Aaron stepped back, causing her hands to drop away. She cast her eyes downward and he felt a tug of guilt. “We had to dig the bay branches out of the snow. I knew the general area, but with no precise location, there was much digging. It took longer than suspected.” He took off his greatcoat and handed it over to Marcus, the footman assigned to the entryway. “Besides, you had the sled at your disposal. Walking takes much longer.”
“We found the mistletoe and holly without a problem.” Lord Kirtley’s voice boomed as he came through the doorway at the other side of the entry. “Lady Brinton knew just where to look.”
Aaron’s mother followed Kirtley through the door. “There you are, Aaron. We were about to believe you lost.” She motioned for him to come closer. “It has been some time since you were here. I thought you might not remember where to go. Henry always knew just where to find the yew. If he were here, I’m sure we would be well on our way to completing this task.”
Aaron breathed in deeply through his nose, kneading at the knots in his neck. “I am certain that is true, Mother.”
Kirtley glanced at him, his brows raised.
Aaron looked away. He did not need to bother his friend with his frustrations. “How may I help, Mother, so we might complete this chore in a timely manner?”
She sighed. “If you think it a chore, Aaron, then perhaps it would be better if you did not help. This is tradition and it’s intended to be fun.”
A corner of his mouth quirked up. Yes, her tone certainly indicated great joy and entertainment. “Begging your pardon.”
His mother looked at the bundles gathered on the canvas, now laying on the floor. “Lady Brinton, perhaps you and Aaron could work on the greenery for the staircase.”
Aaron opened his mouth to protest, but Miss Babineaux spoke first. “I should love to work with Lady Brinton. Decorating zee stairs was always my assignment at home.”
Aaron stared at her. What was she doing? This was the second time today the lady had tried to align herself with Rebekah. Aaron could see it was just another ploy, but to what end? What could she hope to gain by earning Rebekah’s good opinion?
“I had thought to do the kissing balls, my lady.” Rebekah flicked her glance over to Aaron.
He looked away. Frustration surged through him. What was wrong with Rebekah? At every turn, she flirted and fluttered her lashes at him. The notion Aaron had misread her earlier, all but gone now.
Henry, in all his letters, had never once mentioned his wife’s tendency to flirt. Indeed, he spoke of her in the opposite.
Was she thinking he would make an offer to her? Marry his brother’s widow? In the eyes of God—and Aaron, for that matter—Rebekah was his sister. She was mistaken if she thought a union between them possible.
His mother shrugged. “Very well.” She motioned to the table at the far end of the hall that Aaron only now noticed. His mother must have had it moved here while they’d been out collecting the greenery.
“Aaron, perhaps you would be good enough to help Miss Babineaux with the staircase?” His shoulders relaxed, even as Rebekah’s head dropped. Why was he relieved to be working with the Frenchwoman? He despised everything about her. He squinted at her. Well, perhaps he did not despise her eyes. They were pleasant enough to look at.
His mother’s voice brought him back to the moment.
“Then once Lady Brinton has completed the kissing balls, you and Lord Kirtley could hang them?”
Aaron dipped his head, hoping he heard everything his mother had said. “As you wish, Mother.”
He moved over to where Miss Babineaux stood next to the staircase, her hands clasped in front of her. He supposed listening to her infuriating accent was better than enduring the longing looks of Lady Brinton.
“Miss Babineaux, it appears we are to be partners for the next few hours.” He stared up the long banister. “Perhaps longer.” He shifted his gaze back to her. “I have little knowledge of what to do; I hope you did not exaggerate your experience, or we shall be here the whole of the day.”
She smiled, and he decided her eyes were not her only redeeming quality. “Our staircases at home were not so vast as zis, but we did have a staircase. I believe I know what to do.”
Aaron relaxed. “Very good. Tell me what I am to do.”
His mother came over. “Aaron, do you have any notion of what you are doing here?” She reached for branches of several varieties. She bunched them together and tied them with a string. Shoving the bundle into his hands she motioned to the railing. “Now tie it to the staircase with ribbon. I’m certain Miss Babineaux can tie a proper bow, can you not?” His mother looked to the young lady and made the motions of tying the ribbon into a bow.
