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Thawing the Viscount's Heart: A Christmas Regency Romance (Belles of Christmas: Frost Fair Book 3)

Page 7

by Mindy Burbidge Strunk


  Gabby walked down the spiral staircase, its charm suddenly dimming.

  Lady Kirtley motioned to the couch by the fire.

  Gabby sat down. “Have I done somesing wrong, my lady?”

  “Well, that, for one.” Lady Kirtley’s shoulders dropped from their normally straight position.

  Gabby stared at her. What was she talking about? “I’m sorry, my lady, but I do not know your meaning.”

  Lady Kirtley shook her head. “I am referring to you addressing me as my lady. We are in private. Have I not asked you to call me Eleanor repeatedly?” She shook her head. “When Peter arrived at Dovehaven with you, my first thought was that I was to have a sister, at long last. I love Peter, but I had always wished for a sister.”

  Gabby stared at Eleanor. She had wanted a sister? But why had she never treated Gabby as a sister? She paused. Or had she? It was not as if Gabby had a sister and knew how to interact with one.

  “But when he left you with us, you seemed happier in the schoolroom with the children and I assumed—rather uncomfortably—the role of mother. But now…” She stared down at her hands folded primly in her lap. “I find I don’t want to be your mother, Gabrielle.”

  Did this mean Lady Kirtley was rethinking her offer to sponsor Gabby?

  “I would prefer to be your sister, or at the very least, your friend.”

  Gabby’s mouth dropped open. “My sister?”

  Eleanor nodded and twisted the tip of her pinkie, a trait she had instilled in Gabby, until it was white. “I understand if that is too much. But could we at least try for friendship?” She breathed in deeply through her nose. “I will try not to lecture you or correct you so much. And maybe you could try calling me Eleanor, at least in private.”

  They were only to be as sisters in private? What did that mean they were when out in society?

  “If we are sisters, I do not know why you should not call me Eleanor all of the time. But I understand if you are ill at ease with that notion.”

  Gabby smiled, her ramrod straight posture relaxing slightly. “If we are to be sisters, you should call me Gabby.”

  Eleanor sighed. Her shoulders assumed a similar stance to Gabby’s, which to Gabby’s relief looked very different from the sagging she’d seen moments ago. “I should like that, Gabby.”

  Eleanor looked around the room. “This is impressive. I had thought Dovehaven grand, but it is nothing to this place.”

  “Dovehaven is quite comparable to the rest of the house, but I am afraid I must give the library to Ivydale.” She glanced over to Eleanor, wondering if their newfound sisterhood was about to be tested.

  “You are being kind about the rest of the house, but you are certainly correct about this room.” She eyed Gabby, a soft half smile on her lips. “Now that you have found it, will I ever see you again?”

  Gabby chuckled. She liked this Eleanor very much. And she found the prospect of having a sister, or at the very least a friend, comforting. Would it keep some of the loneliness at bay? “At least you will know where to find me.”

  They sat in silence for a moment. Was their relationship the initial reason Eleanor had sought Gabby out? Or had it merely been brought on by Gabby addressing her as my lady?

  “Was there something else you wished to discuss with me, Eleanor?” Gabby liked the thought of this closer connection to Eleanor, but it would take time to grow accustomed to it.

  “Oh, yes.” She placed a hand on Gabby’s arm. “I wanted to inform you Lord Brinton has planned a lovely Christmas supper for five. I think you should wear the gold dress we bought before leaving London.”

  “But—”

  Eleanor held up her hand. “I realize it is more elaborate than such an early supper—and a country one at that— requires, however, I think with it being Christmas, we can justify it. If you wear it with your red wrap, you will look stunning.” Her eyes sparkled with excitement.

  While Gabby had little notion of what it was to interact with a sister, this exact conversation was what she had imagined.

  Gabby shrugged. “Why does it matter? I need not put on airs. Zere are no suitors for me at Ivydale.”

  Eleanor raised her brows, the corners of her mouth rising also. “We shall see about that.”

  Gabby folded her arms across her chest. “And what shall we see?”

