Aaron’s hands were damp inside his gloves, making them feel colder than they should. His heart thumped harder in his chest. “I should be there.” He pounded his fist on the velvet-covered bench, his stomach burning. He should be with his men, fighting alongside them, not at his family’s London Townhome where one was never in want of warmth or food. This life he was living was ridiculous.
His hand went to his cravat. Had not Martin spent the better part of half an hour tying this blasted knot? It was a knot of his valet’s own imagination. Something about a mathematical with a twist? He fingered the noose at his throat. Out of principle, he should yank it out and tie a simple waterfall, instead.
Aaron released a great sigh and dropped his head back, looking up at the ceiling. But what would that prove? It is not as if his men would know of his act of unity.
The carriage pulled to a stop in front of Larkspur House. Aaron looked up at the beige stonework. It was ridiculous to have a house in town when the family estate was only a day’s ride from London—albeit a very long day. But this house had been in the family for nearly a hundred years and trying to convince his mother to let it go—she’d likely only yield if it was to move them to the more fashionable Grosvenor Square—was a discussion he just didn’t have in him.
The carriage door opened, and Aaron stepped out onto the walk. The wind blew down the street, picking up his greatcoat and pulling it away from his body. He quickly reached a hand up to keep his beaver in place.
He glanced back up at the windows dotting the front of the house. He had thought to stay in Town for a few days longer, but anxiety was pushing him to leave for Ivydale Hall immediately. He would just need to convince his mother to leave early.
He mounted the stairs to their Hanover Square house and nodded to the footman at the door. He should remember the man’s name, but he didn’t. It seemed his brother had replaced more than half the staff since Father had died four years earlier. Maybe that was why he preferred Ivydale. Here, he felt like a stranger in his own home.
“Back so soon, dearest?” His mother looked up from the floral arrangement she fussed with in the entry hall.
“The crowds were greater than I anticipated. It is hard for one to enjoy the festivities when you cannot take a step without bumping into someone.” The French girl’s face came to his mind, and he growled low in his throat. Would her image occupy his mind for the remainder of the day? What if it stayed there longer?
He handed off his greatcoat and hat to Collins. At least the family butler was still here. Aaron was grateful for that small bit of continuity.
“You should have expected as much. The fair is popular with both society and the lower classes. I’m sure Henry would have found pleasure in such a gathering.” His mother pulled out a large flower and moved it to a different location within the vase.
A knot lodged in Aaron’s throat. Henry.
Henry was why Aaron was home. If Aaron had stayed in France, as he wished, his mother would be here, dealing with the untimely death of Henry alone. It seemed an impossible situation. Whichever path he chose, he would inevitably feel guilt for abandoning someone.
His brother’s death had not been part of Aaron’s long-term plan. Henry was to be the Viscount—Lord Brinton—and pass the title on to his children. Their father had trained Henry to assume the title, while Aaron was left to make his mark in the military. But now that was all changed.
When word of Henry’s death had reached Aaron, it was expected that he would sell his commission and come home immediately to assume the title that should never have been his. There was also the matter of his mother and brother’s widow’s care.
He scrubbed his hand back and forth through his hair. At least Rebekah had remained back at Ivydale.
“Yes, well, Henry always was an amiable gentleman.” He took the stairs two at a time, unable to reach the study quick enough. He paused at the first-floor landing and turned back. “Mother, I have decided we are to travel to Ivydale Hall earlier than planned. Please prepare to leave first thing on the morrow. I should not like to spend a night at an inn, so our departure will be an early one.”
He turned and hurried down the corridor before his mother could begin her arguments against it; he knew her well enough to know they would be coming.
He pushed into the study and closed the door behind him, grateful for the dimly lit room. It was quiet and made him feel sheltered, even if he felt like he was invading a space that was never intended to be his.
Aaron grabbed the ledgers off the desk and moved over to the settee next to the fire. He stretched out, opening the first book on his lap. This was not the most ideal place to look over the books but sitting behind the desk still felt odd. Aaron had seen his father behind the desk all of his life. He did not know if he would ever feel comfortable behind it.
