia needed a man like Comfort to take care of her. Holly didn’t. She would have skewered the rodent with her embroidery scissors rather than let him coerce her into a marriage of dire inconvenience.
Holly didn’t know about Evan. He’d always been content to let her direct their games, decide which path to ride. Did she want a biddable husband any more than she wanted one who expected her to follow his lead? Telling a female what to do was a man’s right by the laws of the land. Papa seemed to think so.
“Young Rendell will make you a fine husband,” he said now, sensing her doubts. “Of course, he’s not up to your weight in the brain box, but most men ain’t, Holly, my girl, and that’s a fact. Just look at your mother and me. Bess lets me handle all the big problems, like the Regency Bill and the war with France; she handles all the rest, and we both know it.”
Holly had to laugh. Papa would no more dictate to Mama than he would ride one of his prized horses into the ground.
“I know you’re worried that Evan’s too young, but that’s just because boys mature slower than girls. Of course, you were born wise, poppet. Still, it’s all to the good. This way you can mold him, train him up to be just the husband you want before he gets set in any bad habits.”
Fine, Holly thought, she might as well marry Merry’s dog.
* * * *
Papa waited till breakfast the next morning before renewing his attack. He was reading the mail Bartholomew had brought into the morning room. “Ah, good. Rendell has accepted my invite.”
“Why are you surprised, Papa? Evan has never refused a chance to make free of Winterpark’s stables. If he wasn’t so horse-mad, he’d never have deigned to play with three females.”
“Not Evan, his father. I told you I met up with him in Town. His business is nearly concluded, he writes, and he can join us in a sennight or so.”
“Here at Winterpark? Why is that man coming to us when his own estate, Rendell Hall, and his in-laws’ manor house are in the same neighborhood?”
“You have to know about the bad feeling between Rendell and the Blakelys, Holly.”
“Of course, everyone in the neighborhood knows he left here a week after his wedding to Squire Blakely’s daughter. Why, if the man has visited the Manor five times since, it’s more than I can recall.”
“And Rendell Hall hasn’t been lived in since he was Evan’s age, and not much then, with his own parents in India. Rendell’s father made his fortune in the Trading Company, don’t you know. The old man bought the Hall so Rendell, Evan’s father, had somewhere to go on school holidays since there were no other relatives to claim him. Rendell Hall is shrouded in dust covers now, with the merest caretaking staff. No knowing what condition the place is in. I couldn’t ask Rendell to put up there.”
“But, Papa, why did you have to ask that dreadful man at all?”
“He is Evan’s father, for all he aban—that is, he left the infant with his in-laws when the boy’s mother died. What was he to do with a child on his travels? He was a stripling himself, with his own reasons for going off. Aye, and he multiplied his father’s fortune ten times over, by all reports. They say he could have had a title any time he wanted. Maybe he’ll take one now, to leave to his son.”
“Evan would much rather have a brevet than a baronetcy. And if Mr. Rendell is so wealthy, he can stay in a grand hotel in London. Evan would be pleased to visit if his father deigned to ask him.”
“But it’s more friendly-like here in the country.” The earl waited for a footman to bring a fresh pot of coffee. “Fact is, I want to convince him not to sell Rendell Hall.”
“I cannot imagine why, Papa. As you say, he never uses it, nor does Evan.”
“The old barn would make a dandy wedding present.”
“Papa! You never discussed this with Mr. Rendell, did you? You know Evan and I haven’t come to any understanding.”
Lord Carroll stirred another lump of sugar into his coffee, wishing he could sweeten his daughter’s tone. “Now, Holly, there’s no reason to fly into the boughs. The nabob doesn’t need the old barn, and you and Evan ought to have a place of your own, out from under old Mrs. Blakely’s thumb. You’d have the place shipshape in no time at all, and have a grand time redecorating it, too. I daresay you’d put in an Egyptian Room and a new music room and a fancy conservatory so you can raise those plants you’re always researching.”
“On Mr. Rendell’s money.”
“You don’t have to talk about him as if the chap is a solicitor or something. He’s Evan’s father, he ought to do right by the boy.”
Holly was indignant on her old playmate’s behalf. “What kind of father never sees his son?”
The spoon clattered against the earl’s cup as he reflected on another boy, another father. “One with circumstances beyond his control, by Jupiter. And Evan never wanted for anything, missy.”
“Anything but a father.”
That hurt. “You don’t know what happened, you don’t know what he did for the boy, how hard I— Confound it, you get more like your mother every day.”
“Thank you, Papa.”
He had to smile at that. “I meant no compliment then, and well you know it. Your mother can be the stubbornest woman on earth. At least you don’t hold young Rendell’s parentage against him. I wish you’d consider the match, Holly, for I’ve a yearning to see my girls settled before I’m too old to walk them down the aisle. Give the boy a chance, for me.”
Chapter Thirteen
Lady Carroll returned from London sooner than expected. Joia’s trousseau wasn’t complete; they hadn’t found just the right shade of blue for the new dining room seat covers; the invitations had not been delivered from the printers. But come home Lady Carroll would, to give her husband a piece of her mind.