Aaron grinned. Apparently, his mother did not believe Miss Babineaux understood enough English to know what his mother was saying. Would the lady be offended?
Miss Babineaux grinned. “Oui—yes, my lady.” She flicked her eyes over to Aaron.
“Very good. Carry on.” His mother waved her hand at the greenery and walked away.
Aaron carried the bundle in his hand over the stairs and Miss Babineaux followed behind with the ribbon. She unwound several lengths from the spool and tied it around the greenery.
They worked together, neither saying anything.
Only Miss Babineaux’s humming drifted through the entry hall as they bundled and tied, over and over again. She had a pleasant tone to her voice, and he found he rather enjoyed listening to it. Most of the songs he recognized as Christmas carols and he hummed along with her, the spirit of Christmastide overcoming him.
Perhaps his mother had been correct. This was an enjoyable activity. Curious he’d never thought so in the past. That he was finding it so while here with this Frenchwoman—his nose curled even thinking the word—who he had no friendly inclinations toward, was disquieting. It truly must be the spirit of Christmastide.
“Zee first staircase eez done. Shall we move up to zee next floor?”
Aaron nodded. “Yes, I am certain Lady Brinton is creating kissing balls as quickly as she can.”
Miss Babineaux looked at him curiously but said nothing as she gathered an armful of their greenery bundles and moved to the stairs.
Aaron wished the words back. They had made him sound arrogant. It was not as if he thought every woman desired his attentions. But surely Miss Babineaux had noticed Lady Brinton’s flirtations. If she had, would she still consider him arrogant? It was possible his comments only increased the arrogance she already believed him to possess. He had not been very humble in his dealing with her thus far.
He bent and picked up the remaining bundles, climbing the steps behind her. She already thought very little of him, given the way he’d treated her. She must think even less of him now. But why did he care? She was French—a grenouille. Why was he desirous of her good opinion? He grunted, not liking the thought that he desired anything from Miss Babineaux.
He reached the landing and stacked the bundles on top of the ones she had brought.
Miss Babineaux was already working at fastening the first bundle on the railing. It slipped to one side, only to fall to the other side after she righted it. She huffed out a breath, a few wisps of hair blowing off her brow.
“Let me hold that while you fasten it.” Aaron stepped over, grasping the greenery as he’d done with the bundles on the lower stairs.
“Sank you.” Her voice was soft, and he leaned closer to hear her. The scent of roses mingled with the bay and evergreen. It was a pleasant scent.
“You are welcome.” His voice came out softer than he had intended.
She looked up at him as if assessing his sincerity. She seemed surprised by what she saw.
In truth, he was a little taken aback himself when he realized he was, indeed, sincere. “Miss Babineaux, where in France”—he spit out the country’s name— “are you from?”
She glanced up from the ribbon in her hand, studying him. It was a look he was coming to know. She did
not open her mouth without taking a measure of him first. “Lyon.”
What had she seen? It must not have been good if she kept her answer to only a single word.
“I’ve traveled through Lyon. It is a lovely city.”
She nodded.
Hmm. Maybe they should just go back to the humming.
“I miss Lyon very much. But I’m coming to love England also. Warwickshire is a particular favorite.”
Aaron’s brows rose. So she could speak more than a single word. He’d almost wondered if that was all she was capable of. “Is there a reason you are partial to that shire?”
She shrugged. “It ees where Peter—er, Lord and Lady Rockwell live. I’ve visited zem with Lord and Lady Kirtley several times since coming to England.”
He knew Lord Rockwell. It only now dawned on him that Lady Kirtley was Peter’s sister. It made sense that they should visit Warwickshire. But there was a certain reverence—or maybe it was fondness—in Miss Babineaux’s voice when she mentioned Peter. It had not escaped Aaron’s notice that she called him Peter before correcting herself.
Aaron held onto a bundle as she secured it. “What brought you to England?”