A knock sounded on the door, and he grunted. His mother had come quicker than he’d expected. Although, it shouldn’t have surprised him. She was still a spry woman at the age of five and fifty.
“Come in.”
As he suspected, his mother entered and sat in the chair across from him. “Why are we returning to the country early? I have already accepted several invitations for the next few nights. It will be most inconvenient to cancel them at this late date.”
Aaron sighed and crossed one leg over the other, gripping his knee with clasped hands. “It is colder than usual, mother. I fear if we hold off, there will be a storm and we may not make it to Ivydale for the holidays.”
“Staying in town for Christmastide would not be so very terrible.” His mother’s lips pursed tightly in a line.
Aaron breathed in patience. “Perhaps. But it would leave Lady Brinton alone and in her current situation, I think that unkind. I’m sure people would understand you declining the invitations. After all, you are well respected among the Ton.”
She sighed, narrowing her eyes at him. “And how do you think I earned that respect? It was not by canceling engagements at the last minute.” She clasped her hands in her lap, a sure sign of irritation. “When did you become an expert on the weather anyhow? If Henry were here, I’m sure he would let us wait at least until after Lord Trenton’s annual ball.”
Aaron twisted his head slightly to the side and stared at the burgundy spine of the book just over his mother’s shoulder. If Henry were here. The phrase had become commonplace in his mother’s vocabulary. Aaron was fast becoming sick of it. He mourned Henry but was finding it increasingly difficult to live up to his brother’s memory. Henry had become a giant among men since his death.
Aaron released his knee, cringing inwardly at the unkind thought. He looked heavenward. My apologies, Henry.
“Yes, well, unfortunately, Henry is not here, Mother. I am. And I have decided we leave tomorrow. You may bring your trunks along or you may leave them here. Regardless of what you choose, you will be in the carriage before dawn.”
She huffed, narrowing her eyes at him for the second time in as many minutes. “I am not one of your soldiers to order about as you wish. I am your mother and the Dowager Viscountess Brinton. You will show me the respect I deserve.”
Aaron’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the arms of his seat. “Please, Mother, will you be ready to depart at dawn?” He spoke through gritted teeth.
She sniffed. “I cannot say for certain yet. I have letters to write before I can let you know one way or the other.”
Aaron clenched his jaw tightly to keep from barking out a response he knew he would regret later. “How about a compromise?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I am leaving on the morrow. If you wish to join me, I shall see you in the carriage before first light. If not, I will try to send it back to retrieve you, as long as the weather permits.”
“That is no compromise.” His mother shot to her feet and glared down at him. “You would leave me behind to make my way to Ivydale unprotected? If Henry were here—”
Aaron raised his hand. “Yes, yes. I kn
ow. He would never allow you to travel alone.” His interruption only served to increase her glare and the flare of her nostrils. It really was a most unbecoming sight, but he would not touch on that point now.
He matched her stare. Would it be too much to hope that she would avoid Ivydale altogether for the Christmastide?
He frowned. If his mother did not come, it would leave him alone with Lady Brinton for the holidays. Not that he disliked his brother’s widow—he barely knew her—but the few days he’d spent at the family estate before coming to Town had been filled with lamenting and tears. Aaron did not deal well with watering pots. And a fortnight seemed an impossible amount of time to put up with one. At least on his own. “I would appreciate knowing your plans as soon as possible. I will need to let Cook know how much food to prepare for the hamper.”
His mother’s head shook in obvious disgust. “You are not even to allow us to leave the carriage to eat our meals? You really are a pinch pocket, Aaron.”
Aaron rubbed at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. It was not about the money as much as the time. If they stopped for food every time they switched out the horses, they would not make it to the estate until well after dark. His mother was not one for purchasing some cheese and bread to make do. She would require a full spread at each mealtime.