“How could you invite the nabob here, Bradford, without telling me we were going to be entertaining one of the wealthiest men in the country?”
Lord Carroll looked around for Bartholemew, the obvious informant. For once, the traitor was playing least in sight. “He’s only a man, Bess. Not even a nobleman.”
“So? Were you going to bed him down with the grooms and offer him bachelor fare? Cold meats and free run of your stables?”
“Of course not, Bess. I—”
The countess was not going to give him a chance. “Furthermore, Bradford, your wits must have gone begging, to invite Evan and his rackety friends to stop here when you know Holly is the only female in the house, unchaperoned at that. What could you have been thinking?”
He’d been thinking that he’d get the deed done before his beloved wife put a crimp in his plans to see Holly settled, and settled well, by George, before the New Year. “I missed you, Bess.”
Truth to tell, Lady Carroll didn’t have to return so hastily from the metropolis. Bartholomew would have made sure the merchant prince was treated royally: his rooms heated for o
ne more used to warmer climates, the menus enlarged from Bradford’s preferred simple country fare. And Hollice never got flustered. At nineteen she was poised enough to act the hostess, Bess thought with pride, even for a world traveler. Hollice was such a sensible girl, the countess could also have trusted her to keep Evan and his friends from crossing the line. Meredyth would have been in their midst, up to every rig and row, and Joia ... well. Lady Carroll was beginning to see the wisdom of an early wedding as far as Joia and her onetime rake were concerned. But trustworthy Hollice was the comfortable one, the practical daughter who thought everything out before she acted. Now Bess was going to make sure her middle child wasn’t talked into a practical, comfortable match. A good marriage wasn’t based on any intellectual principles of logic—or any impatient father’s scheming. “I missed you, too, dear.”
* * * *
Evan and his friends arrived in a whirlwind just at dinner-time, filling Winterpark’s entry hall with uniforms, greatcoats, servants, baggage, and noise. Merry’s dog was ecstatic at having so many strangers to greet, barking and leaping and tearing from one laughing young man to the other. In her efforts to capture the animal before Downsy toppled one of the unwary guests, Holly noticed a dark-skinned, older gentleman in the shadows. This had to be Evan’s father, the missing Midas.
Mr. Rendell was heavily muffled and seemed reluctant to part with his wraps when Bartholomew would have relieved him. When he did take off his hat, Holly could see that he had brown hair, darker than Evan’s, but with blond streaks through it from the sun. Next to his tanned complexion, the effect was exotic but not unattractive, Holly had to admit. He was fit, she could tell from his well-tailored clothes, and pleasantly featured. Mr. Rendell wasn’t as devastatingly handsome as Joia’s viscount, but neither was he as old, harsh, and weathered as she’d expected from Evan’s descriptions. The man wasn’t an ogre, after all. Not in looks, at any rate.
Then it was time for greetings and introductions. Evan correctly bowed to Holly’s mother and shook the earl’s hand before reverting to the Evan they all knew by bussing Joia on the cheek. “You should have waited for me, you heartless wench,” he teased. Next he swung Merry off her feet in a wide circle, her skirts and petticoats flying. “Merry-berry, what a beauty you’re turning out to be! No more runny nose either,” he noted, which, of course, had Merry with her red hair and fair complexion turning every shade of crimson. Then Evan pretended to search the entryway until his eyes alit on Holly. “Why, I hardly recognized you, Hol, without the glasses and braids. There’s my girl.” And he enveloped her in a hug that was more suffocating than anything else. Holly feared the rose at her neckline was sadly crushed, and she knew her hair, so carefully pinned atop her head, was falling about her shoulders. She should have kept the braids, knowing Evan was coming.
He was making the rest of the introductions, the earl and countess passing the young men down the informal receiving line to their daughters and Comfort, who had, naturally, followed Joia to the country. Mr. Rendell bowed politely when it was his turn and said a few words to everyone, Holly noted, but without Evan’s high spirits or ready grin. He did bow over her hand, singling her out, calling her Lady Hollice, so she knew Papa had spoken to him. Holly stiffened her spine and stood a bit taller. If the man was here on an inspection tour, too bad. She was Evan’s friend, crushed flower and all, not his.
After everyone was made known to one another, the gathering adjourned to the drawing room, except for Holly, who had to repair her hair. When she returned, Evan and some of his friends were interrogating Lord Comfort and Papa about the latest war news from London. A handful of others were flirting with Joia, engagement ring or not, and two young officers in Horse Guards uniform were asking Merry about the hunt and the horses. Mr. Rendell stood aside, stroking the ears of Merry’s dog, who was quiet for once, exhausted by the commotion. Before Holly could seek out one sister or the other, Bartholomew announced dinner.
Comfort escorted Joia to the dining room, and Evan went right along with them, pursuing his conversation with the viscount, followed by his other military-minded friends. Merry was between her two soldiers, leaving Holly to fend for herself.