  “Come now, Gabby. Surely even you can see that Lord Brinton has taken an interest in you.”

  Gabby barked out a laugh. “What a good joke. Zat man detests all zings French. Especially me.”

  Eleanor waved away the protest. “Perhaps in the beginning, but that is not the case now. Even Hugh has noticed.”

  Gabby bit her lower lip, unsure what to think. The way her stomach twisted made her think she wanted Eleanor’s words to be true. But why? Had she not seen repeatedly the mean, unyielding part of Lord Brinton’s temperament? How could she desire such a man’s affections? If he felt anything, which Gabby seriously doubted. “Any attentions he has shown toward me have only been a way for him to get away from Lady Brinton. Zere is no partiality, I assure you.” She flipped open the book she found on the side table and looked up. “I’ve never been more certain about somezing in my life.”

  Eleanor shrugged, but the knowing spark in her eyes remained. “We shall see.” She rose and quit the room, leaving Gabby alone with the books and heavy scent of leather.

  Gabby stood, returning the book in her hands on the side table. She moved to the shelves, running her fingers over the spines, loving the feel of the cool leather and the indentions of the letters against her skin. What would it be like to have this many books at her fingertips anytime she wished to read them?

  The door opened, and Gabby smiled. What had Eleanor forgotten? Had she thought of more reasons Lord Brinton had formed an attachment to her? “Did you forget to tell me somezing earlier?”

  “Not that I recall. Did you think of something we needed to discuss?”

  Gabby’s finger froze on a book about hunting at the sound of Lord Brinton’s gravelly voice.

  She turned around slowly, clasping her hands behind her back. Would he be angry she was in here? He had not told her specifically she could come into the library.

  “No. I did not zink of anything.” She pulled her lip between her teeth.

  Did Lady Kirtley truly believe there was interest on his part? It seemed unlikely—impossible, even. And yet, now that the notion had taken seed in her brain, Gabby couldn’t help but think on it.

  “I wondered if I might find you here. Kirtley indicated you are fond of reading.” He rocked back on his heels, his eyes traveling around the room and then resting on her. He did not smile—not that she expected him to. She had invaded his space and he was angry.

  “Yes. Here I am.” She clutched the book to her chest, even though she wasn’t particularly interested in it. “I am sorry. Ees zis a private room? My abigail asked below stairs and zee servants did not mention zis room was private.” She hated how thick her accent sounded. Usually, she liked to see him react to it. But not this time. Seeing him cringe and glower would wound her now; she blamed Eleanor and her misguided beliefs for the change. “My apologies.”

  Gabby looked up at him, bracing herself for what she was certain would be there. But he did not cringe nor scowl. Indeed, he seemed not to notice her accent as much as he had when she first arrived. Perhaps Eleanor’s words held an element of truth. While Gabby still did not believe Lord Brinton had developed any sort of feeling for her, she could admit that his dislike of her had lessened. She found she liked that notion very much.

  He shook his head. “No need to apologize. You may come to the library whenever you wish.” Though his words were kind, his tone was still clipped; it was not the most welcoming invitation she had ever received. But if it meant she could look for books, she would accept it as it was.

  Gabby put the book back on the side table. “You were likely seeking solitude just now. I will leave you alone.” She turned toward the door
, sadness clutching at her chest. She had not had enough time to find anything to read, and now she was being forced out. How long would he stay before she could return? Could she sneak in the upstairs door without him hearing and find a book? She bit down on her lip again.

  His voice stopped her. “You do not have a book. Did you not find one to pique your interest?”

  “Not particularly. But I have only just begun looking. I can return later when you are not here.” She cringed. She had not meant it the way it sounded.

  He shrugged. “You were here first. I did not intend to drive you out.” He looked around the room. “Perhaps I can help you find something? What are you interested in reading? The gothic novels—I understand that is what young ladies like to read—are on the shelves nearest the fireplace.”

  She grunted. “Your information is wrong. Not all ladies prefer novels.”