Lud, he was tired of this argument already. He grunted. “I may be persuaded to make some concessions, Mother.” He looked toward the door. “But now I must write to Mrs. Hawkins and make her aware of our early return. If you’ll excuse me.”
She huffed at the dismissal but turned to leave. “I hope this demanding attitude of yours is only temporary. I do not relish living under a tyrant.” She lifted her chin and toddled out of the room.
A smile twitched at Aaron’s mouth. Tyrant. Well now, maybe that was a title he could get behind.
Chapter 3
Gabby watched as Phillip hefted the last trunk up into the carriage. A small snowflake fluttered down, resting on the sash bar. She watched until the breeze picked it up and dropped it to the ground below.
Looking out at the gray sky, she noticed the snowflake was not a solitary one. Several more blew around the window and down near the carriage. Aline folded a shawl and gently stuffed it into the satchel on the bed.
Her bedroom door opened, and Molly came in. “Are you nearly ready, miss?” She ran a hand over the pristine counterpane. “Lady Kirtley is already waiting in the entry.”
Gabby looked around the room one last time. She didn’t know why she was feeling so sentimental. She would be back in this room in just over a fortnight. Heaving a sigh, she fastened the few buttons on her pelisse and hurried from the room.
“I am sorry to have kept you waiting, my lady.” She dipped a hasty curtsy once both feet were on the marble entry floor.
Lady Kirtley placed a hand on Gabby’s arm. “We are not in public, Gabrielle. You are welcome to call me Eleanor.”
Gabby smiled out of politeness. She had lived with the Kirtleys for years. In the beginning, she had felt a part, like she was one of the family. She’d played with the children and, indeed, was treated like one of the Kirtleys’ own. But in the last year, Gabby had noticed a change. As Lady Kirtley prepared Gabby for her come out, Gabby felt less at ease around the lady.
Lady Kirtley was not unkind; she was just so…very proper. It was the kind of proper that Gabby knew she would never achieve which made her feel as though she would always be a disappointment to those supporting her. And that thought worried Gabby.
She twisted the tip of her kid glove. She would always speak with too much of an accent and didn’t think she would ever fully understand the workings of the British Ton. It was, no doubt, similar to the beau monde in France, but she had meant little to that society also. Her father had made a good living, but it did not put them in the ranks of the upper class.
Lady Kirtley guided Gabby toward the front door, the footman opening it as they approached. Snow swirled in the air outside, much heavier than it had been only moments ago.
Gabby stopped. “Is it safe to travel in this weather?”
Lady Kirtley nodded. “Oh, this is nothing. I’ve been assured it is far too cold for much snow to fall. We will be well.”
Two carriages sat in front of Penderton House. The children and governess were already in the second one, and Lord Kirtley stood at the first, ready to hand his wife up.
Lady Kirtley settled in and her husband climbed in beside her. Phillip stepped forward to help Gabby. It was times like this that she felt like an intruder and she missed her papa most keenly.
She nodded to the footman and ducked as she stepped inside, sitting on the seat opposite the Kirtleys. Her breath puffed out in front of her face, her nose already prickling with cold. Pulling a rug onto her lap, she put her feet on the hot bricks, relishing the warmth radiating up through the soles of her half-boots.
Lord and Lady Kirtley huddled close to each other, speaking in hushed tones.
Gabby turned toward the window, seeing nothing that passed by. Her shoulders slumped, a thickness forming in her throat. If only Peter and Caroline had come with them, maybe she would not feel so lonely. She didn’t even know if they would come to Kent for Christmastide.
She rested her head against the window, loneliness settling over her like a thick, woolen cloak.
The day went on in monotony. Ride in silence, change horses and grab a bite of food, then back in the carriage only to repeat over and over, even after the sun had set. She did not feel sleepy, but boredom pulled her eyes closed as darkness settled in.
The carriage jerked hard to the left and Gabby cracked her eyes open. It then jerked to the right, slamming Gabby hard against the side, her face smashing up against the glass. She let out a yelp as her shoulder burned with pain. What was happening?