Really, Holly thought, Evan should have made sure she was escorted. His father seemed to agree, for Mr. Rendell bowed before her and silently offered his arm. “Unmannered pup,” he muttered. She didn’t think he meant Merry’s dog.
Evan was seated next to her, but he might have been at the opposite end of the table for all the conversation they had. With so few ladies present, talk was general, loud, and devoted almost entirely to equestrian pursuits. Mr. Rendell, Holly noted, seated next to Mama, added little to the cheerful hum. Evan obviously inherited his love of horses from his mother’s side of the family, as well as his outgoing nature. Perhaps Mr. Rendell had done him a favor after all, she considered, leaving Evan to be raised by the Blakelys. A father cold enough to walk away from his own motherless son wouldn’t be much of a parent.
During the last course, Evan told Holly that they had to talk later, he had great news to tell her. She wasn’t surprised when he came to sit beside her at the pianoforte after dinner, but she was startled when her mother suggested Holly take Evan to see the new family portrait hanging in the library. Evan didn’t care about art; the countess did care about the conventions. Therefore, Holly concluded, Mama must also favor the match.
Lady Carroll watched her middle daughter go off with her old playmate, certain that a few minutes spent alone with the likable, light-minded Evan would convince Hollice they wouldn’t suit.
Evan didn’t bother looking at the portrait over the mantel. He grabbed one of Holly’s hands and tugged her to the sofa, where he sat sideways, facing her. “Capital news, Hol. M’father says he’ll purchase my colors as soon as I’ve got an heir. So what do you say we get buckled, old girl?”
Holly could see herself, frail and bent, with a sweet little girl at her knees asking, “How did Grandfather propose, Grandma?” And she’d have to repeat: “ ‘So what do you say we get buckled, old girl?’ “
She didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry, so she stalled. “Why can’t your father get his own successor after you? He’s certainly young enough, much younger than I expected. I daresay he’s no older than my mother.”
“He’s six and thirty, and he doesn’t care about that flummery of an heir and a spare. It’s Grandfather Blakely who won’t have any closer kin to take over if I cash in my chips, which I don’t intend to do anytime soon. The old boy is set on having his way, though, so this is the best I can manage. What do you think?”
“About your signing up? I hate it, Evan. Bullets and cannon-balls don’t care about your intentions to live forever.”
“No, goose, about us getting legshackled. M’father says we can have Rendell Hall. I know how you like managing things, so that should please you. Or else you could live with m’grandparents. They could use some help now that they’re getting on.”
They’d been getting on since Holly was a child. Now they were getting curmudgeonly. “Evan, are you telling me that I have my choice of residing at Rendell Hall or Blakely Manor after we’re wed, while you are off with the army?”
“I didn’t suppose you’d want to stay on here with your parents, but if that’s what’ll make you happy, Holly, I’m sure your father won’t mind, the way he dotes on you girls.”
“You don’t think I ought to be with my husband?”
“What, at the front? That’s no place for a lady, Holly. I’d be a hundred kinds of cad to drag you off to live in a tent and cook your own supper and wash your clothes in a stream.” He waved his hand around at the luxury of Winterpark. “After this? Don’t be a hen-wit, Holly. Think of the child.”
And don’t think of having an adventure of your own, she extrapolated from his words, just stay all cozy and safe, breeding Berkshire Blakelys, raising rural Rendells. While her husband was off getting killed.
Evan could sense her lack of enthusiasm
for the plan, perhaps by the way she was tapping her foot and shaking her head. “It won’t be for long, Holly. I’ll be back soon and we can go to London, do the sights and all. Or Bath. But if I don’t get to go now, Boney’ll be defeated and I’ll never see action. M’father’s sure the end is in sight, and he has more sources for information than the War Office does. He’s going off to Austria soon, but he says he’ll make the arrangements for me to join a crack cavalry unit as soon as you give the nod.”
“Evan, I don’t think...”
He jumped up and started pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. “Dash it, Holly, don’t be getting all missish on me. I counted on your understanding because you know better than anyone how I’ve always wanted to sign up. Now I can, if you’ll agree to get hitched. I even brought a special license with me so we can get started on that nursery sooner.” He took an official-looking document out of his pocket and spread it on the striped cushion next to her. “This didn’t come cheap, old girl. I had to ask m’father to advance this quarter’s allowance for it. He was decent about that, too.”
“I thought you hated the man you used to call sir. Now it’s m’father this and m’father that. What happened to the resentment you harbored against him all your life for deserting you? Is he less cold and unfeeling now that he’s offered to purchase your colors?” She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. If Mr. Rendell hadn’t suddenly imposed himself on their lives, at this late date, they wouldn’t be having this conversation.
Evan smoothed out the license so she wouldn’t see his blush. “He kept me on tight purse strings, was all. I shouldn’t have complained to you, I guess. With all his blunt, I figured m’father could afford better horses for me and a place of my own in Town. I was aggravated when he wouldn’t spring for a high-perch phaeton last year either.”
“The man has some sense, then. I’ve seen how you drive.”
The Christmas Carrolls Page 9