  One eye squinted, but his lip curved ever so slightly. “I beg your pardon. I should have realized you are not like other ladies. What is it you are interested in?” Had his voice always had that silky tone to it?

  “I like many zings. Historicals, poetry, essays.” She raised her chin as his brows rose higher.

  “There are some books that might interest you upstairs.” He moved to the circular staircase, pausing with one foot on the step. “Are you coming?”

  Gabby nodded and hurried to the staircase, following him up to the second floor. He moved with ease to the other side of the room. “They are right over there. If you’ll let me show you.”

  She nodded and followed him around the perimeter of the room until they were almost opposite from the staircase. He bent slightly at the waist and pulled out a book, handing it over to her.

  Gold letters etched deep into the leather. Gabby’s breath hitched. Candide, ou l’Optimisme. Opening the book, she flipped through the pages and looked up at him. “Zis is in French.”

  He nodded. “Yes. All of these books are.” He waved his hand in front of four shelves. There had to be close to a hundred books. Were all of them written in French?

  She ran her finger over the title. This was one of the books her father had kept in his library, but she’d left it behind most grudgingly.

  “You are welcome to take them to your room if you wish. Just please return them to the same location when you are finished.” He smiled at her—genuinely smiled—and she could see why Lady Brinton acted as she did around him. Gabby had always thought him handsome, but this was different. This look made her stomach feel warm and tingly.

  Gabby nodded. “Yes, of course. Zank you very much.” She placed the book on the shelf and looked at the first row.

  “And now, it is I who will leave you alone.” One corner of his mouth quirked.

  Gabby shook her head. “No. Zis is your library. I will return later to see what I can find.” She smiled up at him. “Zank you for showing me.”

  He put a hand out, resting it on her arm. “Perhaps we can both enjoy the room together? I promise to be quiet.”

  She grinned. Who was this gentleman? “I promise to stay quiet as well.” She looked down at his hand, still on her arm. He must have thought she objected to it because he pulled it back and cleared his throat. “My book is down below. I will leave you to explore.”

  Gabby watched him until the last wave of light brown hair disappeared below the stairs. She waited a moment longer for the flutters in her stomach to dissipate before she turned back toward the shelves. Something had changed just then, but she was not entirely certain what it meant.

  Needing a distraction, Gabby ran her hand along the spines of the books sitting waist-high. What was a man, especially one with such a dislike for all things French, doing with so many books written in the language? Was he even able to read the books? Gabby could not imagine Lord Brinton spoke her native language. It seemed odd.

  Unless his dislike had nothing to do with France. She frowned. Was it not the accent he did not like hearing, but rather just her voice? She had not considered the possibility before.

  She thought back to that day at the Frost Fair. Had he not smiled at her until she spoke to him? That was when his nose had turned up and he’d said, “You’re French.” She could hear his voice as if he were standing next to her saying it even now. No, it was French that he did not like. So why did he have so many books written in the language? Gabby shrugged. She had promised him she would be quiet, but she would ask him about it. Someday.

  Chapter 9

  Aaron rested his elbow against the mantel in the drawing room, a glass of brandy in his hand. When he’d returned from church, instead of enjoying a fire, a glass of brandy, and a good book, he’d written letters and tried to figure out what to do about Lady Brinton.

  Today’s spectacle at the church had nearly brought him to his breaking point. He’d nearly hauled her into his office and had it out with her. Then he’d remembered his brother, and that had helped to stifle his anger. But the whole incident had made him realize that he needed to find a solution to her problems immediately because her problems were fast becoming his.

  Henry. What would he think of this whole situation? He certainly would not appreciate Aaron ringing a peal over Rebekah, but Aaron did not know what else to do. His repeated spurns did not have the desired effect. If anything, her advances were increasing.

  Aaron ran a hand through his hair. He was just so exasperated with her.

  Perhaps he would not be so frustrated if it made any sense. While Aaron had not been in England when Henry and Rebekah had married, from Henry’s letters Aaron had assumed it was a love match. He stroked at his chin. Rebekah did not play the part of a mourning widow, constantly flirting with Aaron. It made him think the love might have been on Henry’s part alone.