She did not reply at first. After several beats, she looked up at him. “My father died and eet was determined zat I should come to England where Pet—” She stomped her foot and Aaron felt a slight flutter in his gut. “Lord Rockwell could provide for me.”
Aaron stepped back. Why should such a task fall to Rockwell?
She must have sensed his question because she continued on. “Lord Rockwell lived with my father and me for more zan a year when I was a girl. My father was already three and fifty at zee time. He knew zee chances of him living to see me married were not in his favor. I had no other relatives. When my father died, I would be alone in zee world. My father asked Peter if when zat time came, I could come to England and live under his protection.” She twisted at the end of a ribbon. “Zat time came a few years ago.”
Lud. What a huge responsibility for Rockwell to take on. Aaron didn’t know whether to praise the man or check to see if he’d taken leave of his senses. “You had no other relatives? What of your mother’s family?”
“My mother’s family disinherited her when she married my father. But even so, la Républiquec and le Guillotine made sure my mother could never make amends.”
Aaron’s mouth formed an O. He’d not encountered anyone with such close associations to the revolution before. Could it be she had no more love for Napoleon and his kind than Aaron did? “If Rockwell made the promise, why are you here with Lord and Lady Kirtley?”
She sighed. “When I came, Peter had not yet married. Even though I had not yet come out, neither he nor Lady Kirtley thought it proper for me to live wiz him.” She grunted. “Even though we look on each other as brother and sister, zey deemed it best for me to live with Lord and Lady Kirtley.”
“But Rockwell is married now.” Why would she continue on with Lord and Lady Kirtley when it was obvious she preferred Rockwell?
“By zee time Lord and Lady Rockwell married, I’d already lived with his sister for some time. She thought it best for my situation to remain the same.”
“But you would prefer to be with Lord and Lady Rockwell?”
She shook her head and smiled up at him, but it did not quite reach her eyes. “Of course not. Lord and Lady Kirtley have been very good to me. I am very grateful to zem.” She pulled out several lengths of the ribbon and hurriedly tied it around the bundle he was holding. “I would miss Katie and Sophia.” She made a face. “I believe I would even miss Winston. Besides, Lady Kirtley will sponsor me for zee next Season in London.”
Interesting. “Rockwell is providing for you? Did your father not leave you an inheritance of some kind? Not even a dowry?”
She bristled. “Yes, my papa left me a dowry. It is not much.” She bit her bottom lip. “But he was a good man, a good papa.”
Aaron nearly smacked his hand to his head at his stupidity. He’d not intended to imply the man was not a good provider. Although, based on his past treatment of her, he could understand that she would instantly think he meant the worst.
He’d never heard of such an arrangement and was simply fascinated by the details of it. He held his hand up. “I am sorry if I gave you the impression I did not approve of your father. I am certain he was a good man, or Rockwell would never have agreed to take you in.” He placed another bundle of greenery on the handrail.
She moved it slightly farther up and secured it. “He was a good man. Peter reminds me of him. So maybe it is good I do not live with him and Lady Rockwell in Warwickshire. It would make me miss Papa too much.” Her tone said she did not agree.
“A small dowry will make for a difficult Season. I’m sure you have many desirable attributes, but—”
“I said my papa left me a small dowry. I did not say I had a small dowry.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I intend to do well zis Season.”
Ah. Rockwell had added to her dowry as part of his providing for her. “Does Rockwell provide everything or do Lord and Lady Kirtley contribute as well?”
She glared at him. “I did not zink it proper for strangers to speak of such matters.”
Aaron grimaced. She was correct. He was completely out of line to be asking such questions. “I apologize; I let my curiosity override my manners.”
She gave him another appraising look. “You are forgiven, my lord.” She eyed the last set of stairs. “Perhaps if we talk less, we can finish more quickly.”
Aaron smiled at the less than subtle hint that he should stop talking to her. The problem was, now he didn’t want to.
Chapter 7
Gabby stomped the snow from her boots as she stepped into the church. Her breath hovered in a cloud in front of her face. It was not significantly warmer inside than it was out, but at least it was not windy. She took consolation in that fact.