“Gabrielle, are you hurt?” Lady Kirtley’s hand rested on her leg. “We’ve had an accident.”
Gabby pushed herself upright, looking around the carriage now leaning sharply forward. “What has happened?”
“The weather has worsened. We were hoping to make it to the next village before stopping, but it appears we pushed our luck too far.” Lord Kirtley threw the rug off his lap and stooped to look out the window. “I am guessing we have broken an axle. We will not be going any farther in this carriage. Let me see if Harry has any notion of where we are. Perhaps we can all fit into the other carriage with the children and make it far enough to find adequate shelter.”
He pushed open the carriage door, wind and snow blowing in and swirling about. The door slammed shut with force and Lord Kirtley disappeared into the darkness.
Gabby blinked rapidly. The carriage was damaged? How would they all fit into the other carriage? Three children, the nurse, and the governess already made it quite full. They would be on top of each other if Gabby and the Kirtleys had to join them.
She sniffed, her nose nearly numb from the cold. But being a little crowded seemed better than freezing to death.
“Do not fear, Gabrielle. I’m certain Hugh has a plan.” Lady Kirtley’s tone held the same note of uncertainty as it had at the Frost Fair. Her words seemed as much for her own benefit as for Gabby’s.
Gabby chewed on the side of her cheek, the cold seeping through her cloak and woolen dress. It settled in her bones. What would they do if they could not find shelter?
The door opened again and Lord Kirtley stuck his head in. “We are in luck. Ivydale Hall is within a league of here.”
“Ivydale?” Lady Kirtley’s face scrunched up. “I’ve heard of it, but I don’t recall the resident’s name.” She grasped her husband’s hand and ducked out of the carriage, her voice fading.
Gabby leaned forward, hoping to hear who lived at Ivydale; she wouldn’t recognize the name, but still found herself curious to know.
Snow blew in tight circles around the inside of the carriage. Perhaps it did not matter who the owner of the estate was as long as they could get out of the cold. She ducke
d through the door, the wind blowing snow into her eyes like little ice daggers.
Phillip reached up and grasped hold of her arm, helping her step down onto the road. The snow already came up past the tops of her half-boots. Icy water ran down past her ankles, settling in the space between her foot and the lining of her boot.
She squinted to look back at the second carriage. Lord Kirtley was already handing Lady Kirtley inside.
“Come, Miss Babineaux. We need to get you into the other carriage. The weather is not improving any. We must be on our way.” Phillip guided her over and handed her up.
The inside of the carriage was tight, to be sure. Miss Carter, the governess, held Katie on her lap. The girl’s eyes looked tired and worried. Nurse Jones held Sophia on her lap. The not yet two-year-old let out a little snore as she snuggled into her nurse’s bosom.
Lord and Lady Kirtley sat on the seat beside their son. He was still a slight boy, leaving them enough room on the bench to be comfortable. Gabby looked at the small space left.
Nurse Jones was a stout woman, taking up more space on the bench than Miss Carter. Unfortunately, Miss Carter was not a wisp of a creature either. Gabby sighed and squeezed into the slight space between the two women. She brought her shoulders up, nearly touching them to her ears, to keep them from rubbing the other women’s arms. There was little she could do about their legs.
The carriage set off at a slow pace. Gabby was not sure if the driver was taking it easy so as not to crash this carriage also, or if the extra weight and building snow was taxing the four horses.
“Did you say you know the owner of the estate?” She looked to Lord Kirtley, biting the inside of her lip. It was not her place to ask questions, but she could not help it.
“Ivydale is just up the lane. It is the estate of Lord Brinton. He is the brother of a friend from my Eton days.” Lord Kirtley smiled down at his wife as if she’d been the one to ask the question. “I’m confident he will take us in until the weather clears. He will also know of someone who can fix the axle on the other carriage.”
Thawing the Viscount's Heart: A Christmas Regency Romance (Belles of Christmas: Frost Fair Book 3) Page 2