  And what was Rebekah thinking trying to secure a match with Aaron? ‘Pon rep, her father was a vicar. Surely, he would not approve of a match between them. Gah. The more he thought on it, the more frustrated be became.

  A deep breath passed through his lips. And then there was Miss Babineaux. His feelings for her had…well, he was not sure what they had done. They had changed, but he wasn’t sure if it was simply because he did not have the energy to wage a battle on two fronts. The battle with Rebekah seemed the more important one. What was the saying? The enemy of my enemy is my friend?

  He stared into his glass and swirled the liquid around. That saying did not fit his situation. Rebekah was not his enemy, she was only scared and confused. And Miss Babineaux? She was not his enemy either. Not anymore, at least. He could not think on her in that way, not since he’d seen her rocking Kirtley’s little girl. It was too intimate of a moment for him to forget. He’d seen genuine love in her eyes when she had looked on the child.

  The door opened. The footman showed Kirtley and his wife into the room. “Good evening, Brinton.”

  Aaron sketched a bow. “Lord and Lady Kirtley. Merry Christmas.”

  Lady Kirtley smiled and curtsied. “And to you, my lord.”

  The door opened a second time and Aaron lifted his gaze.

  Miss Babineaux entered and for a moment he forgot to breathe.

  Kirtley nudged him, and Aaron’s breath whooshed out.

  Aaron glanced over at his friend. Kirtley was grinning like an idiot. “I know that feeling, my friend.” He nudged Aaron. “I experienced it when first I saw my Eleanor. If you are lucky, it will never cease, even after years of marriage.”

  Aaron looked over at Kirtley, knowing what the man said was true. At least as it pertained to Lady Kirtley and Hugh. Aaron had noticed from nearly the first night of their visit that the earl was in love.

  Aaron returned his attention back to Miss Babineaux who had come to stand next to Lady Kirtley. She wore a golden gown and a red wrap. Her already lovely eyes were now captivating, the dress bringing out the golden flecks in their deep, coffee color.

  Aaron smiled. “Merry Christmas, Miss Babineaux.” He knew he was staring but was at a loss as to how to pull his eyes away from
her.

  She dipped a curtsy. “Joyeux Noël, my lord.”

  He tilted his head to the side. Never had Merry Christmas sounded so pleasant to his ears.

  Kirtley clapped Aaron on the back, laughter in his voice. “Thank you again, Brinton, for allowing us to invade your home over Christmastide. I am in your debt.”

  Aaron finally managed to pull his eyes away from Miss Babineaux. “I am pleased to have you. I think our holidays much livelier with your family here.” He flicked a glance at Miss Babineaux. She had moved over and was speaking quietly with Lady Kirtley.

  “Yes, I can see my family is what you are enjoying.” Kirtley nudged Aaron again. The man was growing rather insufferable with all the nudging.

  Aaron looked at him. “What? Are you inferring I do not wish you here? Because I can assure you that is not the case.”

  His mother and Lady Brinton entered before Kirtley could offer a reply. But from the look on Kirtley’s face, Aaron supposed he would rather the interruption.

  “I’ve never been happier in my life to have company,” Aaron muttered. The thoughts of spending these holidays with only his mother to help him with Rebekah nearly made him break out in a sweat.

  Kirtley chuckled.

  Rebekah glanced up at the ceiling as she came toward him, and Aaron remembered the kissing ball he’d fastened to the chandelier. He took a step to the side.

  Rebekah frowned.

  He leaned in slightly, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Lady Brinton. I have made some inquiries as to your situation.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “I wanted you to know I had not forgotten about our discussion. I will inform you as soon as I have a response.” He pulled out his pocket watch. Was it too much to hope for an early dinner? He kept a discreet eye on Rebekah. She’d proven she would do whatever it took to get what she wanted.

  A light touch landed on his arm and Aaron jerked.

  Miss Babineaux stepped back. “Pardon.”

  “Please excuse me. I was woolgathering and did not hear your approach.”

 

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