“What a lovely little church.” Lady Kirtley clasped her hands together as she looked around.
“This is St. Francis Church. It dates back to Henry the fifth. A fire destroyed the main house in the late sixteen hundreds, but the third Viscount Brinton rebuilt it a short time later. But all this is mostly original.” Lord Brinton spoke with pride in his voice, as if he, himself, had placed every stone they now looked at. He leaned forward slightly. “What do you think of our little church, Miss Babineaux?” His voice had lowered, allowing only her to hear.
The curl at the side of her face danced in his breath and she shivered.
“Are you still cold?” he asked.
She shrugged. “A little. But I am certain I will warm up now we are out of zee wind.” Gabby took a step away from him. His manners and tone of voice had been kinder, or rather more polite today than since she had arrived. She did not know what to make of the change. Was it something she had said or done? Or was it merely a result of the Christmas spirit that seemed to be filling them all? Perhaps tomorrow they would return to interactions colored by distrust and disdain.
Lady Brinton sidled up beside him and wrapped her hands around his arm. “We should move to our bench, Aaron. It looks as though the vicar is waiting to start.”
Lord Brinton lifted his arm discreetly away from her and turned to his mother. “Come, Mother. I do not want you left behind.”
Lady Brinton cast her gaze downward as his mother scowled at him. “You need not treat me like an errant child, Aaron. I will be along.” The dowager continued chatting with Mrs. Rivers, waving her son away.
He placed his hand at the small of Gabby’s back and gave her a small nudge forward. Tingles and heat shot out in every direction traveling into her legs and arms, causing her to stumble on seemingly nothing. Lord Brinton moved his hand from her back and placed it at her waist, his other hand on her arm. “Are you well?”
Gabby nodded, unable to make a sound. She did not know if it was her near fall or Lord Brinton’s closeness that made her mute. They walked several steps, th
e two of them so close it would have been difficult to determine they were two people, were it not for the difference in their clothing.
“The Brinton family bench is the third one from the front on the left side.” Again, he whispered in her ear, and again, she shivered.
She clutched the ribbons of her reticule in her fist, angry at every raised bump on her skin. When would she learn to control herself when he did such things? Surely this was what Lady Kirtley was alluding to when she spoke of decorum. What if people thought there was partiality between the two of them? Or would they guess it was only on Gabby’s part? She scowled at the greenery fastened to the bench. She did not have feelings for this man. Childish fancies did not constitute true feelings, after all.
Gabby walked down the aisle, looking up at the stain-glassed depictions of several saints. Perhaps if she studied them hard enough, those around them would simply think she was interested in them and they would not look any closer. But try as she may, she was simply unable to fully appreciate them as Lord Brinton continued to nudge her down the aisle.
He reached out a hand and pulled her to a stop at the row behind the one with the engraved marker bearing the Brinton name. Lord Brinton motioned Lady Brinton into the row first. She smiled up at him, reaching for his arm to pull him in after her. He turned and feigned a looked behind him, and her hand fell back to her side. Lady Brinton had missed the mark with Lord Brinton yet again.
Gabby looked away when the lady huffed.
“I thought I heard someone call out my name,” Lord Brinton said as he returned his attention to the row. “I must have been mistaken.” Motioning Gabby in next, he followed in behind her.
She moved forward but paused a few steps in from the aisle and looked up at him.
He flicked his gaze from her to Lady Brinton and back to her. Her lips turned up slightly, and he winked? What was that all about? She shook her head. Christmas did odd things to this man.
She moved the rest of the way into the bench, sitting down next to Lady Brinton.
Nurse Jones, Miss Carter, and the children settled on the bench behind them. Sophia reached forward and grabbed hold of Gabby’s sleeve. Gabby gently unfisted the little girl’s hand and turned around. “Be a good girl for Nurse Jones, Soph.”
Thawing the Viscount's Heart: A Christmas Regency Romance (Belles of Christmas: Frost Fair Book 3) Page 5